Live Tweeting My Labor

Oh man, it's been so long since I wrote a blog and I know I need to get back on the saddle because it stimulates my mind and gives me something to do besides change diapers and research natural birth videos, but we just haven't had a whole lot going on for me to write about. The last 3 months of pregnancy is like the last 3 months of senior year of college. It's been a wild ride but you're over it, you've gotten a little bit fat, you have no idea what you're going to do after graduation (labor) but you can't wait to get the heck on with it. You don't remember what it feels like to have a flat stomach and eating taco bell and cookie dough at midnight is pretty much the norm.

Well I am ready for graduation/labor/baby time. I have one little nugget already so I am fully aware that the next 3 months (18 years....) are full of sleepless nights, leaking boobs, bed wetting, and tantrums, but there just comes a time when it's not fun to be enormous and out of breath anymore. This really is like college....

Since the only thing on my mind lately is labor, labor, labor I thought I would paint a picture of what I predict the fateful event will be like with my second child. I have been through this once, so I have a small hunch, though I know every labor can be drastically different. On one of our favorite shows the other night, a character was "Live Tweeting" the events of her whole night. This is what I imagine my live tweeting of my labor would go like.....

4:00 p.m.
Sweet Baby Jesus. How is it only 4 p.m. I feel like it's been eight days since we got up this morning. What time does it get dark again? Brooks knows when it's dark it's bedtime. Can I pay someone to make the neighborhood dark? Who would I contact for this?

4:10 p.m.
What should I serve my 23 month old for dinner? Let me look at those Pringles ingredients again. If the first ingredient is potatoes that's what we are having. Will turkey make him tired like that one Seinfeld episode?

5:00 p.m.
Trying to recount the germs encountered today for the bath-or-no-bath debate. Is it too chilly to hose him down in the backyard? He likes that. I think. I'm pretty sure someone told me once that germs are good and we need them to build our immunity. We should probably skip the bath.

6:15 p.m.
Why is it not dark yet? I think it's actually getting lighter out. Sweet Moses make it dark. I feel like there's a bowling ball sitting on top of my lady parts and if Brooks asks me to get up to get him one more thing I might walk out of the house for ice cream and not come back.

6:45 p.m.
Thank the sweet Lord. We can start to retreat to his bedroom for night routine. Why does he seem so sweet now? He looks like such a little man in his pajamas. Poor thing. His world is going to be turned upside down. What were we thinking. I can't handle two people. I can barely get myself to shower twice a week. This was a mistake.

6:57 p.m.
Oh he can count to 4 now. He's not even two years old yet. Maybe I can do this. Why can't they just be born at the age of 1? The first 6 months is so long. I wonder what kind of wine I'll have first.

7:03
Throw Brooks in bed and feel a contraction. Did I just pull a belly ligament or is this the beginning of the end?

9:15 p.m.
Oh....that one hurt. Maybe this is it! Ugh I have to shave. I knew I should have made that wax appointment for earlier. Should I do my hair? I guess I can make all the pictures I'm in fuzzy on instagram. I wonder how hard it would be to crop in my head from junior year of college. I looked good then.

9:27 p.m.
Oooh. Third one in 12 minutes! I wish I really knew if this was it. I would finish the tub of cookie dough in the fridge. This could be my final hours of zero guilt. I can't waste this precious time. Once I get home I'm just a fat slob if I finish the tub of cookie dough. Right now it's kind of cute and expected. But I have to get up to get it....

10:11 p.m.
Leaning on bathroom sink, water breaks. Oh awesome, these are my favorite sweatpants. Now every time I wear these all I will be able to think is they had amniotic fluid on them. Do I throw them in the wash now? Is there time? What's going on with the baby now, was he swimming before and now he's just drying up in there? How long do I have? Is this too painful to enjoy that cookie dough?

11:35 p.m.
En route to hospital. I hate men with a passion. Why are they so dumb. Who decided having babies was just a woman thing? This is ridiculous. Could he be driving any more dumb? Too slow. Took that turn too fast. What could I do to make him hurt? Would punching him in the man junk be too obvious? I want to see him in pain. Why does he look so smirk. I forgot to eat that cookie dough. Biggest regret of my life.

11:43 p.m.
Walk in hospital. Another idiot of the male species encountered. "Checking in?" Oh no my husband and I just have this fun game where on Tuesdays we go around to different area hospitals pretending to be in labor to rate the service. YES checking in, get out of my way you moron! Husband yawns, urgency to punch him increases. Sorry for going into labor in the middle of the night. How uncourteous of me.

12:03 a.m.
Learn doctor on call is weird one from Romania I can't understand. Fabulous. Let's get this show on the road. I'm checked and dilated to an 8. Must change into ugliest and weirdest robe ever. This "cotton" feels like it's made out of a blend of sand paper and twigs. Husband ties the back for me and makes inappropriate joke about my visible butt. Obviously not hilarious. I glare at him and he looks scared. Satisfied. Suddenly feel as if I must squat and poo. Nurses ask me if several students in training can watch birth. Sure why not. While we're at it let's gather up the bored patients too.

12:30 a.m.
This is the most uncomfortable hospital bed on the planet. The angle this is at could not possibly be any worse. Can't get comfortable with 1,000 monitors all over body. What do squiggly lines on the computer mean? Why does the heartbeat keep jumping up and down? Or is that my heartbeat? How big is this suckers head gonna be? I should have eaten that cookie dough.

2:43 a.m.
Time to push. Hold your own legs they tell me. This is crap. In the movies they have someone hold them for you. It's like I have to do everything around here. Everyone in the room is annoying. They're all counting. Um I just need one counter you idiots. In fact, I can count myself. Everyone get out. If husband gets any closer to me I will smack him.

3:03 a.m.
Baby is born! Oh he's beautiful! Oh wait, maybe not. Yeesh. He's kinda ugly. No he's gorgeous. I feel so happy! Give him to me, and stop being so rough with him weird Italian nurse! I'm happy! I'm exhausted! You're going to do stitches where?

3:23 a.m.
Nurses take baby for tests to make sure he's human. Guilt about them chopping off half his 1/2 inch penis the next day starts to sink in. I suddenly realize that if my husband doesn't get me the hungry man's platter from Denny's and feed me within 20 minutes I will have to murder him.

6:23 a.m.
I wake up disoriented in another room. What just happened? I'm so thirsty I need to drink at least 100,000 ounces of water. Nurse brings baby in to breastfeed. My boobs might explode, nobody seems to care. "It's normal," they say. Oh ok, when I call you back because I have torn them off my body we will see who's calling who normal. Nurse cups my boob to help me breastfeed. This is so weird that this is not weird. Is my baby kind of gooney looking? Does that hair have a reddish tint? Oh my gosh this baby is beautiful. It's like crazy how cute he is. Oh wait maybe not. Got a different angle when I switched boobs and his nose is huge. Is that the smushed nose thing from coming out the yina banina or is that his real nose? How long until I know?

8:30 a.m.
Husband walks in room. Why do you look so happy? Oh I guess because you aren't sitting on an ice diaper. Maybe I should have taken that vicodin they offered me. I get up to pee. Am I skinny yet? I walk past mirror. I look like water monster. Still have on sandpaper gown. Must take a shower. Oh my gosh. Do I have to look at my stomach? It's like a waterbed. I think they should have a place we can all go for 3 months to just lounge and breastfeed until we look human again. I am pretty positive the stars do it. I definitely should have eaten that cookie dough.

Things I hate....The tales of a bitter pregnant lady

Before delving into a bitter biopic of everything that I hate I would first like to say that I know it's an incredible blessing to be pregnant and have a baby growing inside of me. God has granted me something amazing and I can't wait to meet this person that Zac and I already have so much love for. 

That being said, I am, without a shred of doubt in my mind, the most bitter pregnant woman on the planet. At 31 weeks pregnant, after 2 hospital visits and contractions and dilating, I am on modified bed rest and forced to basically do nothing until Baby 2 comes. Unfortunately, with nothing but time to think, there are more and more things I'm realizing I just hate overall. By November I'm just going to be spitting nails and probably won't be able to communicate like a normal human being, but it's probably just as well because I'll be waddling and swollen by then anyway.

THINGS I HATE (feelings like it's stronger with the caps?)
Dentist
Oh my gosh. There is a separate entire blog you can read about how much I hate the dentist. Here it is:
http://www.bigmamataylor.com/2012/02/wooden-teeth.html

So even though I've already taken you there, I just can't leave it off the list and let it think it's back on my good side. It has been a really, really, really long time since I have been to the dentist. Only my husband, mother and mother in law know these numbers and I'm not revealing them until I have had this baby and write a blog with some wine in me. It's pretty yucky, yet I just can't bring myself to make the appointment! 
"Oh hello, yes this is Sarah, I haven't been in pain in like 3 months, so I'm thinking I want you to prod around on my gums, stick a shot in the roof of my mouth and drill a hole in my tooth next Tuesday, do you have an opening?" 
I THINK NOT! This is America and thank goodness one of our laws is not dentistry attendance.

Lifting
I absolutely love to run and do cardio. It brings me to a happy place and I am pretty positive you wouldn't want to know me without any endorphins running through me, it's what makes me tolerable. But as much as I love a good sweat and the cardio part, I just hate to lift. I know it's so important though, and even more blaringly so as I get closer and closer to 30 years of age and I see that the boobs I used to have up by chin have decided to start heading south to my belly button. Lifting supposedly snaps everything back into place but unfortunately I guess all the pizza I'm eating is pulling it back anyway. Some of my reasons include: meaty boys who invade my area and smell like feet, weights make my hands feel yucky, I can't watch the Real Housewives like I do when I run.

Language barriers 
Living in Florida, I never thought that I would face so many language barriers as I do. I was ready and expected the senior citizens, and I was even open to the idea of shuffleboard Fridays and dinner at 3:30 p.m. But the insane amount of Cubans and Venezuelans? Ya that one caught me off guard. Everywhere I go in Weston/Ft Lauderdale people are speaking Spanish, and pretty upset that I do not speak Spanish. Like, literally, not a word. But the even bigger issue is that to fit in, I try to talk to them in my idiot English, but with a Spanish accent. It's the nerves I guess, but I'm pretty positive it comes off as, insane mom can't talk. Unfortunately this is true with all accents. If I talked to someone British for literally 10 minutes, I would probably end the conversation by telling them I was "desperate for a scone," shouting "Cheerio!" in their face and skipping off. Is this a need to please? A need to fit in? Either way it happens with everyone and every accent.

Ok now I feel like a total crab....I don't want my unborn baby to be soaking up all this bitterness. I guess I could list some things that I do love.

Icing 
What is icing made of? Little drops of heaven. That's what. I'm not sure who invented icing but let's please have a moment of internet silence for that genius. I can imagine the pre-invention conversation went like this:
Bill: Marge this cake is good but something is missing. It's not enough I'm getting fat on just cake. It's missing more sugar I guess?
Marge: Bill you're an idiot. Eat your cake.
(Bill thinks to himself, "Geesh Marge is crabby, is she pregnant?")
2 days later, Bill is in the lab, and somehow creates a little something I call, therapy on a spoon. My life is forever changed. If you haven't stood at your kitchen sink with a very large spoon, eating funfetti icing out of the container, then you really haven't lived.

Q tipping my ears
I have no idea why this is so glorious but it is. I really love to Q-tip my ears. There I said it. Now everyone knows. I feel like I revealed something private and I have no idea why. Maybe because I do it in the bathroom? Once in awhile I'll buy the off-brand of Q-tips and get home wondering what type of crack I was on, only Q-tip brand has the exact right sized cotton swab down, they really know their stuff. If I go on a trip more than 2 days and don't have Q-tips, I start to feel like my ears are closing in on my brain and I am going to explode if I don't get in there and dig around. I know this is far from the truth and I'm actually pretty sure it's not even good to Q-tip at all, so I'm not sure why this is.

Chocolate
No explanation necessary. 

Fall clothes
Huge knee high boots and scarves seem to balance out my badunkadunk. Unfortunately it is 97 degrees and 1000% humidity in Florida all.the.time. so I don't foresee a lot of fall clothes being worn here.

Storms
Makes me feel ok about spending a whole day eating cookie dough and watching Real Housewives reunions.

I'm going to try to think of some more things I like. Surely there is more.

Babies on Doggy Steroids

I haven't written in forever, and it is high time I get back on the saddle because I do find writing to be therapeutic and a great outlet for me. I also do not want to disappoint all 4 of my readers!

But seriously I do know that it's annoying when you check a blog regularly and they haven't posted in forever...what's hard for me is that I tend to write about just everyday, mundane happenings in my life, and quite frankly, at 31 weeks pregnant, there ain't a whole lot of anything going on casa de Taylor, mundane or exciting. I tend to drool over all the gorgeous fashion choices on pinterest, from the turquoise suede heels to the fabulous sequined dresses. I even let myself click on them, to get me the website, where I can further torture my soul about the pretty clothes and accessories that me buying would be exactly equivalent to putting lipstick on a pit bull. It might dress things up a bit but there's still just a pit bull.

If this analogy is too dumb, what I'm trying to say is that when you're 8 months pregnant there's really nothing else one can do except waddle around in disgusting over sized clothing with coffee and yogurt stains and hope the varicose veins that have formed on the right thigh are just a naughty dream you'll wake up from. There's a point at around 4-5 months where you finally get a really cute looking bump, your hair is pretty glossy, and for like 2-4 seconds you kinda feel pretty. It was during this time that I thought I would try to find a new accessory that could become my pregnant "thing."

I first tried the scarf. I love scarves. I think they can really jazz up an outfit and I thought they might help to cover up my enormous and growing milk factory jugs boobs. Unfortunately this had to be stopped dead in it's tracks when sweat began dripping down off my forehead because it's literally 95 degrees with 10,000 percent humidity in Florida. I next tried the fedora. You know, the cute French Parisian hats that scream "I'm so fashionable, yes of course I just grabbed this on my way out the door a la Kate Moss." I have seen hundreds of pictures of adorable Sienna Miller strutting down the streets of London in these and she just looks so together. Well unfortunately I look more like John Mayer than Sienna Miller in a fedora, so that was $9.98 spent at Target I'll never see again.

You know you have reached a low point when even your pajamas don't fit, and I'm not buying special maternity pajamas for this last 9 weeks of hell pregnancy bliss. Since even my underwear literally do not fit my body comfortably, I have been forced to wear the only thing that works, an enormous tshirt of my husbands along with my almost-nightly staple, my knee-high black compression socks to prevent swelling. Now there's a picture I have painted for you that you did not expect and will not be able to get out of your head for ours, you're welcome! My poor husband will probably spend the next decade trying to erase this image of me from his mind.

Despite the fact that I literally spend zero seconds on my appearance aside from teeth brushing and deodorant applying (once in awhile I spritz a questionably old Bath and Body works vanilla spray), I have still managed to fall deeper and deeper into a parental guidance hole that can only be described as "Let's just survive this together, ok buddy?" There have been a few sequences of events in the last few months that I would love to blame on pregnancy brain (not sure this is real but sure feels like it), a hangover (don't miss these but sure miss the events leading up to them), or just narcolepsy, but it's so hard to get comfortable I don't really remember what sleeping feels like.

Just yesterday, I went to the bathroom for what could not have been longer than 25 seconds, and in that time Brooks ate a green crayon. A friend posted on my facebook wall that her son too ate a green crayon, but thankfully, Crayola was non-toxic. Unfortunately these were the free crayons from the Publix grocery store tour we just took, so I'm sure these crayons were labeled extra toxic, who knows, I didn't look before giving them to my 22 month old. Luckily I had a sweet friend coming to watch him while I went to a baby shower, so I quickly scrubbed his teeth to get off as much green wax as I could and sprinted out the door to normal civilization where I could pretend I was the type of mom whose child would never dream of eating a crayon and would only color inside the lines with such a thing.

Now this next story is a little worse than toxic crayon wax, and I'm only revealing it to the public at large because I think we moms need to stick together and reveal these kinds of stories so we know that yes, we will survive, and although we may not be Joan the Super Nanny we are probably doing much better at the whole parenting thing than we thought and it's all going to be just fine.

About 6 weeks ago I watched my moms dog for her so she could travel to see my grandparents in Ohio and not leave him at the doggy day care for too long. His name is Grady and I have to say, he's the cutest and sweetest overweight King Charles Cavalier and really couldn't be easier as far as dogs go. All he needs is a little love and a couple of walks a day and he's pretty set. Well, when I picked him up from the vet for his stay at our house, I was given instructions on his medicine for his glaucoma (am I the only one that didn't know dogs can get glaucoma?) He was on several drops and a steroid. After day 1 I could tell Grady wasn't going to take the steroid without a little help so on day 2 I put the steroid pills inside a huge heap of peanut butter on the kitchen floor for Grady and went to the bathroom as we were about to leave the house for some errands.

When I walked out of the bathroom, again 20 seconds later (Yes I'm seeing the recurring theme, I will stop peeing when Brooks is awake), I was horrified to see Brooks crouched on the ground next to the dog, peanut butter covering both of them completely, and one steroid pill missing. Hmmmmm. Yes. There is a chance that the dog ate the pill. There is also a chance that my 21 month old just ate a steroid pill laced with some peanut butter covered in dog slobber. What's the REALLY funny part is I will never know. We all survived that doggy steroid day, and just in case the child protective people research crazy people's blogs for  warning signs, I am going to post a picture of the little nugget today to prove he's still alive and getting into mischief (see pen drawing on leg).

Truths To Know Before Getting Pregnant

Awhile back I wrote a post about the "Truths To Know Before Having a Baby." Here it is in case you missed it:
http://bigmamataylor.blogspot.com/2012/06/truths-to-read-before-having-baby.html
Since then I have realized, there is also quite a bit you should know before the thing even comes out - there are some truths, some things that nobody likes to talk about, that everyone should know before getting all knocked up.

There will be a lot of times you will out eat your husband
I'm not going to lie to you, this actually happens to me a lot, not even pregnant, but it always seems a little more embarassing when you've already packed on 30 lbs and still want to order the "Hungry Man's Special" at Ihop. Doesn't help when the Husband is going for the egg white omelet. Just bow your head and plow forward, you're starving and your baby might be growing a liver or something today. In fact, it helps if you have that article from babycenter.com cued up on your phone to show your husband or the waiter if you get shy about the order. Just thrust the article about how today they form all necessary limbs into their face and tell them to bring you the largest stack of pancakes that can physically fit on to the plate before you start yelling things.

You will fart....all the time
Oh man, I'm sorry to drop this bomb on you. But it's true. Babycenter explains here.
http://www.babycenter.com/0_gas-and-bloating-during-pregnancy_247.bc
In the above article, BabyCenter explains that even the average person passes gas about 14-23 times a day. Well I'm not a dainty lady or anything but that seems a bit extreme to me. Maybe I'm doing a lot of this in my sleep. Either way, when you are pregnant, expect whatever your typical to be ATYPICAL. It's gonna get ugly before it gets pretty. Be most careful of the in-bed, under a huge down comforter gas explosions. These are not regular little toots. These are the toots of a woman making a baby. There is so much stuff going on inside that abdomen, and it can result in hurricane levels of gases on the outside. Have you made your husband read this part? If he does, he probably doesn't want to make out tonight. Sorry.

You will waddle...yes even you
I love the people that set out thinking that they will be the "cute pregnant ones." Ya I was one of them many moons ago. Let me tell you a nasty secret: There's no such thing. I know. I just dropped a no-Santa Clause bomb on you, I'm sorry. But you can't tell me that even Heidi Klum didn't waddle at the end of that pregnancy. Have you ever noticed that celebrities always strut their model stuff around Hollywood until about 5-6 months and then mysteriously disappear for the last 4-5 months? That's because EVERYONE gets fat. We all have that little waddle at the end. Oh you're cute at 5 months pregnant? I'll give you a medal. NOT. Your baby is still not even a pound! Come back to me in 3 months. You will be waddling up to me, farting with every other step, demanding pancakes. I'd love to see my husband stick a 30 lb bowling ball up his shirt, resting it mostly on his bladder and pelvic region, have his feet swell up to the size of large turkey legs, and see if he doesn't start to walk with a little squat. This is a beautiful miracle this making a baby thing. I do not look beautiful doing it.

People will drive you insane with their comments
Things I have been told by complete strangers:
"Wow you are going to have a huge baby!" (And you have a huge nose, I'm not judging.)
"Oh my, did you think about having your two kids so close?" (No I never think, it kinda hurts my brain, I just procreate.)
"There is no way you will make it to your due date." (Wow you are one of those uplifting people huh?)
"Oh I couldn't tell you were pregnant from behind and then you turned around and I was like oh dang!" (Stop being creepy, go home.)
"Do you worry about the coffee you're drinking?" (first-I have one cup a day, bite me-second-no but you should worry that I'm going to head butt you very soon.)

Most of your body is going to itch, all the time, and it will take every shred of your self control not to strip down and itch your entire body in the grocery store.
Listen, your entire outer layer is stretching out to get bigger and bigger. Did you know snakes shed their outer layer like every other day or something? I would give anything to shed my whole outside of my body. The skin, stretching and stretching to it's maximum fat capacity? This just itches, apparently. Ohhhh you bought expensive cocoa butter lotion? Ya not gonna help. Go ahead, lube up, put it all over, and climb into bed all sticky. You still itch, dontcha!?

Sorry. But you are probably going to poop during labor. Nurses should make more money.
DONE!

Going for Gold

Aaaah the Olympics. You are literally made of stone if you don't get shed a tear or at least get a little mushy watching the Olympics. I take the cake by sobbing uncontrollably in my bed alone every night watching. It's not just the pride for our country either. I cry for other people too. Oh poor Russian girl just looked like an idiot on vault? Sob fest. Poor girl has been working out for like 17 1/2 of her 18 years and has only eaten steel cut oatmeal for the past 36 months. Someone get her a snickers bar and a hug before I go into convulsions. One could say that I am completely unstable watching the Olympics....they would be right.

It all started with the commercials. Months ago Olympic promotions began to display short background stories of athletes, and I got sucked in from the beginning, misting up even at the commercials. Morgan Freeman talking in the background about the guy from Ghana who has been running his whole life from child slavery and now will run for his country, I mean really, if you aren't sobbing now, you are literally ice cold.

I love sports, even though I'm not so much "an athlete" myself. I played various sports like softball and basketball (the lesbian ones, dainty I was NOT) through 8th grade, when they began to cut people. This stopped my athletic days right in their tracks. Then I heard of a little thing called cross country. You don't get cut, you tell me? It's for the coolest of the not cool people, I hear? We just run around in cute outfits and chat with each other? On Fridays before meets we get to do ice cream runs? It's like they made this sport for me. Even though I am not athletic myself though, I just love watching, enjoying, and even (embarrassingly) playing sports. I have grown up around it with a dad as a football coach and somehow found myself staring down the barrel of another 40 years of it by marrying a football coach and having (at least) 2 boys.

A big part of why the Olympics hit home for me is because these people have literally dedicated their lives to these moments. I can't even take a nap on the couch without my right leg falling asleep, so ya, I think it's pretty amazing that this poor little guy from Russia has been training since he was 2 years old and hasn't eaten any kind of fat for a decade. Again, I get annoyed when I am at the front of the grocery and realize I forgot milk and have to go back, and I get winded putting my son in his car seat (every time...). These people are in the best shape and are on the highest stage, it's magnetic and electrifying to watch!

Some of the things that I have found most impressive so far really circle around gymnastics. I spent a nerve wracking hour watching the men on the parallel bars, I didn't even know this was one of the events. They just swing around and land on their forearms?! This is a horrible idea, stop this now.  Um the vault. Seriously. It takes me 20 minutes of thinking about it and all my physical strength to get out of bed if I'm in a flat position. I have to do a special roll and tuck now that my belly has grown to massive proportions. And this person is getting criticized because they didn't get high enough? Pretty sure that chic was hanging out in the rafters so you can bite me mean announcer lady.

Speaking of mean announcer lady. The announcers. First, I would like to know more about your background, each negative person, because unless you are like a gold medal winner, you really need to take it easier on these people. I watched a floor routine that I for one was pretty impressed by, and this lady deducted points throughout, but didn't explain why. Um, sorry I'm not a gymnastics expert, but that was a great tumble and I have no idea why you keep saying "that's a point right there." Please explain yourself. Or at least have a little side area of the television reserved for explanations for the "idiots watching the Olympics who are super into it but have no clue what is going on."

Ok as you can tell I'm an equal opportunist and love all the athletes. However, in watching these Olympics, I really have an innate feeling that it's between us and the Chinese and I have no idea why. Is this just because they have been installed in me as villains? Am I just jealous of the dragons on their uniforms (oh my gosh, cool)? I can't pinpoint it but every time I see one on tv I want to trip them, or at least beat them in everything. (I wrote this last week and I was spot on with my instincts, they're the only country beating us in medals!!! We must beat the Chinese!!)

One thing I think is really hard to tell on television is the speed of the Track and Field stars. Since they're running in a pack it's hard to get through your mind that they are running 3:30 minute miles. I think for every Track and Field race they should throw in a decently in shape civilian, just so we have something to compare their speed to. I will happily volunteer. Would it be a bad idea to have 6 oatmeal chocolate chip cookies the night before a race? Because that's kinda my nightly routine now.

To round out my Olympic jibber jabber I would like to close the blog with open discussion of the outfits, mostly gymnastics. Oh it's just me on here. Ok I'll go.
Gymnastics-Yowza. So glad that I do not have to wear this outfit. Then again I am not a 4 foot 11 inch little pistol of muscle, but that little number actually gives me nightmares. 
Beach Volleyball-Am I the only one who wonders if there is just sand all up in the pikachu? The other night they were wearing leggings instead of the bikini. Maybe the chaffing has just finally worn them down.
Swimming-These.suits.are.not.flattering. These women are just so crazy in shape, but these suits make their shoulders look like a 280 lb linebacker. I know that swimmers may somewhat this shape anyway, but it seems like these suits just make it worse?! Can't a girl swimmer get a halter up in here? Does the swim cap REALLY make that big of a difference!? Because it is not cute. I would finish my swim and yank that thing off so fast, I would consider swimming underwater and not coming up until I was without my cap on. I would not be concerned about my time, but if I had "swimmer cap hair" (it's a thing.) And this, and many other reasons, is why I am not an Olympic swimmer....

It's a Hard Knock Life

Brooks and I are trying to support the husband by going to practice during training camp. Here is a picture of us at our first practice.





































This year, the Miami Dolphins were asked to participate in an HBO special show called "Hard Knocks." This is basically The Real Housewives of New York, for men/football fans. It's a fun, reality television type look at an NFL team as they go through training camp, detailing players and situations and video taping pretty much every second.


Being the reality television crazed lady that I am (if you aren't watching Dance Moms, Toddlers and Tiaras, and Miss Advised, you are really missing out!), I of course wouldn't mind passing through the background of a Hard Knocks shot. I mean really. I live in Weston, Florida in suburbia, I am almost 7 months pregnant with a 20 month old. My biggest excitement is seeing what things will be "Buy One Get One" at Publix Grocery store every week. So judge me if you want but this is exciting stuff.



Here are some of my thoughts on how I could get an appearance on how to get on hard knocks....

Interview Time
I know when the Hubs has his up-close and personal interview with the NFL network crew. Would it be too much to fake going into labor during this hour so that someone has to burst into the room, screaming that he needs to rush to Memorial West Hospital as soon as possible? I guess this one isn't my actual body in the shot, but it's the idea of me....and maybe they would come to the hospital for the drama!? I guess it would be an issue when they get there and it's just me eating Krispy Kreme donuts in the lobby....


Yell at refs like crazy
This one is easy for me. I already like to act like I know a lot about football and scream things like "Get an eyeglasses appointment ref!" just for fun. I'm thinking I go to practice, get the practice refs really riled up, make a scene.....I can be "crazy practice lady!"


Go to practice in bikini....covered in dolphins.....7 months pregnant
Ok I admit this one is extreme. I'm getting desperate here. However I can almost guarantee without even slight hesitation that if I saunter in with Brooks in the BOB stroller in a dolphin-clad bikini, 7 months pregnant, I will get on that show. Things to consider with bikini scenario are: 
*Getting arrested...hmm what kind of food do they have in jail? Do they have child care in jail? Not sounding so bad.
*The husband pretending not to know me. And then immediately checking me into a loony bin. He's too sweet to file for divorce, that's why I married him, but he for sure would set me up in some kind of mental facility. What if they don't allow a gal to eat 1 lb of dove chocolates a day? I wouldn't survive.


Dress brooks in dolphin costume
Does anyone know where to get a toddler sized dolphin costume? Never mind, the internet is amazing, that won't be hard. Things that concern me include: permanent scaring of Brooks, overheating inside said dolphin costume, I believe the heat index yesterday was about 172 degrees, and the chance that the little munchkin steals my thunder. This is probably my best shot, no?


These are just a few of my ideas, if you have any suggestions, I'm wide open, as the pregnancy may or may not be slowly frying my brain. Either way, don't be shocked if you hear about a spinoff coming soon to your HBO entitled "That Crazy Pregnant NFL Coaches' Wife."

Traveling Makes Me Want to Vom

After the summer vacation with the fam that I have had, I am ready to hunker down in my house only to leave for provisions like cookie dough and Chick Fil A. We have been in Fort Lauderdale, Weston, Orlando, New York, Boston, Cape Cod, Dallas, Oklahoma, and then just Brooks and I took a trip (through Detroit) to Green Bay, Wisconsin....now granted, New York and Dallas were airport stops but I need a nap just after typing them! However, if there is anything worth powering through for, it is definitely a fabulous friend's wedding. One of my best friends Emily got married this past weekend and I was beyond excited to be able to watch her marry a fabulous guys who treats her like a queen.

I briefly wondered if Delta Airlines would take pity on a gal traveling with a child alone and let me check Brooks as a pet for this trip, especially if I was able to convince them he really likes small confined spaces like dog crates. I figured someone would get all hot and bothered about this and call child services, so I was stuck boarding my 7th plane with the little ball of energy alone, and if anyone has ever flown with a small child (or got the dreaded seat next to one) you know why I feel like I'm about to cry. Traveling is tiring and stressful enough for a pregnant lady to do alone, let alone have to drag around a 28 lb hot mess the whole day.

I have a few gripes with traveling today, of course. It seems like every time I fly the planes are getting smaller and smaller, though it could be that I am getting bigger and bigger (that's actually a fact.) In fact, a man at the Y today informed me that I sure was "really pregnant," and that there was "no way" he could see me making it to November. Aaah lovely. Just what you want to hear. So I wedge myself into this tiny seat, grumbling things to myself about how I need to cut back on my McDonald's dipped cone intake, only to face the arm rest battle. You know exactly what I mean, lots-of-make-up blonde lady who totally stole my arm rest on the flight from Dallas to Ft Lauderdale. This lady was nice enough, but she won the arm rest battle, making my 3 inches of space to share with Brooks feel even smaller! There is a very important time period when you both first sit down, I'd say anywhere from 90 seconds to 4 minutes, when one of you is going to make it clear that they will be using the arm rest. You really can't go back once this decision has been made, a bit like someone shouting shotgun, you just mutter to yourself, "darn, they got me on that one."

In addition to the seats being tiny, I have a growing concern with the cleanliness of these seats. This of course stems from the fact that I have now seen what a toddler can do to those seats and I don't think they're spending hours between flights steam vacuuming each seat. I watched Brooks eat and spit out a full graham cracker, and then slowly grind it into the corner of the seat. When you are dealing with confined spaces you are just concentrating on survival mode, but it is after these flights that I wonder how many seats have been thrown up on, peed on, only to have me plop right down and settle in on them.

When you have a child sleeping on you there is not much you can do except people watch. The US Weekly Magazine is too far out of reach to risk waking said sleeping child, and the Delta Sky Magazine literally couldn't be more boring. Um, a 4 page spread on the snacks available on flight? Come on throw me a bone here I'm bored out of my mind. One thing that I noticed is that people really don't look cute while sleeping. Um, dude with your mouth hanging completely open with a goatee? I can see you have had extensive dental work. That's because I just spent 10 mind numbingly agonizing minutes staring into your mouth because my only other option is lady who keeps smiling at me (I'm afraid she wants to talk, we have 2 hours left, I can't chit chat with this chic that long).

I am deeply respectful of every single person who comes to their job every day and works hard, but can we all agree that the bag checking agents can cool their jets a little bit? I have found that the smaller the airport, the more strict these people are, as if to say, hey we may seem like small fries but we are going to run your backpack through 8 times, just to make you squirm a little. On the way back from Green Bay they literally did run my backpack through the scanner three times only to have to personally inspect it, opening it up to find about 25 trains and enough snacks to feed a small army. Really, am I your biggest threat, lady with a backpack full of trains?

Unfortunately, the husband wasn't able to come with me to the wedding, as Miami Dolphins training camp started the week before. You know what is a little sad? A married lady at a wedding alone. You know what is really, really, really sad? A pregnant married lady at a wedding alone. But don't fret, I would like to think I could make anything fun, so I spent a better part of Friday's rehearsal dinner chasing around the appetizer lady with the bites of fried Brie cheese. I would always catch her out of the corner of my eye coming out of the kitchen with new provisions and could see her making a distinct turn to avoid the pregnant lady so others could get some, but I always tracked her down.

Luckily my only other trip before Baby Taylor #2 makes his debut in November is a trip to Chicago I'll be taking alone for another wedding of one of my roommates in college, Hilary. It'll be great to see everyone and catch up, and I really look forward to riding a plane ALONE....and you better believe I'll be winning that arm rest war.

Boys. Boys. Boys

Woops....I left the blogging world for vacation and I'm just returning! The hubby gets one month off a year and that's kind of it in this crazy coaching profession, so I just spent the last 30 days soaking up every day with Zac and Brooks. Today he returned for the start of Training Camp for the Miami Dolphins and crazily enough they have their first preseason game against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers in 17 days!

The day my husband got off for vacation we found out our second child will be a boy! What fun. I love my little boy Brooks, 19 months, so much and he makes me laugh so hard every day. I know my second boy will bring me equal joy and they will be best buddies. I feel very lucky! Honestly is the best policy so I will admit there was a part of me hoping for a girl. The pedicures, the wedding, the shopping together - it's hard not to imagine all those things as a pretty girly-girl myself. But I know this will be so much fun running around with two crazy little boys.

What I cannot imagine is how I am going to make it 17 more weeks as a crazy pregnant lady. While I must say I lucked out by not getting physically sick, I believe I suffer from different symptoms, mental symptoms. I am seriously "sick in the head," as I am the most crazy hormonal pregnant lady. Just 2 days ago my husband let me take a long nap as we were going to a BBQ later in the day, and after waking up out of a 2 hour fat lady coma with drool crusted all over my face, I walked out of my bedroom and kind of scolded him for .... wait for it .... it being 4 pm. Yup, I kinda yelled at him because it was 4 pm in the afternoon. The worst part about these little episodes is that I know I'm being crazy but I can't seem to get off the crazy train. It's like I am outside of my body watching it happen but don't have the willpower to stop it.

These episodes, of course, extend into the food world where I act like an equally crazy woman. Yesterday post-BBQ, I dropped off my husband to run into the grocery store for a redbox movie rental, and instead of parking to wait for him, made the quicket beeline possible to McDonald's for a chocolate dip cone. Just a reminder, I had literally just left a BBQ where I had eaten a cheeseburger as big as my head. Well, as sneaky as I thought I was being, I couldn't have predicted what followed, as my husband calls me when I'm pulling up to the drivethrough box to order. I absolutely hate when people can hear me ordering disgousting fast food orders, it's like they know all my secrets or something, so I answer and hurriedly want to get off the phone, but I've been caught. The red box rental was broke, so the hubby had walked out of the grocery just in time to see me turn the corner of his chevy tahoe on two wheels, burning rubber to get my cone as fast as possible, and pull into McDonald's. I sheepishly drove back to the grocery to pick him up, calculating in my head what I could eat in bed to make up for my missed cone (I had a bowl of cereal and 2 waffles, totally normal food at 10 p.m.)

Our vacation was focused mainly on seeing our respective families. We went to Disney World, Cape Cod, Massachusetts and Norman, Oklahoma all within about 18 days. It was quite the adventure for an old tired pregnant lady.

If there's one thing I took from the vacation it would be that I'm not returning to Disney World, maybe ever, and definitely not until I'm NOT pregnant and my youngest child is at least 5 years old. Let me back it up before I get all cranky. Disney is a well-oiled machine. These people know what they are doing and it's a pretty impressive operation. However, there is just not that much to do when you are 18 months old (my child) and you are pregnant (me). I couldn't ride a single good ride, and Brooks was absolutely more excited about the tram that took us to our car in the parking lot than a single thing inside Disney World. The only thing that would have made my experience better would have been to have drinks and make fun of all the people as I sat there, but I obviously couldn't do that either, so I was relegated to walk 18,456 miles a day around a park and watch people ride rides I couldn't ride, with my only glimmer of hope for fun being a funnel cake at the end of the day. Hormonal. Mess.

With that being said though, we had a wonderful vacation with our families and I feel really thankful that we both come from big, fun groups of people who love our son. He is the only grandchild so far so he gets pretty spoiled with love. I am going to miss my husband like crazy as he heads into football season, though I'm sure he drove to work at 90 miles an hour, thankful that football has begun and his crazy hormonal wife is left to mumble crazy nothings to herself!

Truths to Read Before Having a Baby

Since becoming pregnant I have had quite a few friends, and even a few strangers, ask me about childbirth and being a mom - I am certainly no expert in either and am definitely winging it when it comes to pretty much everything I do except eating. That, I am an expert in. I know what I want and I know when I want it. I want some soup right now and I'm about to go make it to eat whilest I write this.

I think they come to me because they want the truth. The nitty gritty, real truth that they know they will get from me. One thing I am NOT is perfectly classy. One thing that I AM is frighteningly unfiltered. I have seen lists like this before but thought it would be fun to make my own. So here are the things to know before having a baby...or before having a momentary lapse of memory and having another :) (I'm talking to you Mrs. Duggar mom of 2,132 kids).

You are always going to be answering the same question. All day long. 
Brooks is about 19 months old, so he can say about 20 words and a few phrases. I was extremely lucky to have passed high school math and have a professor who allowed me to pass the college math class "math for non math majors," so I don't by any means expect Brooks to be a genius. But I also want to encourage him to learn new things. So when learning to talk we would constantly point to things and say "What's this?" Boy has that backfired on me. I counted about a week ago and by 7:44 a.m., Brooks had legitimately pointed to different things and asked the question "What's this?" 77 times. This is not an exaggeration. This is God having a jolly old time up in Heaven laughing at me as I slowly melt into a pile of mommy mush.

You will be cleaning up and changing some questionable things
I don't know if people would agree to creating a family if they knew the things that were coming out of the back end of their little miracles. I have changed some diapers and legitamately wondered if something had died. I watch everything that Brooks eats, and we eat pretty healthy, so I have no idea how some strawberries, cheerios and yogurt somehow forms to be a death bomb by 10 a.m., but they make it happen. When you breastfeed, their poops are somehow pretty much without smell. I guess this is God's way of saying congrats on giving them the mommy juice. What comes after, however, is 2 years of changing someone's poo and not getting anything in return.

You may not shower for days at a time. Washing your hair is now a luxury. You're going to look like a hot mess most of the time
You can just forget looking nice a good majority of the time. That ship has sailed. I am really, really lucky if I have on clean work out clothes, remembered to put on deodorant with my pregnancy mush of a brain, and by some Grace of God Brooks hasn't touched me so I remain unsticky. I love fashion. I really love clothes, accessories, and feeling like I look nice. I love to dress up and go out and socialize. If I'm going somewhere where I want to look like a decent human being and not a mom alien, I get Brooks fully dressed and almost out the door and remain completely naked until I know all I have to do is get him to the car. I've been fully dressed, hair done and been puked on. This is no longer my first rodeo. I've considered putting him in the garage to get ready until we leave but this seems a little harsh and there are some sharp things in there. If I decide to blow out my hair I am saying that there is going to be 20 minutes where I cannot directly watch his actions so I am just asking for a box of cheerios to be turned upside down or for him to strip off his diaper and poop in my closet. Yes this has really happened, and yes, it will probably happen again. I really like to wear my hair straight and this is apparently a consequence. I have actually at times gone a few days without a shower because I'm so sick of the consequences of leaving an 18 month old unattended in my locked room for 7 minutes and 29 seconds, but that's no good either. The hubby starts to sleep inches and inches further from me in bed every night and my skin starts to itch. That can't be good.

You are always going to be sticky.
I'm literally always sticky. Not like oh that scotch tape left some residue on my pointer finger, poo. Like, I just rolled around in Cinnabons covered with syrup and icing and walnuts for an hour and now I have to walk into Target and expect people to take me seriously. I knew babies were messy. I am the oldest of five kids. I was not oblivious to this notion. I just had no idea how bad it was going to be. Brooks also had terrible reflux, where they have a hard time keeping down their (liquid gold) breast milk, so he pretty much puked 30-40 times a day for his first entire year. Nobody can prepare you for this: yes, I love my child, but I just had no idea that almost every free and spare moment of my day would be spent peeling gummies off of the back seat of my car or cleaning up puke because he ate the 5 dove chocolates (and the foil) next to my bed while I was changing clothes (yes you could say this one is on me since I eat chocolate in bed. Woops). I don't know how Brooks gets as sticky as he does sometimes. I admit, I am not one of those moms walking around with a fanny pack of hand sanitizer or baby wipes, but I bath my child. At times I have picked him up and wondered if he found a vat of lollipops to bath in. Kids just have an ability to get really, ridiculously sticky.

Your body is never going to be the same again
Sure go ahead. Try that cleanse from Walgreens. Oh you've decided to pick up running? That's neat. Oh these are things that you think are going to get you back to the old you? Oh I see you. You can stop. Just stop there. Sit back down on the couch and enjoy your chick fil a the way God intended. Your body is never ever ever going to be the exact same. Ever. When things stretch that way, they can't just unstretch. It's over. That body I complained about in college? I would give up ANYYYTHING to have it back, even for a week. I would probably spend the whole week going to the grocery in my bikini, but it would be a glorious week. Your boobs are going to be very sad from now on. First they'll get ginormous. You'll think "Wow this is fun!" Then when you're done nursing, away they'll go. And all you'll be left with is sad pancakes you have to scoop in to your 34A bra you bought in the Juniors section of Wal Mart. My belly button seriously needs botox. It became an "outie" with Brooks and never really went back to it's former cute self. It just half hangs out now, as deflated as my boobs about 20 inches above. In between lies a stomach that screams "I try to work out but chocolate rules my life." Sometimes, when you drink that magic amount of wine (2 glasses for me), and you have on shiny lip gloss, and you're in a dark restroom at a dirty Mexican restaurant, with a margarita under your belt, you'll think "there I am," and you'll feel you're back. But you're not. Too bad I can't have the one margarita feeling all the time.

How many kids do you want again?
Disclaimer: I do love my little nugget. He was all worth it :) And having a child makes your husband even hunkier! I just like to joke about all the stickiness and loose belly buttons.

Happy Father's Day

Though about 3% of me wants to write a really sweet and gushy post about Father's Day and my amazing husband, and dad, I really can't seem to muster the strength. I have about 10-12 blogs I try to keep up with and most seem like they are so sweet and loving and I do sometimes wish I was more there. Alas, my feelings towards men unfortunately grow deeper in bitterness each day I am pregnant. Before you go feeling really sorry for my husband, don't worry, he will have a really great Father's Day weekend :) I made homemade banana bread bars with browned butter frosting for the weekend breakfasts, I will let him sleep in all weekend only to be welcomed with hugs kisses and coffee, but inside, I'll be raging.

This all started with my first pregnancy with our son Brooks, who is 18 months old. I'm sorry I just don't enjoy pregnancy. Whew I said it. I do feel incredibly lucky to be pregnant. I am aware it's a miracle not awarded to just anybody and I feel thankful God gave me a body that can carry a baby. But for 300 days of pregnancy, I am cranky. And I grow (scarily) crankier as it goes on, especially towards the male sex. I just don't understand why we couldn't go halfsies on this pregnant stuff. Like I carry one, you carry one, and keep alternating. Seems pretty logical to me.

Sometimes I will read an article or run into someone who brings up the most insane notion I've ever heard - that pregnancy is sexy. Um, cough out my coffee that I feel guilt for having while pregnant yet still continue to have. What!? There is nothing sexy about this entire time. Insane that I probably made a liver today? Yes, that's true. Incredible that God has allowed me to have a beautiful child and is giving me another? Yes. I mean I guess it's a Miracle, I can get on board with that. But sexy? I must be missing something. I can't go 10 minutes without wanting to itch the living daylights out of my boobs. Which are already heading towards their size D milk jug whoppers they will be when baby comes.

When I sit down y boobs rest on top of my growing stomach. I look more like an orangutan and less like the gorgeous goddess that I am as the days go by. I feel lucky that I produced enough milk to feed a small country with my son Brooks. But that blessing is coming back to haunt me in spades with number 2, as I've already started to leak breast milk. I'm 19 weeks pregnant. That means if I breastfeed the baby for a year, there will be liquid coming out of my boobs for at least a year and a half. Um I'm sorry, nobody wants that. I only want more wine going in, less breastmilk going out. And it will literally be like 2014 before that switch is fully made. And by then my husband will be making weird winks at me about having #3 and I will have forgotten how terrible pregnacy is and he will catch me in a confused red wine fog and I'll probably get knocked up again. Sweet fancy Moses.

Don't get me wrong, I love my husband and little boy so much, this is all worth it. It just makes me feel better to compain about it. A lot. Even if it is only to my Intel Celeron Emachine today.

If you want to see me really, really riled up, catch me in a moment with anyone asking me absurd pregnancy questions or making insane statements. A few I have heard:
--"Woah, you really got big there." If you are going to u say this, just go ahead and block any private parts you don't want me to hit.
--Stranger at Starbucks: "How many weeks are you?"
Me: "16 weeks."
Stranger: "Wow you're big!"
Me: "At least I'm pregnant and have an excuse" (No I didn't really say it I thought of it in my car and almost got back out to say it but it wouldn't have had the same effect.)
--Old woman I got stuck in line with at grocery and couldn't escape from: 20th invasive statement in 3 minutes...."Please tell me you are going to breastfeed?"
Me: "Yes you'll probably see me putting soup in my cart in aisle 8 with a baby attached to my boob in 5 months, I lost all connections with the fact that my boobs should be hidden with my first child and breastfeed in public like it's the newest Olympic sport I'm trying to get to catch on."
Cut to poor 89 woman looking shocked.

My husband has to deal with none of this and I just have a really hard time with that. He just gets to prance around knowing "his boys can swim" with a built in designated driver for 9 months, while I suffer through the gas, itchiness, and sheer horror of pregnancy only to face the nightmare that is childbirth and the aftermath. Oh the aftermath. I remember looking at my stomach in the hospital room after they had taken Brooks the day after I gave birth. It looked like a waterbed. Literally, exactly like a waterbed. With like 20 lemons in it. I'm certainly no perfect body but I love to run and enjoy eating healthy, and here I was staring at what can only be described as a disaster of a stomach. My boobs were amazing but it was hard to get excited about the insant boob job because they hurt so badly and they kind of lost some of their glimmer sitting on top of the waterbed. I had pushed so hard with Brooks (I'm sure I yelled "get that thing out of me" at least 10 times) that my eyes were completely blood shot. Literally, ALL the white around my eyes was pure red for 2 weeks. And Zac looked exactly the same. I'm not sure where the fairness factor comes in here people.

Another depressing time is when you have to admit what kind of fruit the baby is really resembling, like this week, I think I'm a kumquat or something, yet my stomach is definitely resembling more of a cantaloupe baby inside, and I have no explanation. Except maybe that I had about a third of the homemade banana bread bars with frosting right after they came out of the oven. Whoops. Happy Father's Day honey!

Church and Food Porn

This blog will only be half serious :)
Being that I grew up Catholic, a religion I personally view to be one that is somewhat private and lacking in evangelism that other religions tend to encourage (keep in mind this is only my idiotic opinion), these next few paragraphs are going to be very foreign for me, and unlike me. However, I just have this feeling that I need to say them.

I had a wonderful, amazing church in Texas. Of course I don't think I appreciated all it offered until I left Texas, but in retrospect it was awesome. It had a mom's support group with a Christian based message every other week where they watched your child (and not just watched but loved on, sang Bible songs with, etc). It had an array of weekly Bible studies to choose from during which they again, watched your child. Did I mention all this Christian based child watching was all free? This church was led by an extremely talented Preacher whose message always seemed to be geared directly at me. He was engaging, funny and made me look forward to service. If you live in College Station you should really try Central Baptist!

Since we moved here we have been sassy about church. We tried one very close to home that we weren't sure was the right fit and then basically played church hooky for more weeks than I care to admit. Then the friend who has been so amazing to me since I moved here, Jessica, told me about a church she was going to called Calvary Sawgrass. We decided to try it this past Sunday. I dropped Brooks in the arms of a woman I could instantly tell was a Christian and would love on my son while I went to pray. Is there anything better??

Within 5 minutes of being at service, I was tearing up at the wonderful music, and I could literally feel God hug me, and maybe even whisper "welcome back." Is this the pregnant hormones? Well, maybe a little. But God loves us so much and just wants a little of our time every week. If you don't attend a church, or don't attend a church you love, I really encourage you to find one. It is honestly amazing what he can do to lift you up when you attend and give of yourself. I admit, I find it hard to go to church sometimes. My husband works a lot of hours and I am selfish of his time when he has off. When I'm alone and he's in football season, I blame it on getting there with my son by myself. But man, it helps me in every aspect of my life when I do go.

This first half of this blog post today was very hard for me. I am not the type to talk about my relationship with God. Just not my style. But I really felt a calling from him to write about this and encourage others to find a church if they don't have one. I appreciate it if you just read every word. Below I found a verse from the Bible about finding the right church. Below that I continue on my blog with other musings :)

Romans 16:16 ESV
Greet one another with a holy kiss. All the churches of Christ greet you.

With that being said, though I am striving daily to become a better daughter, mother, and wife for God, I must talk about a fact. When I am pregnant, food becomes my porn. Oh. My. Gosh. Food is all I have. If you come at me during meal time, I will literally come back at you like a spider monkey.

I am an eater. Can't really remember a time when I didn't love food. But being pregnant brings my relationship with food to another level. Before we may have been best friends? We have known each other forever, we know everything about one another, our likes our dislikes, we love another. When I am pregnant, the relationship changes. One might say....we become lovers. I lust for food. I think about food pretty much all day long. I think about food in my car, at the gym while I am lifting, at the park when a mom breaks out a snack pack. I think about my dinner when I'm eating breakfast. I start sweating with excitement when I know I'm going to eat a certain food I love. It's lust. And food is my porn.

With food as my lover, I begin to eat things I normally do not eat. You see I have a few vices in life that I love for which pregnancy creates a huge hurdle. They are: running, wine and coffee. I had complications with my first pregnancy making running long distances off limits. We all know nobody likes a drunk preggo lady so wine is off the shelf for 10 months. I do have coffee in moderation, but feel immense guilt the entire time, and I do not get to have my venti starbucks jet fuel that makes me even more on crack than I already am. All I'm left with is food! So you better believe that I'm going to be eating some sassy things.

About 2 weeks ago I took my little boy to Target to get a Little Tikes basketball hoop to play with and saw ground beef mini sliders on sale. They expired the next day and I'd have to make them that night. My biggest worry was that it was 3 p.m., how would I make it until 7 p.m. when my hubby returned home to eat these things!? I LOVVVVE a good burger, and since these were little mini sliders, I figured they were basically diet burgers. If you know me, you know that I eat mostly pretty healthy, so the image later that night of a gal in a gross old t-shirt and my husbands plaid boxers frying up burgers with the grease hitting me was quite a site. This is what pregnancy does to people! I still have dreams about those sliders and know I will have them again. To be honest I really don't know if I can type about them and not have them tonight, so Zac if you're reading this, we are having mini burgers tonight!

For some reason I also use pregnancy as an excuse to resort back to a habit that I really got carried away with during my first pregnancy: eating in bed. If you want to feel totally gross, then try eating a taco salad in bed. You know you have a problem when you put on a special "eating in bed shirt," because you know it will be covered in ground beef and sour cream when you are done and you don't want to get your jammies all gross.

What naturally goes along with food being my number one priority during pregnancy is an unfortunate side effect mostly for my husband: sometimes needing a certain food RIGHT THIS SECOND. I always used to think those people who posted their food on facebook were pretty gross. Um, hi I don't need to see your half eaten tacos from Chuy's but thanks. Now, I find myself immediately thinking - oh gosh, if I don't get my hands on a taco in 20 minutes, the world may end.

I'm still in that stage where the baby bump is not really big enough to be cute but it's big enough to notice and have people just assume I've been hitting the beef sliders too hard. As much as I loathe the weight gain, I'm actually looking forward to having a baby bump that is definitely without a doubt a baby bump. I'm 5 lbs up and climbing and if I make those sliders again tonight, I just might pop.

Pregnant Pause

Now that Big Mama is finally in her 13th week I am ecstatic to be able to annunce that I am with child! We are thrilled that our little man Brooks will have a friend to play with because I'm sure this Mom gets a little boring day after day.

As thrilling as this is, of course I had to round out my 1st trimester the classy way: partying in South Beach! I got to attend the Bachelorette party of one of my very best friends 2 weekends ago, and spent 3 days partying my buns off with an awesome group of girls, and some of the classiest people this side of the Mississippi. And by classy I actually mean not classy at all. Which was perfect because I fit right in.
First off, it just happened to be a Lesbian and Gay Pride convention, so within 1 hour of my arrival to beautiful South Beach I felt compelled to tell my unborn baby why we were around such a colorful crowd. That really set the weekend off just right for what was to come.

When you are pregnant the first thing that comes to mind for most people is probably not a weekend of debauchery in a city that can only be described as the Vegas of Florida. I had spent my first trimester mostly really, really tired and was in bed with a handful of dove chocolates or a bowl of ice cream most nights, so I was a little bit worried that I would a) not be able to keep up with the night life, or b) find that I still loved it so much I would have to give in and fly to LA to be Snooki's new sidekick.

I will say that it was really hard to watch everyone in the entire city enjoy cocktails while I went wild with my water with extra lemons, but I had a blast the whole weekend. We saw Latin Dancers, accidentally stumbled on to a completely lesbian  bar and were welcomed with open arms, went to the hottest night club in South Beach, and finished the weekend off with a really, really graphic drag show. Overall, I think my unborn baby has an idea that mama is not Mother Theresa.

One of my very favorite things to do is to dress up and go dancing, so the night at the club was probably my favorite. I wore insanely impractical shoes, a sequin dress that fit only because I forced it onto my growing body, and more make up than I have probably worn collectively in the last 3 months. We danced the night away until 2 am and that would have to go down as my favorite night. However, the night did not end as planned....I headed home about an hour before the rest of the crowd with a good friend of mine, Sara, and despite my complete sober-ness, was so concerned helping Sara out of the cab that I left my phone in the cab! This is absolutely the worst feeling in the world, and I didn't even have that wine buzz that makes you sort of laugh about it. I called the main cab company to see if there was a way to track it down and without a specific cab number that I had gone in, the lady gently told me that "there was no way on earth we are finding this phone."

I will say that there is something about being in a nightclub, 100% sober, and pregnant, that feels just a smidge trashy. I caught eyes with quite a few girls that I could tell had been "overserved" and just wanted so badly to go hug them and say let's go home! I think the mom instincts begin to kick in on all accounts. At one point our group of girls attracted a young man who began to dance with us, and I turned to my friend Sara and asked "who is that?" She turns to me and slurs "I don't know, but he's beautiful." To which I died laughing, because let me tell you he was not beautiful! At that point I did wish I had beer goggles on because life is just a little more fun once in awhile through foggy beer goggles.

One interesting thing that comes with pregnancy that I find pretty hilarious is that it is like people are wearing beer goggles towards you. And with that comes the fake compliments. Towards the end people feel so bad for you as you waddle around they start to tell you what I call flompliments - fake compliments that they make up because they feel so awkward staring at you. It includes things like "you're glowing," (um, wow this chic is sweating up a storm), that you are "carrying it really well" (wow, had no idea what an extra 75 pounds would look like on you), or the best, "you're about to pop!" (I can't believe this child hasn't exited your body, I'm freaked out that you are going to get even an inch bigger, stop growing, yowza). I was told with my first child that I was about to pop from about 7 months and on, so this one gets really fun.

It doesn't end with strangers though, even my husband feels so bad for me he tells me fompliments too. They include things like, "your arms still look really fit" (but the rest of you scares me, scares me to the core), "you're still moving around really well" (it puzzles me how you're getting around, you gigantic cow), or the best/most awkward "you can't really tell from behind" (so turn around because I need to visualize you normal!). Even though I am really not showing much yet the fompliments started with the hubby last night. Laying in bed together and cuddling, Zac proceeds to tell me that I smell like "one of our old apartments." Ummm. Pregnant Pause. We lived in a gross apartment when we first got married and a not much better duplex after that, both of which smelled vaguely of frat parties, so I'm not sure what to take from this. The truth is my hubby is darling and so sweet and I had put on perfume that I used to wear when we first got married (Coolwater- the kind you buy at Walgreens when you're in the 8th grade, yes I wore this until about 2 years ago, when I majorly upgraded by buying Juicy Coutoure at TJ Maxx), so he meant that I smelled like when we first got married, but the whole thing had the air of the fake pregnancy compliments about it.

My friend the mailman

Today I get to head down to Miami for one of my dearest friends' Bachelorette party! It's going to be so fun and I have been looking forward to this for weeks!

Since moving to Florida my social schedule hasn't been exactly packed. Not that I was such a party animal before in Texas but....well actually I kind of was. Brooks and I were involved in the church, he went to a preschool, I had so many sweet friends, great neighbors, and I was in Junior League, so we had something to do pretty much every day. It's such a big change when you move somewhere, and after all the hustle and bustle of unpacking boxes you are just sitting there starting at your 17 month old and I swear he's thinking, "Mom where did all your friends go? This is kind of boring."

Right when we moved into our house, I kind of started a bad habit of ordering things online just so the nice mailman would ring my bell and I would have someone to talk to. This is just a tad embarrassing when you realize what you're doing. But Mike the Mailman is so friendly! What's even more sad is I know everything about his life story thanks to some supplies for the Bachelorette party this weekend, my J. Crew swimsuit, Brooks' new Toms shoes and a few books from my grandpa. Mike is a middle aged mailman that's anything but boring. He actually competes in body building competitions on the weekends and boy would you know by looking at him in his uniform. Yowza! (Lonely, very lonely and bored housewife). Actually, I find his uniform a little bit distracting because it is literally skintight on his body, like a joke Halloween stripper mailman uniform. I racked my brain for ideas on how I could get a picture of this but I concluded that a) he would realize how creepy I am and we could no longer be best buddies and b) that really wouldn't be fair to my good friend, and at this point I only have like 3 friends here so I really can't jeopardize anything.

Another thing that has happened as a result of my becoming a reclusive cat lady is that I have started becoming increasingly and alarmingly invested in my TV shows. They are, after all, my extended family. I watch Guliana and Bill with Guliana Rancic from the E! news show, and their struggle to have a baby is played out on the show, and when they announced they were pregnant via surrogate on the episode last week I was a bawling gross mess. I actually called my husband AT WORK and interrupted him to tell him the news. He says "Ummm...that's great babe. Ok I'll be home soon." Probably said to himself "Note to self, buy my wife friends, this is a new low." You know how in the 50s and 60s your grandmother wouldn't even dream of bothering your grandpa at work, it was just unheard of? I'm calling up there to tell my husband news on my favorite TV shows! Yikes.

My final side effect of being friendless for the beginning of this move is Wendy. Oh Wendy! Wendy is my best friend at the grocery store. She's about 132 years old (seriously I think she's at least 98), and we are somehow on the exact same grocery schedule, so we chat at least a few times a week. Either that or Wendy is stalking me and waits in her car for me to go into Publix and then "just happens to be there too." Wendy has already taught me a few things about couponing, how to check if the avocados are ripe for eating, and how to make a homemade bath treatment for Brooks' diaper rash. This vixen is hilarious and I can't help but wonder if I'm turning into her. First, she travels with a fanny pack and I can't help but think that's just practical. I've been behind her in line and she whips out her coupons and checkbook like she's on Price is Right and the clock is ticking down. Her hands are free to expressively explain to me how as you get older you may lose your flexibility but not your sex drive. Like I said, Wendy is a vixen. (Any single male readers in their 80s living in Weston, FL? Contact me and I will hook you up with Wendy, you won't regret it).

I know that I will eventually make great friends here who I will be devastated to leave someday, and I really have already made a few great ones. I am one of those people who will probably wear you down so much with my cookies or cake pops, or oversharing of information or incessant calls about how Guliana is pregnant via surrogate, it's easier for you to just say we are friends than to fight it. When I went to a first lunch with one of the sweet girls who I have become friends with through our husbands working together, I was so excited I talked her ear off for 2 1/2 hours and I'm pretty sure I told her about my vaginal labor. Like, details. Sorry Jessica!!

Well I should wrap this puppy up. There's a new episode of Guliana and Bill I need to watch before leaving for Miami, and I think Mike is dropping by with the fanny pack I ordered!

I'm a mom

Hi dear readers, I apologize for my absence, I am just now recovered from what I can only describe as a slow death for the last 10 days. The hubster and I were so sick, my mom took our baby this past Sunday and despite getting pretty much zero lovey time together, all we could do is lay next to each other, blow snot in each other's t-shirts and weakly discuss whether we should watch a marathon of that Boss Undercover show or It's Sunny in Philadelphia. It was brutal, and I'm just glad to be on the other side now.

Well readers, in the time that has passed, something big happened. I'm not exactly sure when, but it happened. I became a mom. I know, you are all thinking, wow. Her baby is like 16 months old. If she didn't know this already she really needs to cut back on her day drinking. But it was a very fun, easy transition for me when Brooks was born (besides the first 3 months, which I don't remember literally at all and refer to as "the fog," but that's normal I hear). I thought that I hadn't really changed at all from the Sarah "before," the gal who loves being up to date on the latest fashion, what is happening with Brad and Angelina (really Brad, you need to marry her? Haven't you done enough? Just get back with Jennifer and I'll forgive you in a decade, maybe). I'm the one who loves a cold margarita on a Friday night and being able to pull out the party trick back bend at a bar.

I will tell you how I know, but only if we keep this between us. It's embarrassing. I found mom panties undies undergarments vajayjay keppers underwear! (what's a cool hip name for underwear?) And the worst part is, they belong to me!

I'm really not sure how this happened. Back to the day drinking. But seriously, we have been living in Florida over a month now, and it's been a really hectic move and couple of months. I was doing laundry last night, folding about eight loads that backed up when we were sick, and finally feeling coherent and level-headed for the first time in weeks, noticed an enormous blob of tan Lycra stuck to the dish towel. What is this, I thought. Did my mom spend the night recently? Is Zac bringing home old lady panties and putting them in the laundry to keep me on my toes? Oh no, I realized. They're mine.

The memories came flooding back of the day it happened. I was in Forever21, buying a few new dresses because, after 9 months of running my GD ass off, I had finally gotten to 5 lbs away from my pre-baby weight. (When people tell me "it takes 9 months to put it on, it'll take 9 months to work it off," with a smile and a wink, I want to gouge them in the eyes and rip that wink off their face). I was feeling practically anorexic as I sauntered around Forever21, thinking that all the high school girls were probably wondering who the model was in the College Station Forever21. I had just started fixing my hair again for the first time in probably a year, and miraculously, I didn't have a spec of throw up on me. I was a marvel to see. Or so I thought.
I guess God gives us this spectrum of confidence to keep us going, but it sure is rough when you realize what the reality is. I must have had 100 dresses on my arm when I waltzed into the Forever21 dressing room, and as it's a store for 12-14 year olds, they only let you take in 6 at a time, so I meticulously separated them and bounced in with my first 6 items.

Much to my shock and dismay, not a single thing in my first 6 fit my Gisele-like body. I was shocked. My stomach rumbled as I gruffly swung open the door to grab the next batch, and I figured that was a fluke. I was starving, but I had to plow forward. Brooks was only at the Mother's Day out for 2 more hours and it had taken me an hour to do my hair, this was no time to think about the Aunt Annie's Pretzels I could smell from the mall.

What followed was like a sad TV show on Bravo about the girl who has body dismorphia, except mine was in a less "oh my gosh, that's so sad" way and in a more, "get a grip on reality girlfriend" way. Only 2 or 3 items in the batch of 100 dresses even went on my body, let alone looked like something that my husband would walk around with me in public wearing. I didn't realize it, but despite the numbers on the scale, my body had changed forever. Only moms know this, and I reflected on what one of the strength coaches my hubby worked with at Texas A&M had told me when I was pregnant months ago. As I sat sobbing like a hot mess in Forever21, I remembered him telling me that the body of a pregnant woman was like a transformer, and your hips have to actually expand to get the baby out during labor, and after that, they are forever larger and your body is never really the same. Since I was able to squat Brooks out in a matter of minutes (seriously it was like a National Geographic special) I figured my hips were twice their former size, and who knows what my vajayjay had stretched to. (Good thing I know to tell the doctor about the extra stitch. Message me if you want to know more). I know this is being a smidge dramatic but it was a nightmare.

Before that day, I don't think I'd ever walked into Forever21 and not bought a single thing. I'd always found a scarf or dress that caught my fancy, but then again, that was in my pre-baby hips days. You see, I was waiting for this day, and I had saved the money I was making from my side business making cake pops, to buy clothes for my new and hard-earned Gisele  mom body. But I was a bitter woman that day, and muttered stuff under my breath about Forever21 being a cult and changing their sizes on me, as I made a quick exit and a beeline to Aunt Annie's, where I knew I still fit.

After two pretzels with icing a pretzel and a diet coke, I decided this was no time to feel sorry for myself, and that I needed to leave the mall with something that made me feel good about myself and getting back down to the weight I had targeted. I had worked really hard after all, sometimes even refusing ice cream at night in bed while my hot hubby indulged! With only 45 minutes left in my Brooks-free mommy time, I walked into Macy's, and I'm not proud of what I bought, but it is who I am now. I bought mom underthings. A lot of them. All different kinds too. I was new at this, I didn't know how it worked. I didn't have time to try them on, so I just grabbed a plethora, tried not to get the grease from my pretzels on them, and headed to the church to collect my baby.

My sweet baby. You would think that I would be mad at the sweet Brooks for what he had done to my body. But again, God has a plan. He makes you love their darling faces so much, from the first second you squat them out, that you accept that after nursing your body sucked your boops back into your body, and what was left was a sad sack of clementines with squiggly lines on them and hips that don't lie. You accept that you are never going to weigh that number again, not ever, unless you give up McFlurry's all together, and then that's a life that's really not worth living isn't it? Because it's all worth it.

I love being a mom, even more than I thought I would. It's so rewarding I almost can't stand it. When he naps a long time I miss him, and I go in his room and stroke his hair like a creepo, willing him to wake up and play with me. Of course I have days when I text my husband things like "This is it, no more kids, and you better be bringing me home 1 million dollars and a Ferrari because this is the hardest damn job on the planet." But for the most part, it is so much fun and I feel so lucky I get to do it.

The mom underwear did help things, and it even got me back into these fabulous Juicy Coutoure jean leggings, the last pair of jeans that wouldn't will themselves over my junk in the trunk. The only problem was, the jeggings needed a thong, and you could see enormous mom underwear lines, so they were retired. I framed them and they know hang in my closet with all my vintage Hermes bags and Jimmy Choo shoes.

As a final note, I decided to try the back bend, alone in my room. This old mom has still got it.