addle-brained pregnant lady

Thanks to Mommy-to-be brain, I managed to forget my way out of my neighborhood this morning. Or maybe the almost-triple-digit temperature at 10 am. was frying my brain. Pregnancy in Texas in summer is not for the faint of heart.

Damn that Lance Armstrong

Why did he have to name his new son Max? That makes two celebrities I know of who named their sons Max in recent months – him and Charlie Sheen. I am planning on naming my son Max, because I love the name, but I also liked the fact that it was a bit under the radar. It doesn’t turn up on any of the top name lists, but now it will probably start to. Friends already ruined Emma for me! Don’t take away Max!!


I get unreasonably annoyed when I am finger-combing my hair (or combing or brushing it at all) and I hit a snag. It seems like the most surprising, hurtful annoyance. Especially when I have already brushed my hair five times. How are there more tangles??? I guess I am still tender-headed. I used to run away from my mother screaming when she would brush my hair when I was a child. At least, when I thought I could get away with it. We have a picture of my paternal grandfather comforting me after I ran from my mom and the brush. I still probably got spanked, which shows how much I hated having my long, tangled hair brushed. I would get so fed up I was willing to risk a spanking.

Eventually, I started brushing my own hair and I realized why it was so hard for my mom. It was soooo long and thick. Plus, my short, little arms couldn’t reach the bottom of my hair with the brush. My mom noticed too late one morning when dropping me off at school that the bottom half of my hair was still tangled. She couldn’t catch me in time. I was mortified when I found out. My mortification remained unsurpassed until she let me go off to school with my fly unzipped on picture day in 8th grade. And who was it who noticed my fly was unzipped and started laughing uncontrollably? Oh, yes. My ex-boyfriend. Ever since that day, I have compulsively checked my fly, even when there is no chance of it being unzipped. In fact, it took me awhile to stop checking my maternity jeans, even though they have no fly.

I have finally let go of my resentment towards my mother for not making sure I was properly attired before school twice in the thirteen years during which I attended school living under her roof.  However, the paranoia will last forever.

lazy pregnant lady

If my biggest problem is that I can’t manage to get up before noon (Well, more than four minutes before noon.) during my first month of summer vacation, which happens to coincide with my ninth month of pregnancy, then I’m a pretty lucky person.

crazy pregnant lady

I found myself talking out loud to myself in Whole Foods today. And you know what? It was strangely comforting. I said that part out loud, too.

wussy pregnant lady

I think the last trimester is making me extra-squeamish. Every time I look at my husband’s injured toe, I get butterflies in my stomach. Maybe because I am remembering how scared I was when he dropped the sheet of glass on his foot. Blood and stitches don’t usually bother me, so I don’t understand it otherwise.

Not only that, but I wigged out when Fudgie tried to eat a lizard earlier. He got the poor thing’s tail off and it (the tail) kept wiggling and bouncing around. Totally grossed me out, even though I’ve seen that happen before. Poor, poor lizard.

skin issues

I wonder why I am so fascinated with zits, scabs, and bug bites. It takes every bit of my willpower to leave them alone and not squeeze, pick, or scratch until they swell mutinously (or in the case of a scab, bleed). I have heroically managed to start leaving my husband and, to a lesser extent, my cat Earl Grey (He gets mysterious back wounds that scab over.) alone, which demonstrates the sheer force of my love for them. Why are skin abnormalities so fascinating? Should I have been a dermatologist?


Well, it has been one year since I posted about no one believing I was excited to turn thirty. I am now officially one month past thirty and I can tell you that I suffered no qualms about it. Thirty is just not old, people. Plus, there’s nothing wrong with being old! I think it’s way better than being young. I had an awesome birthday in San Antonio with my hubby and just felt glad to be here. I know quite a few people who didn’t get the chance to turn thirty and probably would have been glad if they could have. It’s just silly to belly-ache when you get to be alive.

Maybe cravings aren’t a myth

I have not had any cravings to speak of during my pregnancy. At least, not until the past couple of weeks. All of a sudden, my wants are much more specific (For instance, a brownie, but it has to be a brownie, not HEB Brownie Bites, and it has to be chewy and crumbly, not cakey. With no nuts or icing.) and I tend to get more frustrated if they aren’t fulfilled quickly. I had cravings earlier in pregnancy, but it was more like I was extremely susceptible to suggestion. If I didn’t get it, it wasn’t the end of the world. Now I’m at the point where I spent last week intermittently peeved with my husband, because he hadn’t caught my hints and surprised me with kolaches and a mocha from It’s a Grind. (Although I kept saying I probably shouldn’t have the coffee every time I mentioned it to him, so you can understand why he might not act on it.) Usually, I am pretty direct about asking him to get certain foodstuffs for me, but suddenly, I was irrationally hoping he would catch my hints and surprise me.

Not only am I expecting mind-reading from my husband, which I have always striven not to do, but I am finding it much more difficult to resist unhealthy cravings. I have had tater tots two days in a row. Today they were cheese tots. (Mmmm. I’d eat more right now if I could.) I am keeping my fingers crossed that these bad habits won’t carry over in to my postpartum life. I thought I left the fast food cravings behind in grad school!

decisions, decisions

Well, my husband and I have finally made some more progress on the baby to-do list. We finished purchasing the furniture, decided definitely NO (Capitals intended.) on circumcision, and decided that the baby will be ok sleeping on his own in the nursery. Every single website seems to contradict the previous one about the relative dangers of sleeping alone or with the parents, so we went with the solution that will probably provide the least amount of stress to all human and feline occupants of the house. He is probably more likely to be in danger in our room from our extremely friendly 17-pound black cat than SIDs. (No flippancy intended. I take SIDs very seriously.)

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