Just You Wait!

It gets worse! LOL!1!!1!

Ugh. I am so freaking sick of people asking me how I am feeling. It seems there are two types of people – usually women – who ask me how I am feeling: those that have had children and those that haven’t. Since I have adopted an, “I’ll tell you *exactly* how I feel” attitude when people ask, I find that the people who haven’t had children like to offer up solutions to my feeling like shit. Things like, “have you tried getting a massage?” or, “try going for a walk!” I know, I know – it is just out of concern for my well-being, and I should be ever so grateful that I have friends that care enough to ask, but seriously – the only thing that is going to make me feel better is to have this baby.

Women who have had children usually refrain from asking me how I feel – they already know, they don’t need to ask. But those that do ask always laugh when I tell them, and then offer up such charmers as, “you think it is bad now? LOL!” Yes. I find that hilarious too. Oh, no, wait a minute – I DON’T F’ING FIND IT HILARIOUS AT ALL.

While I may not have given birth yet or experienced the joys of having a newborn, I do not live under a rock. I understand there is a whole lot of pain and suffering that will go along with the next stages. So what is the point of taunting me? I really have lost all tolerance for that. I will feel like shit then, but I feel like shit now, too. No amount of knowing it gets worse makes how I feel now any better.

I haven’t slept through the night in months. My insomnia is so persistent that my mind no longer races in the middle of the night, having had so much time already to work through everything that would make it otherwise race. Some nights are more tolerable than others. But some, such as last night, are a complete and utter nightmare. At one point, I gave up and moved to the couch and sobbed uncontrollably for a long time out of complete and utter despair. I did finally end up falling back to sleep, but it was 30 minutes before my alarm went off. I feel like death warmed over.

It is a miserable existence to go through the day feeling the worst you have ever felt, and not finding any relief once bedtime arrives. Your bed should be your sanctuary, your one place to go to feel better when everything else has failed. These days, I look at it with dread. I know that going to bed means more of the same, if not worse, awfulness.

I know I won’t be sleeping through the night when baby arrives, as everyone so gleefully reminds me, but I feel like these months of insomnia have my body pretty well conditioned to handle 3 am feedings and whatnot. I mean, not sleeping is not sleeping, regardless if there is a small person screaming next to me or not, right? And besides, misery loves company. I think those sleepless nights will be much better than they are now, since I will have someone to spend the time with who is just as miserable as I am.

The Goldfish Bowl

I was on a website today that posts news stories related to a variety of environmental issues, and there was an image accompanying a website poll of a goldfish jumping from a small goldfish bowl into what looked to be a larger, more beautiful goldfish bowl. Of course, if you look closer at the larger bowl, you will see it is actually a tropical reef scene (i.e., salt water – which would kill a fresh water fish such as a goldfish). I know that no animals were harmed in the Photoshopping of this image, but yikes, does this environmental news source hate goldfish?

I love fish, and have had my own tanks for at least the past 25 years. I have had a variety of fresh and saltwater fish over the years, and of all the fish I have owned, goldfish are among my favorite. I currently have 4 ornamental goldfish in a 55 gallon aquarium. It pains me to see goldfish bowls for sale at pet stores. It pains me to hear about people who keep these lovely fish in bowls.

A goldfish should NEVER be kept in a goldfish bowl - they require at least 2 gallons of water per inch of fish at their size when full grown. So, if you buy a 1 inch goldfish that will grow to reach 10 inches in length, put that 1 inch goldfish in a tank that is at least 20 gallons. Most goldfish bowls are about a gallon, maybe 2 or 3 for a really large bowl. This is not a sufficient enough size for any goldfish.

People have told me, “yes, but they will grow to the size of their tank,” when trying to make a case for a bowl. Sure, if you keep them in a bowl, they will stay small. In other words, you are stunting their growth and limiting their lifespan. Under proper conditions, a goldfish can live up to 35 or 40 years old. If confining an animal to an environment that is too small for it to survive was an acceptable practice, veal calves would be a more popular pet.

If you want to ethically stunt some growth, then get a bonsai tree. If you want a bowl with a fish in it, get a Siamese fighting fish (who can survive in a puddle of water in their native environs), and leave the goldfish to someone who can properly care for it. Thanks.

How are you feeling?

My new least favorite question these days is, “How are you feeling?” It ranks up there with such all-time greats as, “did you get a haircut?” when I get a haircut, and, “what are you eating?” while eating lunch. I try to answer politely and positively, but here’s the deal, people – I am 8 months pregnant – how do you THINK I feel???

Here is how I feel: I have basically felt like I have had the flu (the real flu, not the stomach flu) since probably the beginning of August. Try being sick for 8 months and having to go to work every single (work) day because you can’t spare a single vacation day or sick day because you already don’t have enough to cover your maternity leave in the first place. (Going to work on top of maintaining a house and marriage, caring for pets, social obligations, work obligations, etc., etc., that is.)

Admittedly, given all the things I have read, I have been VERY lucky with this pregnancy in that I have managed to avoid all the typical grossities (vomiting, stretch marks, hemorrhoids, varicose veins, etc., etc.) that are pretty standard with this affliction. But I still feel like shit. Every day. It doesn’t get better, it just gets – well, not so much worse as much as harder.

I ache. Last night I cooked dinner and while I was making dinner I was trying to get some chores done around the house. I was on my feet for about 1.5 hours. By the time I sat down to dinner, my back was so sore from the minimal effort I had just exerted that I thought I was going to throw up from the pain. That is on top of the pain my body is already feeling with being worn out, overweight, and dealing with being kicked repeatedly in the stomach and Braxton Hicks contractions which are now adding menstrual cramp-like pain to the tightening, just for fun. Yay!

I am a big fat horse. Seriously – my horse looks at me and thinks, “Thank GOD she can’t ride anymore!” I can literally feel myself getting bigger. And while I have more or less come to terms with the weight gain and the fact that it will hopefully all be temporary and worthwhile, there is still something jarring about the realization that the stretching feeling in your abdomen is you physically growing larger. And part and parcel with getting larger is the beauty of maternity clothes. Really, who was the genius who decided maternity clothes should be form fitting? I am a big fat horse, clothing makers – why are my only options skinny jeans and leggings and thigh-hugging pants, and tight shirts whose dimensions are never quite right??? Can’t I have a nice pair of baggy jeans here and there so I can sit down without worrying that the fabric is going to cause deep vein thrombosis because it is cutting off circulation to my ever expanding thighs??? Because, you know, I wasn’t already uncomfortable on my own here. Now I get to squeeze into tight pants that add pain and discomfort to my pain and discomfort. Thanks.

And then there are the physical ailments and difficulties. Heartburn has been a regular in my life the past 2 months. It is so awesome – I go from feeling just fine to ohmygodiamgoingtofaintifidonteatNOW! So I have to eat immediately, and then I get really bad heartburn, regardless of if it is a heaping bowl of extra spicy chili or if it is a rice cake. You have taken the joy out of eating, pregnancy.

I miss my love affair with food. I also miss sleeping. Everyone says you don’t sleep once baby arrives. What they don’t tell you is that you don’t sleep while pregnant, either. From 2 am potty breaks, to kicking snorers out of your bed, to trying to roll over while sporting a mountain on your stomach and trying to take the asinine body pillow with you, a full 8 hours is a distant memory. I hate my body pillow. I don’t get it. It doesn’t seem to help much, yet I still sleep with it every night. Am I missing something here?

Other joys of pregnancy I have been experiencing:

• Swollen hands and feet – These aren’t too bad, really, but I did have to take off my wedding rings. It has been pretty funny to go out to dinner or to pediatrician information sessions with my husband, who is still sporting his ring, and feel like I must look like a knocked-up mistress. Especially since we are on the older side of our 30s and are clearly old enough to know better.
• A wonderful inability to breathe – I have to stop and catch my breath in the middle of sentences! Oddly, I am able to do 30 minutes of brisk walking on the treadmill several times a week just fine, but walk to the bathroom from the living room? Forget it.
• Inability to do everyday tasks – I can no longer do such things as get up off the couch on my own strength. My ability to use my core muscles disappeared around month 4, and it has been downhill since then. I can still put on my own shoes (with a lot of effort) and shave my legs, but I am pretty sure I will not be able to much longer. I can’t get in and out of my husband’s car anymore, and barely fit in my own driver seat. Granted, we drive very little cars, but I fully intend to be thin again, so I am viewing this as a temporary affliction. Hilariously, I can no longer put my Tupperware on my lap while driving as there is not enough room between the wheel and my belly to fit it. Yes, I eat in the car. I eat everywhere. (*see: big fat horse)
• Everything hurts – sitting down hurts. Laying down hurts. Standing hurts.
• Ignorance is bliss – The pregnancy brain hasn’t been too bad but it is still there.
• I am sure there are a lot of other things, but, well, see previous item.

So that is how I feel: fat, tired, sore, stupid, etc., etc. At least (my husband and) I can be glad that my hormones have pretty much remained in check and meltdowns and outbursts have remained at a pretty low level. And I can be glad that I have so many wonderful friends out there who genuinely are concerned about how I feel. And for that, I will keep my meowing to Hate Plate, and continue to answer them as politely and positively as I can.

Words I Hate: Part 1

There are a lot of words out there that are like nails on a chalkboard to me. Why? I have no idear. Here are a few of my favorite words to hate:

Savory

Especially when it follows “Sweet and.” To me, this word has no real meaning. Are you trying to define food? Savory isn’t a flavor. You are not helping me to understand what the food tastes like. You just sound like a jerk. And this whole sweet and savory thing? Yuck. I like to keep my sugary treats separate from other flavors, thank you.

Succulent

Again, you sound like a jerk. Unless you are using the word to describe a type of plant, please don’t use it. Any word that starts with “suck,” as its first syllable can’t be good.

Incentivize

This doesn’t even sound like a real word. It sounds like someone is making up a verb from a noun that shouldn’t be made into a verb in the first place. What, is “motivate” not good enough for you? Are you too lazy to say, “provide incentives to”?

Contrasty

Again, is this even a real word? I get what you are trying to say, but stop being lazy and start using more descriptive words already. Descriptive words are your friends, and they can help people better understand the thoughts and ideas you are attempting to convey.

The Greatest Rivalry In Sports

As the country gears up for the NFL Division Championships, my blood is starting to boil.

I grew up in Massachusetts, but was raised a NY Giants fan. When my dad was little, the Patriots didn’t exist, so he chose the next closest team, the Giants. He has been a lifelong fan, and we were all raised Giants fans. Some of my earliest childhood memories are watching football on Sundays and hearing my dad cheer, “Heeeeeeey, Ernie!!! Hahaha!!” and clapping as Earnest Gray made some great play or other.

Growing up, it was never really an issue that I wasn’t a Pats fan, as they are not even in the same division as the Giants, and the two teams only played a handful of times as far as I can recall. (There was one season my sister and I tried to convince my Dad to take us to Foxboro for a game, but it was in December and my dad said it would be too cold, but when the game rolled around, it was 50 degrees out that day so we totally could have gone.) There were many kids my age who were in the same boat, so I never cared or felt out of place.

I do remember when I started hating the Patriots, though. One year in elementary school the Pats were headed to the Superbowl. Each week of the playoffs, we had to go to the cafeteria and all the students were forced to make Patriots propaganda posters. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t as horrible sounding as that, but I still remember sitting in the cafeteria making stupid posters with slogans like, “Squish the Fish!” and “Bury the Bears,” and thinking how lame it was since I wasn’t a Pats fan. I have never appreciated being told what to do (I will save my “don’t tell me to wear green even though I am not Irish rant for St. Patrick’s Day…) so I am sure my anger is more at being told to make posters more than actually hating the Pats. Truth is I have just never cared about them. I like two sports teams – the Giants and the Red Sox – and I just can’t get into watching other sports or games in which my teams aren’t playing. They hold no interest to me.

It seems, however, that since the Giants beat the Patriots in the Superbowl in 2008 and ended their perfect 2007 season, Patriots fans have invented a rivalry between the two teams. I just don’t get it, and it really makes me angry! Um, just because a team beats you doesn’t instantly make them a rival. Just because the Yankees and Red Sox are *actual* rivals, doesn’t mean NE and NYG should be too just because it is a NY-MA thing. Those aren’t even the same sport!! Yet when I try to explain to Pats fans that there is no “rivalry,” they don’t want to hear it. And, it seems that my fellow Giants fans are just as perplexed about it.

I could write at length about this topic, but honestly the more I think about it, the more upset I get about its sheer ridiculousness. So, in closing, Go Giants! And, I hope the Ravens win… ;)

The Name Game

Once again, the naming question has come to the forefront. This is something that *really* bothers me, and something my husband feels I dwell upon a little too much. I respectfully disagree.

Over the weekend, we got a card from some friends addressed to our first names and his last name. This morning at the dentist, the dentist asked me how I pronounced my last name and before I could answer, offered up a pronunciation that wasn’t even the letters in the right order. (I get that a lot, actually.) And one of my very best friends is going through some difficulty with name changes and was asking me for my insight into the naming game. So, as you can see, I have been thinking about this topic all day.

I have already gone into my feelings on this a little bit here, but let me expand on those a little further.

My friend asked me what my baby’s last name will be, and I told her it will be my husband’s last name. I had used “it can have your last name,” as a bargaining chip when working to convince him we needed a baby, and so her having my name was never an option. Like me, he is very proud of his name and his heritage, so he is glad to be passing on his name. I am sure that this will cause many, many issues in the coming years (like at doctor’s visits and parent/teacher meetings), but more for me and my pride and strong sense of etiquette than anything else.

In thinking about baby’s name, though, I started to reflect upon how weird it is that we still live in such a paternal society, what with the strides women have made in equality and such. (I am no feminist, and don’t even get me started on feminists, but seriously. It isn’t 1950. If women have to get out of the house and get a career and make a name for ourselves, then we can use our own names, thanks.) Even though it is nontraditional of me to not change my name, I innately feel that my baby having my husband’s name is “the right thing to do.” It never occurred to me to say, “Hey! I am doing all the work here. She should have *my* last name!”

What is also funny is that my husband and I are already assuming that baby will grow up and marry someone and change her name, because that is what girls do, right? With that in mind, I guess what it boils down to is that my name choice is a choice I made for myself. I decided to keep my name because it was important to me. I do not judge others for how they handle changing or not changing their names, because again – it is a personal choice. And that is what really irks me – not the messing up my name, but rather the disregarding of the personal and conscious decision I made for myself. It is about respect and it is about etiquette.

One of these days I suppose I should get over my name issues, but that will probably never happen.