July 2012


Let’s take you through a timeline, eh?

Last Saturday:  Get home from work and hubs tells me there’s water in the basement and he noticed it’s coming down from our bathroom.  Apparently, every time we take a shower, the water is coming down through the tile, which would explain why the previous owners had caulked the ever-living shit out of our bathtub.  Made note to self to stop doing helicopter arms in the shower – could possibly stop all the water from hitting any wall area.

Wednesday Morning, Before Work: Take shower.  Because apparently on Saturday we bitched and moaned about our problem, but did not make any further attempt to schedule a calendar of events, if you will, to take care of the problem.  Welcome to our  household – where we ignore a problem until it resolves itself.

Get out of the shower and hear the smoke alarm going off in the basement.  Run into the bedroom, scare Tony out of bed with some type of wild-banshee screaming about the basement being on fire, run downstairs with him, still soaking wet and in a towel, watch as he looks around at the puddles on the basement floor and the water running down our staircase that is causing the smoke alarm to go off.  In a complete stupor, where he literally looks half drunk and half asleep, he violently rips the smoke alarm from the wall, takes one look at me and says very matter-of-factly “we’ll deal with this later.”  He then proceeds to walk back up the staircase and get back into bed.

Wednesday morning, at work:  Because my husband’s new plan of action is dangerously close to his Saturday plan of action, which involves letting the basement sort itself out (it’s not the main floor, so as long as we don’t go down there and see the problem, we might just be able to live in blissful ignorance to the fact that our house has essentially sprung a leak on the starboard side), I do what every strong, independent female would do – I call my father-in-law and cry to him that I have no idea what to do.

This seems to help, as my father-in-law is a very handy man who would never pass an opportunity to do some type of remodel that involves tiling or shiny, new Home Depot goods.  I take a half day at work and waddle through the Tile Shop with him for 3 hours picking out tile to line our shower.  We get home to Tony, who, with a change of heart from this morning, is surprisingly ready for the demolition stage to begin.

We  manage to pull the crowbar out of his hands long enough to discuss in length about how, since we’re doing this anyway, we may as well go big.  That means, let’s just gut the entire bathroom and do that bathroom remodel we’ve been talking about for a few months now.  My concern was time, as I couldn’t see myself heading home after a few days in the hospital and driving to my in-laws with a newborn to shower.  I was also worried about money, knowing my husband and his affinity for all things “high-end” product.  This is on-the-fly, Tony…no need for the  heated toilet seat.

Saturday morning: The crew is over, the cement board is going up, and the tiling should start soon.  We’re using our half-bath for toilet and sink, but we’re making daily trips to the in-laws to shower.  I’m staying out of the way, yet I’m called upon when going to Home Depot to help with the money spending (and to keep an eye on how many items my husband throws in the cart).  We’re bordering on $2,000 dollars out the hole now, so we’ve taken Ivy League schools out of the running for Fox’s future.  With all the sugar I’ve consumed throughout this pregnancy anyway, I highly doubt they would have ever been in his horizon anyway.  I’m just sayin’…

As I sit here typing this, the plumber has been here and we’re set to begin dry-walling, ripping the moldy sub-floor out and tiling.  Even though the floor, vanity and toilet won’t be done in the next couple days, my father-in-law’s plan is to have a working shower for us as quickly as possible.  Bless his heart.  Really.

We’re going back and forth regarding what our next step should be.  Something like this really should have been caught by our home inspector…the 4 inch layer of caulk around the tub might have been a dead giveaway to someone who knows what he’s doing.  We’ve also heard some “interesting” things come up about this gentleman after all of this came out of the woodwork (literally).  It makes me wonder what else he hasn’t caught and could potentially be a huge risk.  It’s weird that our plugs fall out of the walls, right??

Who has Mike Holmes’ number?

Phew.

Anyway, I’ve brought you up to speed on our crazy, quick bathroom remodel of 2012.  We’ll have a beautiful, sparkling new bathroom for our friends and family to enjoy when they visit after Fox is born.  Still, though.  No helicopter arms in the shower, ok people?  Just in case…

If you came here expecting a post about things that are not a.) pregnancy related or b.) incredibly negative, you may want to start slowly heading back to the Internet door because I’m going to get all “Negative Pregnancy Feelings” all up in this joint.  If you’d like to see what it’s like to live “A Day in the Life of Tony,” then read on and feel for him.

Third option – If you’d like to provide a shoulder and possibly even brush my hair all loving-like for me as I cry to you about the suckiness of suckinesses, I will be instantly bonded to you for life.  You will not get rid of me, much like your very own, personal 30-year-old child who will keep calling you to see if I can move back in (my entrepreneurial go at creating that website that was going to make me millions just needs a little more time to catch), even if it means sleeping on the couch in the basement (it’s totally cool), but slowly I might start eating all the food in your cabinets and asking if you could swing me, like, $5 in gas money, man…I’ll get you back…

Look what you started by being nice to me.  Make sure you keep the pantry stocked with Cheetos, ‘cuz those are my fave.

Off track big time, I know.

Anyway, here’s where I start the whining.

I am just shy of 34 weeks pregnant now and things have definitely moved out of the “look at my adorable bump” and “I’m feeling super-great because I’m an incredibly annoying skinny pregnant lady” stage to “I am a freak, unlovable whale who is bringing the gaucho pant trend from 2005 back because I literally can’t fit into any other pants and I found those at the bottom of my dresser – hallelujah, amen.”

I joke to everyone that getting myself dressed for work is a struggle every morning, but I am seriously not joking.  I find I’m revolving the same 3 outfits every week, while always lovingly gazing at my “old body” clothes and wishing I could buy something new from the damn Banana Republic instead of Destination Maternity.

I am also not joking in the slightest when I admit that I’ve entertained the idea of how best to “dress up” a pair of yoga pants to make them look acceptable for the workplace.  So far this particular kind of crazy has not won out over rational thinking, however I still have 6 weeks to go and that means 6 weeks to help those crazy impulses build stamina in order to rule out all commonsense thinking.

Everything hurts now.  My pelvis feels like it has gotten a work out, but not the good, 50-Shades-of-Grey kind.  So do my inner thighs, but that could just be the chafing from them rubbing together now.  I can’t paint my toes or put on my socks anymore.  Rolling over in bed requires a pep talk.

Tony is sympathetic, but has that strain of ADD that makes it impossible for him to sit down and give me a back rub for more than 3 minutes at a time.

Our nursery looks the same as the picture I posted in the last entry, so Fox better not come early or we’ll be changing poopy diapers on a white shag carpet.

I’m not sure I’ve reached my “bitching” quota yet, so I have one more for you – it’s damn hot here.  Like 100 degree days for the past 3-4 weeks.  Listen.  I get it.  Mayan apocalypse in just a few months.  Crazy weather patterns.  Whatevs.  Just find me the damn air conditioner until December 21st.

Have I literally managed to spew enough negativity to make you all cranky and hateful towards me and my uterus yet?

Here’s where I apologize.  I am growing a little miracle and I remind myself of that every single day when I watch him do a little wiggle across my stomach.  I find myself resting my hands on my Buddha belly constantly and imagining what he’ll look like and what his cry will sound like.  I’m no dummy.  I realize how incredibly blessed I am that we are expecting a beautiful, little beaner.

So I appreciate you all lending an ear as I vent.  And for waiting for me to come full circle in this post and realize that there are more important things in my future than whether my pants fit.

This past weekend was my baby shower, which also meant that my dear mom flew up from Florida to attend the festivities, see our new house and marvel at the basketball I’m now carrying as cargo on my abs.

It was hard saying goodbye to her, but I know I’ll see her again in two months when this little squirt is born.  Two months.  8 weeks.  Holy shit.

It was so great to see my friends and family this past weekend and while I only have a few photos to share, here they are:

And here’s the aftermath (and keep in mind, this is AFTER we started organizing…):

Things are starting to get a little…tougher.

I’m 32 weeks now and nothing fits anymore.  Nothing.  I kid you not when I say I have made wearing yoga pants to just about every store or family function an acceptable thing, regardless of whether it really is.  Even my maternity jeans I bought in the 2nd trimester aren’t fitting over the thighs so easily.  I’m feeling fat.  And extra cellulite-y.  And maybe this is why:

It’s is a wonder that I passed my glucose test.

The next 8 weeks are still ahead and I’m not sure how I’m going to dress myself in the morning, but I can tell you one thing – I’m starting to feel reeeeally done with this pregnancy thing.  If you want to make a slightly early appearance, Fox, I won’t be mad at you, ok?