Spring break week here, and the weather is getting warmer and warmer. I couldn't put it off any longer.
We finally did The Great Seasonal Clothing Swap, which is an all-day nightmare where I pull down a ton of clothes from the attic and the kids each try on 50 pairs of pants, while I try to keep all the piles straight and yell at everyone a lot.
(Now, if that's not a fun spring break I don't know what is. I heard some of my kids' friends' parents are making them go to Disneyworld, poor saps.)
I've actually been putting this off for weeks hoping I'd go into labor first. Presumably Phillip or somebody would've had to do it if I stayed in the hospital long enough.
I've also been hard at work scrubbing bathtubs, deep cleaning the fridge, organizing the black holes in our kitchen we call "cabinets," and other domestic tasks I normally find excuses to avoid.
Please do not mention the word 'nesting' to me.
I'm not nesting. I'm a realist. I know I'm not going to do any of this stuff with a starving newborn strapped to my chest all hours of the day and night, so unless I want to shower with a mildewy curtain for the next year I'd better clean it now. It's all perfectly logical.
Phillip and I have been locked in a silent competition for the last few months.
It came about because we started eating a lot differently, basically a ton more vegetables and not much sugar or meat (I know, but it's slightly less awful than it sounds.)
The point of this was health, but then Phillip dropped 10 pounds in a couple of weeks and kept on going, which is a lot because he's already skinny.
Combine that with the fact that I'm pregnant and gaining weight at the speed of a Japanese bullet train, we thought it would be fun to see if we could tip the scales: him weighing in under 150 (because he's never done it before) and me weighing over 150 (for the same reason.)
And we did it! I officially weigh more than my husband, who's 8 inches taller than me. I feel like we deserve our own reality show now.
|This picture reminds me of those photos tourists take holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It's probably the closest we'll be getting to Italy for some time.|
My 10-year-old had seven of her friends over this weekend for a backyard BBQ party, and it was quite interesting listening to their conversations. (If you just be real quiet, they kind of forget you're there.)
I learned a lot, including that if you have a dream where you and all your friends turn into waffles and your crush eats you, and then you ask him at school the next day if he likes waffles and you find out he does, it is (and I quote) "soooooo freaky."
Unlike last year, Phillip rode both ways (about 60 miles) on the course, which I felt was excessive considering it was the middle of the night and only 45 degrees out, but it's his life.
When he came back home at around 5:45 I half woke up and asked how it was, to which he responded "Cold" before I fell back asleep.
Later he said he was thankful for getting in bed with my furnace of a belly, which seems to become a radiator of sorts when I'm gestating a tiny human.
I was a little confused about why Phillip wanted to do this crazy biking thing in the first place. He's not super-passionate about road biking, after all, and he never really gave me a satisfactory answer.
After a few days of thinking about it he told me, "Guys sometimes do dumb stuff just to say we did it, really."
So I guess I'm not missing out on anything by not having a Y chromosome.
We finally finished the final season of Downton Abbey this week and while I know it wasn't the whole point of the series, I just want to say that watching women in labor on TV drives me crazy.
It's always the same thing: water breaks and they're immediately doubled over and screaming in agony. Why? Surely, someone in the television industry knows someone who's had a baby and realizes it's not like this.
If anybody can recommend a show where the woman calmly asks herself, "Crap, did my water break or did I just pee myself?" then I will gladly watch it. Because that's keeping it real.