Cha cha cha.

Today Mason and I went to Target. We go there a lot. The kid sees red carts and the big bulls eye and starts clapping and pointing and "ooohhhing" and "ahhhhing". We made the usual rounds: women's clothing, baby section, jewelry, milk, seasonal. I threw what I needed into the cart and as I was swiping my card I got that feeling. Not the Wheeling feeling, that feeling. The one where you are like, "NOW. Where is the bathroom? NOW NOW NOW NOW!!!" Problem is, I had already purchased my loot and I had an increasingly antsy 10 month-old in my cart.

I did not have time to put the bags in the car, I did not have time to drive home, I was not leaving my already-purchased items outside the bathroom (let alone my child), I will not eat green eggs and ham, I will not eat them Sam I am. So I did what any desperate mother who does not wear adult diapers would do: I grabbed my purse, child, gallon of milk, 2 kind-of heavy bags and I ran to the bathroom. I took the handicapped stall, hung up my purse (Coach, haaaallllo), one of the bags and put the rest of it on ::shudders:: the floor. Yes, including the kid. Trust, those rickety hooks are NOT strong enough to hold my little man.

I did...well I did what I needed to do all while keeping Mason in the standing position by securing his little hands on my knees and off of the toilet seat. When finished, I grabbed the boy, and the purse and I washed my hands. It was then that I turned around and realized that the stall door had shut AND locked itself behind me. MOTHER! I wanted to cry, I wanted to run, I wanted that new bathing suit that was in my bags! What else was I supposed to do? I sat Mason on the ground and army crawled my ass into the stall, unlocked the door, grabbed my shit and ran. I barely made it back to my cart without dropping my child. I must have looked SUPER classy.

At least it was early morning and the store was filled with other moms that needed to escape their homes. At least I am not showing any signs of infectious diseases, yet. Lastly, as least I didn't poop my pants.

Babies and Cats

The similarities between cats and babies are astounding. Especially my cat and my baby. Since Mason has begun exploring our house, he has discovered the door stoppers. He loves to play with them and I have to endure constant BIOOONNGGGGG-ing until he moves on to his next victim. Binx used to love to paw at the door stoppers while we were in the bathroom. Sort of his little way of telling us that he really wanted in so he could get some pets while we were taking a dump. Another thing? They both love to sleep. LOVE IT (most of the time). Binx of course sleeps all.day.long and cannot be disturbed (only for pets). Mason has a strict napping schedule that he has made for himself and if it is not followed, things like this happen:

Then there is the shower. No one can resist some fresh shower water, right? Binx loves to drink the leftover sudsy, surely mold-infested shower water laying on the shower floor. Mason of course spends my entire shower banging on the door with his chubby little hands waiting for the moment when I step out so he can crawl in.

They are both definitely my babies, and while one is probably neglected (I'll let you figure that one out) I love them both equally, but yet not, for different reasons? Yes, something like that. They fill my days with just the right amount of comic relief.

I am one funny bitch.

Untitled from Tiffany Luc on Vimeo.

A really shitty story. Literally.

Approximately 3 hours ago I heard Mason making noise in his crib. I thought maybe since he went to bed at 9:15 last night that he would let us sleep in a little. Wrong. I thought maybe I could sneak in without him seeing me and cover him back up and get him to go back to sleep. Fail. I was greeted with the usual "Hey! Good Morning! My favorite! I pooped! I stink! I have been nomming on my blanket! See! It's all wet! Where's my Ugly Doll?! Let's PLAAAAAY!!" smile. Busted. I scooped him up, put him on the changing table and went to work. What happened next is all a blur because a.)it was 7am, b.)I didn't my contacts in and c.)I think what you are about to read literally fell to shit in about .3 seconds.

I opened the diaper and of course there was poop. There is every morning. Although yesterday he had prunes DOH! and he moves a lot now before I get to him DOUBLE DOH! and there was shit. smeared. all. over. his. ass. Thankfully none had escaped out. Yet. The he spotted his Ugly Doll. The contortions started. There is one thing he is more happy to see in the morning than mommy or daddy and that's his Ugly Doll Big Toe. I couldn't control his legs. Poop was smearing. Poop was now all over my fingers, my arms, Big Toe! I called out to Paul, trying to not sound like Mason was dying or something. No answer. I called out again, a little more panic in my voice. I had Mason by his ankles as he squirmed all around, head almost completely twisted off of his neck, arms above his head "Ooooohhhh Ahhhhh, Baaaaaaa". He didn't seem to notice that everything was being covered in shit, he was having fuuuuun, it is moooorrrrrnnnning!!!

I heard Paul say, "Where are you?!". I called out that I was "IN BAYYBEEES ROOOMM HURRRRRRRY!!". Ultimately, there was a snap decision to throw him in the tub, a mere 9 hours after his last bath. I washed the smears away, washed my hands and arms, threw new jammies on the boy and we all got in bed and snuggled like nothing ever happened. All before 7:30am.

Raw meat

It's probably in my best interest to just not leave the house. Ever. Either that or start declining invitations by our friends to attend adult weekends where there will no doubt be alcohol involved. OR I could avoid water when I am wearing flip-flops. Add stairs to that list, avoid the stairs as well. The sad thing is, I really wasn't even drunk at this point. Somehow I had managed to avoid hurting myself after THE TEQUILA and waiting until THE TEQUILA had worn off and all that was really in my system was THE CHLORINE.This, of course is not the extent of my injuries but I figured one photo of an Ohio-weathered-dried-up-leg was all you could probably stomach since the rest of my injuries are IN PLACES.

Oatmeal

What happens when you mix oatmeal with a 4.5 month-old who likes to stick everything in his mouth, including the spoon you are feeding him with?

New Year, New Priorities

New Year's Eve 2006-

"Oh my GOD I am getting married next year! WOW! Let's get wassssssted and party until 4am!"

New Year's Day 2007 agenda: Sleep. Like forever. Take 8 million Advil and cruise through Taco Bell for lunch. Greasiness loves hangovers. Or hangover's love greasiness? I can't think. My head is pounding.

New Years Eve 2007-

"Oh my GOD I am going to have a baby next year. And I can't drink. Shit. And nobody knows I am pregnant but my husband. Quick, self, whip some story about antibiotics or something that nobody really believes. Swig some sparkling grape juice and pretend it is a delicious cocktail. This is going to be a long year."

New Year's Day 2008 agenda: Sleep. Like forever, again. I am so tired! Eat an entire pot of mac and cheese. Go back to sleep. Play some Wii. Eat more. Sleep more.

New Year's Eve 2008-

"Oh my GOD, why won't you stop crying?! Should we take him to dinner or not? He is going to be difficult all night. He will never sleep in his pack and play at our friends house with all of the noise! This is totally going to suck. Give me a margarita and a bottle of frambois QUICK to numb myself."

New Year's Day 2009 agenda: Try to sleep while Paul tends to Mason at 7am after going to bed at 1am. Get up at 8:30am, eat breakfast. A real breakfast. Not hungover at all. Play with Mason and feed him. Watch Mason fall asleep in my arms and smile as he dreams about bottles. Or Elmo. Or whatever nearly-four month old's dream about. Lay him down in his crib and think about how incredibly lucky I am. This is going to be the best year yet.

Hope you all had a safe, wonderful, hangover-free New Year's. Wishing you health in happiness is 2009!

And CONGRATS Colleen and Eric on your pregnancy. Enjoy every minute, it goes by so fast! Love you both!

What am I doing?

37w 6d

Today's post brought to you by Natural Way to Induce Labor No. 164: Spicy Foods

Spicy foods, evidently making pregnant women go into labor since the beginning of time. Oh, and giving them bad gas too.

15 days. 15 DAYS? I could start the next sentence going two ways. I could start complaining about possibly having another 15+ days of "will I or won't I sleep tonight" or "what was that? WHAT WAS THAT PAIN just now?!" OR I could get all giddy and excited and start with the "Like, ohmygod I am going to be a mother soon" rants. I think I will do neither. I think instead I will focus on what I have been doing with my days. I'm sure you are all dying to know because OBVIOUSLY it doesn't take me 16 hours to write these posts.

Most recently, I have been doing a lot of reading and catching up on my backlogged 90210 episodes. I read Dan Brown's Angels and Demons last week and I must agree with my husband that it was WAY better than DaVinci Code. Trust. I have also graduated to the baby books instead of the pregnancy books. I had a little "holy shit I know nothing about babies!" (entirely not true) moment last week with my mom and we sped off to the nearest Borders. Turns out I know a lot more than I think.

I have also been getting myself pretty. Pedicure? Check. Highlights? Check. Eyebrow wax? Check. Half-assed backyard tan? Check! Yep, lookin' as good as I can. All that would complete the look now is a non-protruding belly button and a baby in my arms.

Just a dream.

33w 4d

First of all, the next Summer Bunch baby is coming today! Amy and Dave are expecting Miss Nola this afternoon! Congrats and good luck!

I had some pretty odd dreams last night, one of which I know was the result of watching Snapped on Bravo for a little bit before going to bed. No, I am not planning to murder my husband but after the second dream I had, I briefly considered it - until I realized it was just a dream of course.

It was one of those dreams where you wake up and have this sinking feeling in your gut that it really did happen, and then it takes you a good 5-10 minutes to realize that it did not. I turned and looked at Paul, whose elbow was of course pointing straight at the ceiling threatening my face, and realized that it was indeed a dream. I can't remember the entire context of the dream, but it went something like this:

I was home, barefoot and 8.5 months pregnant of course, and Paul brings home this gorgeous blond girl and informs me that he is no longer attracted to me at this point in time and wanted to hang out with her. They were going to watch a movie and I was more than welcome to watch it with them. So I did. He sat with his arm around her at one side of the couch, while I sat on the other side, scarfing down a bowl of ice cream (see, it really was a dream). Once the movie was over, I headed up to bed where I heard her say she was leaving. I peaked around the corner, just in time to see Paul kiss her. I was horribly upset. Somewhere in the dream, I ended up slapping him (go me).

I woke up completely drenched in sweat (while Paul was shivering of course) and breathing so hard that my lungs now feel like I ran a marathon. I was half-crying and had a horrible feeling in my stomach - similar to the feeling I had the morning I woke up and found out my boyfriend in college was cheating on me (I have ESP). All it took was me rolling over and looking at my husband and his menacing elbow to calm down. When I told Paul about the dream this morning he said, "What an asshole". When I told him that I slapped him in the dream, he said, "Good!".

It was all dream and sometimes I think my life is all a dream, but a good one, because of that man.

Ju-LIES!

30w 5d

Hello July! So nice to see you. Your appearance can only mean one thing, right? That my precious, lovely, not-too-big but not-too-small, stork-dropped, sleeping all night from the beginning, never-pooping, never-crying, completely self-sufficient from the beginning BABY is coming in less than 2 months, RIGHT? Right. What are those laughs, Internet? Why are you laughing at me? I didn't say anything funny. This is what happens after 10 full months of carrying a baby, right? They fall out of you without you even knowing and then your body immediately goes back to its pre-pregnancy size, or even smaller, correct?

That means I can stop trolling the web for the not-so-fun products and ideas I will need for after his delivery, right? So I won't need to buy stock in Shrek-sized double thick, extra absorbent woman diapers? Super.

No need for the dairy cow milker? Or the completely covered to HEY BOOBIES! in less than .5 seconds bra?

What about this little find? What about this gem that I found on Lil Sugar today? It's a frozen condom pop. Can you imagine your husband's surprise to find these guys lining the innards of your freezer? And no, that's not what you do with it, although the thought briefly crossed my sick mind as well. Just lay this puppy in your undies and ahhhhhh soothing relief. Although I am not sure how sitting would go, but I am sure I would have wanted to try anything, right July? That is, IF I would have needed these products/ideas.

What's that July? "Bwahaha continue shopping oh naive pregnant one?" Is that what you said? Watch your back July. That goes for you too, August. I may just be armed with frozen condoms and I bet they hurt.

It just keeps happening.

27w 5d

I'd like to think that I'm not bad to look at, or so I've been told. I'm not one to fish for compliments by going around complaining that "I feeeel soooo ugly and faaaat!!!" pregnant or not. I am also not one to stand in front of a mirror for hours on end brushing my hair Marsha Brady-style and fish for compliments by saying, "My hair is pretty, don't you think my hair is pretty?". Men (and some women) look at me. I know this. My mom, Paul, friends have pointed this out to me. I never really noticed before.

Now, I DO notice. I notice that they see my face, look down at the belly and immediately look away. It keeps happening everywhere I go. Just last week I went to Chipotle and it happened TWICE! The first time was as I was parking. Some younger boys saw me in my car (belly unseen of course) and started making googly eyes at me. Then as soon as I stepped out of the car, belly in full force, they looked away. Obviously scared of catching pregnancy by staring for too long. The same way a laser beam permanently damages you retinas. The same thing happened, this time by men in business suits inside the restaurant as I was waddling to order my food.

I'm thinking about carrying a brush in my purse so I can stand in front of these men brushing my hair and proclaiming, "My hair is pretty. Don't you think I'm pretty? Stop looking down. FOCUS! Eyes up here! Look how magnificent my new boobs are!"

What I have learned so far, Part II

26w 5d

More things that pregnancy has taught me so far:
-People give you diapers. ALL THE TIME. Really! I guess it is some pay-it-forward law that the American Pregnant Women Association of America voted on and passed. BL's closet is filling up with diapers. Pretty soon we will run out of toilet paper and I'll be all, "No, it's cool. Don't waste the gas in the car, we'll just wear some of the baby's diapers", and then I will reach down towards the ground and grab one. You know, since by Friday they will surely be starting to trickle into the living room.

-Your feet, they swell. Yep. Those bones and veins that you see when you look at them, gone. I like to think of my tootsies as resembling bloated, dead fish sometimes. Then I make fishy faces.
-Ever wanted to hear a labor story? No problem. Just get pregnant, because then EVERYONE will want to tell you theirs. Including the lady who was hired to school you on how to administer life-saving CPR on your infant. She will spend about 2 minutes covering that little bit about chest compressions and shit and then the other 58 minutes talking about how she handled the pain. Oh the painful pain.
-What about your lungs and rib cage? Have you ever felt what it is like to be kicked in your lungs and rib cage? From the inside? Ask me. I know.
-Taking a bath is hard. Like college calculus-hard. Our bath tub is really deep and I basically have to get on all fours to ease myself into and out of the tub. But the time I spend in there? Pure bliss.
-You fart involuntarily. I used to pride myself on being able to keep up with the guys when it came to farting. I could rip them just as loud, with a little effort of course. But now? Now I just have to walk around - you know, around the OFFICE where other people are trying to do work. Then I have the daunting task of pretending to make fart noises with my mouth. I think it is time to just own up.

*Edit - I love free diapers, I really do. I was not complaining. I also love cakes. And sweaters.

I forgot what I was going to title this post.

24w 1d

I was going to write about a completely different topic today, but I am holding off for one of those days when I feel like being a HUGE bitch. Not really, but I just haven't collected all of my research.

I am lucky if I remember to put on underwear these days among other things. I forget everything and it is just as frustrating when someone gives me shit about it as when I finally remember. Tiff, did you do this? No. Well what the heck? You are SO forgettable. Yeah thanks captain obvious. I forget the names of things, where I put things, to deposit my paycheck, switch laundry, feed the cat, call people back, etc. I could go on for days. I cannot even hold a respectable debate with anyone these days because I have no intellectual points to add to the conversation. Why do I support Obama again? Uh, um...he has a pretty smile?

What were we talking about again?

Oh, baby brain. Riiiight. So I decided that I was going to do some research and find out if this whole baby brain thing is for real, or if I am just plain crazy. Stop laughing. Turns out, I am only part-crazy and while there really isn't any hard and fast evidence of the baby brain existence, it is pretty obvious why it occurs. Sleep deprivation, being overwhelmed, and distractions are three of the main causes of baby brain. I have also found that people have to explain things to me 18 times before I properly process it. My boss gave me an assignment today and I asked the same questions over and over again to make sure I understood what she was asking. Annoying? Why yes I am.

Once upon a time

22w 1d

Gather 'round chitlins. I've got a story to tell. You see, once upon a time I was not pregnant. I wasn't even married! But one Spring, I met this wonderful man. He had the most gorgeous blue eyes I had ever seen and I frequently thought to myself, "Self, aren't those the most gorgeous blue eyes you have ever seen? We must marry this man. We must get our grubby little hands on those blue eye genes!". He was also hot. And smart. And funny. And he asked me to go to Dave and Busters one night! SCORE!

If you don't know what Dave and Busters is, imagine this: A big place, with children who look like adults running around playing games. Pacman. Skee-ball. Pop-a-shot. You name it. They also have a restaurant with pretty good food. Oh and beer. Yeah they let you play all those games with a beer in your hand.

So one night this handsome, blue-eyed man and I (plus two friends) went to Dave and Busters. I had only been dating said blue-eyed man for a short while at that point and was already looking forward to at least the next date (most likely the next 100 years of dates). After some food, drinks and a couple games, we saw it. The Gene Machine.

Me: Why not.
Him: Sure.
Me: I mean, it can be funny. You know, to see what our potential, future, maybe children would look like.
Him: Yeah. Could be.

So he puts some money in it. First the machine scans his face. Then mine. Then we wait. What is it doing? What is taking so long? Did we break it?! Oh no. Then it happens. The Gene Machine spits out a little picture. We both kind of looked at each other reluctantly and one of us (I can't remember who) picked it up to have a look. Nothing could have prepared us for what we saw:

We were laughing so hard. In the midst of our breakdown, I believe it was Paul who said, "Tiff I don't think this is going to work. It's been nice knowing you." I agreed. You can't see it online, but in the original picture it appears that the "CHILD" has drool going down his chin. And what about those ears?! And the Donald Trump comb-over? You know what though? The "CHILD" appears to be a boy. So far it has one thing right. And that scares me!

Where are the blue eyes? Oh NO! Not the blue eyes! I guess we will just have to wait and see just how accurate the Gene Machine really is.

Caution: Makes Wide Turns. Objects in Mirror May Be Closer Than They Appear.

21w 1d

WARNING: Hit the parental protection button for this post now. It may get R-rated. It's a free country.

The belly keeps getting bigger kids and I often feel the need to protect it. Whether it be consciously or subconsciously, I protect it. I often find myself walking around with my hand on it just in case something or someone pops out of a closet screaming BOO! and I jump back Mary Katherine Gallagher-style into a wall and the baby gets all shaken-not-stirred in there. I still have a whopping 18 weeks and some odd days of growing to do and by that time I am sure Paul will be slapping a WIDE LOAD banner across my ass.

"Stand back folks, this one makes wide turns!"
"What's that? I just dropped something? Funny, I can't see it. Can you point me in the general direction it fell? Oh, and can you pick it up for me?"
"Eeeeeee my sciatic! Give me ten minutes, I need to roll over."

Can't wait.

And it isn't just a fear of someone or something hitting or poking the belly (and don't give me the whole "Relax, he's well protected" speech either, because as he gets bigger, he gets less protection), sometimes when I, or Paul, or whoever says something like, "Fuckity fuck fuck, etc." I feel the need to cover the belly up so he can't hear. Funny huh? Well, I am a funny gal. I do make him listen to Wu Tang (shh don't tell Paul) and he loves Ushers new jam.

It really is funny though that I felt so big at 10 weeks. Then WHOA! 16 weeks. Then came 20. In all seriousness, I do love the belly. I really, really do.

Congrats to Kristin and Lee! Ty Robert made his appearance yesterday-ish in Italy!! We can't wait to meet him!

Set the record straight.

20w 6d

I have talked about Old Wives Tales before (OWT) and their undeniable hilarity, so now that we know we have a penis on our hands, lets revisit those. Shall we?

I am carrying high. OWT say it should be a girl. WRONG! The way you carry actually depends on your uterine tone (aka how tone your stomach muscles are).

Baby Luc's heartbeat has been above 140 for the majority (if not all) of the times it has been checked. Heart rate's over 140 usually mean it's a girl. WRONG. Heart rate is actually not affected by the sex of the child until after it is born, when a baby girl's heart rate will increase during labor.

I will usually take a Sour Patch Kid over some chocolate. Sour cravings usually mean it's a boy. RIGHT. Although I do indulge in some chocolate or other sweets from time to time so this is a moot point. Some scientists will even tell you that cravings don't even exist.

Paul has not gained any weight. This usually means it's a boy. RIGHT. But if you know my husband, you knew this wouldn't be happening anyways.

My face has stayed about the same. Only a couple break outs here and there, but mostly from me switching moisturizers. This would say the baby is a boy. RIGHT.

My instinct always said that it was a boy. RIGHT. Did you know that 71% of pregnant women guess their unborn baby's gender correctly? Maybe some of you should have listened to me!

Chinese gender charts. One said boy, one said girl. I guess it depends which kind you are using.

So the final score 4 right, 2 wrong (not counting the Chinese Gender charts). Though fun, OWT are just that. There is no truth to them and usually they will annoy pregnant women after a certain point. But what doesn't, right?

In the meantime...

16w 4d

The baby should be able to start hearing outside noises soon, so I have started playing songs for him. I am working on my reader-requested post, but to hold you over, here is one of the songs I played for him yesterday, as well as one of my favorite YouTube videos. If at anytime I feel blue, this usually cheers me up! Happy Monday!

*since the video isn't loading...try THIS.

Twas Two Nights Before the Tourney

15w 6d

To preface my story, I have prepared a little poem for you. It may seem a bit familiar.

Twas two nights before the NCAA Tourney,
and all through the house,
Not a fat cat was stirring, not even his toy mouse.
The brackets were nearing completion with tedious care,
in hope that Thursday tip off soon would be there.
The Lucs were nestled all snug in their bed,
While visions of March Madness danced through their heads.
And Tiff with her body pillow and Paul with his ankle wrap,
Had just settled down for an 8 hour "nap".
After my 3rd pee break, Paul mumbled a little and started to stir,
I rolled over slowly and tried to incur.
When what to my wondering ears should I hear?
but a fantasy upset prediction, with the games so near!

As you can hopefully tell, the boy is obsessed. He rolled over in his sleep last night and said,
"Uhhhgehg St. Joe's" and went back to sleep. He informed me this morning that it was in fact, some insider info he was spouting off in his sleep. How nice of him. I think I'll keep Oklahoma.

No idea.

9w5d

Whenever I am somewhere that has baby clothes on the cheap, I can't help but to buy some if they are on sale. I mean, who can pass up a $2 onesie? Especially when it has a little picture of the earth and says "Hi, I'm new here". I will post a photo later. Admittedly, I have been buying boy-ish things because a.) I don't like any of the girly clothes and b.) I just have a feeling. If I am wrong, I know like 10 people who are having babies the same time as me and one of us is bound to have a boy. Back to my story, so last night I come home from Target with 3 really cute (and cheap) onesies and show them Paul. This conversation followed:

Me: "I bought some really cute baby clothes on sale."

Him: "How many onesies does this kid need?"

Me (laughing to myself because he has NO IDEA): "Lots. At least 3 a day. They will get thrown-up on, pooped on and God knows what else."

Him: "Ahh."

I am in for it.