The Ordinary and the Extraordinary
Hello, Internet. Yes, I’m still alive, although the -5 outside temperature this morning has killed my spirit a little.
I also has a distinct lack of maternity thermal wear.
I have been racking my brain trying to come up with something interesting to write about this week, but decided early on that NOTHING interesting has actually happened this week. So I opted for a quick day-by-day recap instead. Try to contain your excitement:
Well, isn’t this fun: I can’t remember what the fuck I did on Monday. According to my blog and Twitter, I got really irritated at my coworker for constantly fucking coughing, and I also made a beef stew that simmered in the Crock Pot all day long and was waiting for us, all hot and delicious, when we got home (and it didn’t burn down the house – score!). I think that’s about it. Can you see now why I had trouble thinking of something to write about? Jesus.
Seriously. Just go lick your ass now. I promise that will be more exciting.
Well, things got more interesting on Tuesday. After work, we went to visit my friend & her new baby – the very baby that my friend was extremely pregnant with when we were both in this show. He’s now about 6 weeks old and freaking adorable, and I got to hold him while my friend gave us the skinny on all the baby products they’ve found useful, useless, and OH-MY-GOD-WE-WOULD-HAVE-DIED-WITHOUT-IT important. She also gave me a huge bag of hand-me-down baby girl clothes (they didn’t find out the sex of the baby in advance), a sweet-ass nursing cover (much nicer than the one I registered for, although who knows if my Magical Pregnancy Rack will actually produce or is just for show), and a really fucking complicated-looking baby sling called a Moby Wrap.
Contrary to popular belief, it is not for carrying this Moby. Although he does kind of look like a large baby.
Wednesday started off with a bang when we blew off a 7am daycare tour of a place that seemed (judging by their website and a phone call) about as reassuring to a new parent’s mind as dropping the kid off in a room filled with exposed wires and unattended staircases. That afternoon, I got to leave work early (YAY!) for a dentist appointment (BOO!), and it was just about that time that a very inopportune mini-blizzard hit town, royally fucking up traffic from about 3pm on. After my (cavity-free!) appointment, I picked up Brad from work so we could make the trip to Babies ‘R’ Expensive to inspect our newly-arrived nursery furniture – a trip that would normally take about 20 minutes. The trip? TOOK TWO HOURS. And by Hour Two, I was a miserable, whining sack of baby-gestation, fighting off the urge to get out of the car and personally punch every other driver on the road in their ass faces.
Have I mentioned that the pregnancy hormones are raging a little out of control lately?
Anyhoo, we made it to the store & checked out the furniture. Everything looked great, and it is now official that the nicest furniture in our house belongs to the only family member who cannot control her bowels. A few extra minutes of browsing around the clothing section and marveling over the itty bitty sweater vests and jean jackets, and my good mood was restored – just in time to face the shitty roads awaiting us for the drive home.
Ah, Thursday. I’ve always liked Thursdays, with their proximity to the weekend yet ability to keep it real as a legitimate weekday (unlike Friday, when you are free to clearly not give a shit). Although Thursday morning was ass-numbingly cold, the day went fine. I was eagerly anticipating the Friday evening arrival of my friends Bird and Boobs, and despite the return of the first trimester exhaustion, I was getting a lot accomplished at work. And after work, we were set to tour a daycare close to our house and less-expensive than the Holy Grail of Daycares. Their website seemed decent, the pictures looked good, and the staff were friendly on the phone. We were running a bit late on our way there, so Brad called to let “Nancy” (the woman who was supposed to give us our tour) know that we’d be there as soon as we could.
Turns out, “Nancy” had better things to do last night, and had already left for the day. Aces!
With my irritability level a little high these days, getting blown off by some whore who then expects me to trust her with my 6-week-old infant to the tune of thousands of dollars a year did not sit too well with me. No, it did not.
ANYWAY. We decided to take a look around the place anyway & get some paperwork to take home in case we liked it. And…it was decent. Had the feel of a church basement without actually being a church OR a basement. It was small, definitely not as nice as the website made it seem, smelled slightly of poo, and had a lot of staff members who were obviously between the ages of 16 and 18, and, well, about 3 minutes into our visit, I was ready to burst into fat, hot, pregnant, hormonally-charged tears. It’s not that the place or the people were horrible and awful, I just…kept visualizing myself dropping off teeny Spats there. And I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do it. Not there, at least, with the infants crawling on the same dirty, wet carpet they allowed us to stand on with our dirty, wet feet. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there before I started weeping and made a scene. I was already doing that wide-eyed, non-blinking stare thing you do whenever your eyes are filling up with tears and you know if you blink, the first drop will fall and the floodgates will be opened.
I may have looked a little like this.
We just made it a few steps out of the place into the frigid air when I started the Public Display of Weeping. And I KNOW a lot of it is the hormones, and I KNOW that I have to go back to work (and I want to!) and that we’re going to have to settle on a daycare, I guess I’m just surprised at the difficulty of it all. Shit. Fuck. And such.
The evening ended perfectly, though, with Brad singing to the belly, and Spats seeming to respond in little flutters and kicks. More crying ensued, for sure, but this time it was accompanied by a much, much nicer emotion.
So, now that it’s Friday and I’m looking back at what seemed to be a pretty boring week, I’m struck by just how non-boring it was: We saw a friend’s brand new son, we bought furniture for a nursery that will soon be inhabited by a baby that I felt kicking inside me, while my best friend and soulmate sweetly sang her songs because he’s just that excited to meet her. How fucking lucky am I?
Entry filed under: Gobble-gobble.