Another Post About My Boobs

Because it's a little depressing that we're still here waiting, I'll share another story about my pregnant boobs. So far they've been a great source of entertainment for others throughout the pregnancy (hopefully, they're as good of a source of food for the baby!).

At last week's appointment I saw my midwife's partner. They trade off a visit near the end of term for each patient, just in case you end up being delivered by the other. This midwife was very nice, very focused on educating her patients, and very very midwify. I've heard that she's an excellent breastfeeding educator so I asked a few questions to take advantage of her knowledge. The rest of the visit then went like this:

Her: "Well, how are your nipples?"

Me: "Uh, fine, thank you."

Her: "Do they work?"

Me: "Uh, yes...?"

Her: "Have you tried expressing breastmilk?"

Me: Look of horror and shock

Her: "Want me to try?"

Me: Much bigger look of horror. "Uh, no, that's ok."

Her: "C'mon..."

Me: "No!"

Her: "Well, at least let me see them."

Me: "uhhhhhhh. What?"

Her: "Lemme see." Reaching for my boobs.

Me: Look of terror. Glance helplessly at Husband, who is snickering loudly in the corner. 

Me: "What do you want to do? What are you wanting me to do?" Protecting my boobs with my hand. 

Me: "No, it's ok. Really. I'm good."

Her: Moving my hand aside and uncovering a boob. Then, poking, prodding and moving around my nipple. For why, I have no idea!

Her: "Ok, well you look like you'll be fine."

Me: "Uhhhhhhh."

Husband, later, after she left the room: "Wow. You really didn't want to show that woman your boob!"

More Things No One Tells You (or, maybe shouldn't?)

I just had my second favorite conversation with a co-worker about pregnancy-related things. After providing some motherly advice that was all quite useful, if not new, since most everyone else has told me the same things, she goes on to lean in and lower her voice.

"Here's something you should know," she says quietly in the hallway of our busy workplace. "After you have the baby and if you breastfeed, well, just know that if you have an orgasm you'll shoot milk everywhere."

She went on to say that she tries to tell people that now so they aren't surprised like she was.

If the mothers in my office keep this up, there should be very few things I'm not prepared for, right? 

And So It Begins

Some weeks ago I was walking out of a meeting and down the hallway at work when a co-worker popped up next to me. She had started several months ago and we didn't work closely together so although I liked her, I'd only met her a handful of times.

"It's come to my attention that you're expecting," she says.

"Uhhhh."

"Yeah. I mean, I noticed that you were a few weeks ago and I just wanted to say congratulations!" she continues in a lovely, loud voice.

"You noticed? What do you mean you noticed?" I say, pulling my long cardigan a bit closer around me. At this point I'm a little confused. I mean, I could barely tell when I was dressed for work. How could she?

"Well, uh," and here she gestures to my chest, "those boobs? The ones that look like they could feed the whole world? They're kind of obvious."

Ahhhhh, and so it begins. So, feel free. Talk about my boobs. Apparently, my knocked up body is available for public comment.  Hooray!

Product Placement... So Wrong

When I watched these clips today I literally cried from the painfulness. I am not even joking. Watch. Cry. You're welcome.

Bra Shopping

I would guess just about every women shuddered reading the title of this post. On a shopping scale, looking for a bra is less fun that swimming suit shopping and slightly more fun than trying to find the perfect jeans.

The last time I went bra shopping I picked about a dozen bras in my size and took them into the fitting room where none (NONE!) fit. The perky little blond working there offered to do a bra fitting/sizing thing on me so I took her up on it. After wrangling that little measuring tape around my body in a multitude of directions she announced that I was definitely wearing the wrong size and needed to go up at least a cup size.

SO determined to take home something that actually fit I bought two bras that day in the giant-boob size she said I was. One fit really well, actually, and I liked it a lot. The other one I tried on again at home for Husband. His response: "That looks like a giant old lady with saggy boobs bra." Obviously, that one went back.

This weekend I picked up a few of my favorite panties and decided to grab a bra while I was there. My new regular size was nowhere to be found, of course, as it's rather obscure. Another perky, curly blond came over to help me look and when she heard what size I was looking for she immediately pulled me into the changing area and held a cup up to my boob.

"See, that's what I thought! You're not nearly that big. You're definitely wearing too large of a bra. You need this one instead," she chirps.

Okaaaaay.

At this point I'm trying to cover my frustration so I try on the size she recommended--my old regular size. The instant I had the thing on it was painfully obvious that it was not the correct size. Perky Girl came in then to look and stood there for a second with pursed lips before announcing that, "You really are full-chested aren't you?"

Apparently I'm destined to wear old lady bras forever. 

Puppies and Puddles

Lyla Lou had a bath tonight. Which she hates.

That may or may not have been the reason for the giant* puddle of pee on Husband's side of the bed that we found when heading to sleep.

But I guarantee that led to us sleeping here.






*and by giant I mean great lakes quantities of urine. Huge. Epic. I wouldn't have guessed she could hold that much.

Quite the Show

Obviously I should look at myself fully in the mirror before leaving the house. It is now nearing the end of the workday and I have realized that this bra with this shirt... well, let's just say that anyone taller than my 5'3" has a direct shot down my v-neck to my belly button.

Great. Just great.

Hmmmm

We pass this sign every time we drive to Seattle and Husband has always wanted a picture of it. This time I was ready and as we got near I had the camera out and poised to snap a photo.*

If you don't know the area it's not nearly as funny, so let me give a brief background. Palm Springs is, of course, warm and lovely and lush and wealthy. Yakima is, well, none of those things. It's in the hot, dry center of Washington State and its main claim to fame is an amazingly high rate of gang-related crimes.

*Unfortunately the shot was poorly timed as we passed these giant posts right as I hit the button. There's always next time. 

All Alone Over Here

I haven't been blogging much. I haven't had much to say, mostly because I've been struggling a lot. This has been a really tough week.* Amongst other things, I've been swamped at work. I've had jewelry orders to fill and extra pieces to make for a shop in town who is beginning to carry my designs. There are Big Decisions to make. We're going backpacking this weekend and it's the first time we've gone since we were kids so there are plans to make and supplies to purchase. My sister is staying with me while she attends some teacher-type classes. My head aches. I'm building a website and have no idea how to actually do that. The house is filthy. And we're only wearing clean clothes because my lovely sister did the washing this week.

But that's just normal stuff to complain about. What's most frustrating is the total lack of understanding and support from the Husband. If he went to bed every night crying because of exhaustion and way too much to do in far too little time, I'd like to think I'd pat his head and snuggle him and offer to help with some small tasks. I think I would get him coffee in the morning and buy him a special treat just 'cause. I'm sure I wouldn't laugh at him or ignore him or blow his stress off because it's "not real work."

Wouldn't you?

And that's not really the point. The point is that even if I am being ridiculous or even if things will calm down, it doesn't change how completely overwhelmed I feel with everything RIGHT NOW. And right now I could use someone to share it with... which I guess is you lovely ladies instead.

I always heard (and still hear) about how marriage is the best thing ever and how now you'll always have a partner and someone to support you. But it's certainly not all it's cracked up to be.**

*OK, a really tough month or two. 
**and on that note... am I really the only newly married person who can't figure out why in the world she got married in the first place? It seems unlikely that I am, but since I haven't found anyone else like that... perhaps I am?

Ugh.

I went to the doctor today. I haven't been to the doctor in forever and it seemed time to find a new doc, check in, and address a couple of issues.

So that part went fine, more or less. But here's the thing--they put me on a scale. I NEVER step on a scale. I'm not sure we even have one at home. Not because I'm not worried about my weight or because I'm afraid of scales, but because I judge my size by how my clothes fit more than a specific weight.

Except, you guys, now I'm officially huge! Ok, so that part isn't true. But I'm fatter than I've ever been and much bigger than I want to be. When exactly did that happen?

It's very annoying.

So although I've been lacking the motivation, I must start exercising more. Not just walking the mutts, but actual sweat-breaking, out-of-breath making, too-sore-to-move exercising. Now. Today. And I shall check in here now and again so you all can yell at me if I'm not being hardcore. Ok?

Who Has Bits?

So this is a fun week in blogger world. Meg is talking about sex and Cate is talking about vaginas. You really should go join the conversation if you haven't already.

And I really am curious... what do you have? We mostly have "bits" around our house now, for boy and girl "private parts." However, growing up it wasn't a topic of discussion and if you had to refer to that area you said "pee pee." I always thought that was weird because that was also what you did from that area. Hmmmm.

Incidentally, I suppose it wasn't NEVER discussed. My mom was watching a TV show once when I was a little older that must have been about how parents don't use real words when talking to their kids and how sexuality should be a comfortable topic. I remember oh-so-clearly when she came into the bedroom where I was folding the laundry and started talking about how she has always been clear about things like vaginas and vulvas and whatnots. And she wanted me to agree that she had, in fact, been a good mom by talking about those things as we grew up. I agreed but mostly so she'd stop saying these horrible words that she had never, ever used around me before.

Just to be clear... she IS a good mom. But she certainly had not been as clear about sexual things as I think she thought she had.

And one last thought... if you didn't learn that stuff from your parents, where did you learn it? I didn't have girl friends who talked about sex. At all. I learned everything I know about sex and "bits" from a previous boyfriend and now from my husband. Does that seem weird to anyone else? 

Boy Razors

I shaved my legs this morning with the Husband's razor. That is only notable because I shall never use another razor again. Why is it that the men have such superior tools in this area? Are my legs not supposed to be smooth and soft?

Husband, you should stock up on razor blades. We're going to need them.

What She Said

You know how sometimes you want to say something, but you can't quite figure out how to make it sound right? And then someone else says it way better than you would ever be able to?*

Yeah. So the always-eloquent Lauren wrote this post that I've been muddling around for awhile. So I'm going to stop pretending to write it and send you there instead.


*And on that note, MWK:  "The Nest" showed up in my box this week. I have half a dozen rants I've started but none of them quite so well as you could do. Please, please, please tell me you found the same articles as horrifying as I did. In fact, email me and we'll commiserate.

Google Wedding Tools

Seriously? Now? Nearly six months AFTER my wedding? C'mon!

I know this isn't a wedding blog. But I know you all are familiar with the horrors of wedding planning and have fairly recently been through it. Me too. No fun, eh?

So now for a tiny rant: Today I saw that Google launched a set of wedding planning tools through Google Docs and Style Me Pretty. I ended up making most of these forms myself, but already-made versions would have been oh-so-much better.

And DEFINITELY better than anything to do with The Knot, which was a pretty much wedding hell.

The Pants that Won't Die

 I have thrown these pants away three times. And each time, somehow, Husband finds them as he's taking the dumpster to the street.

I think it started because I like to throw things away. I don't like the clutter and I don't like to hold onto things too long. My husband holds onto EVERYTHING. I'm slowly, slowly clearing out our house (which was his house for two years first) and editing our belongings. He's pretty good about it now and seems to enjoy the feeling of getting rid of things* but he still doesn't trust that I'm not actually getting rid of his precious belongings.

But seriously? These are not precious.

I think it's time to take the hiding and throwing of the pants up a notch or two. I will preserve.

*He'll NEVER admit it.

Wet Toilet Seats

I listed one specific condition upon entering this marriage: I refuse to clean toilets. There are other things I don't like or prefer not to do but toilets are just non-negotiable. My lovely Husband figured that wasn't a horrible condition and so agreed.

The thing is, Husband and I have different views on cleanliness and household chores and the frequency of such chores. This is, in fact, by far the biggest source of contention in our new marriage (followed closely by learning to fight more politely). Even something obvious (to me) like cleaning toilets we can't see to agree on. In order to get onto a regular schedule we've tried a series of strategies:

We've (we = me, of course) tried nagging, to little success.

We've tried avoidance. No success there.

We've tried asking nicely followed by reward sex. Believe it or not, also no luck. At least not consistently.

We've tried lists posted in specific places around the house as suggested by the pastor who did our pre-marriage counseling. Husband requested important items be written on a white board he hung just opposite our bathroom. That has had some success, actually. But also, not consistently. 

What's actually worked (at least in regards to toilets): setting an alarm. Apparently, Husband finally just decided to set an alarm or appointment on his phone that goes off every Friday morning. So before he leaves for work he cleans the toilet and occasionally swipes at the rest of the bathroom.

So now on Friday when I get up and sit down on a very wet toilet seat* I smile.

*Why he thinks wetter is better when cleaning I'm not sure, nor why he doesn't wipe it down with something dry after his sanitizing spree--perhaps just to make sure I know it's been cleaned?

Sick

I'm sick. AGAIN. I caught Husband's yucky cold two weekends ago. Then it cleared up over the weekend, oddly enough, and now it's hit again with a vengeance.

Cold, don't you know I have better things to do here?!?!

The Name Change Saga

The Name Change Saga continues. Either I'm not very bright or this is more complicated than it needs to be.

After what felt like years of agonizing over the decision of whether to change my name, keep my old one, make up a new one (thanks for the suggestion, Shawna!), have bunches of names, etc... I finally made up my mind.

When the social security card finally arrived (and I finally opened the envelope after letting it sit in the foyer for a couple of weeks) I lheaded over to the Department of Licensing. The line was so long during my first try that I decided to go back to work and try again another day. The second time I waited 30 minutes or so and then headed up to the desk where I found out that I had been told to bring the wrong documents. Apparently they don't want my social security card at all. They only want my marriage certificate, which made no sense because that only has my old name, not my new SS-approved name. On the third try I figured out why.

That day the lady at the desk took my certificate and my old license. Then she asked me a series of questions, made me look at the little letters and flashing lights, took my money, took my picture and printed out the temporary license. When I got home and showed Husband he asked why my name is wrong on it. Oh yes. It is. They just assume that Husband's name on the marriage certificate is the name I'm going to use so they put that on there. I didn't think to check because she'd asked me a bunch of questions and asked me to sign my new name. I didn't realize she wouldn't pay any attention to what I said/signed.

So, what's the deal with this? Why do they need the marriage certificate to do a change of name on my license rather than my social security card which proves what my new name is? What if I wasn't getting married but changed my name for other reasons? What would I have to bring for proof then? Ridiculous.

I've been trying to decide if I should leave it the way it is now on the license (First, Middle, Husband's last) or change it to what it is legally (First, Middle, My last, Husband's last). After checking around I was advised to go back in and change it since it's unlikely I would be able to get a new passport without everything matching up. Ugh.

All of which goes to show: I should still live in California where I could legally change my name by signing the marriage certificate on the wedding day.