pregnant stuff

If you are pregnant: LISTEN UP. I’m about to tell you some important words.

I didn’t do it during my first pregnancy but this time I knew I KNEW that it was non negotiable. We scraped together every last dollar and agreed on no birthday or Christmas presents for like the next 12 years and went on

A BABYMOON.

Before you slaughter my face for using that term, deal with it. It’s the easiest way to say -vacationforwhichonefindsjoyandrelaxationinadestinationbeforetheshithitsthefan- i.e. babymoon. I don’t want to hear it.

Dudes, it’s a MUST do. I don’t care if you get in the car and drive to your local hourly motel next to the check cashing place. JUST GO.

It all started with me watching an obscene amount of Bethenny reality shows. And it seemed like every damn one of them she’s at a beach. B and I hadn’t had a beach vacation since our honeymoon and we hadn’t been away from G since never. I knew we were on the clock. I could only really fly up to a certain point and once YoSHE arrived, it was all over. My life that is.

So MUCH to my surprise, B agreed. See, B is the type of person whose hypothetical personals ad would read “turn ons: excessive generic brand purchases and 401k’s.” So for him to agree to sort of a frivolous trip was like, as exciting and rare as an alien sighting. Twice.

And you better believe I planned that shit right quick. I think everyone kind of knew that I needed it. I think they had secret meetings about it. They probably met in that tunnel by the factory that the pregs met at. They said things like “seriously, Amanda is losing her mind. I can’t hear about Baby Signing Time one more damn minute”. I say this because everyone was so agreeable to help. B’s mom flew out just to watch G, with no help, for like 5 days. Which my friends, is a damn olympic feat in itself.

We planned a trip to Miami because it was close enough to solid medical care if needed, the flight was relatively cheap and it was the off season. YES Miami in July. Pregnant. I know.

B was way nervous about douchebags and I was as nervous about the heat. We both survived. What I wasn’t sure about was if I could survive leaving G. I cried when I just thought about leaving him. I didn’t know how I’d do it.

But I did it. And I didn’t cry. But the first 2 days I was like, Oh the ocean, G would love the ocean. Oh a tile floor, G would love a tile floor. Oh crackers, G would love crackers. After B smacked my brain, it all magically went away. And I was *gasp* relaxed.

See, here’s the thing with a vacation when you’re life is chasing a toddler 24 hours a day: Your expectations are very low. Like, if you spend 3 hours watching Kardashian reruns in your hotel, you feel successful because ALL of the things in the world that are non baby are special and a bonus. You don’t feel like you’re “wasting your vacation” because seriously, peeing alone is a vacation.

We ate our faces off, we laid on the beach, we walked in shops and yes we watched TV. And it was glorious GLORIOUS and the best money ever spent. But because our standards were so low and just time to ourselves was amazing, we really could have gone anywhere. And that my friends, is why you HAVE to do this. In case you still aren’t sure, here are some things I did that I normally can not do:

1 Dry my hair. With a hair dryer and ROUND BRUSH. So it’s like, nice.

2 Eat candy out in the open. Like not crouching behind the kitchen island out of baby sight.

3 Watch tv during toddler awake hours. Like Ellen and Undercover Boss and WHATEVER I WANTED WITH CURSES AND NUDITY.

4 Put on eyeliner without worrying that anyone would imitate me and poke our their eye necessitating a hospital trip

5 Use a purse. A REAL PURSE THAT ISN’T A DIAPER BAG.

6 Eat a dinner without sharing my fork, picking up thrown chicken, begging anyone to take another bite or hoping no one screams at anyone.

7 Eat dinner AFTER 6pm

8 Go to bed AFTER 11pm

9 Wake up AFTER 9am

10 Wear jewelry without fear of tearing flesh from my ears or a spray of beads from a ripped necklace

11 Refer to myself as me and I instead of mommy for a whole FIVE DAYS.

 

I mean really people, can you ask for anymore than that? Do you know how great it was to like dress up? SO great. I will show you some pictures and you will see pure relaxation, a sparkle tan and complete happiness radiating from my soul.

 

Look at us. IN HEELS. I mean me. Look at me also in Helmut Lang. Which in real life I could NEVER afford. Thank you yet again Rent The Runway.

Apparently any douchebag who is any douchebag in Miami HAS to have a margarita with 2 Coronas poured into it. I was proud of B for embracing the douche 42 dollars later.

And just like that, I’m not pregnant! Amazing right? Thank you fashion. And again, thank you Rent the Runway. Have I mentioned that yet? Not having to buy maternity dresses was AHmazing.

And just to prove to you that I took your advice, I wore the slutty bikini in Miami. And dudes, compared to the 500 naked boobs we saw this was beyond no big deal. What would have been a big deal was if the pregnant lady became 502. THANK YOU B.

And then I embraced my inner Gloria Estefan Lopez Kardashian and did it UP Miami style. I did this the same night B drank his double Corona margarita, so he had no idea what was going on. You should also know I’m wearing pregnant spanx. Don’t ask, I don’t really get it either. But the dress was see through. Also it’s from Urban Outfitters and I would NEVER wear this not pregnant because it shows everything. It’s super ironic how you can show more shit when you’re pregnant because you’re supposed to be fat. It really was a great fashion time for me.

And with that I’ll end with B in a leather jacket. Because that’s normal in Miami heat. Which I hear is a sports team.

Apparently B thinks robots wear leather. I guess some do.

Now, as good and grande as our trip was. Do you know what was better? (hold your puke) Coming home to G. Seeing how incredibly happy he was to see mom and dad was like, the best thing ever. Yes, better than the eyeliner thing. He had a great time with his Nana and we owe her a million ponies and rainbows for what she did for us. But he was jumping out of his skin when we came home. (and so were we).

So that my friends is my plea to you Pregnant Women of the World. GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN. Because this time I knew what was ahead of me and dudes, these babies are not playing. They will take your brain and your soul for a solid 12 months.

And now I thank you for dealing with a LOT of vacation pictures. My unborn fetus promises you that there will not be ANY vacations for a very VERY long time to come. You are welcome.

xoxo

tanMODG

POSTED IN: Awesome things,B,babies,Mom Stuff,pregnant stuff,Style

B ate the last cinnamon roll. Do you know what kind of crime that is against pregnancy and the female population as a whole? Do you know the anger and resentment I feel burning inside of my Yoshi? It’s not MY fault that Yoshi NEEDS cinnamon buns to grow. But it’s your fault B for withholding food from your unborn child.

Now I sit here at my computer stewing with rage and furiously scouring pinterest for a suitable bake-able option that doesn’t require eggs or milk or anything else that we don’t have in our house. Oh, it can’t include LEFTOVER CINNAMON BUNS EITHER. In case you weren’t sure.

But as I sit here, I remember something that I’ve been meaning to tell the world about now for 3 years. So it’s clearly important. This could change your life.

I’m going to tell it via story.

One day I sat at my computer, at my desk, in my chair. 5 minutes later I pooped. Not ON the chair. That was a different day. The next day I sat at my computer and 5 minutes later I pooped. Later that same night, I sat at my computer and then I pooped. Interesting.

The next day, B used my computer and then I heard him in the bathroom. Oh I heard him alright.

I kicked him out of the computer. It’s mine. Before I knew it. I was pooping.

Fast forward 1 month.

Me: B, I have to tell you something weird.

B: Oh god, does it involve wigs on cats again?

Me: No, not this time. But definitely next time.

B: Ok what is it.

Me: I think we have a poop chair.

B: Go on….(B is very interested in talking about poop. More than I am)

Me: Ok, I know this is weird, but every time I sit at the computer, I have to poop. I think it’s the chair.

B: I wasn’t going to say anything but me too!

(ok STOP EVERYTHING. You need to know that B has majah poop problems. Like there are tales of him with enemas in his frat house. And I don’t feel bad telling you since he ATE MY LAST CINNAMON BUN)

Me: Are you serious?! B, do you realize the goldmine we are sitting on. PUN INTENDED BUT ALSO NOT BECAUSE THIS IS A SERIOUS POOP CHAIR!

B: Definitely. Don’t tell anyone.

Me: Ok. (all bets are off when the baked goods go missing B. I’m telling everyone)

So as you all know with my current pregnant with a Yoshi and also pregnant with butt nut triplets, pooping is high on my list now of super things. And the easier it goes, the better my life. Well friends, 3 years later and the poop chair is still in business.

I know, you’re dying to see the chair.

Ok ready?

Here it is

It’s from Ikea and it’s the Gilbert Chair. I really really hope people google search Gilbert Chair and find this post. So I think the secret is in the little dip you see in the back of the seat. I think it’s a poopular angle.

Now I know what you’re saying. MODG, don’t be dim, it’s just sitting in a hard chair. WRONG friends. wrong.

These are our other chairs:

We sit in these to eat dinner every night. And other sitable times. No poop.

And there you have it friends. The most important post that I have ever written. Actually, it’s not. I really just needed an excuse to talk about B pooping on the internet to get back at him for cinnamonbungate.

I leave you with this.

POSTED IN: Eating Innapropriately,I hate everyone,Innapropriate,Not Pleased,pregnant stuff,Sharing,You think you know but you have no idea

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