• preg-nuts

    On my way to becoming a whiney mommy-blogger

    It’s on days like this that I hate it that I’ve set up a standard for myself to always have a picture and words for every post, every day. But at the same time, I don’t dare stop this whole ritual of daily words and pictures because really it’s the one hobby I’ve stuck to the longest and I’m most proud of. So somedays are better than others. I guess I just have to accept that. Some blogs are better than others and I can only just be me.

    Today was a rambling day just like this post will probably be.

    I woke up and paid all my bills online. I love doing that. It’s such a wonderful feeling seeing the little card stand, that I use as a bill holder, empty for a change. The frustrating part of bill paying is that I’m an employee of Toby and I have to wait for him to write me a check so I can pay all our bills. I’m not on his business banking account yet, so writing myself checks isn’t even possible and it probably wouldn’t be very smart either because I don’t think I can handle any more budget guilt than I already have when I spend too much at Target.

    I hate it that I have to nag nag nag him to pay me. But I also hate being late on bills so I’m stuck in the middle sending him my telepathic nags. But when he does pay me, he sometimes throws in a little extra so I can pay off my Paris credit card debt. So I don’t dare complain too much. That felt good this morning, finally paying off my Paris debt. Phew! It’s amazing how hotel reservations and plane tickets can really rack up.

    Then I went to the doctor. I had no idea what was going to happen at this appointment. I feel like such a newbie at this regular doctor’s visit thing. I’m too shy to ask too many questions because I know they do the same thing every day and it’s got to be boring for them to hear the same questions over and over and over.

    My doctor is really really laid back and she doesn’t really talk that much so I never know what’s going to happen next. I was really surprised when she just lifted up my dress and rubbed jelly on my stomach without any warning. But then she stuck the heart monitor thing on my baby’s thundering-ly loud heart beat and that made me forget all modesty and start glowing like a night light. I love love love love LOVE hearing my baby’s heart beat. And I really like it when the doctor says the heart beat is loud and strong. Yeah. Go Ponnay genes! No baby of mine is ever going to be a weakling. So that was that and she put my dress back down and asked me if I had any questions. I did, but I forgot my list at home so I kinda just sat there slack jawed feeling like an idiot.

    Just in time, I remembered to ask about the whole litter box dilemma and the dreaded rotting-of-your-baby’s-brain-like-swiss-cheese toxoplasmosis disease. As I feared, she told me that I’m not supposed to be changing the litter and that indeed I was going to have to force Toby to do it for me. Most women would be jumping for joy at a doctor’s direct order to pass off an unpleasant chore onto their husbands but I am not. And here is why: Because Toby doesn’t do it. He says he will but he doesn’t. The cat turds just sit in the litter and stink and stink and stink until I start to lose my mind and just do it myself. (I put gloves on and a mask, don’t worry.) But it’s starting to become a point of contention in our house and I really don’t need any more contention. There is already enough nagging going on. I really really really don’t like being a nag.

    So off to Target I went to buy the biggest hugest tub of cat litter they sell. That thing probably weighs more than I’m supposed to be lifting but our cat box situation is out of control and to fix it, it’s going to take drastic measures. Like throwing the old cat boxes out and starting over. I try to call Toby on his cell phone to get permission to buy new cat boxes but he doesn’t answer. Oh the thrills of being a wife of a photographer that shoots zillion dollar houses down by the beach where cell phone reception hasn’t been invented yet. By now I’m getting so irritated because he recently gave me a lecture about watching the costs of the “little things” so we can save up to buy the “big things”. What am I supposed to do? Arg. I decide not to buy the new cat boxes and hope he’s up for some elbow grease cleaning cause I certainly can’t do it. The smell is so rank, I’ve started closing my door when I go to sleep because I can smell it all the way from the hall way to my bed and it keeps me awake.

    I’m just now thinking that no one will ever come visit me again because all I ever talk about is my disgusting rug, the moths and now the cat box smell. Oh woe is me.

    And then (this one time at band camp…) I went grocery shopping. I tell you this is a lot for me. I must be pregnant. I hated the grocery store today. It was so crowded. It’s like all the mothers who have kids out of school decided it would be a good diversion to take them to the store. And they all had those big carts overloaded with cereal and cookies overflowing over the top. I’m not even kidding, but there was a bus load of special needs kids going up and down the aisles too. Which is cool because special needs kids need groceries too but today it was just too much. There were too many damn people at the grocery store. Sometimes I think I just need to go check myself onto a deserted island because I hate being around too many people so much.

    What really ticked me off (I might as well go on and on since I’m rambling anyway) was the stupid LA Times guy who suckered me into signing up for a newspaper a month or so ago. I don’t know what was wrong with me that day. I must have been feeling fat or something because I fell for the old flirtation sales trick. I hate it when I fall for that. Why oh why do I think I should buy something when somebody is telling me I’m cute. I am so dumb!!! But that was a month ago and he promised me on his mother’s dead body that at the end of the month the subscription would end and I wouldn’t have to pay anything. HE LIED!!! One week after the month subscription was up, what do I see on my handy dandy online checking account log? A charge. That’s what. He lied to me just like he told me I was looking cute when I was actually looking like Frump McBump.

    When I saw him there again today, soliciting all the moms with kids, I really wanted to give him my two cents worth of venting and a punch in his sloppy grin. But I was too shy, because all those moms were there and was it really worth it? Are they going to think I’m some kind of tight wad because I can’t handle paying $6 a month for a paper I don’t want?

    That wasn’t all I wanted to go off on him about. The newspaper companies hire tele-marketers from hell. Even when you use the magic words, “please take me off your call list” sometimes they don’t and you get another call the next day. It took me two years to get off their stupid call list way back in college when I fell for this whole “you’re cute” sales trick the first time. What’s it going to take to get off it this time? See, this is why I don’t subscribe to the newspaper. I read it online. I am boycotting the LA Times, even if they do have a cool magazine that comes every Sunday. For the rest of my shopping trip I pushed my cart around seething. It sucks that I’m a wimp. I’d probably be writing a much better blog if I had said something to him.

    After going home and putting all 187 bags of groceries away in my sparkling clean pantry, I headed off to the lab to get my blood work done. Yep, I took the big scary test to find out if my baby is deformed today. I know it’s controversial and a lot of people have perfectly healthy babies even when their test results come back positive but I wanted to do it anyway. I just want all the preparation I can get. If I have a special needs kid, I’m not going to abort it. I’m going to carry it to full term and hope I somehow grow enough courage to deal with the rest. But I still want to know so I can do whatever I have to do to get ready.

    Thankfully I chose not to go to the ghetto lab today and I got to sit with all the yuppies listening to their cell phone conversations and their kids squealing about pretzels being in the shape of a tree house or an animal. The fact that the pretzel was in an interesting shape and the kid noticed it was really cool. What wasn’t cool was his voice that was so high and shrill it made concentrating on my latest book impossible.

    That reminds me, you know what is cool about sitting in doctor’s offices all the time? Catching up on your reading. I’m a speed reading demon these days.

    After what seemed like four or five hours and I’m getting bed sores from sitting so long, they finally called me in and took my blood. The blood taking part was quicker than quick. I’m starting to get really good at this getting poked routine. I still look away but it’s not bothering me as much as it did the first time. I think I even remember which arm has the best vein now, which might come in handy if I ever take up heroine. Just kidding!

    Is anybody still reading? I think at this point I’m just typing to myself. Hi self. Don’t you just love yourself? You see, that’s your problem. Shut up!!!

    Ugh… what a day. When I finally got home at six, like everybody else on the planet who has a real job, I felt like I had a real job. I was still really ticked at Toby about the cat box but then he completely stole my thunder out of my clouds and changed them for me before I even got a chance to say anything!!! I was so mad too! I just stood there sputtering. I was so ready to start world war three that I had absolutely nothing to say when he did exactly what I wanted him to do. He always does that with me. He just lets things go until he can tell I’m bubbling up like a volcano and then he fixes everything with one fell swoop. And the swoop is usually so cool that I go all mushy inside and hearts pop out of my eyes. I’m such a sucker for guys who tell me I’m cute.