Unexpectedly Expecting

Dance of the crazy hormones

Maybe I'm a bit biased, since I'm me and all, but I think I've survived most of my pregnancy without turning into some deranged psycho lady all bent out of shape because of various hormones. Granted, the pregnancy started on a sad note, but I believe those were just real emotions sorting themselves out. I did not want to be pregnant way back then. It was a shock, and it changed my life around. I had to get used to the idea. Since then, I'm been emotionally pretty stable. No crying fits, no temper-tantrums, no crazy fights with my husband, no all-out bitchery. Again, maybe those around me would say otherwise, but I don't think so. If anything, for the last few months, especially since getting my work future straightened out, I've felt incredibly happy. I'm excited, and I'm content. It's not a bad way to be.

Then last night, I think maybe the hormones got to me a little.

My husband and I love Bravo reality TV, mostly Project Runway and Top Chef. We often tape the show (yeah, we're stuck in the 90s with our VCR) and watch it together whenever we're both home. So last night we popped in last week's episode to catch ourselves up. If you're unfamiliar with the show, it's a chef competition where one contestant is told to "pack their knives" at the end each week. We love it because the people seem truly talented, and they're thrown into all sorts of zany challenges. They do confessional-type interviews throughout so you can see their personalities and what they're really thinking. And there is this one girl on the show who makes my blood boil. Lisa. She is negative times a billion. She points a finger at everyone else. She has no grace, no charisma, and from what I can tell, no talent. She blames everyone on her team when things go wrong, and when they're in the kitchen together, she treats everyone around her like a complete idiot. She drives me nuts. And throughout each episode, I mutter things under my breath at her, mostly to make my husband laugh. He knows I despise her antics.

Well, after the show, for whatever reason, because I said something negative that neither of us can remember, my husband jokingly referred to me as "the Lisa of our house." Ha ha. I snickered. Then a couple of minutes later he said it again. I knew he was joking. But something inside me just went bonkers. I was flushed with serious anger. Outraged. How dare he compare me to that awful woman! Is that really what he thinks of me? I went from zero to pissy just like that. My mood was shot, and yeah, I let him know it.

I decided it was time for bed because in the back of my mind, I knew I was being crazy. My husband came upstairs with me, and we talked it out. By the end of the conversation, I guess the hormone level had balanced itself back out, because I decided the entire thing was hilarious. I mean, what kind of fight is that? I started giggling and couldn't stop, making it worse as I made my husband promise to never call me "The Lisa of the House" again. I felt like a madwoman, one minute fuming, the next embroiled in fits of laughter. I honestly couldn't figure out what I'd been so steamed about. 

So yeah, I blame the hormones. And Lisa. She really is awful.    

Things I will miss while zipping about the country for 10 days

The end of fall in Michigan. Maybe. I hope not, but I'm expecting most of the leaves will be gone by the time I get back.

Knowing I am being carefully watched as I shower by a little kitty who wants to make sure the evil water doesn't hurt me.

Sitting and reading in my big brown chair.

Even better, sitting there with a little kitty who wants to make sure none of the evil leaves outside dare to come near our house.

And last, the pitifully cute sounds my boy makes when I sabotage the last few moments of his sleep with the clickity-click of my camera. Actually, I miss him already.

Smorgasbord

1. The brunch turned out great. As did the buns. I ended up baking them on Sunday morning because I figured out, after re-reading the recipe, that it wouldn't really be such a big deal. And it wasn't. They were a big hit, and I actually made another two pans worth yesterday because I ended up with two full patches of dough. All in all, I made about 50 cinnamon buns. And so far I've probably consumed 10 of them. That's kind of gross, ain't it?

2. Our fish keep dying. Jimmy is quite bummed about it. We have now gone through about 10 fish. The names of those who have left us: Tressel, Brutus, Cookie, Spotty McDotty, Phil, Ginger Snap, Ringo, and Beanie. All died. We have also said good-bye to Lulu Diamond Fishy and Twin, whom we returned to the pet store because the clerk convinced us they might be murdering all of the other fish. Sloopy went back, too, because he was about to be a Lulu victim. The store people can't figure out what else we could be doing wrong. Our water has been tested many times; it's fine. We keep the temperature set right, we're careful not to overfeed, we change the filter, we buy the "hardiest" fish in the store, we condition the water, we siphon. But even since Lulu's departure -- she was the main instigator, we thought -- three fish have croaked. Now we have two left. Solider -- named such because he often can't figure out how to get out of a hallowed- out rock. Get it? He can't get out of a rock. -- and Betsy. Each time a fish dies, Jimmy gets very sad. He told me yesterday, when Ginger died, that the tank was the "worst birthday present ever." I tend to agree. What a headache.

3. In five days, I'll be running the Detroit Free Press half-marathon. I hope I'm ready. I'm pretty excited. It's a very fun race, and for once, I'm trying to use my selfish athletic pursuits for a good cause. I'm raising money for a charity through Marathon Mission. I really hate asking people for money, and I haven't done a very forceful job of fund-raising. Still, something is better than nothing. And it's been good motivation. I can't really sit on my butt (too much) when I know there is a (small, but who's counting?) pile of checks on my desk from family and friends assuming I am working hard for their donations. Really, though, the training has been almost entirely enjoyable. Running in the fall is lovely. The leaves on the ground, the humidity gone, weather  that's not too cold (usually) nor too warm (except the week it was near 90). The long runs, especially, just feel indulgent and refreshing and gratifying. Sure, my hips and feet and back ache afterward, but during the actually run, I feel a sense of peace and accomplishment and deepness of thought that I rarely feel in any other situation. I recommend it whole-heartedly.

4. Should I eat one more cinnamon bun before I drive off for the rest of the day? I mean, what kind of person would I be if I left two nearly full pans alone for 12 hours? It's my duty. I'm up to the challenge.

Back in the diz-ay

Five years ago this week, where was I? What was I worried about? What was going on in my head?

Let's take a look. Bold parts are added by the older, wiser me.

OCT 8, 2002: I'm very very tired right now. (Nothing changes.) I woke up at 6 a.m. (once a procrastinator, always a procrastinator) to sneak into the office and make a few more copies of my clips before I handed them over to the (company I now work for) recruiter. My interview went pretty well, I think. My head actually hurt from tiredness, and that was a distraction, and I could have been more articulate. (Still working on that). But he liked my letters and I think he liked my clips. He said I need to drive to meet (the man who is now my boss). That's a good sign, for sure. I think I have a chance.

As I was waiting in the hallway for my interview, (a lady who I haven't really spoken to since), gave me some interesting news. Apparently, (publication I now sometimes work for) wrote the head of the J-School and asked if he would recommend anyone for a spring internship. He met with (aforementioned woman) and (Mr. Funnybones), my favorite professor. They picked me. They kept stressing how this is a great opportunity... And it is. It's New York City, a place I grew up dreaming about. It's free housing. It's the most prestigious (kind of writing I now do) publication in the country. And I'm going to apply. If they think I have a chance, I probably do. And I should try. But what if I get it. (Don't hold your breath, sweetheart).

I know Colorado was fine (I lived there for three freaking months)... But I missed Jimmy. I missed people I know. I met people, too, I met (roommate who I haven't spoken to in about four years). And I really love that girl. But... if I go to New York in January, that means I won't be with Jimmy until August, until we move to Carefree (a town in Arizona we once planned to move to for no apparent reason other than that it was named Carefree). That's if we both get internships, which I think we will. I'm not really afraid of breaking up... And I want to be a strong, independent woman. (Sure you do. Mmhmmm.) I think I am. But damn it, I really love that boy to pieces. Every moment with him is the happiest moment of my life.( Um, gag.) I know we have time, but I want all the time in the world. All of it. (Double gag).

Also, on a side note, what if we go to war? Do I really want to be living in NYC? (I guess I thought that NYC would be bombed. At least I understood that we were about to enter a pointless and misguided war.)

Also, on another side note, my mother called Carefree a pipe dream.(Maybe I should have listened to my mother.) My adviser looked at me funny today when I told him. But I don't get it. WHY CAN'T PEOPLE PICK A PLACE THEY WANT TO LIVE AND GO THERE? (Oh, child). My mom gave me a huge lecture on how I'll probably have good opportunities, and that I should take them. (Smart lady.) I agree, but I don't agree with throwing your dreams, pipe or not, down the fucking tubes. (Watch the language, missy. The point they were trying to make was, what kind of pointless dream was that?)

I'm going to Nebraska with Jimmy this weekend. I'm so excited. I had to find someone to take my Friday shift at the coffeehouse, and I'm going to put mad hours into work today and tomorrow. Then Thursday morn, we're off. A photographer and her friend are coming, too. And that's fine. I'm just happy Jimmy doesn't have to go all alone, and that we can go together. (We went to Omaha. It wasn't bad.)

I'm so lucky. I have this great, wonderful boy who I love so much and who loves me so much that it brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. (Am I auditioning for a chick flick or what?) And I have job opportunities, people saying that I'm good enough and I've worked hard enough to go somewhere. I want both. I think I can have both, but man, it'd be simpler if there was only one side to me.

So there you have it. Five years ago, apparently I wish to be.... more one-dimensional. Comical. I guess I shouldn't poke fun. That is a tough time, when you're about to graduate and you don't know where you're going and you have to make all of these decisions. Really, that time of my life, all the decisions I made have led me directly to where I am now. So yeah, I guess I had a right to be angst-ridden. Makes for some cringe-worthy reading five years later, though.

Comedy

Yesterday, my adorable husband stood in the kitchen and talked to no one, which he often does. Well, I suppose he is usually directing his commentary at me, but I am often three or four rooms away with my nose in a book or something. So it seems as if he is talking to no one, although he certainly gets pissy when I "don't listen," so I know he's really talking to me.

Anyway, this is what I overheard:

"Robert's nickname should be "Yessiree!"

Pause. Pause. I finally realize he is talking to me and waiting for my response.

"Why?"

"Because then she would be, "Yessiree Bob!"

Grooooaaan.

Sorry, ladies. He's all mine.

My Moo-moo's birthday

Tomorrow, on April 22, my husband will turn 27. Hard to believe we have known one another since we were 19. Hard to put into words how much I love him.

I have been wracking my brain to think of a good birthday present idea. I love birthdays. Mine especially. But I love making a big deal about his as well. Over the years, I think I've done a good job of that. One year I went to his apartment and made him Skyline Chili -- his favorite -- for lunch. Then we went out for a Thai dinner, and I made him a cake and took him out to the bar with his friends. One year I surprised him with an expensive conga set; he'd always wanted to play the drums. One year when we were "just friends," I bought him tickets to see a Cincinnati Reds game in Cincinnati, a smartly selfish present, as I knew he'd take me along and then we could makeout. One year I bought him tickets to a concert. Last year, I packed a picnic lunch and we drove three hours to Columbus to watch the Ohio State spring game with 63,000 other people. We had to park a mile away, there were so many fans. See how loving I am?

But this year, I'm a blank. I got nada. I thought about getting him a membership to the Detroit Curling Club until I realized that their season ended last week and they don't reopen until October. I thought about an iPod shuffle, but he is perfectly happy with his 300 CDs in his stereo and really, has nowhere to use an iPod. I thought about a video camera because then we could make stupid videos of stupid Robert, but then I realized that he is way too lazy for that. I thought about having an afternoon of golf with our two dads and my little brother, but then I realized his dad has a bad back and my dad is already golfing in Arizona.

The only thing my husband claims he wants is an MSU hockey championship T-shirt. That's it. I will not be satisfied giving that to him, not unless I can arrange the entire hockey team to present it to him after a victory parade down our street. And that's not likely to happen.

I'm screwed. Help! What do you give the man who hates waste (meaning he doesn't want anything that would replace something old if the old one works well enough), who isn't materialistic (meaning he hates getting things just for the sake of getting them), and who wants nothing?