Tweet

I think this is what my pregnancy books call 'nesting'. My husband calls it 'acting like a crazy person who needs a hobby'. Tomato, tomahto. I'm not sure how much of it is Little One induced, and how much of it is just being home all day and not working, but I have gone a little crazy around here. Our house is spotless. I spent about 13 hours straight cleaning on Monday. Like, the kind of cleaning where there are toothbrushes involved. All of our clothes, sheets, towels (even the ones that hadn't been used) are washed and put neatly away. The dogs have been bathed twice in the last 2 weeks, and had their teeth brushed 9 times. Yesterday I spent all day painting things that didn't really need to be painted, including re-painting some of our walls because they had scuff marks that didn't come all the way off with scrubbing. And John did wake up over the weekend and come downstairs at 6 am to find me scrubbing baseboards and polishing furniture. While making breakfast. Maybe I'm just a domestic super-girl! ....Or maybe I have gestational OCD. All I know is that I can't sit here debating the fact, because holding still this long is driving me crazy. I think I need to go organize the utlilty room. Again.

battle begun

SO today a scary thing happened. I went to the mall (scary enough) and I was looking for some PJ’s to wear in the hospital in the case that Little One ever decides to be born. I was thinking, childbirth is no excuse to not attempt cuteness! I will get myself some cute yet functional nightgown type thing and all the nurses will say “there goes a halfway decently dressed patient, right there”. I like to aspire to greatness. But then, the sales lady came over. She tricked me by looking all smiley and innocent, but then as she approached she got this very serious look in her eye. She spoke, with a tone that was both commanding and slightly scolding. And she picked up the most hideously frumpy, old-mother-hubbard looking nightgown and held it up to me and said “this is good for YOU. This is what you should be wearing. Here, take THIS one”. Ahhh! It has begun. From this moment on, I will have to fight the good fight against prarie nightgowns, hair scrunciis, and mom jeans. I’m counting on you, on ALL OF YOU to help me in this battle by never remaining silent if you see me veering, in a trancelike state, towards teal sweatpants with elastic at the bottoms. I expect you all, knowing that infants cause a mysterious affinity for amorphous clothing in cartoon-animal prints, to give me occasional updates on what is trendy, what is chic, and what belongs in a “Cathy” comic. And to kick me if I get out of line.
As for today, when I was quite on my own with out you all, my little warriors, I will have you know that I picked out a dress to wear in the hospital and I bought it and I took the tags off so that there is No Going Back. It is silk. And I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be a party dress. But I do not care. This is war, people.

Update for those who know

So people who already knew about the stuff in the last post are asking for information that isn’t ancient. Here is the update for now:
J is conducting a one-man study on insomnia, as he heads off to the hospital every day at 5am and has overnight call every weekend. Because he is awesome, he is still managing to be a coherent person when he is home, and has been finishing up small projects around the house as we get ready for Little One.
I am finishing up my last week of work (really my last week this time, I think). Baby M’s parents have still not found a new nanny, but my bladder is too small for any more waddling to and from the metro every day, so I have told them that next Tuesday is IT for me.
Little One is doing great, she is kicking around like crazy in complete disregard for the fact that she doesn’t have room for that anymore. She is still quite fond of her 3am dance parties. The Doc today checked her out and says things look good, and that she is all upside-down like she’s supposed to be, ready to go. Which proves that she inherited her sense of direction from J, so that’s a genetic score! for Little One.

The story

Since I have started this little collection of stories about life, I thought I should give some background. I am married to J, who is in military medical school, which is like having a full time job and going to med school at the same time, which is quite simply insane. But he does have to wear a hot-navy-boy uniform every day, which is a plus for me. We live outside DC with our two dogs, X and E, who are both adorable mutts who I love despite the fact that they have the amazing magical ability to shed about 56 cubic meters of hair onto my clean floors every day, without ever getting all neked like those freaky Chinese dog-things. So far, X and E have been our babies, and they always will be. But just about any time now, there will be a new baby (who actually will resemble one of those hairless Chinese dog- creatures, except smaller and with hopefully far fewer teeth.) I’m C, and I am finishing up the nannying job I started in grad school, so that I can switch from taking care of adorable baby M, to taking care of the baby that is currently making me look like Chris Farley in the proverbial little jacket. Which means that there will probably be a lot of talk around here about crying and poop and fascinating topics like that, so just prepare yourself now.

By the way...

I’m starting a blog.
There are three reasons for this.
One, I am always promising to email and call people and update them on various things and I am always getting into trouble for being too lazy. Now I can announce things to everyone who cares at the same time, even if there are only 3 of such people. Or none. This covers all bases.
Two, My husband is all busy and gone all the time now thanks to the hell that is known as 3rd year med school, and so now there is no easy target for me to aim all my rants and pointless thoughts at. “Blogging” sounds way less crazy than “talking to myself”.
Three, blogs are fun. Who knew?
About a year ago, I got an email from the new adoptive mom of some kids who John and I knew in Ethiopia, and had given our email address to in the hopes that we would hear from them again if they were adopted into the US. Not only did this awesome mom email us, she said “hey, you should read our blog”. So I did. I had never read a blog before. And I soon discovered that blogs are like crack. There were stories! Pictures! Cute little faces of kids we love looking all smiley and doing fun things with other smiley people. This blog was my gateway blog-crack drug. Because, there was a list of other blogs on her sidebar. Which I soon found out had pictures and stories about other kids we knew. So I went on a finding-kids-who-were-adopted rampage, and got to reconnect with lots of people, which is super awesome. But then I started reading other peoples blogs, just cause they were interesting. And now I have a terrible addiction, and I blog-stalk lots of people, just because they are cool.
So one day I decided, hey, maybe I will be a blog person too. Throw in reasons 1 and 2, and here we are. Welcome to the random thoughts of a random person who can think of no good reason why anyone would care to read a blog about nothing. But you will! You are reading it now! And that is because, as I said, blogs are like crack. Even boring ones. Which makes me like your dealer. Bwaaa ha ha ha haa! Welcome to my blog. ☺