| Forgive me readers, for I have sinned... |
[Nov. 30th, 2004|12:01 am] |
...it's been seven weeks since my last entry.
DAMN that's a long time. Nothing's been happening, except I've expanded considerably. My belly button has popped out now like the eyes and ears on those alien rubber thingees you squeeze to release stress.
I was sick, though. Still am - but I'm definitely on the upswing. My boss, who is sick now, told me today "as the title of one of my favorite hippie songs once said: i feel like homemade shit". I felt like that, homemade shit, for about 4 of those 7 weeks. I got a flu shot, but that apparently doesn't protect you from lung-hocking coughs and snot-filled colds. So that on top of all the pregnancy bullshit, let me tell you, I've been REALLY pleasant to be around. Just ask my husband.
So what has compelled me to write after such a long time. My realization that I have a pet peeve that I haven't disclosed to any of you yet.
Here it is.
Female newscasters should not, I repeat NEVER EVER EVER, wear leather, ESPECIALLY when on national news programs. This includes morning shows, which we all know isn't really news per se. Paula Zahn broke this rule tonight, but believe me, she is not alone. They all do it, mostly on Fridays, cuz I guess that's dress-down day. Like casual Fridays at most offices. But you are ON THE NEWS, LADIES. I cannot take you seriously if you're wearing leather. Period. End of story.
That's it. There's way more going on in my life, but nothing as important as sharing that thought. Hope you all had a happy Thanksgiving. Jase and I worked and in our hour off, drove around town looking for some restaurant that was open. It's amazing how desperate you feel when all the regular eating spots are closed. "WE'RE GONNA STARVE!" I shouted while Jase drove our covered wagon/Jeep Cherokee through the prairies.
But don't fear. Before the wolves got us, we stumbled across a man named Jack and his Box. Drive thru open 24 hours, even on Thanksgiving!!! I love you Jack!!!
xoxo A
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| I can't catch my breath! |
[Oct. 6th, 2004|12:39 am] |
No, not because I was running through the fallen leaves in the park, arms open, enjoying the brisk autumn afternoon.
And no, not because I just got back from my bellydancing class with hip-shaking goddesses also known as Peachy and Sundry.
I'm out of breath because this kid in my belly is squishing my lungs up into my throat.
He's also got one foot on my stomach, causing me to be full after three bites of food, and another on my bladder, forcing me to the loo every 3 and 1/2 minutes.
Everyone tells me how tiny I am, and I really am grateful for the comments, but I'm telling you I feel so crowded right now. And I'm convinced he's gonna be a figure skater cuz it feels as if he's doing triple sowcows in there.
Sowcows. Sister Anne and I had a joke about that...
I digress. So there's my pregnancy bitch for the day. Ah, I feel much better.
(With the exception of not being able to breathe or eat and having to pee every 3 and 1/2 minutes. Oh, and let's not even discuss the heartburn.)
Jase keeps telling me how awful my life could be right now. Like I could have a real job, like in an office, and have to drive to work and wear real clothes and imagine how uncomfortable I'd be then. Or he reminds me how badly I wanted to be pregnant and how long it took to get here and it's only a small little fragment of my entire life and really, I should be enjoying these moments and writing them all down.
He's lucky he's still alive.
Actually, he IS lucky he's still alive. He started choking yesterday. While Jase was eating a sandwich, we were watching this segment on the news about a dog in a London dog shelter who not only figured out how to get out of his cage after hours, but also learned how to let all the other dogs out as well so they could have an after-hours dog party. Next thing I know, Jase is standing up and his eyes start watering and he's making this weird noise.
Of course, I thought he was joking. I was close - it RHYMED with joking.
He starts making this awful wheezing noise. I, being the coolest cucumber under pressure, start slapping his chest and yelling, "Are you choking?! Are you fucking with me?!" Tears were now streaming down his face and I start really freaking out. But in the back of my mind, I knew that if he was making a wheezing sound, he was getting air. And he was. He managed to clear his throat and breathe again.
What do you think was the first thing he said to me?
"I almost went out like Mama Cass."
Well, I'm glad he didn't. That would have TOTALLY sucked.
xoxo A
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| It's been a while, but I promise there's been a lot going on |
[Sep. 26th, 2004|07:44 pm] |
I started an entry a couple of weeks ago about my brother's wedding. He got married to Heather on September 3rd. And I was going to talk about Jase's need to drink a double screwdriver before boarding the plane at 8:00 in the morning to address his fear of crashing.. I mean flying. I was going to talk about how wonderful it felt to be spotted by nephews Jack and Joey from across the park, who promptly charged us and jumped into our arms. I was going to talk about how happy my brother looked and how great it was that he found someone to share his life with. I was going to tell you how great it was to see so many friends, including Pavitt who talked to Romano in utero, Jeffanie and Stephanie who actually did the impossible - bought a house in Northern California, Aunts Marilyn and Gerri who were so awesome all weekend, Laura and Matty who celebrated one of their first grown-up nights after the birth of their new Luke.
Then I was going to segway into the unbelievable but true portion of the wedding night when my father's super-exclusive Lexus sportscar was stolen from the reception. The keys were on the table in the reception hall, in the idyllic suburban setting that is Plymouth, Michigan - and then they were gone. And so was the car. My poor brother, who loves cars as much as my dad, who actually found this particular one in Chicago and arranged to have my dad buy it, comes downstairs from his perfect reception to see my parents talking to the police. Tommy is a worrier - he felt awful and promised my dad he'd find another one for him after the honeymoon. Funny now that this was probably the worst event to happen to our family this year - a stolen car. Anyway, the police found it in downtown Detroit (natch) a few days later, unharmed. After thinking my dad had it stolen on purpose for the insurance money (the Plymouth police detective was channelling Sypowitz), they determined that someone, either a guest or an employee or someone unrelated to the wedding, traded the car for crack. It was quite dramatic and as I look back, really kind of fun to talk about every day. Especially now.
So then I was going to talk about how my brother and Heather had to scrap their honeymoon plans at the last minute - Marco Island, Florida was in the process of being destroyed by hurrincanes - and ended up in Vegas for an entire week. That's a little too much Vegas - but they had a great time, seeing lots of shows and peoplewatching and eating lots of food.
But then I got a call last Monday from my sister - who told me simply after I made a few comments about not being able to get out of bed cuz Boo was too warm and fat and snuggly and it was all his fault - that my parents were getting divorced.
My parents. Divorced. After all this time.
So that's been consuming me ever since. I'm not ready to write about it - I can barely comprehend it. What do you do with that, being 33 and grown and in Seattle? It's been a really strange week.
I've been late with emails, and I apologize. And I'm sorry I've been so delinquent with this journal. We're all going to be okay - it's just the most bizarre thing ever. I don't think I can dwell on it here, not now. Oversentimentality is kind of where I want to go but it just depresses me and I don't want to make any of you who read this who are directly involved upset, especially if you're at work or something. But Mom, you are kicking ASS and I'm so proud to have such a strong mother.
On the bright side, this week I get my root canal completed, so things are looking up!
xoxo A
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| The Kid Turned on Me |
[Aug. 11th, 2004|12:41 am] |
Things were going so well for us, baby boy Ritchie. Sure, we had a rough start. I may have referred to you as "the parasite" or "the demon sucking out my will to live." You forced me into a diet of saltines and watermelon. You made me feel like shit warmed over with a side of crap on my best days, for three months.
But we made it through. We did it together. And recently, things have been great between us. I rub lotion on my belly - you kick me "thanks" in return. We're sleeping good, we're eating good. No problems.
Until today. What was up with you today, kid? First, you wanted Fritos. Fine. I gave you some Fritos. Then you began to crowd me. Things felt tight, uncomfortable. No problem - nothing a Gas-X can't fix.
And then we went shopping.
Peachy and I went to Whole Foods. You were good. We went to Bartell Drugs. Again, no problems.
Then we went to Starbucks and I got a DECAF grande misto, because supposedly caffiene is bad for you. But you're my kid, so I make sacrifices. One of many - and you will hear about every single one.
Mid-grande, we're at Dania checking out the modern furniture, and you start. I begin to feel hot, queasy, dizzy. Peachy and I hightail it to the car, passing on Metropolitan Market to head straight for home.
We didn't make it. 10 blocks away from my house, Peachy pulls over as I hold my hand over my mouth, not wanting to get any throw-up in her car. Luckily, I'm skilled at puking by now, thanks to you, and I manage to barf entirely outside the car.
You subjected me AND your Aunt Peach to vomit. Girls don't like vomit. Boys think it's funny - ha ha I'm gonna PUKE! BLEEEEAAACCCCHHHH! Yeah, that's a boy thing. Not a girl thing.
Your Aunt Peach was such a good friend and got me home pronto. And then, as you know, we promptly fell asleep for 2 hours.
Now I've got massive heartburn and your father won't go to the market for Haagen-Daaz vanilla ice cream, even though that's the only thing I want right now. Instead, I've had a dinner that consisted of fresh French bread and Tums.
Yummy.
So kid, sorry. But you're on the list again. You better straighten up by Friday, cuz I'm going with Peach and Mrs. Roboto for dim sum - and I want it to be a puke-free experience.
But I still love you.
xoxo Mom
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| A Masculine Entry |
[Aug. 3rd, 2004|12:58 am] |
My brother Tommy, aka TT-Dog, im'ed me today telling me that while he enjoys reading my journal, could I please make my entries a little more masculine? He didn't appreciate feeling like a girl while reading it.
So here's my attempt at a masculine entry.
Hmmmm.
Masculine entry.....
Doesn't that sound, I don't know, sort of dirty?
All I can think of is to talk about boobs, beer and NASCAR. I know it's a stereotype, but still. That's all I can come up with. Sorry, TT. I AM a girl, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So today I called a housecleaning service, at my husband's insistance. It's not that our house is a total pit - really, I swear. I've put myself on a cleaning/straightening schedule that maintains the place - and Jase has his chores that he does regularly. But floors need washing. And my husband doesn't want to do them, and I'm just pregnant enough that the idea of me on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor is just offensive and wrong (though I'm sure there's a chat room devoted to just such activities somewhere - sickos).
So we didn't Rent Yentas this time, because the last time we did - they were on the expensive side and while they did an okay job - it just didn't seem quite worth the cash. So I had no idea who to call.
See, I have to be in the house the whole time the cleaning is taking place, because I'm working. And I am creeped out having strangers touching my shit when I'm not home. But Jase has to be elsewhere with the Booster Shot (my new nickname for him, which I think is awesome) because Boo and the vacuum do NOT get along. So I really need the cleaning to occur in as short of time as possible. So I need a team to come in, do their thang, and leave me with a bleachy pine scent.
So I called one of those companies - like Molly Maid but it's really not them. Anyway I made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon.
Here's where the problem comes in. Before I called, Jase specifically told me not to give them information like a credit card number or a soc number (or my blood type or my mother's maiden name). So in the middle of the call, she asked me for my credit card information.
And I gave it to her.
Not only did I give it to her, but I gave it to her to 'hold my spot' which was never even designated to me. I was given a 12-5 time slot, like the cable company does. If I call tomorrow at noon, I can get a more specific ETA.
Now, Jase was livid. He watched me do the whole thing. He was gesturing to me, by waving his hands like an umpire would if I just slid safely into home, to NOT, under any circumstances, give out that credit card number. "ABORT!! ABORT!!" his eyes were screaming at me!! I flat out ignored him, saying, "It's a Visa...???"
So I got off the phone and Jase was so pissed - there was a little white spittle collecting in the corner of his lip as he proceeded to lecture me of the art of fraud. It was kind of funny - one of those where we were both smiling while we tried to plead our cases.
But come on - I had no case. He specifically asked me not to do it. I did it anyway. And totally right in front of him. And he totally called me out - he said, "I know why you did it. You did it because you didn't want to make the high-school dropout data-entry appointment setter uncomfortable. I guess it's better to make your husband, who you live with and spend 24 hours a day with, uncomfortable. Aren't you comfortable NOW??"
He was right, of course. My need-to-please put me on automatic, giving the nice lady whatever information she needs - not wanting to cause waves or make her job difficult. So now this company has my credit card information and can do whatever it wants with it.
I pleaded my case to Matt, who at first agreed that Jase was making way to big of a deal - that a credit card number is the safest thing to give out, all things considered, and the most I'll be liable if any fraud occurs is $50.
But then Jase gave him the little bit of info I omitted in my case. The fact that Jase specifically asked me not to disclose such information.
My case was shot. GUILTY.
Ah well. At least tomorrow I'll be able to see my guilty, need-to-please face in my kitchen floor. |
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| Sad Friends |
[Jul. 28th, 2004|12:33 am] |
I don't know what it is, but lately my friends have been sad. All for very different reasons, but still - they are hurting. To protect their privacy, I will call them Friend 1, 2, and 3.
Friend 1 has decided, for various reasons, to stop taking her anti-anxiety medicine. Now, faithful readers of the Ritchiewoman know that I sympathize with this immensely, seeing that I tried (unsuccessfully, I may add) to get off the Paxil. It's definitely no fun. She has lots and lots of other stresses in her life right now, and sort of no one around her to help her. She has lots of people who love her - but we all live in far away lands. Of course I'm worried - worried that this is the right decision, worried that she is going to have as hard of a time with it as I did. But she is a grown up, and she knows what's best. I'm thinking of you, Friend 1. And I'm sending good thoughts.
Friend 2 is going through a breakup. A 5-year relationship breakup. A "I thought I was getting a ring at the end but instead I didn't" breakup. She sees all of her friends married and together and feels even worse. Not that she wants all of us to dump our husbands. At least I don't think so. No, she doesn't. I'm sure of it. I think. Anyway, breakups are the worst. Especially when you break up with a person you were so sure you would never have a breakup with. It's been a while, but I remember that feeling in the days and weeks following - you are just stunned. Life has the gall to continue around you, and you are expected by society to function in it. But you are just so sad, mourning not just the relationship, but even more so the idea of what the relationship could have been. There's no way around it, Friend 2, this is going to hurt. And you may fall into full collapse more than once. But it will get better. I'm thinking of you, Friend 2. And I'm sending good thoughts.
Friend 3 isn't really sure about what is going on, except she feels bad. She goes through her day, performing well at work, dressed and alert, polite and appropriate. But she then comes home and becomes sad, and mad, which makes her feel bad. The thing about this that she absolutely cannot stand is she is on her best behavior in front of strangers, co-workers - people who in the big picture do not count. But she is her worst in front of those she loves. And I don't think she understands exactly why she is this way. Oh, has this happened to me - I behave a certain way and I have no clue why. I react to something strange and I'm shocked by my reaction. I've known you for a number of years, Friend 3, and I have to assure you that these mood swings are temporary. This is not you. This is an anomaly. We'll figure out what's going on. But remember this - we are often our worst in front of those we love because we know they will not reject us. We just love you right back. By showing your bad side, you're telling the person you love and trust them. They may not see that right away, but it's really true. We'll get to the bottom of this. But don't be hard on yourself while we do so. You're allowed to have a crabby phase. I'm thinking of you, Friend 3. And I'm sending good thoughts.
It's good to be sad sometimes. It balances out the happy. If we were just happy all the time, then we would be manic, and that would be really really irritating. So brace down through the sadness. And know the glad is coming. And know I'm thinking of you. And I'm sending good thoughts.
xoxo A
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| I'm BAAACK! |
[Jul. 26th, 2004|12:34 am] |
Just like the Gropenator, I am BACK.
I cannot believe how long it's been since I've written. I was so so sick for the first 3 months of this pregnancy. I still had to be on the computer for work, so the minute I wasn't working, I shoved my laptop under my couch and headed straight for the toilet.
But now, I'm so much better - and yes! I am still pregnant! That was a concern with the former miscarriage and all. But this one is holdin' on. I'm 19 weeks into it and we found out definitely last week that it's a boy, which is extremely cool, especially after seeing all the barely-clothed teenage girls walking around my local mall. My GOD - I SO didn't look like that when I was 16! Dude, these girls are STACKED. I can't deal with that. Give me a pimply goofy boy any day.
Jase and I have talked a lot about how teenage girls seem more, um, mature these days. Jase has decided that it is hormones in meat and milk that are making these girls "blossom". But when I shared this theory with someone, probably Peachy, or possibly my mom, I was posed the question, "So why don't the boys look any older?" Good question, isn't it? The boys look exactly the same as they did when I was in school.
Anyway, so I'm glad I can put off that whole girl-growing-up-too-fast afterschool special off for a couple of years. We don't have a name yet, except the one Pavitt and I came up with when I first learned I was knocked up - Romano Ritchie, after Robert Romano on ER. Which I really do like, actually! But there are two celebrities, Debra Messing and Cate Blanchett, who have had baby boys this year and named them Roman. I hate the name Roman. It reminds me of a character on Days of Our Lives. But I really do like Romano.
Not that it matters what I like. See, I made this stupid arrangement with Jase that if it was a boy, he could name it and if it were a girl, I could. It's a similar arrangement to John Travolta and Kelly Preston. I have no idea why I read this and thought, "Hey! What a great idea!", especially since their son's name is Jet. As in Plane.
But I think I can reneg on this when in the delivery room. I mean, it's coming out of MY vagina. As boss Peggy said to me, I have "pass-thru" rights that trump any stupid celebrity tradition I read about in People magazine.
So I'm back. And the baby is back. And hopefully I'm setting up the Notify List thingee right so y'all don't have to guess when I write again.
Why now, you may ask? Well, I had a "loverly linner" tonight with my journaling friends Peachy (of course), Chiara and Sundry. And we had the BEST time being loud and obnoxious and so Sex and the City sans Manolos. Peach turned on our waiter by ordering not just a Dirty Martini, but an even more delicious Filthy one. Well, this made the waiter our new best friend/stalker. All these beautiful women write journals, and I realized I missed writing in mine.
It's nice to be back, folks! When I get really savvy, and when I bring my pics over to Peach's house for scanning, I'll even post the baby pictures/blobs. He's an adorable blob!!! I love him already!
But I am worried about Boo and how he will cope. Alas, this is too distressing to dwell upon. Seriously - it keeps me up at night. My mother-in-law asked what we would do if Boo doesn't get along with the baby. I answered matter-of-factly that we would, of course, get rid of the baby. Oh, I laughed along with her, letting her think it was all in fun. But we know better.
xoxo A
let's try this:
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| Update on the Barfing |
[May. 7th, 2004|12:16 am] |
That's all I've been doing since the last posting - barfing. Feeling sub-human. The simple act of walking brought out the demons inside.
So I haven't felt like journaling.
But okay, then today - something changed. I felt better. Really better. I spoke to the doctor yesterday begging them to give me drugs - I didn't even really care if they made the kid come out with 3 arms - just stop the puking!!! So they said they wanted me to try some things before they put me on the drugs.
Nazis.
First, they wanted me to keep using the Sea-Bands I bought. You know what those are - those little wristbands you wear on a cruise to avoid getting seasick. I said with clenched teeth, "Those. Don't. Work."
She said sweetly and somehow without condescension, "Did you put them on BEFORE you started feeling sick this morning?"
"Uh, no.." I said softly, unclenching my jaw.
"Well try that, and take 25mg of vitamin B6 every 4 hours. Then if that doesn't work, add 1/4 of a tablet of Unisom to the B6."
"Uh, Unisom? The sleeping pill?" I asked.
"Yep. Try that and if those don't work we'll have you come in and we'll get you a prescription."
So I had Jason get me the B6. And this morning, I put the bands on first thing, before the vomit came. And I've been taking the B6 religiously. And now I feel awesome.
So awesome, that I sort of convinced myself that I felt better because the pregnancy was going away. Here comes the miscarriage. Then I thought how hard it would be to tell you all that I wasn't going to have a baby.
It was THEN I realized why people don't tell anyone about their pregnancies until after the 1st trimester. ("Oh, thaaaaaat's why! Duh!)
But screw it. I wouldn't have been able to share all these wonderful puking stories with you!! Or my neuroses about having miscarriages! Lucky lucky you!!!
So I'm getting my haircut tomorrow, and I'm just being grateful I feel better and hope it lasts for a while. And that's where I draw the thinking line - No. More. Thinking.
Thinking. Bad.
Oh, and I need to thank Anne, who called me at 11:05p her time to tell me, under NO circumstances, was I to watch E.R. tonight. I asked her what happened, and she said, "No! No watching, no talking." I said, "Dead baby?" and she said, "No talking - and do not watch it, I'm telling you." So I didn't watch it. That's a big sis watching out for me, huh?
xoxo A |
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| I know it's been ages, but I'm PREGNANT |
[Apr. 28th, 2004|08:21 pm] |
The best excuse in the world. It's even better than, "... but I just had jaw surgery!" Well, maybe that one didn't work because I used it 5 years post-operation.
So here's how my mornings have been playing out:
8:00am: Wake up to pee, return to bed.
10:00am: Wake up to pee, return to bed.
11:30am: Wake up to pee, remain awake to begin work in 1/2 hour.
11:35am: Enter shower with SoniCare toothbrush to kill two birds with one clean stone.
11:37am: Dry heave for 1 minute while trying to get the back teeth.
11:39am: Turn water off, disgusted that I can't even enjoy my morning shower without retching.
11:41am: Walk Boo with Jase, so he can pick up dog poo, thus saving me from another bout of retching.
12:00pm: Begin work.
[END SCENE]
After my evening shift, I collapse into bed and fail to keep up my journal. But I have been writing it in my head. Maybe I'll get it all down one day.
~~~
So Jase had his first anxiety dream last night. He dreamt I gave birth to a goat baby. It had a mane and hooves and a tail and everything. He woke me up at 5am to tell me that I had to insist that I get as much testing as I could, including all genetic testing. Did I ask him why he woke me up in the early hours of the morning, insisting that I get genetic testing? Nooooo. I simply muttered, "mmmkay" and went back to sleep. I found out about GoatBoy this morning.
~~~
So my dad called me the other day on my cell. Here's a transcript:
Ritchiewoman: Hello?
Father of Ritchiewoman: Did you just call me?
RW: Uh, noooooo....
FORW: Oh. Are you sure?
RW: Yeah, I'm pretty sure.
FORW: Hmmph. How's your pregnancy going?
RW: It's going okay.
FORW: You get sick today?
RW: Yep.
FORW: (laughing) Really?
RW: Yeah, Daaaaad. Really.
FORW: Hmmph. Well, I was just calling to say hi.
RW: No you weren't! You were calling because you thought I called you!
FORW: Yeah, hmmph. Kay talk to you later.
RW: Bye, Dad. I love yo...
FORW: [Click!]
[END SCENE]
~~~
Kay I'm off - got some good tv tonight. The spy gets revealed on the Bachelor, and there's some bioterrorism thing going down in the West Wing. Thank GOD for TiVo.
xoxo A |
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| Being pregnant is tiring.. |
[Apr. 20th, 2004|01:07 am] |
And I'm barely pregnant. This better not get worse.
My head's not here - I'm off in blahblah land - not even thinking about babies and nurseries. I'm just not thinking of anything at all. Not good when you have to work. Or write a journal entry.
I'm not even gonna try to be witty. I spoke to Jen tonight and I can barely remember what we spoke about. Blech. Nighttime sucks. The mornings seem to be better.
That's it - I'm crawling into bed and gonna hump up with my dog, and try to let all this blechiness go.
And dude - don't EVEN get me started about what pregnancy does to your hair. It's out of CONTROL. I'm a giant, human mushroom.
xoxo A. |
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