on letters to baby, part iv- the third trimester and labor

hey there baby dude.

you’re actually sleeping next to me as i type this, and while i’d rather spend my time smooshing your chubby cheeks, i really want to get this done so that one day you and i can look back on these letters and you can roll your eyes and i can sob because you’re old and like your father better.

so yeah- the third trimester.

the books all warn about this trimester, that it’s the most God awful thing a woman can go through. in my case, it wasn’t so bad, until it was EXACTLY THAT BAD. you went easy on me, for the most part, but oh. grand. mother.loving. son.of.a.gun. the last three weeks were the worst.

overnight my ankles rivaled the size of my thighs, my lungs jumped up into my throat, and with every breath heartburn shot out of my nostrils. moving became impossible, but staying still was the most painful thing in the world.

and sleep? YEAH RIGHT.

beyond the fact that physical comfort was never going to happen, your father was working like mad on your nursery, and believe it or not a compressor and nail gun don’t lull me to sleep like they used to, nor does the shrill shrieking of the table saw or the slew of curse words shooting out of your father’s mouth.

(side note: this may sound crazy, and it may have been the pregnancy hormones talking, but freshly sawed wood smelled straight up like waffle cones straight out of whatever they cook waffle cones in. it was totes weird.)

he worked on the nursery until the early hours of the morning. he worked on the nursery (with friends and family) during the day. somewhere in between he squeezed in work and school, and did his best to not poke the big angry pregnant bear whose ankles took up both sides of the bed.

he worked himself straight into the ground- so hard that i had to step in and help. i wish we had taken pictures of this, but you’re just going to have to believe me that a pregnant woman at 40 weeks looks PRETTY RIDICULOUS trying to paint a room, especially when her husband forces her to wear a gas mask and gives her many much attitude about using a step stool.

we (with the help of many much friends and family- you were so loved already) literally worked on your room until the night before i was scheduled to go in and be induced.

induced? YES INDUCED. that’s what happens when stubborn little fetuses refuse to deal with life and vacate the womb- the poor mothers who want to roll over and die from the uncomfortableness of it all are induced. PRAISE BE.

i was scheduled to be induced at 4 am (don’t ask me how that makes any kind of sense, whatever, am i right?), and your father and i worked on the room until 10 pm the night before. genius, i know. who needs sleep or rest the day before labor? NOT THIS GIRL, this dumb, dumb girl.

and what was our great idea for a last meal? delivery chinese food. had i known that i would never ever get to eat ever again so help me goodness gracious, i would have insisted on something else, but one’s brain isn’t really up to the task of thinking about such things when one is washing paint off one’s self a mere 6 hours before one is scheduled to push a baby out of her lady parts.

read: i was freaking out.

i sat in the bath and stared at my stomach and allowed all of the fears i had pushed to the back of my mind (you had three eyeballs, one foot, no nose, and birth was literally going to kill me) to wash over me, but only for that moment. i gave myself just that moment to freak out, and then i crawled in bed next to your father and drifted in and out of sleep, savoring every little nudge, wiggle, and movement that i could while you were still inside me.

i think the entire household knew what was going on when my alarm went off the next morning. the dogs were surprisingly calm and attentive, the cats were sweet, and your father buzzed around the house grabbing our stuff.

we didn’t talk the first few miles, we just drove and stared. i finally turned to your father and asked him if he was ready, and he said yes, was i, and i was, and so we were going to do this. it was the longest, scariest, and most exciting drive of my life.

ok. so the labor.

i am not even kidding you, as soon as they induced me i slept better than i have in the last 3 years. i woke up when your grandparents came in, long enough to feel a few contractions (not that bad) before i zoned out again while they visited amongst themselves.

when the anesthesiologist came in, i thought i was dreaming, because OH GOOD LORD. he sounded straight up like kermit the frog. i thought he was kidding with that voice, but he wasn’t, and when i turned to meet him i came face to face with a man who looked to be 873 years old and had the thickest glasses i had ever seen. .

i knew that was it- that if i was going to die during this labor, it would be at the hands of this 12,000 year old muppet who was about to INJECT THINGS INTO MY SPINE, no big.

this is where i’m going to tell you about the awesome nurse i had, because she was incredible. i 100% believe that if i hadn’t had her with me, i wouldn’t have made it through that epidural, and i’m pretty sure she thought i was kidding when i said i would take her to dinner, clean her house, and be her best friend for the rest of our lives.

epidurals are the worst thing on the planet, baby dude(tte), and even though kermit did a great job, it was still the most awkward and painful thing i have ever experienced in my life. i can only compare it to the feeling that someone has bored a hole into your spine and shoved a brillo pad down it.

the epidural was 100o times worse than any contraction i had, and if we ever have another baby i may seriously consider a natural birth. not because i’m some granola toting hippie (modern medicine! drugs! bras!!), but because the thought of another epidural makes me want to crawl under my bed and sob.

after the epidural (and the water breaking, which just felt weird) i slept some more, and alternated between visiting with family and dozing until super nurse came back in and said it was time. apparently i shot from 2 cm to 10 cm without even realizing it, and you were ready to blow that joint.

on the one hand, i was so excited to meet you, but on the other- the naps were so great! couldn’t i have more naps?

no. i could not. jerks.

your father and super nurse stood on either side of me and told me to push. i pushed. they told me to rest. i rested. they said push some more, so i pushed.

piece of cake.

eventually it got to the point where you meant business, and they called in the doctor.

YOUR DOCTOR! (another side note) your doctor was hilarious. perky,  hand gesture-y,in your face, and not at all who i imagined i would want to deliver my baby, but who turned out to be the most perfect fit i could have hoped for. you just wait until you meet her. SHE HAS TURQUOISE COWBOY BOOTS, AND THEY ARE BEDAZZLED, I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING YOU.

so she came in, all bubbly and perky, and started talking to me about a scarf i had worn to my last appointment, while telling me to push and getting all up in my lady parts. it was surreal.

i kept pushing, and i could feel you coming out, and it was craze balls. i didn’t believe your great aunt when she told me having a baby felt like taking a giant dump, but she was so right. if there’s one thing i’m confident in, it’s my ability to evacuate my downstairs, and you were no exception. i felt zero pain, some pressure, and tons of excitement.

when your head popped out, everyone in the room (including your father) exclaimed ‘THERE’S SO MUCH HAIR!’ i wanted to remind them that it’s not like i had much time to groom down there before the birth, but then i realized they were talking about you.

i asked what color it was, and the doctor turned to the nurse and said GO GET HER A MIRROR SO SHE CAN SEE THIS! and the nurse and i both screamed DO NOT GET HER A MIRROR, SHE DOES NOT WANT TO SEE THIS, and your father said ‘it’s dark!’

then his jaw dropped, his face turned pale, and he said ‘whoa’ as i felt you slide all the way out.

i can’t really express to you what i felt when they dropped you on my chest, but (and you’ll appreciate this more as you get to know me) i did not freak out that you were covered in gross. i stared at the top of your head, and almost punched the nurse who quickly swept in to take you to clean you off.

i was so enthralled at the very sight of you that it took me a while to realize i could feel the doctor stitching me up, and even when i realized it, all i could say was ‘ow’ under my breath. (she freaked out, but i really didn’t notice that much difference when they re-numbed it, i was so excited to spend more time with you.)

YOU WERE HERE!

i’ve never seen your father stare at someone the way he stared at you, and i never even knew it was possible to love someone as much as i loved him when i saw him hold you for the first time. and you- oh you. you were so quiet, so calm, and so delicate. you changed me forever, in just a few seconds. you blew my mind.

you still blow my mind.

you are so worth it, baby dude. you are worth the pregnancy, the labor, the recovery, the long nights, the disgusting diapers, the thousands of pounds of laundry, the exhaustion, the worry, the not having time to eat.

you are literally the best thing in the entire world, and somehow merely looking at you brings life into perspective. all of the things that didn’t make sense before make sense now, and all of the things i thought i was missing before aren’t missing anymore.

i love you, so very much that i can’t even stand it sometimes.

on letters to baby, part iii- the first two trimesters

all the pregnancy books say you should take time to ‘revel in your pregnancy.’ this statement follows the section with tips for dealing with nausea and urinary incontinence. silly pregnancy books.

side note: your father was all about these baby books the first two trimesters. he is a nervous man as it is, and throwing his unborn child into the mix almost sent him over the top. he did a fantastic job of trying to hide it, but anytime i even mentioned a possible symptom he would look it up to make sure everything was on track. pretty cute, and totally neurotic. THAT’S YOUR DAD!

what i’m about to say most certainly ensures that any subsequent pregnancy i may have will be hellacious, but this pregnancy was a breeze. the only symptoms i had were during the first few weeks, and those included super smells and alcohol aversions- nothing too serious.

you’d think, then, that i would totally revel in the pregnancy- that i would soak up the ‘joy’ of the first two trimesters and flout my breezy pregnancy-ness for all the land to see- but i didn’t.

i didn’t have time to, and if anybody knows that, it’s you.

during the first two trimesters i (we):

• flew to iowa to see a very dear friend. please remember that if this friend ever visits, it’s ‘both’ and not ‘bolth’, and you want a ‘coke’, not a ‘pop’. this is very important as this friend loves to say things incorrectly, and i would hate for you to end up as mistaken as he is all the time.
• participated in a 10k. i use the term ‘participated’ loosely, as really we just walked until we felt like it, and then headed back to the car to find a greasy mexican breakfast restaurant. by the way- your father is a total grumplestileskin about 10ks. not a good time.
• lived through the hottest hot heat wave hell of a summer that i have ever seen. it was disgusting, but since i refuse to go outside in the summer anyway, it wasn’t ALL that bad.
• continued to work 40 hours a week while in law school. in the interest of full disclosure, i hardly noticed a difference between law school fatigue and growing a person fatigue, so don’t let me bring it up in an argument later as ammunition of how i suffered for you.
• registered in and passed 16 hours of law school. pretty good for a fetus, and it really sets the bar high for when you begin your scholastic endeavors. i was kind of thinking it would be nice if you would be a doctor, because your father and i are major hypochondriacs and it would be GREAT to have someone to call at all hours of the night.
• completed a giant research project on the need for advocacy for the mentally ill and mentally disabled when it comes to medical research. this issue is really important to both your father and i, and it doesn’t stop with medical research.

in fact, i want to touch on this subject a little bit with you. i don’t want to be all debbie downer here, but i cannot express the importance of advocacy to you enough.

i am incredibly lucky to have been born healthy and happy, to a wonderful family who has done nothing but support me. i have a wonderful support group of friends, and a husband who could not be more fantastic.

you, too, are being born to a family who will love you unconditionally, and who will fight like you wouldn’t believe to make sure you stay healthy, happy, and protected.

a lot of people, baby dude, are not that lucky. you’ll soon figure out just how unfair this world is and, if you’re like me, focusing in on it will be enough to leave you sobbing in a corner for days. i suggest that you DON’T do that, because it’s not healthy, but i do want you to be aware of what goes on.

so many populations in our society, beyond even the mentally ill and mentally disabled, don’t have a voice. i am of the firm belief, as is your father, that advocating for these individuals, in whatever capacity you chose to do so, is incredibly important.

and you better believe that if you ever need us to be an advocate for you, we are both right here.

 

 

on letters to baby, part ii- passing the pee test

ok, so.

after a couple of days of really bizarre symptoms (crying at jack squat nothing, a super hero sense of smell, and a complete aversion to all alcohol) i decided to take a pregnancy test. i was at home alone, iced in from a pretty major winter storm. calling it a pretty major winter storm is a stretch in any other area of the country, but you’ll soon learn that flurries with a high of 40 are enough to cripple our state, never mind 7 straight days of iced roads and temperatures nowhere near freezing.

i dug through our medicine cabinet and the only test i could find came from the clearance aisle of a local mexican market. now, i have nothing against this mexican market and had no other option at this time, but this test was dirt cheap and i initially had some serious trepidation about trusting its accuracy.

and then it came back positive and all that trepidation flew right out the window.

i have never in my life felt a feeling like i felt when that plus sign popped up. i slid to the floor and stared at it in terror, elation, and disbelief. i eventually got it together and called your father. i am not even kidding you when i tell you that his response to me telling him we had made us a baby was ‘nu-uh.’

NU-UH.

i had always imagined how he would react to this exact situation, and ‘nu-uh’ wasn’t one of the five billion scenarios i had run over and over in my head. i’ve thought about it a lot since this happened, and there is only one possible reason for this particular reaction.

your father has it bad for halle berry and  lisa bonet. don’t ask me why he’s so in love with the brokest huxtable there is, but he is and it is dumb. everyone knows denise was the worst.

one morning i could NOT get him to wake up, and we were really running late to meet some friends for breakfast. i finally screamed ‘OH MY GOD, HALLE BERRY DIED! I JUST SAW IT ON PEOPLE!’ i have never seen that man shoot out of bed so fast in my life, and if i weren’t so amused by the whole thing i’d be offended. ever since then, your father has had a bit of trouble trusting the things that i say. i can only assume the ‘nu-uh’ was a direct result of the lasting effects of dead halle berry shock.

so yeah. ‘nu-uh.’ thankfully, he has since become a believer.

in sum: ice storm, craze ball symptoms, mexican market clearance aisle pregnancy test, dead halle berry shock,  nu-uh

it’s a beautiful story, no?

on finally getting around to it- letter to baby, part i

alright baby dude-

i was going to try to write you during the pregnancy, but then life and work and law school happened and i didn’t. you’ll understand that one day, and i promise that when you get to this point in YOUR life i’ll understand why you don’t always answer my calls. unless of course i’ve fallen and can’t get up, or some other geriatric predicament like that, and then i won’t be quite as understanding. not because you didn’t answer, but because i’ll probably be in a super foul mood.

anyway, now that i’m on maternity leave and only juggling law school, i’m going to get to it. don’t get too excited about today’s letter, it’s more of an introduction. i promise i’ll get to the good stuff (when we found out, how funny my doctor is, and exactly HOW gassy i was) later.

the other day i was reading the things my mom wrote to me in my baby book. she wrote:  “gaddafi is crazy, and the dallas cowboys are awful.” funny how some things never change, because both of those things are still true today. what’s NOT still true is that miami vice is the most awesome thing ever (thank God for small favors and better tv programming, am i right?).  also- stretch pants, a beloved staple of the 80s, are pretty much obsolete (unless you count skinny jeans as stretch pants, which i don’t, because i refuse to acknowledge that either are a thing people wore or are wearing).

i read a lot of other things in my baby book, some happy (someone finally pooed the potty instead of their pants!) , some weird (my favorite tv show was tracy ullman??) , and some sad- your grandparents’ divorce. your grandparents got divorced when i was very young, and while i’d love to play drama mama and blame all of my neurosis on it, i can’t. both of them were very careful to keep it amicable and i was sheltered from most of the hurt. i’m very thankful for that.

still, it’s hard to read letters in a book from your mom telling you how much they both love you, and how they got along well at your birthday, and how everything was going to be ok, even though as a family you weren’t going to make it. it’s not hard because i was aware of it and it bothered me at the time, it’s hard because i realize how very real it was for them, while for me it was always an abstract thing. it just was, and it was pretty much what i knew. but them? they lived it, and they cared enough to keep me out of it. i don’t think i’ve really been appreciative enough of that fact until now.

even though reading this made me sad, it made me happy and hopeful for you.  your father and i fight all the time, DON’T GET ME WRONG, but it’s always in a loving manner and mainly stems from the fact that he is a youngest child and youngest children are the worst about being real, real dumb about stuff. (be glad you’re first. also, you can thank me later for breaking most of his embarrassing habits before you arrived.)

i cannot assure you of many things, baby,  because so many things in life are out of our control. i don’t know that we’ll all be here as long as we think we will or want to be. i don’t know what we’ll face as a family, if we’ll always be this blessed and this comfortable in life. i can’t promise you that you will like all of the changes life throws your way, or that things will come easy to you.

what i can promise you is this: you will not come from a broken family. your family WILL make it. your father and i were incredibly in love before we knew you existed, and since you’ve entered the picture we are cemented together in a way that i can’t even begin to comprehend. our love has grown exponentially, and it has everything to do with bonding over the idea of how in love with you we both are.

so thank you, baby. you aren’t even here yet, and you’ve already changed us so much.

on early morning conversations wherein he is brushing his teeth, i am showering, and we both are running late because we always have these stupid conversations

“i had a dream last night that a spider laid eggs in my leg.”

“that’s awful.”

“i know, right? she saw me and was all ‘meh, she’s already huge and pregnant, she won’t notice if i lay eggs here’.”

“that’s kind of inconsiderate.”

“well, she really wanted to have babies but wasn’t ready to give up her crazy lifestyle, so i guess she figured it was a pretty good solution.”

“maybe you’re stressed out about being pregnant and giving birth soon.”

“pshh. nice analysis, doctor”

“anyway- humans should totally lay eggs.”

“NO WAY!”

“why not?”

“can you even imagine how stressful it would be to keep up with an egg? i mean, you’d have to make sure the cat didn’t knock it off a shelf, or the dogs didn’t trample it while running to kill the mailman, or we didn’t just leave it somewhere like some idiots- it would be THE. WORST.”

“i guess.”

“seriously. i bet that’s why snakes and birds are such so mean- they have to keep up with eggs all the time.”

“fair enough.”

“i’m late for work.”

“shocker.”

on seeing new stuff in the old stuff, or some other sappy title like that

i’ve known my husband for 14 years. for someone yet to reach 30, that’s a significant amount of time. there isn’t a lot i don’t know about him, or much he doesn’t know about me. over time we’ve settled into the comforts of being completely secure around one another, and knowing that in any given situation one of us (consciously or not) has a pretty good handle on how the other is feeling.

for instance, i know that he is never comfortable in social situations. he likes being alone, so much so that i was shocked when he asked me to be his roommate and even more shocked when he wanted to get married and keep being roommates forever. because i know this about him, i try to keep social obligations to a minimum and, when they do arise, i bring up subjects i know he wants to talk about (which is usually some kind of boring history lecture, omg, shoot me please).

he, on the other hand, knows that i can’t stand to disappoint anyone, that saying no to someone makes me want to vomit my mouth. i would seriously consider giving someone both kidneys if they asked me the right way. because he knows this, he’ll put his foot down if someone asks for a favor he knows i can’t do but won’t want to say no to. he’s totally ok with being the bad guy when i can’t.

sometimes, especially because it feels like we’re 80 instead of in our 20s, i get discouraged by how well we know each other.  i can’t help it, i do. i wonder what left we’ll have to discover, whether anything will feel new again. it’s a total girl thing to feel, but it’s something that crosses my mind. it doesn’t even remotely compare to how thankful i am that we’re married, or how much i love him, it’s just  a nagging thought.

the last few sonograms i’ve noticed that the baby flutters her hands. it’s not so much a wave, just a little twitch she has when both hands are by her face. as she gets bigger, i can feel those little twitches more and more. i can tell them apart from the roller derby she is otherwise running in my womb. they are gentle, quick, and fleeting.

i woke up a few mornings ago feeling those flutters on my face. totally confused, i sat up and looked around, and then my heart melted. my husband was asleep on his back, his hands by his face, his hands twitching ever so slightly.

i realize now that we have a lot ‘new’ coming our way. i’m going to see things in her that i’ve missed in him, and vice versa. i can’t wait to watch him evolve into the fantastic father i know he’s going to be.

man.

i’m so glad he asked me to be his roommate, i tell you what.

 

 

on mood killers

things you should not do while 6 months pregnant:

• decide that tonight is a good night for you know right after you have brussel sprouts for lunch. the night isn’t going to be good for anything except chasing your husband out of the bed with the unstoppable and toxic gas,  i promise you.
• forgo the maternity grade granny panties and their reasonable cotton shape and instead try on your pre-pregnancy come hither panties in the (incredibly naive and totally deluded) hopes that they will fit over your new ‘curves’. (you also shouldn’t think of them as curves. they aren’t curves. they’re murderous mounds.) you’ll start sobbing, and by the time your husband gets home from work you’ll be a blotchy red mess with snot hanging out of your nose.
• go on an impromptu online shopping expedition to see if they make cute maternity underwear. they do, and it’s all being modeled by naked amazon supermodels who take up the entire screen and send you into a spiraling pit of self loathing and insecurity.
• refuse to learn your lesson, commit yourself  to being  positive, and have a major momentary lapse in brain function which results in an ill informed decision to be all cute and flirty with your husband when he walks in the kitchen. all that’s going to happen when you try to hop on that counter all seductive like is that you’re going to land with an unceremonious thud as gravity rudely reminds you that you are (a) huge and (b) incredibly uncoordinated.
• and, for the love all of good things, do not start snorting with laughter while simultaneously screaming and crying that you are certain that you have, in fact, broken your newly giant ass on that marble counter top on the way down.

things you can (and definitely should) do while you are six months pregnant:

• let your husband wipe away your snot and tears, while he tells you he’s still incredibly attracted to you.
• enjoy laughing at yourself with him, and appreciate that he had the common decency not to snort about it.
• wear that crappy old college t-shirt full of holes and believe him when he says its adorable.
• be thankful this wonderful man is the father of your child.
• snuggle like there’s no tomorrow- because pretty soon there won’t be a tomorrow, not for just the two of you.

on the mistreatment of my person

‘you’re really starting to snore at night, and it’s getting on my very last nerve.’

‘oh- what.ev.er. you’ve been snoring the entire time we’ve lived together, and i have never said anything about it.’

‘that is a filthy lie, i don’t snore.’

‘YES YOU DO!’

‘I DO NOT! and if i did, i’m sure i would have heard about it by now. you aren’t exactly known for your willingness to sacrifice sleep.’

‘well. that’s just because i figured out how to stop it.’

‘do tell.’

‘i started out being really nice. like – hey lovely wife, stop snoring, m’kay? that never really worked, so i started moving your head around until you quit. that worked for a while, but then it got really awful and nothing would stop you.’

‘and…’

‘i started yelling at you.’

‘you what?’

‘i get in bed, roll over next to you, and scream at the top of my lungs: SHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT UPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!’

‘you what?’

‘DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT, IT WORKS! you snort once, push me away, roll over, and then its sleepy time for all of us.’

‘i don’t even know if i can look at you right now.’

on that time i chewed out someone with a speech impediment, and only felt kind of bad about it

two weeks ago we began the great car hunt 2011 in earnest, after 10 months of my living sans vehicle.  (worst. 10. months. ever.)

my husband said from the beginning  that i was not to speak or squeal or get all googly-eyed in front of the salesman because i, apparently, am a salesman’s dream. excuse me for having a zest for life.

his superior tone was completely irritating, but that superior tone was my ticket to a new car and i was not about to tell that  ticket exactly where it could be shoved.

so we’re at the lot and looking around and the salesman comes up. i would like to note at this point that buying a car is totally set up for men. i didn’t exist to that salesman until my husband introduced me, and even then it was all talky-talk about engines and stupid crap and baseball. whatev, insert eye roll here.

we decide to test drive the car we already knew we wanted, and on this test drive the salesman started talking about his wife, his kids, his military background, and how he had undergone 8 years of speech therapy. apparently his entire childhood other kids made fun of his accent (a mix of georgia, german, french, and chicago or some other northern city) and he was really nervous talking in front of people.

my husband quickly looked at me in the rearview mirror with a glare that said DON’T YOU OFFER THIS MAN STICKER PRICE JUST BECAUSE HE HAD A SPEECH IMPEDIMENT, I WILL KILL YOU DEAD. ZIP. IT.

i glared right back at him, humphed, and slumped down in the back seat, my heart bleeding for this poor lost accent confused soul.

we called him back a few days later and let him know we wanted the car, that we needed to get financing together, and that we would close the deal in about a week or so.

the day we left to pick up the car, he told us over the phone that he had shipped it 45 miles away ‘for storage’, and that he would have it on the lot the next day. we were welcome to come fill out the paperwork, if we wanted, but we wouldn’t have the car until the next morning.

HERE IS WHERE YOU TELL US NOT TO BE SO STUPID.

but you didn’t do that, so we went. we filled out the paperwork, got all the financing together, and headed home to wait. and wait, and wait some more, until it was afternoon the next day and i was about to murder someone.

‘CALL HIM’

‘I DID CALL HIM, HE TEXTED ME BACK HE WOULD CALL ME WHEN HE GOT OUT OF THE BATHROOM’

‘THAT IS THE DUMBEST THING EVER- CALL HIM AGAIN’

‘LEAVE ME ALONE’

and so on and so forth until the guy finally called and let us know that somehow, in some magical black hole of dealership storage lots, they had lost our car.

POOF. no car

he told us that he was positive we could pick up an identical vehicle up the next day, he’d give us a call, and my husband ACTUALLY SAID  (can you even believe this???) ‘ok. we’ll wait to hear from you.’

the hell we will.

this is exactly the point in which i told that ticket where it could be shoved, and that he needed to call that salesman back and let him know that (a) we wanted and guaranteed definite delivery time and (b) if said guarantee was not met we’d go (with our check) to a dealership who doesn’t lose cars.

about 10 minutes after that conversation, the salesman sent a text message that simply said ‘noon’.

i don’t remember much about this part of the debacle, because i got so angry time ceased and rage waves took over. i’d like to blame it on pregnancy hormones, but i’m pretty sure even the baby took cover.

NOON? THAT’S IT? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON? WHAT KIND OF VILE CURSE WORD IS THAT? AND YOU COULDN’T EVEN CALL ME AND SAY IT, YOU TEXTED IT?

i marched up to my husband and demanded that he call this guy and give him the what for, not even realizing that he was, ahem, occupied in the restroom.

he lowered his book, looked up at me, and said simply ‘ it’s time.’

‘for what??? WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT, WHY ARE YOU BEING SO DUMB, WHERE IS MY CAR, IS THE WORLD IS ENDING, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR WHOLE ENTIRE MIND?’

‘it’s time for YOU to talk to him’

‘OH NO- you specifically told me NOT to talk to him’

‘but he needs to hear it’

‘hear what?’

‘you. pissed off, logical, ass chewing with surgical precision you. unleash it. GO’

and here is where i grabbed that phone and chewed out the guy with a speech impediment.

i’m not proud of having done it, and the only solace i find in it is that i was never overly rude or hurtful.

i could hear my husband cheering from the john, and i got more and more pumped as the conversation went on. i was steam rollin’, baby, and it ruled.

the salesman ended it with ‘well, ma’am, if it’s ok with you, i’ll call you guys tomorrow when it’s ready’

‘thank you, but a phone call isn’t necessary.  i will be there precisely at noon, as we discussed.’

‘well..’

‘i’ll see you then.take care.’

lo and behold, it was there.

apparently i’m not always a salesman’s dream.

on rude awakenings

it’s the first night in my pregnancy that i’m totally asleep. i’m not  in that hazy in between stage wherein my thoughts shift from ‘am i laying wrong and crushing baby’ to ‘who is drilling into my hip’ to ‘why is it hot, it is so hot, why is my husband so dumb that he likes it so hot’ in an endless loop.

i am sleeping, and it is flipping magical.

suddenly he barges into the room at 2:45 and screams ‘DON’T MOVE’ and i look around in a confused haze as the dogs  snarl and jump at the door and he loads his shotgun.

first thought? honestly? CRAP. I AM NAKED. I AM NAKED BECAUSE IT IS SO HOT, AND NOW I HAVE TO STAY HERE AND ACTUALLY LISTEN TO HIM.

so i’m sitting up in bed all confused and i hear the banging on our door and the many much yelling.

‘WHO IS THIS??’

‘IS THAT A GUN?’

‘YES, WHO IS THIS?’

‘PUT DOWN THE GUN!!’

‘TELL ME WHO THIS IS!’

‘GUN. DOWN.’

‘IS THIS THE POLICE?’

‘YES. PUT IT DOWN.’

i’m listening to this exchange, simultaneously trying not to crap my pants and mentally going through everything i’ve learned in criminal procedure.

all that i can really remember is a case where they made a woman stand up naked while they searched the house, and i instantly get annoyed.

really? this had to happen while i was pregnant? i mean, not that i’m aching to jump naked in front of some cops, but REALLY? FAT, NAKED, AND STUCK IN A CORNER?

‘is this gun loaded?’

yup

‘can i unload it?’

uh huh

‘do you know this individual?’

nope

‘do you mind if we search the house?’

why not?

they’re looking for an individual with an outstanding warrant. neither of us are said individual, so what do we care, right? all of our meth brewing days are behind us, and if they want to trip over our graduate school books, that’s they bad.

they start to walk into the living room and see the dogs, both of whom are standing behind the baby gate glaring at them.

‘are the dogs secure?

‘yes’

‘they better be. i don’t want to have to shoot them‘

enter angry waves of pregnant hormones. SHOOT WHO AND WHY?

they take a cursory glance in our kitchen and head out, promising to scratch our address off the list.

the entire time they’re doing this, i get more and more pissed. i get so pissed that i become amped, and amped is never where you want to be at 3 in the morning.

my husband crawls in bed and asks me if he did the right thing.

‘yes’.

am i sure?

‘yes, i’m sure’

what did i think about the whole thing?

i’ll tell you what.

i think  that instead of beating down our door they should have knocked and announced themselves.

i think that they reacted appropriately to the sight of his shotgun, and handled that in the best way possible.

i think they have a thankless and dangerous job, and i understand why they are jumpy.

i think that i appreciate everything they do on a daily basis, and that some allowances should be made for mistakes if such allowances ensure they can do their job properly and protect the general public.

i think saying they were going to shoot the dogs was unnecessary.

i think they had the wrong address. not in the sense that they were given the wrong address (they asked how many officers had stopped by lately, and we said none), but that they went to the wrong house thinking it was the address on their sheet.

i think that the local chinese and pizza place always finds our house, and i would expect the police department to do the same.

i think it’s impossible to scratch an address off a list if you never ask what address you are at in the first place, likely because you don’t want to admit an administrative mistake happened.

i think that administrative mistakes do happen, and people can deal with it, but i think the party at fault should man up.

i don’t think that administrative mistakes can happen twice the next day.

i think that, until i know for sure they’ve figured this thing out, i’ll stop sleeping naked.