Thursday, January 12, 2012
Lately, Aston and I spend most of our time here.
Except when we're not actually there, and we're in here. Looking out there.
It's beautiful and it's our happy place. Seriously.
We laugh and putz around and talk. Usually about how pretty it is or what we're going to make for dinner. Yesterday I read him a little Michael Palmer organ theft medical mystery thriller. Sometimes the conversation turns toward politics. You never know with that kid.
Also, before you ask (because I know someone will), I'll tell you. That belly. Yes. It is killing me. My back. My feet. My neck.
Did you happen to notice that first photo? The pulling to the left in my stomach?
That, my friends, IS A MOTHERLOVING KICK.
(Probably because I'd just told him he couldn't go swimming or that we were out of milk or something. Kids.)
Anyway, all kinds of weirdness is going on over here. Suddenly, I can no longer stomach bread crust. And I've developed this thing where all of my drinks must be consumed by straw. Even bottled water. Oh, and my hips. Oh. my. gosh. my. hips. They feel like they're being attacked with machetes pretty much all of the time.
My body has morphed into a science fiction version of Million Dollar Baby and I'm like Rudy on the training squad at Notre Dame. Aston has the power of no less than fourteen commercial jets and when he kicks, entire villages are relocated in Mexico.
Maybe because I've been feeding him this?
almond milk (vanilla/unsweetened) + banana.berries.kale.spinach.stevia
mix, rinse, repeat
I can't help thinking that by the time he's done baking they'll need a Caterpillar and three Jaws of Life to unearth that beast. My lady parts are legitimately terrified.
Along those lines, I've stopped reading any and all pregnancy, baby, and motherhood books and websites. And, honestly? Sometimes I wish I still had an assistant to screen my email. For anyone who has felt the need to impress upon me how essential their birth coaches or lamaze classes or parent groups or diets or breastfeeding theories are slash were slash will totally be for me (in romantic and overly passionate bordering on obsessive tones), I say to you. I SAY TO YOU.
Go forth, good soul!
I applaud you and your unsolicited, uncomfortably personal, overly informative, well meaning rhetoric.
I have taken mental note and will be preparing for this birth by doing shots and choosing a carefully selected playlist comprised of Mozart and The Ramones and Keren Ann, minus the shots. But I did go see Hugo and The Muppets, so I figure the extra credit should cover me skipping out on the other stuff.
And thank you for thinking of me.
But enough baby bidnid, let me show you what I found for Andrew.
I love big, chunky, executive desks and I've wanted to get him one ever since laying eyes on our new humungo office. The one we scored on consignment is a 1920s walnut Doten Dunton that weighs nearly five hundred pounds. Which explains why it has not moved a single hair from the precise awkward spot it was left in upon delivery.
Maybe I should ask Aston to kick it.
(By the way, ignore everything else in that photo. Aside from setting up shop we have yet to touch anything in that room, save the fireplace that singed Andrew's eyebrows. Soon, though. Probably.)
Oh and, before I forget, I have a dishwasher dilemma that I'm hoping you might be able to help with. I'm looking at that one, a basic stainless steel Magic Chef workhorse. I talked my South Florida appliance place down to $239 for it, which is sort of irresistable for a tall tub. I thought I'd ask if any of you have it and what you think before I give the salesguy the green light. The reviews are pretty good, and I need a new one, like, yesterday since our GE model just pooped out on us at The Downtown Townhouse. Would you let me know if it is awesome or notsoawesome?
Also, one more thing. Thank you to everyone who has said slash emailed nice things to me about the baby slash nursery slash pregnancy. Most of the support I've received has been amazing and not of the my two epidurals didn't work slash let me tell you about how I never had morning sickness slash blah, blah, blah, I didn't gain any weight slash I gained four thousand pounds slash what do you mean you haven't read every single pamphlet published about SIDS on the face of the earth variety.
Anyway, you're the ones who make my day.