cont'd

OK, so I may have exaggerated a bit in my last post. Thankfully, I did not end up spending $800 on my tires (phew!). $800 was what the stupid Ford dealer wanted to charge me for the exact same tires that I was later able to hook up at Costco for $500 (complete with a $60 discount for a set of four Michelins) . So yay for that.

HOWEVER, now my husband needs new tires too. Lordy.

Well, I'm sick of having to spend all our money on tires and air conditioning. But I am even sicker of complaining about it, so I hereby promise that I will attempt to refrain from this boring topic in the future.

And! It's almost the weekend. Ahhhh.

OMG

New tires: $800

New brakes: $500

Enormous tub of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows: $15

Me praying to all that is holy that I will stop hemorrhaging cash on various home and automobile repairs: PRICELESS

deflated

What was that I was saying about things falling apart around here? Well, apparently it extends to cars. This morning I had just dropped Evan off at day care and was merrily driving to work, feeling all smug and virtuous about having gotten up early to go to swim practice. All of a sudden… boom! I hear this thunderous noise and the car starts driving all bumpy. Grrr – flat tire. I pulled over, called AAA and waited almost an hour for the tow truck guy to come change my tire. He did and I was on my way.

But now! I have to get some new tires and my smug feeling? Gone.

I am currently sitting here nursing my wounded pride with a tall cup off hot chocolate with the mini-marshmallows.

bearca's formula for winning big $$ at the horse races

Here are two simple questions to ask yourself when betting on a horse:

1) Does the horse have a good/intriguing/unique/funny name?
2) Is the horse pretty?

If you have answered yes to one or both of these questions, then you have yourself a winner. Jockey? Trainer? Lasik? Blah! I’m all about aesthetics when it comes to horse racing.

We went to Del Mar on Saturday and this was my formula. May I say, it worked like a charm! We won the big bucks*. Well, enough to pay for our margaritas, anyway. And to me, there’s a successful day at the races.

* If by big bucks, you mean winning $24 on a $2 bet.

freon ain't free

We seem to be in a place right now where lots of things in our house need fixing. We bought the house brand new, and haven’t even lived in it five years, yet in the last two weeks we have had people out to service both our washing machine and our air conditioning. Cool! Spending money on fixing things that we completely take for granted is the best.

(palpable sarcasm)

Example #1: The Laundry Episode
A couple of weekends ago, I was doing some laundry. During one load, I was downstairs cleaning up the kitchen and heard my husband calling me upstairs. I go back up and hear a hideous noise coming from the washing machine. I stop the cycle, then find out that I can’t get it to spin, and that it WILL fill up with rinse water, but it WON’T drain. Picturing our clothes soaking in water for two days just doesn’t cut it for me, so I take each item out of the washer and hand-wring it out before putting it in the dryer, almost breaking the dryer in the process because the load was too heavy. Awesome!

I set up a service appointment for two days later. The guy comes to the house, shows my husband that it’s this little part under the lid, fixes it in 20 minutes and charges us $160 to replace a $30 part. You know, for LABOR.

Example #2: The Air Conditioning Caper
Last weekend (again over a weekend!?!) our air conditioning just stops working. The fan still worked, but the a/c unit outside just went dead. Lucky for us, Southern California is experiencing really nice weather, unlike the 112 degrees it was two weeks ago (and don’t EVEN think I am kidding about that number… it really was, I swear). Bottom line, though, since it’s only been in the low 80s, we can live with it for a couple of days until we can get someone out to fix it.

We find out through our next-door neighbor that a lot of people in our neighborhood have had problems with our air conditioning over the last couple of weeks. So on Sunday, we go door to door asking them what happened, who did you call to fix it, etc. One neighbor seemed to have the answer. It went something like this:

“Uh, yeah, it’s the switch behind the control plate. You just have to get in there and file it down with a nail file. But stay away from the rotogirder because it’s next to the flux capacitor, which holds 1.21 jigowatts of electricity. Hoo boy! Did I get a shock when I touched that!”

Did I hear a niner in there? We look at him blankly, and immediately and telekinetically agree that we are going to call a professional.

But guess what? All the professionals are already scheduled fixing everyone else’s air conditioning that was overused in the recent heat wave. May I remind you that it was 112 degrees.

So we end up calling this emergency air conditioner repair guy, who fixed our friends’ a/c recently and who also overcharged them for doing so. (We were warned.)

He came over today. First of all, he was this enormous bodybuilder with a very thick Russian accent. Who knows? Maybe they have excellent air conditioning trade schools in Russia. Anyway, he checks the fan. He checks the fuses. He checks the switch behind the control panel and the flux capacitor.

He comes back into the house and announces that we need a new conductor and some freon, and that will be $325 please. He fixes it in 10 minutes and is out the door with my check.

I tell my husband the whole story and he is shocked and horrified. And after looking it up on the internet, comes to the conclusion that he probably took me for double what it should have cost. Apparently the freon thing can be a scam – you really shouldn’t need new freon unless you have a leak. Damn Google. What’s that saying? Ignorance is bliss?

Anyway, the air conditioning works again, which is good, despite the fact that we are $325 poorer. Well, technically we are $485 poorer, if you count the washing machine.

Lordy I hope nothing else goes wrong for a while. I guess the moral of the story is, when your friends tell you that the Russian bodybuilder might overcharge you, he will.

baby action

I’m happy to report that the limp is finally gone! After multiple doctor visits and x-rays (all of which were negative), it just went away on its own after a few days. So now I no longer have to envision my tiny toddler dragging a leg cast around. Now THAT would have been sad.

And he must be fine, because he’s learned how to climb up on all the furniture! He’s also added the words “go” and “jump” into his vocabulary. He’s all about the action.

On that note, I will present an updated list of things Evan likes and doesn’t like:

Climbing furniture:
Good

Eating vegetables:
Bad

Walking independently:
Good

Being confined to a stroller:
The hatred is intense.

The Wiggles:
Good

When I take a forbidden object out of his hand:
The wrath descends.

That's all for now, peeps. I will leave you with only one further note, which is that my husband was called "girlfriend" by a not-heterosexual man at Banana Republic yesterday. Hmmm.

gimpy

Do you want to know what one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen is?

A 15-month old baby with an unexplained limp.

Yes, that’s my boy. We noticed he was limping on Friday night. It was barely perceptible on Saturday, but got worse on Sunday. We ended up taking him to urgent care in a panic, thinking somehow he had fallen and broken his leg without us knowing. (Or without daycare knowing, because you better believe that was the first phone call I made when I saw the limp. But my daycare is awesome. I digress. )

The other saddest thing is two parents holding a 15-month old limping baby down on the x-ray table. I could cry just thinking about it.

But after two doctor visits and a trip to the hospital for x-rays, they didn’t find anything – no apparent infection, no broken bone, no nothing! Just a 15-month old baby with an unexplained limp.

He's getting better though, slowly but surely.

an actual conversation that took place at my house

Me: “Evan, what does a duck say?”

Evan: “Kack kack!”

Me: (giggling uncontrollably at the realization that my son is a genius) “YES! That’s right! That’s exactly what a duck says!” (meanwhile I continue to quack loudly while making funny faces to encourage him to keep it up)

I’m all about sacrificing my dignity.

weekend festivities

Apparently, this is the time of year where it seems that I wake up in Florida every day. Enough with the hot! And the humid, OMG. This weekend was cray-zay. On Saturday it was literally 108 degrees at my house. I better start saving money to pay for my electric bill.

But apart from that it was a rather nice weekend. Swimming lessons continue to be awesome fun. Once we were done at the pool we retreated to the air conditioning and pretty much stayed there all day. My sister-in-law came to visit us so we headed to the mall for even more air conditioning. Then we watched Grizzly Man – highly recommended, very interesting documentary.

Yesterday afternoon we headed up to Fashion Island thinking that it would be a bit cooler with the ocean breezes. And Fashion Island, it never disappoints. It was ten degrees cooler, plus they have those funny fountains with bubbles of water that explode out of the ground and land on the heads of unsuspecting toddlers who dare to walk along their surfaces. Good fun. After the fountain, a ride on the carousel (Evan’s first), and an eyeshadow purchase from the MAC counter at Macy’s, we headed over to Bandera for a delicious dinner. It was there that we determined, lo and behold, that Evan enjoys artichokes! We were sitting back sipping our cocktails and saying la la la, our child is the best, he is so well-behaved AND he likes artichokes. Then when he was done with his dinner he began throwing Cheerios so we beat a hasty retreat.

We got home, put him to bed, went downstairs, watched Entourage and ate Drumsticks. In my opinion, Drumsticks must always live in my freezer. Always. Well, until they are eaten.

TGIF

You know what sucks? When you have a massive sneezing attack right after you've put on mascara.

Also, when you are lounging comfortably on your sofa watching the British Open and sipping your second cup of coffee and then you realize: it's not Saturday.

Ouch.

snippets

Hello peeps. Since it's been a while, I'll just update you with a few small items to start getting you up to speed on what's going on in my life.

1) Just got back from a business trip to Columbus, Ohio. It was hot there.

2) It's also hot here.

3) Getting home from Columbus was a nightmare involving multiple missed flights, ridiculous security lines, ground holds in Chicago due to bad weather, and whatnot.

4) The mommy & me swimming lessons are going great! We just had our fourth lesson on Saturday and we've gone from hysterical crying (lesson 1) to whining (lesson 2) to only whining when our face gets wet (lesson 3) to pure unadulterated joy at being in the water (lesson 4). Success.

5) I am once again obsessed with HBO's Entourage.

Because I have a lot of work to do at this moment, I must cut the list short. I promise to update again soon with more. Three-week blog hiatuses (hiati?) are for the birds...

you know you're out of shape when...

...spending 20 minutes crouched down in a swimming pool holding a toddler causes quadricep pain so intense you can barely walk down the stairs.

twice in one week, now that's a record

Hi! Here I am, making a concerted effort to post more than once a week. And what a week it’s been. Yesterday, I spent an hour and a half at the dermatologist’s office getting, count them, five skin biopsies for various suspicious spots. That was a good time. I have to say, though, apart from the whole scary “waiting to find out if I have skin cancer” thing, the process was rather fascinating. I love Discovery Health, all surgery channels, etc. so I thought it would be interesting to watch the doctor do the biopsies. And it was. Is that weird? Does that make me sound like a freak? I’m really not, I’m just fascinated by anything medical. Apparently, even my own.

Anyhoo – I need a good book to read to take my mind off my impending skin cancer doom. Any recommendations?

few and far between

Wow, has it really been this long since I posted? Apparently yes. Maybe I should start a movement: Blogging Once a Week (or Less) For Fun And Profit!

Well, what’s going on Chez Bearca? Lots, I tell ya. Last night I went to the spa with some girlfriends and had a fabulous massage, followed up with a margarita and copious amounts of homemade tortillas from El Torito. Yum. Oh! And I’ll be traveling to Columbus, Ohio in the next few weeks on business. Really looking forward to that. And? This Saturday, we start Mommy & me swim classes! I cannot wait. Evan has these new swim trunks and let me tell you, just thinking about him standing by the pool with his belly hanging out over those trunks brings a tear to my eye.

And also? I am in the market for some really awesome aviator sunglasses that are not too Hollywood obnoxious looking. I’m sure that will take up a boatload of my internet surfing time for the foreseeable future.

But speaking of internet surfing time, please do yourself a favor and read this. Random, but so very funny.

weekend bonanza

I’m heading into this weekend with yet another lengthy list of things to get done. There will be Costco! There will be planting in the backyard! Diapers will be purchased!

So basically, it’s going to be an awesome weekend. I am feeling a bit blah today. Not sure if it’s the weather (which is yucky) or just some sort of general malaise (also yucky) but I am just kind of ehhhhhhhh.

Adding to my anticipated weekend dissatisfaction is that the book that I’m reading right now, American Pastoral by Philip Roth, is not really grabbing my attention right now despite the fact that it won a Pulitzer. I mean, I get it that this guy represented the American dream and all that is possible and then it was all taken away with one selfish misguided act by his revolutionary daughter. I get it already! Geez. Also, this book is the literary equivalent of a gigantic salad. To beat you over the head with the analogy, you know how you can be eating a salad for what feels like an hour and you still find yourself with an enormous bowl of lettuce? That is what reading this book is like. I keep reading and reading and somehow I have been stuck in the middle of it for the better part of two weeks.

So in addition to the diaper buying and the Costco food tasting, I will also focus on Pulizer prize-winning book conquering.

because who can resist a cute bathtub shot?

this weekend by the numbers

Times Evan threw up in his bed on Saturday night: 2

Number of sheets soiled in the process: 2

Hours of sleep I got that night: 4

Alcoholic beverages I consumed over the weekend: 4

There is nothing like doing barf laundry at midnight on Saturday night because you are running out of clean crib sheets and sleepers! And this was not the wimpy spit-up of months past. This was real, honest-to-goodness throw-up, complete with chunks and the vomit smell. I will spare you additional details (come to think of it, are there any? That was pretty graphic).

All in all, though, the weekend wasn’t a total loss. Some notable achievements:

• Bought a new dining room table!!
• Scheduled an appointment with the carpet cleaners
• Got a new baby gate for downstairs
• Went to the nursery to get some plants for the backyard
• Spent a bunch of time hanging out in the yard enjoying the hot weather
• Had my sis and her husband over for dinner (complete with some uber-delicious chipotle mashed potatoes)

So despite the chunk-blowing, it wasn’t a bad weekend. But is anyone else annoyed with the way they wrapped up the Sopranos episode last night? Barely anything happens all season and then they close it down for who knows how many more months. Thank goodness Entourage is coming back next weekend. Yay!

pride goeth before a fall

Over the last couple of months I’ve nearly broken my arm patting myself on the back thinking “Wow, I’ve really got this working mom thing wired! What are all those people whining about?” Perhaps it’s my incredible organizational skills! My incessant list-making! My ability to juggle home and work flawlessly and simultaneously!

But lately my son has been a magnet for every virus in his day care. First there was the roseola incident. A couple weeks later he got a fever and had to come home. Then over the weekend, he got another fever and had to stay home on Tuesday. And I have a couple of business trips coming up.

Then I realized, this is where the rubber meets the road. This is where my always-present-but-often-latent guilt rears its big black head. Am I spending enough time comforting my sick child? And when I am, are people at work thinking “Is that slacker taking care of her ‘sick baby’ again?” And if they are, do I care?

It turns out I do.

I have such an overactive sense of guilt that I struggle with the concept of doing the best I can. I am pulled in so many directions. But even so, I am so lucky to have a supportive and helpful spouse. I also have a supportive manager. I have a housekeeper who comes every two weeks to scrub the house from top to bottom, and a gardener who comes every Friday to mow our tiny lawn. So what am I complaining about?

I guess it’s an age-old problem that I’m not exempt from after all. At the same time, I wouldn’t trade it for anything (except maybe the ultimate flexibility of independent wealth.) Unrealistic dreams aside, I’m generally pretty happy with my arrangement. It’s been eye-opening to realize that even though I’m content with the way things are, that doesn’t mean it won’t blow up from time to time.

Maybe I just need to be okay with that. It still scares me, though.

overheard at lunch today

I was sitting outside in the beautiful sunshine, eating a delicious panini and eavesdropping on the conversation that the geeks at the next table were having. My heart was warmed by the fact that they were peppering references to So I Married an Axe Murderer throughout their conversation. Also, they were discussing how LL Bean sells indestructible jeans and how that would be the ultimate in clothing. One guy said “I will buy seven pairs and never have to shop again!”

Putting aside the fact never having to shop again would be my personal hell, this overheard conversation made me realize how much I love nerds.

operation baby exhaustion

Now that my baby (and by “baby,” I mean child who walks everywhere and therefore is no longer officially an infant but how can I not call him a baby anymore, SOB) is extremely mobile, I have a new parenting strategy. The strategy is to provide him opportunities to exhaust himself so that he will become compliant and amenable to anything I want him to do. Like for example sleep. This weekend, the new strategy manifested itself in a couple of different areas.

Saturday was a beautiful sunny day so we packed up a bag and some beach chairs and headed off to the park. Silly us, we did not understand that chairs are useless in this new parenting strategy! No, rather the park for us means following him on foot everywhere he goes so we can be prepared to extricate the leaves that he picks up off the ground and shoves in his mouth, or ready to change his direction if he’s rapidly heading toward a ditch. I should also warn you that this strategy requires climbing. I figure working against gravity has got to be a successful method for baby exhaustion. Well, it is, but it is also a fairly reliable way to exhaust your husband. Mine was forced to climb up the playground apparatus approximately eight (8) times to go down the slide.

Then, Sunday we went to the Irvine Spectrum, which is kind of a weird mall, but it has an Oakley store so the hub wanted to go there. In a mall setting, executing the strategy means setting the child free and following after him with the stroller, possibly with some baby wipes in hand to de-dirtify him after he has literally done a belly flop into a puddle and stuck his fingers in every drain he sees.

So there you have it. Operation Baby Exhaustion was a success, but I still haven’t recovered. Red Bull, anyone?

stickin' it to the man, part two

The poor attitude exhibited in my last post has passed. Yes, I still have a gigantic zit on my nose and an atrocious up-do, but what are you gonna do. I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do: buck up, drink a caffeine-free Diet Coke and tell you about something really awesome that happened to me recently. Like, really awesome. Not sarcastic awesome.

Did you know that if you get a speeding ticket in the state of California, you have the right to a Trial by Written Declaration? That means you can fight your ticket by mail without ever having to step in front of a judge. And furthermore, if you do not like the way the judge rules in this Trial by Written Declaration, did you know that you have the right to request an entirely new trial? Yes. It is true. I know this because I am a nerd and read the vehicle code.

I am not so much of a nerd that I read the vehicle code for fun. I read it because yes, I got a ticket for ALLEGEDLY going 47 in a 35 mph zone. I repeat, allegedly. This troubled me. This troubled me because it was my second ticket in less than 18 months (um, for speeding) which means that I couldn’t go to traffic school to get it off my record. So, I decided to pursue a Trial by Written Declaration because after all? What did I have to lose.

I will now detail the chronology of me fighting the power.

I sent a letter requesting a Trial by Written Declaration, enclosing my bail payment of $119.50.
The court sent me back the forms I needed to submit evidence on my behalf.
I wrote up all such evidence and had my attorney (for full disclosure, I should say my husband who is an attorney) review it.
I mail the stuff to the court.
I anxiously await the judge’s decision over the next six weeks and obsessively check the mailbox hoping for news of my fate.

And then, it happened. I got a notice from the court in Saturday’s mail. I opened it up and guess what? My ticket had been dismissed! Either my case had been incredibly well-argued, or the cop who cited me had failed to respond in the time he was given.

Either way, they will be refunding the money I paid for the ticket and for now, the People of the State of California are off my back.

funk

Today is really annoying.

Exhibit A: I have an enormous zit right on the tip of my nose that no amount of concealer can hide.

Exhibit B: Work is stressful.

Exhibit C: The weather is blah.

Exhibit D: Bad hair day. Just now I took a camera phone shot of myself to illustrate said bad hair day, but decided that it was too hideous to share with the internet.

Cupcakes. Where are cupcakes when you need them?

More later when I recover from this funk.

where shopping carts go to die

I just went grocery shopping at Trader Joe's. Now, I love shopping there as much as the next gal, but I've figured out how they keep their prices so reasonable. It's because they eliminated the budget line item that other stores keep on the books to purchase shopping carts. Honestly. Trader Joe's has the most horrific shopping carts in the history of any retail establishment. I have never gotten a cart there that steered right, that I didn't have to use all my admittedly minimal upper body strength to navigate it down the aisles. It's annoying. Annoying, but worth it in order to enjoy the possibly heroin-filled cracker discs knows as Savory Mini Thins.

And: on the way home from Trader Joe's, I heard Edie Brickell's "What I Am" on the radio, followed up by Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me." Fabulously reminiscent of tenth grade. Jack FM, I salute you. You are doing the Lord's work.

V is for vindicated

I love to read, and to avoid my book habit wreaking havoc on my budget, I frequent the library quite often. (is that redundant?) I also really enjoy reading a nice little crime drama slash detective story from time to time, especially while traveling. There’s something about spending a couple of hours living vicariously through Kay Scarpetta or Kinsey Millhone that really makes a flight seem short.

One time, though, I left a copy of Sue Grafton’s “Q is for Quarry” on a plane. Oops! I went to the library to report my transgression and paid whatever lost book fee there was.

So when I recently checked out a book for my flight to Ottawa, I didn’t give it a second thought until I got a phone call saying it was overdue… after I had already returned it.

Then, I received a threatening letter explaining that the next step would be to turn me over to collections. Sheesh, these library folks don’t mess around. Remember that Seinfeld?

The funny part? The book they claimed was overdue was none other than, you guessed it, Sue Grafton’s “L is for Lawless.”

After a quick phone call to the library, they were able to find the book on the shelves and absolve me of any wrongdoing. What a relief. I was starting to dread the library cop shakedown. Almost as bad as a tax audit.

new era

This weekend was action-packed. We went to see my parents so Evan could hang with Grandma and Grandpa. Success. He was happy wandering around their house, doing laps from the kitchen to the living room and back like he loves to. But yesterday Dr. Jekyll showed a little Mr. Hyde (or is it the other way around?). We took him for his second haircut ever, and he screamed bloody murder. Which was weird, because at his first haircut he had a grand old time. Then we made nice by taking him to the park so he could go on the swings. All was forgiven.

At this point he has definitely developed preferences and whatever the opposite of preferences are. Here is the current scorecard of various activities and Evan’s reaction to them:

Bottle? Good.
Sippy cup with milk? Um, not so much.
Haircut? VERY VERY BAD.
Walking? Good.
Being carried? Bad.
Walking around the house with the remote control? Good.
When Mommy takes the remote control away? GOD HELP US.
Swings? Excellent.
Shots? See “When Mommy takes the remote control away” above.

Apparently, the era of the docile, agreeable baby is gone for good. Don’t get me wrong, he is a great kid. He just knows what he wants, and a haircut ain’t it.

beware, this is a rambling post about the beauty of list-making and a plea for recipes involving powdered wasabi

I am the type of person who makes a list for absolutely everything. I don’t think I could function in a world without lists. I could make a list of the various lists that I keep and it would make me happy. Crossing things off is just so satisfying. I don’t know if it’s my natural tendency or if it’s directly caused by too many years in a corporate environment. Possibly both.

So a typical to-do list for me might read something like this:

• Do expense report
• Pay AmEx bill
• Get car washed
• Drop clothes off at Salvation Army
• Get groceries
• Call for haircut appt.

The beauty of this list is that guess what? It spawns another list! A grocery list. Now we’re just getting warmed up. I have often thought that it would be helpful to make a grocery list in the order that you would encounter the items in the store. However, I am not really that anal. I am surface anal. For example, my house looks clean, but whatever you do, DO NOT open a drawer or closet. The results will frighten you.

So where was I? Well, it has come to my attention that not everyone lives and dies by the list. Some people do things willy-nilly! Throwing caution to the wind! Doing errands in a haphazard and unorganized fashion! I could tell you about the time I sent my husband to the grocery store for some dinner items and he came home with a can of powdered wasabi. We were not having sushi for dinner. We were not having Japanese food for dinner, in fact. But to this day, there is still a can of powdered wasabi cooling its heels in my pantry. A never-used can of powdered wasabi.

This is what happens when a list is disregarded. Powdered wasabi happens. But I am of the school of thought that believes when life gives you powdered wasabi, you make powdered wasabi lemonade. So if you know of any recipes that use powdered wasabi, please write it up for me and leave it in the comments section. Just avoid any lemonade recipes because hello, that was figurative.

miscellany

People, people, people. It is Tuesday and therefore I am rubbing my hands together with glee just thinking about what vocal delights the American Idols have in store for me tonight. Then, I will be spending an hour with my semi-secret television boyfriend Dr. House afterward. Win-win.

Also, I have discovered a delicious new beverage: Aquafina sparkling water in lemon-lime. Tasty.

And in unrelated news, I am really hoping the metallic trend keeps up for a while. I have made a few investments in that arena (shoes, bags, etc.) and would be sorely disappointed if it suddenly went out of style. I have this annoying tendency to go completely overboard on something I like and it turns into somewhat of an obsession. But what happens is that I’ll be a complete naysayer on that thing for up to a year before I end up embracing it full-scale. For example, back in the late 90’s I thought it was so lame that cropped pants came back in style. A year later I ended up with about 800 pairs of cropped pants in my closet. And now, I can see the writing on the wall. Right now, I’m hating the straight leg skinny jean. I love, love, love the boot cut and think it’s so much more flattering – for me at least. But I can just see myself in April 2007 wearing skinny jeans nonstop, eating my words along the way. I don’t know why I do this. Evidently I am just a Late Adopter of fashion trends.

So if you’re wandering around the OC and see a girl in flared jeans and multiple metallic accessories, feel free to say hello.

i'm back...

So, it's been a while. Here's why:

Baby gets high fever for four days, ruining his first birthday party and forcing us to kick out assembled family members to take him to the clinic on Easter Sunday.

The next day, I leave home to spend the week in Ottawa for work-related meetings.

A hefty dose of mom guilt ensues.

Meanwhile, it turns out he has roseola.

Husband stays home from work for two days to take care of sick baby.

More guilt.
More guilt.
More guilt.

... and so on.

Anyway, I am home, baby is much better and I think everyone has recovered. But today... today is his one-year checkup, which means he will get stuck with multiple needles. It's always something.

I warned you that I wasn't a home biscuit

So I made the cupcakes. Everything was going well until I attempted to crack an egg into my KitchenAid mixer while it was running. I got the egg cracked and the innards went into the mixing bowl. Then, with a quick accidental slip, half the egg shell fell into the bowl and I watched in horror as the mixing apparatus crunched the shell in with the perfectly creamed butter and sugar. Ouch.

So I had to start that process over again. The second time, I just cracked the egg into a bowl first so that I could control the egg shell environment. And it was successful.

The cupcakes turned out okay, but a tad dry. And my icing may have been a little lumpy. I told the day care lady today to make sure the kids have something to drink while they eat them. I hate to think of a kid choking on an organic cupcake that was supposed to be good for him. I think that might even be actual irony.

look to the cupcake

Can I just tell y’all, I love to blog about nothing. My blog is becoming Seinfeld revisited. I mean, the contents of my refrigerator? Who isn’t fascinated by that? But honestly, it’s kind of refreshing not to put so much pressure on myself to come up with witty and interesting topics. I am in a phase where I would rather post more often, albeit less interestingly, so as to encourage myself to write more.

And in the spirit of blogging about nothing… tonight I will be having my traditional Tuesday evening. Which is to say, I will be sitting on my couch, eating leftovers and watching Fox. And I’m wondering, how exactly is American Idol going to do with the songs of Queen? Come to think of it, I can honestly only think of two Queen songs: Bohemian Rhapsody and We Are The Champions. And I can’t imagine either of those making a good AI performance.

**Begin Supermom alert**

Oh, and tonight I am also going to make cupcakes for Evan’s birthday party at day care. I am no home biscuit, but tonight I am going to attempt a crafty organic recipe to wow the taste buds of toddlers, who, like, won’t even notice or care! But I am nevertheless excited about my baking project. I just hope these turn out deliciously organic, not healthy-but-taste-that-way organic. Don’t worry, I won’t put carob in them. Geez I used to hate it anytime carob popped up in a snack as a supposed chocolate substitute. Blech.

**End Supermom alert**

Well, that’s today in Bearca’s world. Someday, perhaps, I will tell you where “Bearca” came from. Like when I REALLY have nothing to blog about. (so, probably soon)

beware the broccoli.

Well, after cleaning the fridge out countless times, I finally identified the culprit: broccoli. Yes, it is among the more “fragrant” vegetables, and no, I didn’t consider that it was the offending item because it was almost brand new. But when I opened the bag and took a whiff, I almost fell over in horror. I removed it from the house and my quality of life subsequently skyrocketed. I have temporarily banned broccoli in my fridge, at least until I can recover.

DEAR GOD this is a lame post. What interesting things are going on out in the world? Did you hear that Gwyneth named her new baby Moses? Hilarious. Maybe I should consider naming my next child Nebuchadnezzar.

Oh, and also I am reading the book The Tipping Point. Fascinating! Highly recommended.

grrrrrrrrrrrr

I am in the worst mood today, all because of an unidentified hideous smell emanating from my refrigerator. It is putting me over the edge. For two days, I have been cleaning out the refrigerator multiple times a day and yet every time I open that door, I am knocked over by the odor. I have thrown away almost all our food in search of the offending item, and am coming up with nothing. And now I'm at work, completely obsessing over it.

After googling terms like “awful refrigerator odor” and “refrigerator smells bad,” I have concluded that my next step will be to clean out the drain pan underneath the fridge.

Please let me know if you have a better idea, because I’m going nuts over here.

a little glimpse inside my brain right now.

1) Are we the only ones who haven’t done our taxes yet? Am starting to stress.

2) Many people have blogged about this already today but SON OF A BEESTING, what has happened to Kenny Rogers’ face? That must represent years of plastic surgery. Wow. American Idol, thank you for bringing this matter to our attention.

3) This weather really bites. Not so much a fan of the rain and cold.

4) I have an exciting new lip gloss discovery to share. Sally Hansen Diamond Lip Treatment. Yes, Sally Hansen as in the nail products. Weird? Maybe, but it’s good stuff and only like $4 at your local drugstore. I highly recommend the color Antique Bronze. It is neither antique nor bronze. It’s a good pinkish neutral. Discuss.

5) Have I ever professed my love for the show Prison Break in this forum? Also House. And 24. Am obsessed. I love me a good Fox drama (or 3).

6) My husband wants us to get a Mac. Should we? Hmmm.

random baby picture alert,

because DAMN, my kid is cute.

my standards, they are a changin’

Before Evan was born, I would have called it a great weekend if my husband and I had gone out to an awesome dinner with friends, gone away for the weekend and stayed at a fun hotel, spent one or more days at the beach, eaten leisurely breakfasts and/or read the paper cover to cover. How times have changed. I look back at the weekend we just had and honestly can’t remember a better one in recent memory. Here’s how it went down:

Friday night
Dave puts Evan to bed while I go grocery shopping. I get back, put away the groceries and feel like I accomplished something exciting because! Guess what! I don’t have to fight the crowds at the grocery store on Saturday afternoon! I am smug Supermom. Then, we proceed to watch an episode of House on DVD and fall asleep. Success.

Saturday
We get up, feed Evan and hang out for a while. He takes an hour and a half long nap. We read the paper and hang out, then clean the house. Husband vacuums house from top to bottom. Then, Evan wakes up and we take him to Toys R Us (the store that I formerly WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN CAUGHT DEAD IN). We buy him new toys, then go home to play with them. He naps again. During this time, I also take a nap. Then, we go to the mall. Evan gets more toys and Mommy buys cute new sweater (win-win). We go home, play with new toys again. Once he goes to bed, we eat dinner and watch two more episodes of House.

Sunday
We get up and go to church where I am supposed to work in the nursery. I spend the entire hour marveling at Evan’s new walking skills, which he is working very hard to perfect. Afterward, we go to Starbucks for delicious caffeinated beverages. Then Evan eats lunch and takes a nap. I then proceed to take another nap myself. When he wakes up, we play with his new toys then go to Costco. Stock up on bottled water and toilet paper. Feel very confident that if major emergency happens we will not dehydrate. We go home, Evan eats dinner, plays, goes on a walk with us and goes to bed.

The end.

To sum up: I TOOK TWO (2) NAPS. Unbelievable. Evan now knows how to walk and (bonus) for once doesn’t have an ear infection. He loves his new toys. Husband vacuumed entire house. I got my most hated chore (grocery shopping) done virtually before the weekend even started. What could be better?

2 adults + 1 baby + 1 small hotel room = TROUBLE.

We just came back from Santa Barbara (went for a friend’s wedding) and man are we exhausted. Two big people and one little person in a little hotel room is not a recipe for comfort and relaxation. Especially when we have to sleep in the same room as said little person and when you lay him down in his crib he pops up like a gopher to look for us because he KNOWS we are in the same room and are AWAKE so we should be ready to PLAY.

But related to this trip is something that I realized about being a parent. It really makes your own issues stand out. So for example, I have a bit of a problem with guilt. As an example: we were planning this trip and needed to find a babysitter to watch Evan for the wedding. I emailed a friend who lives in Santa Barbara asking her if she could recommend a babysitter. She responded by saying that they’d be happy to watch him for us. Then, I proceeded to feel extremely guilty, like they probably thought I was fishing for them to offer when in fact I wasn’t. Hello, way to totally overthink it. I would have offered the same if she had asked me and I wouldn’t have thought “Wow, that girl has so many ulterior motives. I bet she was just waiting for me to offer to babysit.”

Anyway. This is probably not that interesting but such is my life today. My life is filled with guilt and television shows that I DVR so I don’t have to watch the commercials. I think I just need to stop feeling guilty about dumb things and take things at face value. And I probably should stop using DVR as a verb.

it is so fun to be me right now.

“Why is so fun to be you, Bearca?” you may ask. Well, it’s because I’m sick. I’ve got a nice little cold going, festering in my head and threatening to invade the sinuses. (Thanks daycare! You rock!) “And why is that so great?” you ask again. It’s because for the first time in a looooong time, I can actually take good drugs to medicate myself. That’s right, no more lame-ass saline drops for me. Since I am no longer a) pregnant or b) nursing, I will be moving on to the hard stuff. Currently, it’s Sudafed. But as everyone knows, Sudafed is merely a gateway drug. I can’t wait to stop by my friendly neighborhood crack house (drugstore) and pick up some NyQuil. I will then retreat to the privacy of my home to do Nyquil shots alternating with squirts of Zicam down my throat.

first haircut

Note the expression of peaceful bliss on the boy's face upon having his hair cut and styled professionally, as befitting one of his stature.

Also note: this was not the facial expression Evan was wearing this weekend. Why? Because Mr. Fussy Whinerson was trying desperately to get his top teeth through his hugely swollen gums.

Unsuccessfully.

tres cosas

Tag, I'm it. Thanks to the lovely and witty Shannon of Shanntastic fame, I'm entering the world of the meme:

3 things you wish for (just for you)

1. To win the lottery and become independently wealthy so I could spend more time with my baby
   
2. A personal chef
   
3. An unlimited supply of new, free, uber cool purses
   

3 things you would do to/for yourself if there was no one to judge you (or if you had the guts to do it!)

1. Quit my job and become a doctor (although not sure a lifetime addiction to Discovery Health and live surgical procedures is enough to qualify me)
   
2. Move to a big city
   
3. Spend a year traveling
   

3 bad habits you have

1. Feeling guilty about everything
   
2. Worrying too much
   
3. Buying too many lip glosses (am an addict)
   

3 insecurities you feel

1. What if I'm not a good mom?
   
2. That I'm not a good writer
   
3. That people don't get my sarcasm and think I'm mean
   

3 talents/skills you wish you had

1. Mad public speaking skillz
   
2. Singing - what can I say, I watch a bit too much American Idol
   
3. The ability to be the life of the party (am semi-introverted but hate that about myself)
   

3 things that you would do if you had more time

1. Read
2. Read
3. Read

3 things that bring you peace/relaxation

1. Long relaxing dinners
   
2. A super hot bath
   
3. Being near the ocean
   

3 things that spark your creativity

1. Reading
2. Listening to all kinds of music
3. Blogging
   

Okay! That was fun. Now, I'm going to tag Poka Bean, Newlywife and Whoorl.

here i am

Here I am! Back for my bi-weekly post! Is that right? Does bi-weekly mean every two weeks? Because if it means twice a week, that would quite obviously be wrong.

I digress.

The real reason I am writing is to ask you folks a question. Is it not the Unwritten Law of ATM-Going that you stay several paces behind the person currently using the ATM, so as not to frighten them and cause them to fear for their money or their lives?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Well, the guy at the ATM yesterday had apparently not gotten the message. (You! The guy at the Union Bank on the corner of Oso and La Paz yesterday at 12:15 pm!) There I was, innocently transacting my business, and he sidles up next to me, lifts up the envelope dispenser thing OF THE ATM I WAS CURRENTLY USING and fishes out an envelope. And I am not kidding when I say that he sidled. It was a sneaky maneuver.

I was aghast! I was alarmed! So the obvious thing to do was to avoid all eye contact, grab my cash and flee to the safety of my car. But with my ATM innocence sadly left behind.

I beg of you, never again take proper ATM etiquette for granted. It could vanish at any time.

the goat is loose

I heard someone on TV the other day use the word (and I use the term “word” loosely here) “escapegoat.” ESCAPEGOAT. Being unfamiliar with the term, I wondered: what exactly is an escapegoat? In case you don’t know what it is, I will use it in a sentence for you here:

“I am using this person as an escapegoat for my hatred of bad grammar and the abuse of the English language.”

yes, it's true, i'm a valentine's day grinch.

And upon confessing as much to my sister today, I received the following email from her:

"oh bearca, i am so sad that YOU ARE ONE OF THEM. a valentine's day grinch. if i hear ONE MORE PERSON go on about how valentine's day was invented by marketers and money grubbers who want to rake us over the coals under the guise of love and romance i am going to PUKE.

GET IN THE FREAKING SPIRIT! i think this holiday is so fun."

Ain't nothing better on Valentine's Day than getting berated by the ones you love!

stickin’ it to the man

The other night, my husband and I were able to watch three hours of television in only two hours. “Impossible!” you say. No, my pretties, it is not only possible, it is revolutionary.

And it is achievable through the miracle of Tivo. Or DVR, like we have.

On Monday night, Dave and I were talking about what to watch vs. what to record. Should we watch Skating with Celebrities live, and record King of Queens and How I Met Your Mother? Should we do the opposite? Then watch 24 live? Then, the lightbulb went on over his head.

He said, “I know how we can do it. At 8:00 we can watch King of Queens live, while recording Skating with Celebrities. Then, at 8:30 we begin watching the recorded Skating with Celebs, fast forwarding through the commercials, while we record How I Met Your Mother. After that, we watch the recorded How I Met Your Mother, while recording 24 – and then we watch that. Then, we will have watched all of it in the same night, without staying up too much past the ACTUAL end of 24.”

Sounds complicated, no? So at the beginning, I scoffed.

Then I thought about it again. And I realized that it might be pure television genius.

I turned to him and said, “Now if we do this, there’s no going back. We will not have the luxury of commercial breaks. We must decide that there will be no bathroom breaks, no getting up to get snacks, just a determined focus on the goal at hand.”

He agreed. And let me tell you, it was a magical night. We followed the plan. We watched it all. And we were finished at 10:06 p.m.

Truly life-changing.

vomit-free since 2003

Throwing up is the worst. I hate it and always have. Doesn’t everyone? So after reading A Million Little Pieces recently, I was horrified by how James Frey threw up every day in rehab. (I’m going to go ahead and believe that part was true, so work with me here.) Also, I saw the movie Less Than Zero at age 12 and had the same reaction. It wasn’t that Robert Downey Jr. died at the end, or that he became a male prostitute – it was the scene where he spent all night throwing up in Jami Gertz’s apartment. That scene alone made me think, sheesh, I’m gonna stay the hell away from anything that makes me barf all the time. Duh!

So perhaps we’ve approached keeping kids off drugs entirely the wrong way in this country. We shouldn’t focus on “just say no,” or “this is your brain on drugs.” So 80’s! Let’s embrace vomiting as the deterrent it is. Can’t we just have an entire ad campaign around the theme of Daily Vomiting and say goodbye to this problem once and for all?

Why today rocks, by Bearca.

Because I just used the word “dadgum” in a sentence. At work.

Next I will be putting old appliances in my front yard (look out, Aliso Viejo!) and attending Nascar events.

I am so awesome right now.

the cuteness, it is ridiculous

Dear Evan,
You are nine months old today. To celebrate, we thought we'd take you to the pediatrician for a checkup. And then maybe feed you some Cheerios and sweet potatoes for dinner. And then give you a bath. Well, come to think of it, today is really about the same as any other day.

I did want to say that it's been great having you around for the last nine months. You really are a kick in the pants most of the time. But if you could go ahead and get those top teeth you've been working on, that'd be great. Right on.

Love,
Mom

the sweater data sheet

Believe it or not, the following post was written entirely without the aid of the margaritas that Undercover Celebrity suggested.

One time, when I used to work in a cubicle (now I am very important and have my own office), I sat near a girl we’ll call Susan. Susan would always complain about how cold it was in the office. Which it was, but somehow the rest of us figured out how to layer clothing appropriately so as not to suffer on a daily basis. This basic task seemed to escape her.

Now in the technology marketing world that I inhabit from 9 am to 5 pm Monday through Friday, my coworkers and I can often be found writing something known as a data sheet. A data sheet is exactly what it sounds like – a piece of paper containing the selling points of whatever product it is intended to promote. In the data sheet writing world, it’s all about crafting powerful, convincing prose in the form of bullet points. Preferably beginning with “action words,” or as the rest of the world calls them, verbs.

Once my co-workers and I realized that Susan’s complaints were becoming a trend, we would always talk behind her back. Our offhand “why doesn’t she just put on a sweater already, dammit” comments then evolved for our own amusement into an imagined piece of marketing material that came to be known as the Sweater Data Sheet. As the creative marketing professionals we are, we began compiling bullet points about the features and benefits of sweaters that supported our thesis that simply adding a sweater to her daily wardrobe could eliminate this problem. Because people, a sweater is not just a product – it’s a solution.

Before long, brainstorming content for the sweater data sheet became a frequent activity for us. We would email each other new content back and forth, such as:

• Traps air next to your skin, ensuring that body heat does not evaporate
• Minimizes shivering
• Can be worn open or closed, depending on desired amount of heat retention (cardigan models only)
• Available in multiple colors and fabrics

And so on. The Sweater Data Sheet took on a life of its own. There were diagrams with arrows and callouts. There were revisions. And anytime someone complained of being cold in a meeting, we were unable to look at each other for fear of dissolving into a fit of unprofessional giggles.

One of two things is happening as you are reading this. Either you are thinking “Oh Lord, this girl has gone off the deep end,” or you are recalling to yourself an inside office joke that amused you, perhaps excessively. If the latter is true, please share.

married white female seeks inspiring blog topics to write about

So if you haven’t noticed, it’s a new year! 2006 even! And therefore I decided I was going to get all New Year’s resolution-y on myself and update my blog, like, all the time!

And here it is, January 10 and as you can see it’s only my third post of the new year.

Ugh.

You see, the problem I’m having is that I am really, truly uninspired right now. I literally cannot think of anything to say. I have not read any interesting books lately, been to any awesome concerts, nor do I have any wildly entertaining work anecdotes to share. I also feel that I’ve really exhausted my ability to make baby poop fun and fascinating. I’m sure you agree.

What’s a girl to do?

I’ve settled into this lifestyle of going to work, picking up Evan from daycare, playing with him, feeding him and putting him to bed. After that, next on my agenda: having dinner, talking to my husband and watching too damn much television. Hardly the stuff that people flock to your site to devour. Except some people do a great job of making that type of thing readable! Not sure why, I can't seem to get on board.

So I need some inspiration. Please, my three to four loyal blog readers, put on your thinking caps and leave me some comments to help me get back on track here. Otherwise, I betcha you’ll be hearing about baby poop in no time flat. Save us all from this fate.

said to me the other day:

"Jeans are the new black pants."

True, no?

Sign o' the times

For those of you on your edge of your seats wondering what I did for New Year’s:

Let’s see… we put Evan to bed around 6:30 pm so we could start the wild party. Or, because he was sick and needed some extra sleep. Once he was fast asleep, I made meatloaf for dinner. Can you stand it? Nothing says “Happy New Year” more than whipping up a delicious batch of meatloaf! Then, we sat on the couch. Me, reading. My husband, doing some of the sudoku puzzles that he got in his stocking. Once we were done with that, we ordered March of the Penguins on Cox On Demand, watched approximately half of it and then proceeded to fall asleep on the couch.

So… what’s the sitch here? Do I need to make more of a concerted effort to celebrate major holidays such as New Year’s Eve? Do I simply need to drink more? Or, is this just kinda the way things are going to be from here on out? Which I’d be totally okay with, as I am quite the homebody to begin with and all.

Holiday wrap-up

Miles driven in order to visit in-laws: approx. 900

Helpings of stuffing eaten: infinite

Meals consumed at McDonald’s in the last week: 4

Articles of baby clothing sacrificed to road trip poop incidents: 1 pair gray socks, disposed of in a gas station trash can in Prunedale, CA (coincidence? I think not.)

Number of potentially inflammatory conversations accidentally had in room with baby monitor: 1

Dollars’ worth of Nordstrom gift certificates received: $180 (!)

Plans for New Year’s Eve: 0

hot vs. not

Well geez, people, looks like I’m having a pretty good week.

What’s Hot:

• Having all my gifts bought/wrapped/shipped
• Getting my Christmas cards in the mail
• Taking Friday off in order to get a long-overdue haircut and highlights
• Having paid our property taxes and not having to worry about that for another year
• The awesome new velvety pants my husband got me at J Crew last night
• Bacon

What’s Not:

• Not being able to find the Napoleon Dynamite talking pen that I was going to put in my dad’s Christmas stocking (so Dad, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry you’ll be missing out on the magic)

in which man boobs are acceptable, and perhaps even encouraged

the wave

Sometimes I feel like this blog is an outlet for my annoyances about motherhood. All the complaining about post-baby hair loss and terrible memory (mine), and the constant pooping (his) must make me sound an ungrateful wench. Which, let’s face it, sometimes I am. But sometimes I sit back and reflect on how I feel like I’m the luckiest person in the world.

Case in point: Evan recently learned how to wave. For the last few days, we’ve been sitting there and waving our arms frantically, saying “hi!” and “bye bye!” in those ridiculously chirpy tones that new parents innately use. Recently, during this embarrassing charade, he lifted up his arm and flopped it up and down a couple of times. I think he realized immediately that he was on to something, because we erupted into cheers and applause as if he had just won the Nobel Peace Prize, found a cure for cancer or even just emptied his own Diaper Champ. He broke into a huge grin and began flapping that arm up and down some more. Now, after a little practice, it takes only one or two loud “bye-byes” and a couple of small waves on our part to get him going.

I have no idea if a baby’s first wave is that much of an emotional event for other parents, but I was dumbfounded. It struck me that I am raising a real live human being here. He’s no longer a little blob. He is an ACTUAL PERSON who is learning how to COMMUNICATE. This parenting thing is really amazing, but is an unbelievable responsibility. I felt pure joy when I saw that wave. But afterward, it mixed with a little bit of fear, because now I have to be a good example. He is watching what I do and mirroring it. Now I don’t just have to take care of his basic physical needs. I also have to do my best not to screw him up! It really is an awesome responsibility.

But it is a responsibility that comes with so many rewards. People tell you about this before you have kids, but it’s hard to really get it. I know that I really truly did not understand. I honestly never thought seeing a little hand bobbing up and down would make my eyes well up with tears. It did, and for the first time made me feel like a real parent.

Although this real parent thinks it would rock if he could empty the Diaper Champ just once.

lethal combination

Note to self:

Please keep in mind that feeding the baby pears and barley cereal at the same time is a bad idea. The pooping, it has only just begun to let up.

Over & out.

provided by the management for my what?

Have you ever noticed that the packaging for toilet seat covers always bears the slogan “Provided by the Management for Your Protection”? I would just like to be the first to give a big hearty shout-out to The Management for protecting my nether region. Really, it’s touching to know they care. If they cared that much, you’d think they’d give me a personal escort to walk me out to my car every night, or maybe they could warm up the temperature a bit so I don’t have to drink a constant supply of calorie-laden hot chocolate in order to stay warm in the frigid zone that is my office. But who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Late-onset pregnancy brain…

… or early-onset Alzheimer’s disease? It could be either. As an example, let me share a couple of recent conversations that took place between my husband and I.

Conversation #1
Me: “What is the best way to get to the car dealership to have my car serviced? Should I take the freeway?”
Him: “No, I think you should go to Moulton and then turn right on Lake Forest.”
Me: “Oh, never mind, I figured it out. I can just take Moulton all the way to Lake Forest and turn right.”
Him: “Did you not just hear me say that?”
Me: “Huh?”

Conversation #2
Okay, so I had another incident in mind, but I don’t even remember it now.

I better go and find me some ginkgo biloba.

family photo

Here we are on our vacation to Cabo. You'll note we are smiling. That, of course, is because this was taken BEFORE the heinous poop incident took place!

Am beginning to finally recover from the trauma...

if only it were a vacation from poop

I just got back from a fabulous family vacation in Cabo. Loved it. Warm days, beautiful clear water, delicious margaritas and gosh dang it, the best freaking guacamole I have ever tasted. The entire trip was about me finding new and innovative ways to include guacamole in my meals. Oh, who are we kidding, they were not new and innovative at all. It was more like “bring me some more chips” and “oh good, there’s a fish taco I can dip in guacamole.”

But anyway, it was truly a great trip. There is only one incident marring the lovely surface of this vacation. And it is an ugly one. It involves a diaper (Evan’s, not mine) that was horrifically dirtied the minute, and I actually do mean the actual minute, we sat down in the airplane to go home yesterday. So there I sat, holding my super stinky baby on my lap until the captain turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. Safety first! I merrily walked him down to the lavatory thinking we’d just flip down the little changing table, plop him down onto it and whisk off the offending diaper.

But NO. there was no changing table to be had and the not very helpful flight attendant refused to let me use the open space near the lavatory. Instead, he handed me a blanket and told me to change him on top of the toilet, with the lid down. I was game for it until I went in and discovered that America West has the TINIEST airplane bathrooms I have ever seen. There was barely enough room for me, let alone the squirming poopy wonder.

Not having another choice, I figured I’d just go for it and try to set a record for the fastest diaper change in history. But it was not to be.

The makeshift changing table, aka the toilet lid, was way too small. His head hung off the back while his feet kicked wildly. Once the pants were off the twisting and shrieking started. Then, once the diaper was off it was a race against time to remove all traces of poop while the twisting and shrieking continued. At one point the situation deteriorated into what can only be described as a flailing poop fling fest. I frantically pulled out wipes, dabbed and swiped at him as best I could but what can I say, there were casualties.

Like the sleeve of my shirt, for example, and the spots of poop that were probably left on various surfaces after I could no longer take the carnage and vacated the lavatory. I’m pretty sure I dropped an f-bomb in there, and those of you who know me know it’s extremely out of character.

On behalf of all parents everywhere, I blame America West. Any flight that is more than an hour long must have a proper facility to change a diaper. Otherwise, everyone suffers. Like any passenger on flight 6301 who visited the rear right-hand lavatory after we were done in there.

amendment

My aforementioned husband has filed a complaint about my last post and demanded a retraction. Apparently he feels that it made him look like a bad cook who prepares only Top Ramen and Hamburger Helper. My point was, if the cooking is left to ME, we eat Top Ramen and Hamburger Helper (unless it is Saturday afternoon, where he feels free to whip up a double batch of the Ramen. Don’t deny it!). However, to be fair, when HE cooks, we eat things like pasta with delicious homemade tomato sauce, broiled salmon with brown rice and other yummy fare.

So, I’ll shout it from the rooftops: NOT ONLY does he refuse to let us starve, but he selects delicious and nutritious entrees and cooks them up with a smile.

He’s a regular Martha Stewart.

Except that Martha probably wouldn’t leave her socks on the floor right next to the laundry hamper.

OK, so I suck at the blogging.

My newfangled working-mom lifestyle hasn't left me much time for two major activities: blogging and working out. Oh, who are we kidding, I didn't work out that much before, but now I have a great excuse. HELLO, I'm a working mother. When could I possibly work out? And don't tell me to get up any earlier. Ain't happenin.

I just think it sounds so weird to have the "working mom" title. It sounds to me like I've suddenly become a 40-year old woman, and yet I still feel like I JUST got out of college. And speaking of college (and I promise you will see these two things eventually relate), I also realized that I don't really have time for cooking either. (Hmmm, see above note about working out - the same thing applies here.) Thank God I have a fantastic spouse who likes to cook and makes sure we don't starve. But right now, not starving is the operative word. In fact, the last time we went to the grocery store we bought two things I haven't regularly consumed since college (see, I told you there's a connection!) -- Top Ramen and Hamburger Helper. I crap you not.

I'm not proud of it, but it happened. It's not healthy, but as my mother says: "It will sustain life."

Over & out for now, I swear I will try to update more often...

a touch of the OCD

I’m not sure why, but anytime I walk up and start waiting for an elevator to arrive, I feel compelled to push the up or down button – even if there is already someone waiting there and the appropriate button is already illuminated. Why is that? I mean, I can see that the elevator is coming, so why do I feel like I have to push it again?

I also push the “Walk” button at a crosswalk multiple times, as though it will make the sign say “Walk” any faster. I guess I just need to jaywalk more.

somebody, please stop me from yelling "IT'S A BREAST PUMP!"

So the working mom thing is actually going swimmingly. I dropped him off at day care and did not cry a single tear. (And then proceeded to feel exceedingly guilty: I mean, am I not the World's Worst Mother for NOT crying buckets of tears upon separating myself from my baby all day???") Anyway, I digress.

The only complication is that I am not only a working mom, I'm a still-nursing working mom. Which means that I lug around not just my laptop, purse, and the baby's day care bag, but also a pseudo-laptop-looking bag that contains my breast pump, along with an attractive little matching lunchboxy bag with an ice pack in which you store the milk. So, my shoulders are getting rather sore carrying all this gear around. But again, I digress.

It's funny, at first I though I'd be super discreet about the pumping thing. And I am, for the most part, but sometimes I pick up the pump and the lunch box bag, walk to the elevator and head up to the 6th floor where our company's Lactation Lounge is stationed. (And by Lactation Lounge, I mean a depressing, empty white office with individual sheets of 8 1/2" x 11" printer paper taped to the window. You know, for privacy. No one else calls it that; I have just nicknamed it the Lactation Lounge to make myself feel better.)

Digression.

Anyway, so while I'm lugging my dairy supplies around I always wonder which of the zillions of people I pass on the way to the Lounge know where I'm going. Some of the women, I'm sure, are onto me. But the clueless ones will smile and say "what brings you to our neck of the woods?" and I usually answer something like "just visiting!" or another perky inane comment. I fight the urge to say "Actually, I'm going into an empty office to take off my shirt, attach my nipples to this here machine and milk myself like a cow. Any questions?"

I have no idea why I feel this weird compunction to be so honest about it. I am such a private person in normal life and I don't really feel the desire to shock anyone. Maybe I just don't care anymore. I have experienced total desensitization.

BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS. See, it doesn't bother me at all. That's how I roll.

tomorrow

Tomorrow, I go back to work after four and a half months being at home.

Tomorrow, I won't get to take a lovely, mid-day leisurely walk pushing Evan in the stroller.

Tomorrow, I will get to speak regular English to grown-ups, instead of baby talk to a four-month old. (but I'm not sure it's better.)

Tomorrow, my time will neither belong to me or to my baby.

Tomorrow, I will probably wonder what I was thinking in coming back.

Tomorrow, I will wear waterproof mascara.

Tomorrow, I find out if I can hack this working mom gig.

Wish me luck.

cinnamon takes a back seat to no babka

Okay okay! I like Kelly Clarkson. There, I said it.

It's like that episode of Seinfeld, the one with the black & white cookie. Jerry and Elaine are sitting in a bakery discussing cinnamon vs. chocolate babka. Elaine questions the legitimacy of cinnamon babka and Jerry vigorously defends it! He says something to the effect of "Anytime you ask someone 'what makes this so delicious?', the answer invariably comes back 'CINNAMON'."

This exactly parallels my recent radio-listening experience. Every day I find myself in my car, listening to the radio and wondering, "who sings this catchy little ditty?" and the answer, invariably, comes back "KELLY CLARKSON."

Every single time.

oops, I did it again

Have you ever had a random conversation with someone that went so poorly that you just wanted to run away? I was at the mall today, and ran into this girl that I hardly knew from college. I think she and I had the same major and were in a couple of classes together, but I am 100% positive I wouldn't have known who she was if she hadn't come up to me and said something. Here's a little flavor for how the conversation went down:

Background: the Nordstrom coffee bar, where I was waiting for the illicit cookies & cream frappucino thingy that I ordered at 10:30 am. (I confess! I couldn't help myself.)

Girl I Barely Knew in College: "I know you. Didn't you go to Westmont?"
Me: "Yes."
GIBKIC: "Rebecca, right?"
Me: "Yeah. Is your name Shelby?"*
GIBKIC: "Yes. "
Me: "Wow, you have such a good memory! I never would have recognized you."**
GIBKIC: (with an awkward smile) "How old is your baby?"
Me: "He'll be four months old next week. How old is your daughter? (referring to the toddler she was pushing around in a stroller)
GIBKIC: "HE is almost two."***
Me: "Well, it was nice running into you! Have a great week!"

*Name has been changed to protect the innocent.

**Footnote on embarrassing comment #1: Why did I even say that? Why did I just blurt out the fact that I clearly think she is the most forgettable person I have ever come across? DUH. Seriously, it's time I got some tact.

***Footnote on embarrassing comment #2: In my defense, that kid needed a haircut, STAT. Long blonde femmy hair = me automatically assuming it's a girl. Maybe not as bad as asking someone who's not pregnant when they are due, but still... oops.

Here's hoping it's another ten years until I run into HER again.

apparently

Without being consciously aware of it, I know all the words to Guns 'n Roses "Sweet Child O' Mine." I had no idea. I discovered this interesting tidbit 15 minutes ago in the car, while I was serenading my four-month old by singing along with the radio.

I wonder what other song lyrics are lurking inside my brain? And more importantly, what other things have I forgotten because said lyrics are taking up space in there?

an interview with kiki

Allrighty then, the interview game continues. These questions are from Kiki:

1. Which celebrity do you most resemble or have been told you look like?
Ever since The OC came on, I've been told repeatedly that I look just like Seth Cohen's mom. You know, Kirsten? The one who became an alcoholic? I personally don't think I look much like her, but you be the judge (FYI, that's me on the left):

On another note, I've been wondering... should I cut bangs? Anyone reading this please vote by leaving a comment. But I digress.

2. Would you rather it always be daytime or always be nightime? Why?
I would love it if it were always daytime. I'm not much of a night owl (remember, nothing makes me happier than going to bed at 9:00!) and I think it would get pretty depressing if it was dark all day long. The one drawback I can think of regarding permanent daytime is that I would have to come up with another excuse for not going running. "It's dark out" would be rendered useless.

3. What happened in your last dream?
I have no idea -- I hardly ever remember my dreams. The weirdest dream I can ever remember is that one time, years ago, I dreamed that an entire family that I knew had died in a car accident. (Morbid, I know.) After I woke up, for almost an entire day I actually thought they were gone. Then, my mom mentioned someone from that family was coming over. I was aghast that they were still alive, but really happy.

4. Would you rather have ginormous feet or ginormous hands?
DEFINITELY ginormous feet. They would be less noticeable, don't you think? Only because I don't typically gesticulate with my feet in conversation.

5. Shag, Marry, Push off a Cliff:
Johnny Knoxville, Sean William Scott, & Jessica Simpson. (Dukes of Hazzard theme)
Okay, this one is a piece of cake.
Shag: Johnny Knoxville.
Marry: Jessica Simpson (not because of any latent lesbian tendencies, but rather that if we were married I would have access to all of her awesome clothes, shoes and purses! It would almost be irresponsible NOT to pick her.)
Push off a cliff: Sean William Scott. Sorry Stifler.

_____________________________________________________
Want to play?
The Official Interview Game Rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying “interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person’s will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

things that make me happy right now.

1. Making quesadillas in my toaster oven. I believe that quesadillas now outrank cinnamon toast on my list of favorite everyday snacks.

2. The progress of my teeth-whitening project using the GoSmile system. I know I've already discussed my fondness for my Sonicare toothbrush, so I won't go there again, but this is a close second. (Am currently v. obsessed with dental health and whiteness.)

3. Ron Burgundy's exclamations in the movie Anchorman, including:
"Great Oden's raven!"
"Uncle Jonathan's corncob pipe!"
"Hot pot of coffee!"
...et cetera.

4. Watching Entourage. Good vicarious fun. Also, watching Dawson's Creek reruns on TBS. Reminds me of the day when Katie Holmes was a regular annoying actress instead of Scientology's puppet.

5. Going to bed @ 9 pm.

6. An email my husband sent me this morning in which he admitted narrowly avoiding a tragic misspelling. Apparently, he signs off his work email with "Regards" or "Best Regards," but had inadvertently replaced the "g" with a "t" in an email he composed this morning. He caught it in time, but is it wrong for me to almost wish he hadn't? Just to see what would happen. Still laughing.

I'm sure there are more but I'm not feeling especially creative right now. Perhaps will add more later. Peace out homies.

because mommy was poking him in the eye with a sharp stick

... or at least that's what my husband is telling people.

reeking of beer at 10:00 am

Let me give you all some advice: when you load your groceries into the back of your SUV, please take a lesson from me and DO NOT put your two six-packs of Dos Equis in last. If you do, you will likely open the back of your SUV to unload your groceries, and instead of feeling calm and peaceful and good about yourself because you have completed the odious task of grocery shopping, you will be met with a shopping bag full of beer crashing down onto the driveway beneath you, making an infernal mess complete with broken glass and foaming beer EVERYWHERE.

But as an added bonus, this will leave you smelling like a brewery, which can be fun gossip fodder for your neighbors.

Good times!

supersonic

Is it just me, or is the Sonicare toothbrush the greatest invention ever? I may be going bald with postpartum hair loss but BY GOD am I going to have an impressive set of shiny, white, periodontal disease-free chompers.

mother nature, she is a vengeful beeotch

It's not enough that my stomach is permanently saggy, that I won't see the benefit of a full night's sleep for the next 18 years, and that seeing movies has become a distant memory...

Now my hair is falling out by the handful.

Motherhood rocks!

move over, darvocet

I have a new drug of choice: swaddling. Yep, when our baby is swaddled, he easily sleeps eight hours at night and takes two-hour naps. When he's not swaddled, he wakes himself up screaming after 45 minutes. In fact, I just tried putting him down for a nap unswaddled to see what would happen. Predictably, he woke up flailing and wailing. He still seemed tired, so I swaddled him and he went instantly back to sleep. The minute I put his arms in the blanket, his eyes just melted closed and he relaxed immediately.

So what's the problem? I'm terrified to stop swaddling him. I'm also terrified to continue, because what if he needs to be swaddled forever? I keep picturing him on his first night away at college, asking his freshman roommate to wrap him up in blankets.

I'm sure I'm worrying about nothing -- I mean, he's only three months old -- but that's what new moms do. I guess at this point, he needs his sleep. I know I do.

My name is Rebecca, and I'm a swaddle-aholic.

sharp dresser

Isn't it hilarious when babies wear adult-ish clothes? Here, my son Evan shows his preppy side in a snappy white polo shirt for his Aunt Babby's wedding. He's clearly pleased with the look.

making up is hard to do

Hypothetically speaking: if you were in your sister's wedding recently, had spent 15 minutes putting on makeup for the occasion, and then were asked by the makeup artist "Are you done with your makeup?" Then, when you answered "Um, I guess," the makeup artist replied with "Would you mind if I highlighted you a little?"

... then you might come to the conclusion that wow, after 20 or so years of wearing makeup, that you don't really know what you're doing. Okay, I confess, this happened to me. To make things worse, the "highlighting" session of which she spoke took longer than my original attempt at applying it myself. After she was done, I didn't feel like myself. Well, I felt like myself, but with a face full of spackle. Shimmery spackle at that.

Ah well. I suppose I've never claimed that I was good at putting on makeup in the first place. (Unlike a good friend of mine, who believes that putting lip liner on without a mirror is her spiritual gift.) I'm good at other important things, like watching reality television and buying shoes.

maternity leave smells like peaches.

I will confess: I have become bored with my so-called project plan of blogging topics. Maybe I have ADD, I'm really not sure. So, I'm just going to talk about something else. Deal with it.

You know how you can smell something familiar and instantly and nostalgically be reminded of a place, time, person or event in your life? Well, as I'm starting to see my maternity leave draw to a close, I am realizing that anytime I smell peaches I will remember my eighteen weeks sans work fondly. Yes, I realize this sounds kinda weird. Allow me to explain.

A few days after the baby was born I was shopping at Trader Joe's. I ended up buying this peach-scented lotion (specifically, Kiss My Face Peaches & Cream Moisturizer) and have been slathering it all over myself on a daily basis ever since. I'm not usually a big fruit-scented lotion kind of gal, but this is good stuff. It smells yummy without being overly sweet. So anyway, after many weeks of peachy lotion use, I have already come to associate the scent with leisurely walks, daily viewing of Ellen, frequent cinnamon toast consumption and many hours spent grinning at the baby and speaking to him in a ridiculously high-pitched voice in an attempt to make him smile.

I know I have to go back to work soon. I'm not totally dreading it, although I know it will be really hard at first. Somehow, though, it's comforting that one whiff of the delicious lotion will transport me back to the summer of 2005 -- the summer my life changed forever.

It was a peach.

sleep when the baby sleeps? what a freakin' crock.

Motherhood, although generally fantastic, involves a level of sleep deprivation that would be difficult for most mortals to stomach. But when you are someone like me who absolutely NEEDS and MUST HAVE her 8-9 hours of sleep per night, motherhood can be a beeotch with a capital B.

People always tell you "Sleep when the baby sleeps." With few exceptions, I haven't been able to do this successfully. And trust me, I've tried. But the minute I lie down and try to catch some shut-eye, I begin thinking about one or more of the following items:

1) The baby will wake up any minute.
2) The gigantic pileup of dirty dishes in the sink.
3) The equally gigantic pileup of dirty laundry.
4) The numerous phone calls I need to make and/or return.
5) I wonder what's on Ellen this afternoon?
6) Did Katie Holmes really convert to Scientology?

... and so on. However, amazingly, I have learned to function on a serious sleep deficit (in no small part due to the two nectars of the gods, coffee and Diet Coke). As I've said before, it's all about lowering your standards.

So now, I've pretty much given up on napping. I spend my napless days reading Us Weekly magazine, filing my nails, bidding on random eBay auctions, perusing sale items at the Gap online and watching Ellen -- not doing the dishes or the laundry.

And you know, it's almost as fun as sleep.

Almost.

we interrupt our regularly scheduled program: an interview with undercover celebrity

Allow me to deviate from the project plan I laid out two posts ago so I can join the interview game and answer the questions posed to me by Undercover Celebrity.

Question 1: What’s the worst/most humiliating job you’ve ever had?
This is easily answered by simply stating the name of the store in which I worked in high school: H&H Tack and Feed. I was a cashier at said establishment, and spent my time a) selling alfalfa to all the rich people who owned horses, and b) trying on various pairs of Wranglers and cowboy boots with my co-workers. (For fun. Not to actually purchase. When you work at a store like H&H Tack and Feed, you must maintain a sense of humor at all times).

Now although I would give H&H the title of worst job, I have to add an honorable mention. My first job out of college was as a technical writer at a medical device company. And when I say "medical device," I really mean breast implants. At this job, I wrote manufacturing procedures and marketing materials for all our various implants. The pro of this job is that I am now quite adept at recognizing implants when I see them. The con was that I was forced to spend a lot of time cashing my paychecks at the bank they were drawn on, then going to my own bank to deposit the cash in my account. This company was notorious for giving employees bad checks, in turn causing them to bounce any checks they wrote.

Question 2: Would you rather be 4-feet tall or 8-feet tall? Why?
Definitely 4 feet tall. Why, you ask? Because "little people" totally have their own culture and I could go to conventions with them and meet other people my size. Frankly, I'm not sure what support system exists for 8-foot-tall people. It's got to be sketchy at best.

Question 3: Shove. Marry. Push-off a cliff. (please place the following men into a category) Balky Bartokamus. Mork. Kramer.
Do you mean Shag/Marry/Push off a cliff? If so, here's my order:
Shag - Kramer. (Just get it over with and forget it ever happened.)
Marry - Balky Bartokamus. (Somewhat clueless, but so good-hearted. You just know he'd bend over backwards to treat you right.)
Push off a cliff - Mork. (Too zany, and we don't have enough in common with him being from Ork.)
I'm sure these answers will cause some sort of controversy. My answers to this game are usually fodder for mockery. For example, when given the chance to marry Yoda or E.T., I chose Yoda. Hello, he's like the wisest being on earth! Although I was roundly criticized for this choice, I stand by it to this day.

Question 4: What did you want to be when you grew up?
Definitely a veterinarian. And somehow, I ended up in marketing. I guess they have more in common than meets the eye, since some of the people I work with remind me of animals.

Question 5: What was the meanest thing you did to your sister whilst still a child?
Ooh, good one! I'm sure there were many, but the first one that jumps to mind is that I told her that if she cut the tail off her My Little Pony, it would grow back. She cut it. It didn't grow back. And I'm still not sure she's forgiven me.

------------------------------------------------

Want to play?
The Official Interview Game Rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Evan 

MBF = BFF

As promised, here is the first installment in my project plan of blogging topics, namely "How I actually came to own a pillow called 'My Brest Friend,' and how said pillow has made my life immeasurably easier."

The first thing I need to get off my chest (ironic, no?) is that I am simply not the sort of person who would purchase a product with the ridiculous and humiliating name of "My Brest Friend." Perhaps it's the marketing professional in me, or perhaps it's just that I don't like to reward the person or company who came up with such a name by giving them my hard-earned cash.

But as I've learned after having a child, you must lower your standards. For example: Four hours of continuous sleep? Heaven! Taking a shower every day? The ultimate indulgence. Remembering to eat lunch? A bonus.

So once Evan was born, I wondered how exactly the human race had sustained itself for centuries when breastfeeding is so damn hard. Really. Here's an illustration to give you an idea of the agony I endured. I honestly would go through childbirth ten more times (with an epidural, of course) before experiencing the pain of the first five weeks of nursing my son. I am talking extreme pain, and this from a person who I SWEAR is not a wimp. In fact, I've always prided myself on my high pain tolerance. However, I was popping the Darvocet they gave me in the hospital two at a time. When I went to refill my prescription, a note that said "High Dose Alert" popped up on the pharmacist's screen -- meaning they could tell that I had been taking the maximum dose because of how quickly I had returned for the refill! I'm pretty sure that was the low point.

So after a couple of weeks of cracking, bleeding, crying and picturing myself hooked on painkillers like Jack Osbourne and Rush Limbaugh, I finally consulted a lactation consultant. She took one look at me and pronounced my condition "severe nipple damage." That was another low point, yes. But this was the beautiful day that I met my new Brest Friend.

Yes, it's true. The MBF pillow, however silly the name, became my knight in shining armor. Just to give you an idea of the mechanics, you fasten the pillow around you, and it positions the baby perfectly and helps you avoid a "bad latch-on," as they say. One use and I was hooked. You strap it on and feel a little bit like a blackjack dealer. Actually, you could cover it with green felt and use it as a blackjack table for a Halloween costume. (So Martha Stewart of me.) Future Halloween costume or no, the MBF was worth every penny, and I will shout its praises from the rooftops forever and ever, amen.

So, what did I learn from my experience? First of all, the first few weeks of motherhood are simply about survival, because you have to throw quality of life out the window temporarily. (At least until the baby starts smiling at you and/or sleeping more than five hours at night.) It just goes to show you that it's never wise to say "I'll never..." when it comes to having children. You never know when you're gonna have to swallow your pride, suck it up and gird yourself, literally, with your Brest Friend.

blagger

I am so sorry to you, my 3-4 loyal readers, for my total lack of blogging in the past two months. My list of excuses is long and includes such doozies as "I just had a baby," "I'm exhausted because I always have to get up at night to feed the baby," and so on and so forth. However, the REAL reason I'm such a blogging lagger (see title of this post for my fun new term) is that the happenings in my life over the past two months are quite difficult to quantify in mere words. There are many suitable topics I could cover, however. Maybe I could start just by listing them here, and then covering them one by one in future posts. Okay, I feel better already. I will create a nice little outline-slash-project-plan and then attack them one by one. Wow. That is so satisfying! Like an electronic version of a to-do list.

Topics to cover in future blogs:
1) How I actually came to own a pillow called "My Brest Friend," and how said pillow has made my life immeasurably easier.

2) How annoyed I am that I can't follow that sage advice, "Sleep when the baby sleeps."

3) How bizarre it is that when you go into the hospital to HAVE a baby, they actually let you LEAVE with the baby. And how the baby not only goes home with you that day, but continues to LIVE with you, FOREVER.

4) The Culture of Daytime People. By this I mean the extremely large number of people who don't work during the day, and who are out and about in various places at 10:30 a.m. such as the dry cleaners, the drugstore and the mall. Ranked in order of probability, my guess is that these people are stay-at-home moms, waiters, bartenders and possibly drug dealers.

5) How I continue to torture myself by trying on my old jeans a couple of times a week, and what odd masochistic impulse compels me to do so.

Well, that'll be a start. Look forward to me covering each of these in detail soon, and forgive my absence. I've missed you, really I have.

verbal diarrhea

Although this is another post along the "pregnancy hazard" lines, I wanted to call it something different — something gross — in order to illustrate the entire point of what I have come here to tell you today. That point is that at this stage in my pregnancy (e.g., The End), I have lost all compunction about using certain words and phrases, which prior to this fascinating journey I would have avoided like the proverbial plague.

Here are a few examples of specific words and phrases with which I am now completely comfortable:

Mucus Plug (my new personal favorite)
Cervix
Effacement
Discharge
Episiotomy

Of course, there are others, but because of my pregnancy-induced forgetfulness I cannot think of them right now. The funny part here is that I am typically quite a tactful and private sort. I hate when people ask me extremely personal questions that are none of their business and I am simply not given to routinely discuss bodily functions. All that has changed. Now I delight in informing others of the status of my cervix on a weekly basis. And the mucus plug? I see pieces of it almost every day now.

Seriously! I know how horrifying this is, but I cannot stop myself from sharing it.

Perhaps it all stems from the time when the ultrasound technician told me I have a beautiful cervix. I must say, I took this as a compliment of the highest order and decided that others should know about it. If you've got a great cervix, you might as well shout it from the rooftops.

I should also confess that my V.D. (verbal diarrhea, for those of you thinking otherwise) has also taken on a darker tone. Like the time when a friend of mine showed me pictures from her cousin's 3-D ultrasound and I immediately said out loud without thinking about it "Oh my gosh, he looks like the Elephant Man!" So much for my self-proclaimed tact. (But really, sometimes those 3-D photos aren't all they are cracked up to be. You can really see some scary angles on those puppies.)

The filter between my brain and my mouth seems to have malfunctioned. Hopefully it will improve after the baby comes, but I'm not holding my breath.

pregnancy hazard #1,763,098

Forgetting things. For example, the other day at work, I forgot how to use the "Track Changes" feature in Microsoft Word. Now, for someone who has been working in a corporate environment since 1995 -- many of those years as a marketing writer and editor -- this may sound wacky. But I assure you, it happened last Thursday. I needed to edit a document and I spent several minutes searching for how to track my changes. Logically, you would think that it would be under the Edit menu. Alas, it is not. After looking at every single menu available in Microsoft Word, I finally found the elusive Track Changes feature under the Tools menu. Where, of course, it's been all along. After I did finally discover it (and realize that I have become certifiably insane), I got really pissed off that it WASN'T under the Edit menu. I mean, wouldn't you go to the edit menu when you want to edit something?

Call me crazy, because I am.