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.
Big Mama Taylor Blog
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Friday, September 14, 2012
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 growingmilk 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 ofhell 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).
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
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
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).
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