I keep meaning to take a picture of my hugeness, but I continually and conveniently forget how to download pictures. Today I am wearing a green shirt. Picture Chris Farley in a green shirt. There's your picture.
All my life I've heard of the great debacle of pregnant women and having strangers randomly touching their stomachs. Some women find it alarming and don't want anyone, not even loved ones, to do the belly rub. Others don't really mind, but find it uncomfortable having a strange woman lightly caressing their abdomen in the grocery store. I was always curious to see where I stood on the matter, being that A) I have absolutely no personal boundaries and would likely welcome the contact and B) I am naturally inclined to seek out praise. A belly pat might as well as be a pat on the back, as far as I'm concerned. "Yes, I am an inspiration to others." or "Why thank you, I do have an absolute glow of immortal beauty about me, don't I!" and even "Sometimes I do wonder what it's like to not be such a good mother, but then, that wouldn't be me..."
So the fact that not a single stranger has yet approached me or my belly, offends me. I've tried to erase the look of pure loathing from my face, so as to encourage those typical of belly-rubbing to feel comfortable in breaking the ice with me, but nothing! I've even tried the occasional smile every now and again. I'm not sure I have it quite down, since it usually looks more like I'm baring my teeth and less like I'm inviting them for a simple stomach stroke. Bottom line? If someone I don't know doesn't come up and ask me when I'm due, all the while hugging my belly, I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a meltdown. I can easily picture myself approaching random grandmas in the grocery store and accusing them of hating babies. I might even use foul words like, 'anti-babite' or 'heathen bigot' to get the message across. Either way, I'm pretty damn close to getting arrested for accosting old ladies for not worshiping my belly or even acknowledging my greatness in baby baking, and I might need to get bailed out of jail one of these days. Will you be the one to help, even with news headlines like, "Rabid Pregnant Woman Beats Granny in Albertson's" or "Large Woman Wearing Green Shirt Overreacts When Sales Clerk Does not Congratulate Her on Supposed Pregnancy!" I just want a little credit.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Ribs and a baby
Someone told me that keeping a blog is a lot like keeping a journal and since we're told we should keep a journal, I will make this post more a journal entry and less a narrative on the idiots around me. Just kidding. Ent is not an idiot.
Dear Journal,
The baby has taken to a new game of escape-o-baby. He does this by trying to crawl out my throat through my ribs (this tends to end when I shove my fist down on his little body, trying to force him out of there), or trying to push his way out through the right side (he favors the right side; I don't know what this means or if it is at all significant in any way... probably not, but you must document these kinds of things when you're writing in a journal. It's journal 101). That also ends with me trying to push him back to where he belongs -the center of my stomach -where I shouldn't feel every little arm or foot of his entire body. He really is trying to make a break for it, to which I remind him that should he come out now, he'll be sleeping in a drawer with absolutely nothing to wear (this might work with a girl baby, but since boys care very little or not at all about what they wear, he seems more determined than deterred). I'm not ready for him to come because I still haven't caught that new mom fever where I'm obsessed with bedding and blankets and breast pumps, so until then, he is to remain in his stomach prison where I will continue to watch him from the outside trying to get to the outside. I watch my stomach bulge and poke and I scold him for his disobedience, but applaud him for his sheer will. He really has almost escaped like twice. Josh gets mad at me for poking him back down, accusing me of hurting him. We're pretty sure he's going to come out lumpy from all the poking. We still love him.
Other things you should know but probably don't care about, journal, is that I had a mind-blowing breakthrough of self-discovery. Josh and I were at Target registering (worst experience of my life) for the convict baby (he seriously just kicked me hard when I typed that. I think he already resents me... he shouldn't resent me until he's at least 16 years old), when this self-discovery happened.
The kiosk machine thing wasn't working and the girl at the front was trying to figure it out. When I say she was trying to figure it out, she was doing things like looking at it from 10 yards away and explaining to us that sometimes the kiosk was "just so dang persnickety." I honestly sat there starring at her, trying to look as menacing as possible (a 300 lb pregnant chic can manage that look pretty well), so she would stop saying 'persnickety' and start doing something about the kiosk failing. Josh was all roses as he smiled and joked with her, telling her we were in no rush. It was sickening, and it only made me more determined to make every employee at Target sorry they ever decided to don a red shirt and become an employee at Target. Whether or not we were in a rush, I was trying not to rush and punch her in the face for saying 'persnickety' like 12 times. That's when it came to me. We're one of those couples. I'm that biotchy woman and Josh is that overly nice guy. The girl always looks like she ate something fowl and the guy just seems overjoyed that nothing ever seems to work. You always wonder if she takes off her human mask when they're at home and transforms back into the demon she really is. Meanwhile you could tell the guy that his car just rolled over by a monster truck and his home was just seen burning to ashes, and he'd say something like, "Ho hum! Isn't that something!"
This realization has been very liberating and I'm glad I finally recognize what I really am. I'm a demon and Josh is a ho hummer. Very liberating indeed, since it explains everything. Everything.
So that's about it, journal. The baby is currently using my rib cage as a stepping stool and I need to take care of that pronto. It's amazing that he never gives up.
love
Courtney
Dear Journal,
The baby has taken to a new game of escape-o-baby. He does this by trying to crawl out my throat through my ribs (this tends to end when I shove my fist down on his little body, trying to force him out of there), or trying to push his way out through the right side (he favors the right side; I don't know what this means or if it is at all significant in any way... probably not, but you must document these kinds of things when you're writing in a journal. It's journal 101). That also ends with me trying to push him back to where he belongs -the center of my stomach -where I shouldn't feel every little arm or foot of his entire body. He really is trying to make a break for it, to which I remind him that should he come out now, he'll be sleeping in a drawer with absolutely nothing to wear (this might work with a girl baby, but since boys care very little or not at all about what they wear, he seems more determined than deterred). I'm not ready for him to come because I still haven't caught that new mom fever where I'm obsessed with bedding and blankets and breast pumps, so until then, he is to remain in his stomach prison where I will continue to watch him from the outside trying to get to the outside. I watch my stomach bulge and poke and I scold him for his disobedience, but applaud him for his sheer will. He really has almost escaped like twice. Josh gets mad at me for poking him back down, accusing me of hurting him. We're pretty sure he's going to come out lumpy from all the poking. We still love him.
Other things you should know but probably don't care about, journal, is that I had a mind-blowing breakthrough of self-discovery. Josh and I were at Target registering (worst experience of my life) for the convict baby (he seriously just kicked me hard when I typed that. I think he already resents me... he shouldn't resent me until he's at least 16 years old), when this self-discovery happened.
The kiosk machine thing wasn't working and the girl at the front was trying to figure it out. When I say she was trying to figure it out, she was doing things like looking at it from 10 yards away and explaining to us that sometimes the kiosk was "just so dang persnickety." I honestly sat there starring at her, trying to look as menacing as possible (a 300 lb pregnant chic can manage that look pretty well), so she would stop saying 'persnickety' and start doing something about the kiosk failing. Josh was all roses as he smiled and joked with her, telling her we were in no rush. It was sickening, and it only made me more determined to make every employee at Target sorry they ever decided to don a red shirt and become an employee at Target. Whether or not we were in a rush, I was trying not to rush and punch her in the face for saying 'persnickety' like 12 times. That's when it came to me. We're one of those couples. I'm that biotchy woman and Josh is that overly nice guy. The girl always looks like she ate something fowl and the guy just seems overjoyed that nothing ever seems to work. You always wonder if she takes off her human mask when they're at home and transforms back into the demon she really is. Meanwhile you could tell the guy that his car just rolled over by a monster truck and his home was just seen burning to ashes, and he'd say something like, "Ho hum! Isn't that something!"
This realization has been very liberating and I'm glad I finally recognize what I really am. I'm a demon and Josh is a ho hummer. Very liberating indeed, since it explains everything. Everything.
So that's about it, journal. The baby is currently using my rib cage as a stepping stool and I need to take care of that pronto. It's amazing that he never gives up.
love
Courtney
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Ent and me
I'm hungry. I'm always hungry.
In other exciting news, I'd like to give an update on the most exciting aspect in my life right now. It's my tomato plant. I realize I've never actually mentioned him (it's a boy; everything in my life is male right now...), so this isn't so much an update as it is breaking news, but whatever. I like 'update' better.
I'll cut right to the chase. My tomato plant, currently named Ent, after the Lord of the Ring tree shepherds, is causing quite the controversy throughout the ladies in my church. To put it plainly, there are tomato experts with a thorough understanding of proper tomato plant rearing throughout the county, and not a single one has a tomato plant as large, as prosperous, or with as many fruit as mine has. He is actually flourishing under my black thumb and has even brought spectators to their knees in awe. He is that amazing. He is bushier than most, leafier than most, fiercer than most, and even braver than most. We have a problem with bunnies here but not a single bunny has dared partake of this plant's forbidden fruit. They fear him, I'm sure, as we all do just a little bit.
The jealousy that has been the result of his success has not gone unnoticed, however. I often have to keep an eye on resentful neighbors, just to ensure that they don't try to poison him. I doubt that would effect him too much, being that he is as sturdy as a full-grown oak tree, but I still wouldn't like to see any part of him suffer. He might lose a leaf or something.
I imagine his rapid and triumphant growth is largely due to my constant love and attention. No other living plant has ever experienced so much thought and adoration. I tell him daily that I love him. I greet him morning and night, as I go to and from work. I touch his leaves and branches lovingly, and talk to him in an adult fashion (none of that baby talk for him, he's too much of a man to tolerate that). Basically, I've found the secret to gardening and I'm going to share the steps to that secret.
If this doesn't work for you, than you're an even worse gardener than myself. You might only need practice so you might consider having a child before you take on the full responsibility of a tomato plant. If that doesn't take (your child didn't turn out like you had wanted and ended up pooping or peeing on something other than their diaper), you might need to face the music. Living things and you are not meant to coexist. Try buying a nice bouquet of silk flowers and call it good.
In other exciting news, I'd like to give an update on the most exciting aspect in my life right now. It's my tomato plant. I realize I've never actually mentioned him (it's a boy; everything in my life is male right now...), so this isn't so much an update as it is breaking news, but whatever. I like 'update' better.
I'll cut right to the chase. My tomato plant, currently named Ent, after the Lord of the Ring tree shepherds, is causing quite the controversy throughout the ladies in my church. To put it plainly, there are tomato experts with a thorough understanding of proper tomato plant rearing throughout the county, and not a single one has a tomato plant as large, as prosperous, or with as many fruit as mine has. He is actually flourishing under my black thumb and has even brought spectators to their knees in awe. He is that amazing. He is bushier than most, leafier than most, fiercer than most, and even braver than most. We have a problem with bunnies here but not a single bunny has dared partake of this plant's forbidden fruit. They fear him, I'm sure, as we all do just a little bit.
The jealousy that has been the result of his success has not gone unnoticed, however. I often have to keep an eye on resentful neighbors, just to ensure that they don't try to poison him. I doubt that would effect him too much, being that he is as sturdy as a full-grown oak tree, but I still wouldn't like to see any part of him suffer. He might lose a leaf or something.
I imagine his rapid and triumphant growth is largely due to my constant love and attention. No other living plant has ever experienced so much thought and adoration. I tell him daily that I love him. I greet him morning and night, as I go to and from work. I touch his leaves and branches lovingly, and talk to him in an adult fashion (none of that baby talk for him, he's too much of a man to tolerate that). Basically, I've found the secret to gardening and I'm going to share the steps to that secret.
- Buy plant and let him/her know their potential. I told my tomato guy that I would be counting on him for the summer's grocery list. He needed to provide me with enough tomatoes to be able to only eat tomatoes for the rest of the summer and never have to buy another item of food until his slow decay in winter. He understood and was never confused at what I expected from him. **See notes below**
- Steal potting soil from neighbor.
- Put plant in ground and cover the roots with stolen potting soil.
- Water infrequently; this keeps the plant guessing and so he gets stronger by storing up nutrients, unsure when his next meal is coming. This also gives him 'grit.'
- Shower him with love and force random visitors to come and admire him. This gives him confidence. He not only recognizes his potential and your expectations, but he is aware how proud you are. This gives him an ego, and kind of a cocky 'tude that helps keep bugs, bunnies, and small children away.
- Watch him/her blossom like a weed.
If this doesn't work for you, than you're an even worse gardener than myself. You might only need practice so you might consider having a child before you take on the full responsibility of a tomato plant. If that doesn't take (your child didn't turn out like you had wanted and ended up pooping or peeing on something other than their diaper), you might need to face the music. Living things and you are not meant to coexist. Try buying a nice bouquet of silk flowers and call it good.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Hawaii
Before I post these pictures of Hawaii, let me just make clear that I am huge, and I'm aware that I'm huge. Feel free to drop your mouth in shock, point fingers, and spread images of my fat body all over the internet (I flatter myself in thinking that people care about my weight gains). I'm not afraid. I've come to face the facts that I will never be one of those pregnant women I see who look like they just stuffed a cantaloupe under their shirt and not in their thighs, neck, and face. Nope. I will be a swollen, puffed-up, and considerable mass. So enjoy my humiliation.I guess I should kind of give a recap of the whole trip. Josh and I went to Maui with my brother Clark, and his girlfriend, Ashley, and stayed in my parent's condo there. It was really fun even though Ashley is skinny and I mostly hate skinny people, but I forgave her after she took on the role of chef for the week. We went snorkling and sea kayaking the first day, with a barbacue that night for dinner. Next day we went on a snorkling boat trip, and went to dinner that night at a fish restaurant, followed up by walking down Front Street and seeing the Banyon tree. The next day we went to a different bay and just hung out on the beach, with snorkling, of course. The following day we went up to the volcano, and Josh and I hiked down while Ash and Clark hiked up (now who's the smart people in this case...). The next day we went swimming on the beach and worked on not dying in the ocean. This is a brief summary to which you undoubtedly do not care, but to save myself from ever having to tell anyone what we did in Hawaii, there's the general gist of it. Now if only everyone I ever talked to read my blog...
Pic 1: Me doing the pregnant pose where you try and give everyone a shot of your big belly. I'm 6 months along. This is right after we got back from the luau that everyone said they would never want to see again.
Pic 2: We went on a snorkling trip on a boat tour thing. It just happened to be the day that was windy and cold. We saw dolphins, whales, turtles, a manta ray and lots of other wonderful ocean things. We had to wear wet suits though, to get in the water. I can't figure out if I look more like a boy, or a manta ray.
Pic 3: This pretty much sums up every night for us. We would play hours upon hours of pitch, an old Asay card game. I'm pretty sure Josh and I only won one game out of the thousands we played and I'm pretty sure both Josh and I wanted to punch Ashley in the face. She just took so much pleasure in every win. It was sickening.
Pic 4: This was right before we went to dinner on Front Street (if you've been to Maui, you know where Front Street is).
Pic 5: This night, the Clark and Josh threw a football on the beach. They were thinking they were pretty manly, while others were probably wondering the 30-year old dudes were pretending to be 16.
Pic 6: This was at a fish restaurant we went to one night. Romance was in the air, especially when we asked our waiter (because he looked Hawaiian), how to best treat reef rash.
Pic 7: And the humiliation really starts. This was the first day we went snorkling and sea kayaking. That day was actually the best day of snorkling we had. It was pretty amazing, as is my maternity swimsuit.
Pic 8: This is all of us on the snorling boat when it was cold. Yup. We're kind of like the buttercream gang.
Pic 9: Another picture of me after the luau. Why is it in here? Probably because I think that lai head thing is amazing.
Pic 10: One day we went to Naapali Bay (?) and walked along the rocky coast, snorkled in the bay, and just sat on the beach. We love to smooch because we're so in love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
