McPregnant WomanVille: aka The Curse of the Oreo McFlurry.

Me (sitting in my car, listening to Taylor Swift sing about boys who don't love her, waiting for my Oreo McFlurry in the drive through line of McDonald's) singing:  "Romeo save me ~ I've been feeling so alone ~ I've been waiting ~ for you but you never call"

                      ---as I pull up to the pay window with my $2.71 for my freaking Oreo McFlurry---

Dude in drive through window:  "OMGCongratulationsAreyouhavingtwinsMysisterishavingtripletsandisshegetting hugeThisissoexciting (dance, dance, dance) WowCongratulations!"

Me (mouth hanging open, staring at this guy who just did a happy dance as he handed me my receipt):  "Huh?"

I looked down, at my tummy, clad in a brown sweater.  I was sitting down.  My seat belt was on.  I'm 5 months along, and I've gained 5 pounds.  I wouldn't have known I was pregnant if I wasn't urgently wanting to pee.  Was my face pregnant?  Was it my inflated boobs?  Or did he actually see the slight swell of my stomach through the drive through window and automatically know I was pregnant?   Because if I were him, I would have thought that I had just drank too many beers the night before.

As I relayed this story to my husband later that night, he started laughing at me.  Not with me, not in agreement with me.  AT me.

Him:  "Let me get this straight.  You were sitting in your car, in the drive through of McPregnantWomanVille, listening to McPregnantWomanMusic, waiting for your McPregnantWomanIceCream thing.  And you WONDER how he knew you were pregnant?  You were the freaking epitome of a McPregnantPerson!"

Me:  "Awesome.  Thanks."

Goodbye Ambivalence

Sometimes it's the smallest thing that makes you fall in and out of love.  Go to an adored restaurant and have horrible service - out of love.  Go to a party and have a phenomenal experience - fall in love.  Try a new drink - fall in love.  Try same drink made by different bartender - out of love.  Love is a Many Splendored - and fickle - thing.

With our little fetus it was ambivalence.  Many people say that women become mothers as soon as they get pregnant - but for me?  I know for me I adore my babies (the current one and the one lost) like crazy - but love?  To quote Mariah Carey, "Love takes time".

I can't believe I just quoted Mariah Carey in reference to my fetus.  But seriously?  I think every once in a while there's a tiny butterfly of coherent thought in her gorgeous mound of hair.  Cause loving my fetus did take more time than originally thought.

The Last Hurrah

Once upon a time there was a guy who loved wine and a girl who loved tequila.  They decided to attend a build-a-baby workshop for two, and were thus gifted with a zygote that turned into a fetus that would (hopefully!) turn into a screaming child that would be a healthy non-asshole.

One day the girl looked at the boy, who was drinking his 3rd glass of wine, and got really, really jealous.
"I want booze."
"Baby, you can't have booze!"
"I KNOW that, but I still want it."
"Poor baby," as he finished his glass and poured himself another.  The girl seethed, and rubbed the rounding belly.
"I need a last hurrah."
"A wha?"
"A Last Hurrah."  The girl got very sly.  "You need one too.  I mean, the baby will be screaming to be fed every 2 hours.  You're not going to get sleep either.  I'm going to pump, so you're going to get to feed the baby every other feeding.  Really.  And if you're not feeding, or going to work, you're going to be doing laundry because we'll be covered in shit and vomit.  I mean, this *is* an equal opportunity fetus."
The boy sobered, then became horrified and slightly green.  He drained the rest of his wine bottle directly into his mouth.  "Oh my god you're right.  Let's go to Vegas." 

The Missing Pieces of Life

About four in the afternoon, my friend and I were at a bar playing with these little plastic toys left in a basket for drunk kids like us. She had set up a wall of fencing with soldiers and cowboys, defending it from my wall of teepees and Indians that pointed their little bows and arrows at the guns. My toy horse was adorned with a hot pink cocktail umbrella. It was Sunday and I was spending it doing what I always did - Bloody Mary's over Brunch, shopping at consignment stores, and happy hour. I loved life as a cocktail waitress, a life of 5am bedtimes and tequila and bar-hopping fun. I loved it, but all this was about to change. With bourbon in hand, I laid out my plans for the future.
"What the hell? Seriously?" My friend almost spit her gin and tonic out of her mouth.
"Yep. We're moving to Hawaii to start a family." I finished my bourbon and ordered two shots of Patron. Shots were a good way for people to absorb information. We cheered silently, clinking our shots before they went down respective gullets.
"Wow. What a decision," she said.
 More, Here...

How To Get Put on the Disneyland Watch List - or - Another Good Reason to Quit Smoking

 I quit smoking on May 8, 2009. I was in Disneyland the week prior, hiding out behind the House of Blues with cigarette in hand, creeping in the bushes, a dirty, filthy smoker. I was defiling Disneyland with lung cancer.
         Disneyland Jail.
[Technically, I was in Downtown Disney but still. It's still Disneyland. Disneyland is Disneyland no matter which part you are in; even if you're drunk and puking, the kind old security guard with the Mickey Mouse name tag will escort you away from the kids and families, lightly chastising but in all ending up like a kindly old grandfather, scolding a misbehaving kid. Like you got lost from your Mommy and need to find her. Except you're 28 and have vomit in your hair.]


      

Merry Christmas!

Goodbye Vodka. Again.

Exactly two months after the discovery of the expiration of our zygote, I found myself staring at a faint blue line. Again.

It was my Grandfather’s birthday, a wonderful man who fought in WWII, sired four children, lived a quiet life as an accountant and wrote dirty novels. He loved dirty jokes, scotch and his family. He had died the year before.

It was also Halloween.  A day of masks, of make-believe, of tall tales.  It was a day meant to be fanciful, easy-going, full of booze and naked women.  And it was the day I learned I was pregnant again.