You're so ANAL about your BABY.

Jokes.com
Megan Mooney - Irish = Mexican
comedians.comedycentral.com
Megan Mooney Comedians Stand-Up

First of all, if Megan Mooney were to ask me to marry her I just might say yes, because she’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a comedienne and more. Too bad she's married (with children now, as a matter of fact). (Shout out to Ang for introducing us.)

This particular bit really spoke to me though – on a very deep level. I remember having these very same feelings the first time a friend of mine told me she was pregnant. She was a college friend and needless to say, we’d had some seriously good times - times we'd never be able to continue with a baby on board. After she broke the happy news I remember thinking “WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!?!”

It felt like she was breaking up with me for her reproductive rights. The NERVE.

As I’ve matured (i.e. ever since I've had to deliver the same personal development to my friends), I'm happy to report that I've embraced this news from others with a tad more class...even genuine happiness. However, as of late, I’ve begun to think long and hard about how I’ll continue to navigate my friendships, my marriage, and my work, and my drinking habits with a kid. There are definitely friends who have, in my opinion, been more successful in this endeavor than others, but I’m still unsure about what’s made them so successful. Timing? Good babysitters? A complete disregard for child protective services?

I don’t want to be the type of parent who makes everyone else have kids right along with me. Having a child is a decision Paul and I made on our own…we didn’t consult with our friends and ask them for permission to bring a third wheel into our group. And though I’m confident my friends will not only make accommodations to our new family circle AND go home and talk to one another about how amazing our mad parenting skills are and how they just can’t get enough of our incredibly smart, talented, athletic, and well mannered child, I think it’s equally important that Paul and I demonstrate that we’re willing to make accommodations to maintain our friendships on a kid-free level, too.

I don’t have kids yet, so I’m not sure what that looks like exactly, but I do know that for starters it means getting babysitters (or a small cage with some food) and dedicating childless conversations to each other and to our friends…even with our friends who already have kids (that is, if we can get them to simultaneously cage their kids, too). Because, well, sometimes I think I’m going to need conversation that doesn’t involve lactation and poop. I think they’ll need this too. Especially my friends who don’t have kids.

And when I do need to talk about that? Well, that’s what this blog is for! (Get ready to live, readers!)

Perhaps this is a naïve position to take. Perhaps all of you who currently have children are reading this while making all sorts of guttural noises and saying, with bated breath, “She has NO idea what she’s asking of herself!” Maybe you’d be right. But at the end of the day, when the smiles and sunshine and unicorn fantasy of children begins to dissipate and it starts raining poop and puke, I want to know that I can get by with a little help from my friends. And Jose Cuervo.

And I think in order to make that phone call with dignity, they need to know long before that day comes that I have not abandoned them. Or Jose.

Passing on an evolutionary step in human development.

Like most mothers-to-be, my dreams have been bat shit crazy. To keep you thinking less of me I’ll spare you some of the real doozies, but I will tell you that more than once a week I have that dream where I give birth to something resembling a gremlin. That, or I birth a child with T-Rex arms. I kid you not. That one comes up quite a bit.

These dreams happen so often that during my last ultra sound, I kept asking the radiology tech (in a very suspicious “YOU KNOW SOMETHING I DON’T KNOW” voice) “So everything [insert a checklist of items including, but not limited to, a finger, toe, limb, eye, nose, and mouth count] looks fine then, right?”

Interestingly enough, though, I’ve yet to ask the tech if she’s been able to get a good close-up of the kid’s knuckle count.





That’s right. If you don’t already know (by that I mean if I haven’t already shown you this while exuding a great deal of pomp and circumstance), I’m missing a knuckle. I actually think that the human race does not NEED that particular knuckle (I'm right handed and it doesn't impede on any day to day function of hand use...with the exception of maybe picking my nose...but who picks their nose with THAT finger anyway? We've got THUMBS for that.) However, DON’T TELL MY MOM THIS, because I’ve been milking this little gem for all it’s worth for the past 25 years.

You see, my mom beats herself up over the fact that I have this small hand deformity because she (unknowingly) smoked while pregnant with me. That, and she didn't actually KNOW I was missing a knuckle until I pointed it out to her one day while we were painting our nails together at the kitchen table. I think the conversation went something like this -

Me: Mom, why doesn't my knuckle pop up like yours?
Mom: WTF???

We know, Mom, “NO ONE KNEW YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO SMOKE BACK THEN!!!!” (Side note: my mother has not smoked for over 25 years. I'm guessing she quit about the time we had the above conversation.)

That said, let me be clear: I do not think her smoking had anything to do with this deformity, but when I’m trying to get under her skin about something – I mean REALLY give her a hard time - I’ll sometimes mime the action of smoking by taking a fake drag of a cigarette and setting the imaginary cigarette in the slot where the knuckle should sit…like it’s an ashtray.

Opportunities to pull out this crowd pleaser usually present themselves when my mom is giving me a hard time about something domestic, but lately these situations have been few and far between. I think because I’m giving her the grandchild she’s always wanted, she’s decided she’s got bigger fish to fry when it comes to worrying herself over my lack of domestic capabilities – like HOW WILL I KEEP SAID GRANDCHILD ALIVE?

Suddenly my inability to wash bath towels properly has taken a back burner.

I know, Mom. I KNOW. But don’t worry, Paul’s around to make sure the baby only drinks wine on weekends.

Ehem…anyway, secretly I’m kind of hoping that my kid is missing a knuckle. That way, when my child looks at me with his/her dark curly hair, brown skin and dark eyes and asks me if I’m REALLY his/her mother, I can say “Of course I am. I've given you my lack of knuckle. YOU’RE WELCOME.”

Because when my kid whips out that mime scene for her grandma? Well, that’s going to be proud moment for me, as I’ll know right then and there that I was able to throw a little something special my kid’s way…something I received from my own mother…something even more important than a four knuckle fist. After all, it’s not what you can or cannot physically do with 9 knuckles…it’s how you use it.

My muse...

Today I created a new Pandora station. Can you guess what it was called?



Nothing like a little New Kids, Debbie Gibson and Whitney Houston to get you through the afternoon! All I needed was my walkman.

It was great until our intern came in my office and I told her how much I missed Tiffany, as her version of "I Think We're Alone Now" reigns supreme against all others. She was all, "Who's Tiffany?"

Ouch.

Now I know how Paul feels when I ask him about music from the olden days.

I made a thing!!!

Look! I made this for a friend's baby shower card:



When Paul walked in and saw me getting all crafty he was all, "UMMMM, who are you and what have you done with my wife?"

I was so proud of myself. Now it is over. It was a fleeting moment. I'm confident it will never happen again. SO ENJOY THAT CARD, KELSEY.

28 Week and Counting...

After much anticipation (okay, okay, so maybe it was only like, ONE person who asked[hi Traci!]), I bring you my first belly picture:



I guess I'm just not big on like, sharing pictures of myself when I look like a beached whale. But hey, y'all asked for it, so GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT!

I'm really looking forward to that moment when I can have a baby and be like, "I lost 15 pounds today!"

(For those of you who have had kids and know that it's completely unrealistic of me to think that I will actually lose 15 lbs the day I give birth: please just let me be blindly led in this department. After all, I thought the baby was in my cervix that one time and you set me straight on that already, so consider your job complete. Don't even get me STARTED on how I think this thing is actually going to move OUT of my cer...errr...uterus?)

Paul has yet to feel the baby move. He has no patience, and the baby appears to get stage fright the minute he lays his giant hand on my belly. It's like when it's dancing around in there like a white girl, and Paul puts it's hand on my belly, it immediately feels judged and just quits dancing altogether.

Wait...are we still talking about the baby? Cause my baby's got MOVES, y'all. MOVES.

Bumps in the road.

Warning: this is that one post where I talk at nauseam about my medical problems. This is the type of thing that my husband refers to as "over sharing"...so grab a drink and get ready to live!

Yeah, so being pregnant is getting hard. And by hard I actually mean slightly annoying. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m creating life as we speak, and that’s awesome and awe-inspiring and stuff, but for the most part, I think that at this point if I could just have a pregnancy on like, a layaway option, wherein after rendering 9 months worth of payments I could just go pick up the kid? Well, I think I’d go with that option.

For example, the drinking thing. Yes (MOM), I know it’s immature to keep talking about how much I miss vodka sodas. It IS. Because at the end of this whole thing I’ll get a baby and not having drinks for 9 months will seem like a worthy sacrifice. It is a worthy sacrifice. But I’m always surprised when women who have been pregnant are all, “Oh my gosh! You MISS it? It just did NOT sound good to me.” My response to that?

“Then lady, you didn’t like it like I like it. Period.”

Another reason that this pregnancy thing has been slightly annoying is that I’ve had weird things happen. For example, I learned that my umbilical cord (apparently that’s the thing that connects me to the baby!?! Every day I learn something new…) only has two vessels flowing between me and the baby. Most umbilical cords have three vessels. My doctor said this isn’t a big deal, but when I asked her if it was like having my baby on slim fast she didn’t really disagree. She was quick to point out, however, that despite this new development the baby has still managed to grow at an alarming rate, weighing in the 90th percentile. I WONDER WHY, PAUL.

Also, my right ovary has developed a little side kick. Well not totally little. It’s more like a baseball sized tumor side kick. I envision my right ovary as the “black sheep” ovary of the family that has like, a Hispanic accent, a few tattoos and who keeps bringing carnies home for dinner. It’s that ovary that says “Say hello to my little friend” (I can’t say that without it sounding Hispanic, so that’s why I think it’s of Hispanic ethnicity) to the radiologist every time she covers my stomach with goop to say hi.

This specialist doctor who specializes in ovary side kicks is not concerned with this thing…other than that it could twist, burst, or result in an early c-section where he’d remove my ovary, its little friend, and the baby all at once. I’m thinking if I’m really going to have a 16 lb baby this might not be so bad. So I got that going for me, which is nice.

Oh! And I’m suddenly getting morning sickness. So that’s a new development too. I’m enjoying it. Paul is enjoying hearing about it.

And yes, I totally owe you guys some baby bump pics. Why you are all fascinated with seeing me grow into a pregasaurus I’m not sure, but I’m willing to oblige, so stay tuned!

In the meantime, I’m actually starting to get excited about where this little babes will be setting up shop for the next few years after he/she makes its grand appearance. Check out this nursery that I plan on trying to copy in under $15 dollars:











Think I can pull it off?

Right now this room is the bane of my existence, so I’ve got my work cut out for me, for sure. Buttttttt, maybe it will be cool? No? What do you all think? (By that I mean only tell me if you like it.)