The idiots are out.

Apparently being pregnant makes it okay for people to say whatever the hell they want to you.  Below are just a few of the comments I've heard over the past 7 months that have made me shake my head.

Size Issues:

1: Random guy at restaurant, after Sis jokes to him about the fact that I was eating for two (she's allowed), says "are you sure you're not eating for three?"  Asshole.

2: Maintenance guy at office, "I was really surprised to hear you were pregnant."  Hello, I'm 32 and have been married for almost three years... is it really that shocking?  Then he says after looking at my belly, "are you having twins?"  Ugh.

3: Drunk acquaintance at a charity event, "you must be ready to pop" (motioning to my belly, alluding to the fact that I'm far too big for only seven months)... I got a little defensive and told her that I'm actually measuring EXACTLY on track and the doc thinks that baby is on the small side.  Bitch.

4: A coworker walked into my office and said to me today "Well, you're certainly not getting any smaller".  No shit, dumbass... I'm pregnant and don't plan to get any smaller until the kid has been evicted.

5: And I've gotten the twin thing from quite a few more people... my own aunt, people in my office building, acquaintances, etc... do people really think it's possible to have gotten to almost 8 months without realizing that there is, in fact, only one child in there?  Sigh.

Breastfeeding:

Let's just start by saying that at this point I don't think I'll be breastfeeding my child.  And let's leave it at personal reasons for my decision.  If you haven't noticed, there's been a big push in favor of breastfeeding recently.  It's everywhere.  And yes, I understand why.  Breast is best and all that jazz, blah, blah, blah.  I'm just not comfortable with it.  So apparently that makes me a bad mother before I've even begun.  And I'm getting hit with it from the most unexpected sources.

1: The electrician we had come to our house to give us a quote for our addition has a one year old and after small talk about when we're due, he felt the need to tell me how cool it is to watch his wife breastfeed.  He must've seen the look on my face and assumed I wasn't into it because then he said something along the lines of "oh, you've just gotta try it, it's best for the baby, you never know what kind of crap they hide in formula".  Thanks for your opinion, asshole.  And by the way, we won't be hiring you.

2: A close friend who has a four month old texted Nick and me the other day saying "You might want to invest in a small chest freezer if you haven't already.  I haven't seen anything but milk in mine for months."  This was completely 100% unprompted.  He just assumed that I'm going to breastfeed and felt the need to text us out of the blue about what we'll need.  I didn't respond.  All Nick said in return was "Good to know."

Breastfeeding is such a personal topic.  I just don't get why people think it's okay to bring it up all the time.  And hearing it from men?  I never thought I'd have that problem.  I know it's ridiculous but it seriously makes me feel guilty for wanting formula feed my child.  And that's just not right.

Random:

1: As I was in line to check out at the grocery store on Labor Day, the idiot behind me said "You're not going to have your baby on Labor Day, are you?"  And then proceeded to laugh his face off.  Thought he was so damn clever.

Aside from finally having BB in my arms, I think the biggest thing I'm looking forward to about not being pregnant anymore is the asinine comments stopping.  Now here's hoping no one says anything thoughtless to me about still looking pregnant after giving birth...

What's that winter-blah-disorder thing?

Seasonal Affective Disorder. S.A.D. Seems appropriate.

I'm in serious need of an entertaining post here.  Too bad I'm la-zy.  Again, I blame winter. 

But I am LOVING all the pretty white fluffy snow that's been falling!  (And am so thankful to the neighbor who plows our driveway everytime it snows more than a dusting.)

So, in place of a meaningless post about my phenomenal life, how 'bout we just look at a few pictures instead?

My pretty snow covered lane.

And my not so pretty snow covered trash receptacle.

 Silly Bella.  She seriously loves the snow.  Must get it from her momma.

Hard to tell, but Miles was running through the snow like a wild-man.

And that's Bella in the background, um, pooping.  

Regular posting shall resume shortly.  Or next month.  Is February too late to put up my Christmas and NYE posts?  ha.

The downside of losing weight.

There is one, I promise.

I bought new bras today.

Not just any new bras. Bras that are a full size smaller than the ones I previously owned. Sorry husband.

It was only 15 damn pounds, people! I seriously think most of it came from my boobs. Ugh.

What I've learned:

Getting smaller around my middle? Awesome.

The fact that my thighs almost don't meet in the middle anymore? Outstanding.

Watching my once-prided larger than average fun bags recede into my chest cavity? Le suck.

At least I have fancy new bras to stick 'em in ;)

Winter makes me lazy...

Pretty sure I posted almost this exact same thing last year. 

I'm having a problem keeping up with my workout routine.  Boot camp ended the week before Christmas and I'm embarrassed to admit that I've only worked out twice since.  Ugh. 

Granted, the holidays definitely got in the way.  It's kinda hard to find time to workout when you're running yourself ragged shopping, cooking, decorating, baking, cleaning, entertaining, etc. 

"But Carolyn, why don't you just get up at the ass-crack of dawn like you're used to and go to the gym before starting your day?  What's that?  Oh.  Right."  WINTER MAKES ME LAZY.

Here's the problem.  I despise the gym.  And avoid it at all costs.  Running on a treadmill is about as fun as being punched in the face.  Or so I imagine, as I've never been punched in the face. 

I really tried to pry my butt off the couch last night but failed miserably.  I even found myself doing laundry to distract myself.  And laundry is seriously my least favorite chore.  Alas, laundry beat out going to the gym.  Things must be pretty bad.

I really, truly just want to go outside for a run, dammit!!  That's what makes me happy.  That's what I enjoy.  What I do not enjoy, however, is cold weather.  (But I love snow.  Figure that one out.)  I'm not a fan of freezing my face off for the first 10 minutes of a run only to find myself sweating, wishing I hadn't worn so many layers.

And it's dark pretty much all the time now.  And my neighborhood has no street lights.  And lots of traffic.  This does not bode well for a relaxing run.  'Cause you know, I'd prefer not to be run down by the speeding teenagers on my street. 

And yes, I've considered purchasing appropriate cold weather running gear.  But I'm cheap.  If I'm gonna spend money on clothing, I want it to be cute clothing that I can wear out.  Not semi-attractive spandex-type stuff that I can't wear for anything but running.

Ah, complaining.  I'm pretty good at it, no? 

Moving on.  I think the plan will be to give myself a break through the end of the year and then jump back into my routine.  Boot camp starts on January 18th and I bought a spin class membership.  I can tell you with 100% certainty that I will NOT be at the gym in January though... need to give all those resolution-makers out there a chance to lose motivation.

My first (and probably last) Troy Turkey Trot

I'm having trouble remembering why I thought it would be a good idea to sign up for the Turkey Trot.  Stupidity, perhaps?  My husband will whole-heartedly second that sentement.   Dragging him out of bed at the crack of dawn (well, 8am) to stand outside in the frigid cold was not in anyone's best interest. 

We were all a little cranky this particular Thanksgiving morning.  Hangovers, sub-freezing temperatures and relentless crowds will do that to you.  But on we went.

Sis and me trying to stay warm, pre-race.

Where's Waldo?  Oh, there she is in the middle trying not to freeze her face off.

We look happy, don't we?  That's because our mouths are frozen in that position.

I kid.  Kind of.  The race was (semi) fun but OMG was it cold.  My toes were literally numb for the first half of the race.  I didn't actually ever truly warm up.  And do you know how hard it is to run when you're sucking in cold air? 

One more complaint.  WAY too many people.  There was something like a total of 7,000 people running.  Most of whom ran the 5K with me.  I can't tell you how many 7 years old I came thisclose to running down.  I ended up running the majority of the race on the side of the road.

When I signed up for the Trot, I had silly visions of live turkeys kicking off the race.  You know, running down the road for all of us to chase.  How fun would that be?  (Do you ever wonder where my mind is?  I do.) 

Alas, there were none of these at this so-called "turkey" trot.

But we did have one of these!

There are no pictures of me running this race because I got totally disoriented toward the end and didn't know which side of the road husband would be on.  I apparently ran right by him, unnoticed. 

My goal for the race was to simply finish under 30 minutes.  I ran with the group in the beginning, at a pace significantly slower than my usual.  I picked it up around the mile and a half mark, hoping to make up time.  I never really hit a good pace because of how crowded it was.  I was so surprised that the road never opened up.  I was constantly maneuvering myself around people.  But even with all of the elements working against me, I managed to finish at a respectable 29:17.  Nowhere close to my PR but I was satisfied.  

And freezing.

So can anyone tell me why we decided to go for a post-race ice-cold beer? 

Stupidity, perhaps?  haha

Holiday Hell

Well, not really. 

But does anyone realize that Christmas is in like 2 freaking weeks?!!

Do you all feel like the holiday season completely snuck up on us this year, out of nowhere?  Like, hey, hello!  It's almost Christmas, remember?  Better get your shopping done!

Haven't even started. 

Nor do I want to.  Not sure what it is about Christmas this year (oh, wait!  maybe it's the lack of money in my bank account) but the thought of Christmas shopping is seriously daunting. 

It's making me sad that something I thorougly enjoy has no appeal this year.  I pride myself in coming up with the PERFECT gift and I love spending an evening by myself at the mall hunting for said gift.  And even better, I love the actual giving and opening of my gifts.  What's better than making someone you love happy?

I need to snap out of this. 

I think a trip to the mall is in order. After a large glass of wine.

Awkward Emotions.

Not really sure where I'm going with this.

Not really even sure if I should be posting it.

Let's start with this. We all know that I'm a pretty laid-back person with a positive disposition, sense of humor and a great outlook on life. Right? Right. I think that's what makes it hard for me to go back to a time in my life where I was in a pretty bad place. Raw, emotional, angry. On the other hand, I'm very sentimental and love looking at pictures of my past, remembering what if felt like to be "me" then.

I am so completely in love with my life now. Husband, house, fur-children, job, family, friends. Everything. I've moved on from the bad parts of my past and cherish the happy parts but this one caught me completely off guard. 

Yesterday, while purusing a St. Louis real estate site (something I do semi-regularly, being the voyeur that I am) I came across a listing that looked all too familiar.

That, folks, is my first home.  The home I was so proud to purchase at the ripe age of 23.  The home I spent hour upon hour painting, remodeling, decorating, pouring love into.  Unfortunately, it's also the home I shared with he-who-shall-remain-unnamed.  He who caused me so much heartache.  He who pushed me away, into the arms of the greatest thing to ever happen to me.  For that, I am grateful.

Thus, the conflict of emotions. 

I get attached to certain things in my life.  The homes I have lived in rank high on that list.  I will never tire of driving past the homes I grew up in and reminiscing.  The same goes for this home, regardless of who I shared it with.  Although, to give myself credit, I have not driven past it once since I left.  (High five, willpower, high five.)  Nor have I looked at pictures. 

So seeing this listing yesterday was a bit troublesome.  It's hard to describe how it makes me feel.  I can tell you, however, that one emotion to immediately surface was anger.  Not anger for what transpired in that house, I'm past that.  But anger that woman I sold it to let this happen.  She took my darling little house and let it fall into the bank's hands, into foreclosure.

Don't hate.  If this wasn't a house that I paid substantially more for than it's currently listed, if I didn't have a small remaining emotional attachment to it, I would be more readily accepting of the situation.  Being in real estate, I see this all the time.  And I feel for the people it happens to.  Sometimes you can't help the circumstances in your life that lead to this.  

But my house?  Seeing it from this perspective pisses me off, to put it bluntly.  When I left, I was so ready to just get the hell out that I graciously left items that wouldn't ordinarily be left with the sale of a home.  And since the current (past?) owner foreclosed, she took EVERYTHING that wasn't nailed down.  My things. 

Sigh.

My apologies for the negativity today.  But seeing as this has replaced the journals I religiously poured my emotions into for a decade (that's a entirely other post) I had to share. 

Give me an hour and I'll be over it.

And PS, if anyone's for looking for a fabulous deal on a pretty great little house in North St. Louis County, look this one up.  Just don't tell me about it.

*******************

And for Husband, when you read this, thank you for being you and for understanding that every once in awhile, little annoying things like this creep up out of my past.  Like we've said, most of the time we both forget that I was ever married before.  I like that.  You are my husband, the one and only, the true love of my life.  xoxo

I think I caught the plague.

I haven't felt much like blogging lately. I blame the incessant snot/phlegm takeover that's currently happening in my body. This has been a BAD winter for illness. I'm like a germ incubator. Husband says it's because I don't take enough any vitamins and have a love affair with hand-sanitizer.

Apparently this makes my immune system deficient.

I'm starting to think he's right. (I'm never gonna hear the end of that statement)

I started the winter off with a fantastic case of stomach flu. I followed that up with a cold so bad that I thought I had a double ear-infection and strep throat. Nope, just your run-of-the-mill-three-week-lasting-annoying-want-to-run-myself-over-with-a-truck cold.

Then I had a whole 5 days of normalcy. Hot damn! Then bam. Another f-ing cold. That I'm currently battling.

I'm going to war with this one though. It almost ruined my much-anticipated David Gray concert last night. Fuck with Easter all you want, cold. I don't mind hacking my way through Mass and pouring enough wine down my throat at dinner to stifle you temporarily. But leave me feeling like such crap that I have to leave work early to force myself to nap in order to be able to keep my eyes open through Mr. Gray's show?

Not cool.

There was no way I was missing the concert. I feel sorry for the people who had the unfortunate luck of sitting in front of me. Just because my voice sounded like crap didn't stop me from screaming my brains out to "Please Forgive Me" and "You're the One I Love". Take that, cold. Hope you enjoy your slow death by DayQuil.

Now please excuse me while I go sneeze on my coworkers.

Eh, maybe next time.

My witching hour.

I really don't know what "witching hour" means. But that's the thought that pops into my head when I wake up EVERY. FREAKING. NIGHT at the same time.

I wish I was kidding. I wake up every night somewhere between 4:00 and 4:15am. 4:12 is precisely the time I woke up this morning.

To pee.

My body must hate me. Or maybe it's the constant waterfall of wine I continually pour down my throat.

I think we've already discussed that I'm a horrible sleeper. Or maybe we haven't. The lack of sleep seems to be messing with my memory today. I suffer from random bouts of insomnia.

SUCKAGE.

And on nights after I drink, I suffer from alcohol-insomnia. Self-diagnosed. I should've been a doctor. I'll drift off into weird-dream-land then wake up at

to pee.

Then I can't fall back asleep.

You'd think I'd learn my lesson and not drink.

FUNNY.

So I deal with not sleeping by being a crabby bitch the next day. Poor husband.

But seriously, I'd like to know what kind of anti-sleep-fairy is f-ing with me... why the hell do I wake up at the same time EVERY. FREAKING. NIGHT?????

Oh, that's right. To pee. The first time. The second time is usually around 7:30, right before my alarm goes off. Isn't that the MOST annoying thing in the world? I have problems. Seriously. Does anyone else pee this much in the middle of the night? I mean, besides pretty pregnant ladies, of course.

Holy hell, how many times am I gonna get up when I'm actually knocked up? Oy. I better install a commode next to my bed.

*********************

Being that today is April 1st, now is where I wish I could tell you that this post was all a really bad April Fool's joke*. No dice. I actually just wrote an entire post about my middle of the night peeing habits. ha! Kinda makes me laugh. Like I said before, I have problems.

*April 1st is my absolute least favorite day of the year. I am probably one of the most gullible people you'll ever meet and will believe just about anything you tell me. The Husband could come home tonight and tell me he's leaving with the dogs** and I'd probably believe him, not for a second thinking it was a cruel April Fool's Day joke.

**Please don't, Husband. I kinda like you. And the dogs. And I'm totally NOT a good sport about a prank that might cause panic and embarassment. I really do have problems.

Blah.

So I have a post half-ready about my Chicago trip. Too tired to finish it, however. Once you see it, you'll understand. Bottom line: I tried to party like a 19 year old. At age 29, that should be illegal.

I'm still paying for it.

Especially the eating out all weekend part.

To really put myself in a good mood last night, I tried on my bridesmaid dress for the brother and Michelle's wedding. Now, when I got the dress in a month ago, it was too big. Last night, however, that wasn't the case. I'm such a pasta-loving, alcohol-consuming, don't-take-those-girl-scout-cookies-away-from-me glutton. Ugh. I think you get the picture that the dress didn't fit. Even with spanx. True story.

So, at 9:00 last night, I pried my fat ass out of the dress and went to the gym for an hour.

Now I want to die.

But with only 5 weeks and 2 days left before I leave for the wedding, I kinda need to stick to this...

'cause, funny, this would look a lot nicer zipped all the way up.

So please don't come near me with pasta.

Or wine.

Leggings.

This post is brought to you by the oompa-loompa in the office next to mine. Not her, per se, but her outfit.

Warning: This is a total rant. Feel free to take offense and yell at me through your comments. But since no one comments on my half-assed blog (sigh...) I'm not afraid.

Let's get to it.

I take issue with leggings. BFF will tell you that I constantly gave her shit (in a BFF sort of loving way, mind you) for wearing them for oh, about a year. I truly thought they should only be worn by the highschool crowd. I mean, it's practically turned into a teenager's uniform. Leggings and Uggs, leggings and Uggs, leggings and Uggs. Do they not have any creativity? When I was that age, I was doing my best to against the "norm" and opted for a grunge turn hippie wardrobe. (I was SO cool.) At least only like a quarter of my peers dressed like me. Seriously, go to a mall and count how many little lemmings you see walking around in leggings. It's scary.

Anyway, I finally broke down this past fall and bought a pair. Let's pause for a collective gasp...

And... even bigger gasp... I wish-I-could-wear-them-everyday-type-LOVE them. But in my defense, I'm not obese. Or even overweight, really. (Thank you stomach flu for eliminating my larger than life muffin top).

Exhibit A. Me. An appropriate use of leggings.

So. I like to think that when I wear them with boots or heels and a long, flowy top, I make them look good. (But let's get serious, I make everything look good. Or at least that's what The Husband tells me. Maybe I should get a second or third opinion...)

Now that I've decided that I don't have a problem wearing leggings, let's discuss my issue with others wearing them. Anorexic teenagers aside.

Back to the oompa-loompa (who is probably the nicest lady ever but desperately in need of a Stacy and Clinton wardrobe overhaul). I walked out of my office today to use the disgusting shared restroom only to find myself behind this poor woman. To her credit, she had shockingly thin legs. I could tell, because she was wearing, um, leggings. Duh. And Uggs. Ugh. That's another post/rant entirely.

Where the outfit failed miserably was the top. 1. Its was WAY too short. I could see waistband, people. 2. It was some sort of fuzzy sweater material in purple and white horizontal stripes. Eek.

Hence, the oompa-loompa effect.

Exhibit B: Not the lady from down the hall. But close. And not cute.

I'll stop bashing this poor, unsuspecting lady now. But it's not just her. I've seen it everywhere. And again, nothing against our larger-sized counterparts, I just really wish somebody would tell them that just because it's trendy doesn't mean they have to wear it! And no, I won't take that responsibility on. I'll bitch about anything in the privacy of my public-to-the-entire-world blog, but saying it to someone's face is a completely different story. I'd rather not get bitch-slapped. I like my face the way it is.

Now off to find a pair of jeggings.

A Mean Little Groundhog.

Ugh. Winter makes me lazy. And stupid Phil had to crawl out of his hole and see his stupid shadow. Or not. I don't know the mechanics of Groundhog's Day, I just know that he's jinxed us into 6 more weeks of cold.

I actually can't believe I'm saying this. I love winter. And snow. Seriously.

But this year, it's turned me into a food-loving, weight-gaining couch potato. I literally don't do ANYTHING when I get home from work anymore. The cold weather makes me want to curl up into a ball under my blanket with two cuddly dachshunds in front of the tv for hours. Or maybe it's the fact that my house is freezing all the time thanks to the constant draft entering through our disgusting old windows.

Either way, I'm sick of it. Bring on the warmth.

I want the sun to be shining past 5 o'clock. I want to go for a run - OUTSIDE. I want to be a good dog-mom and take M & B for walks. I want to drink a margarita on my front porch...

Think summer would come any faster if I went to Punxsutawney, PA and had a little chat with Phil? ;)

Excuses.

I'm full of 'em. Ask me why I haven't worked out AT ALL since last Monday and I can probably come up with 15 different excuses. All valid, of course.

I'm starting to think I need to become one of those crazy people who gets up at the crack of dawn to work out before work. Eek! That probably won't happen. And in that case, it's highly likely that I won't be burning any extra calories until at least next week.

Wanna hear my excuses? On top the normal "working for a living" thing, I have a ridiculously busy schedule this week. I can't help it if I'm so awesome that my social calendar is always full ;)

Tonight: Exclusive Barenaked Ladies concert at a small restaurant. Not really sure what this is all about, but we were given tickets and shall go.

Tuesday: Ahh, a night off. I should probably be productive, but chances are, I'll need the evening to recover on my couch.

Wednesday: Wine school. This week's class: Cabernet!

Thursday: Dinner at a girlfriend's house. This will no doubt include much food and wine consumption.

Friday: Taste of Compassion, a wine tasting charity event. The husband is the Honorary Chairman, which means I get to get all dressed up and do one of my favorite things: play Social Hostess!

Saturday: Surprise 30th birthday party for a friend. Party starts at 4, but it will undoubtedly go all night. That's how we roll.

By the time Sunday rolls around, I might need somebody to take me to rehab. If you count last night's restaurant holiday party (like I've mentioned before, we like to make the holidays last as long as possible around here) I will have had more alcohol-filled nights than not this week. Count: 6 to 1. Ugh. Please pray that I don't die ;)

And stay tuned for pointless updates of this week's festivities. You know you can't wait.

Wine please.

I need a glass. No, make that a bottle.

My long Christmas weekend was fantastic and blissfully relaxing. So why is it that the second I laid down in bed before the first day back to work, I began to worry and stress about EVERYTHING???

I slept like crap last night because I couldn't stop thinking/worrying about money. Why is it always money? I'm seriously starting to believe what people say... it truly doesn't matter how much you have because it will never be enough. My situation has been the same whether I've made $20,000/yr or $80,000/yr. We spend too much. Bottom line. We like nice things. We seriously need to get this under control.

All this worry makes me want to curl up with a blanket on my $1,800 sofa with my $1,000 dogs, watching my $800 TV in my newly renovated house I'm beginning to think we can't afford...

I can actually feel the stress in my shoulders today. Ugh.

My apologies for being so complainy.

You know it's time for a diet when...

your belly-button ring starts disappearing inside your belly-button. Oy.