Tag Archives: eww

Marie Antoniette Really Said, “Let Them Eat Dates”

Apparently, eating dates the month before your due date will make you dilate quicker, and in theory, you’d have a faster labor.

“If only I’d eaten a few more dates and a little less cake….”

Faster labor = Woo-hoo!*

*I probably won’t be “woo-hooing” during the labor, only after when I’ve labored for only 22 minutes. Yes, 22 minutes of labor is my goal. We live 5 minutes from the hospital so 22 minutes is doable and even gives us a time cushion.

Since I’d never eaten a date before, I bought some warm-up dates at week 34.**

**Yes, that’s 2 weeks early, but this baby needs to come out before she gets any bigger and rips me in half upon her arrival.

I bought date pieces because if they tasted bad, I figured I could swallow the pieces without chewing.

Dates taste sweet. Like really sweet. Like almost*** too sweet even for me.

***Notice the use of the word “almost.”

I’ve now hit 36 weeks and the baby is “breathing” like a champ. It’s time to up the date intake.

My midwife is supposed to check this week to see if I’m dilated or effaced. Keep your fingers crossed for 10 cm and 100% effaced. But I want to be realistic, so I’d also take 8 cm and 80%.

The Truth About Mary Poppins

While Kiefer, Boo, and Radley had a boys’ night out, I settled onto the couch in my pajamas. Just when I was about to declare that nothing was on, I found Mary Poppins.

Now there’s a no-nonsense lady who had her shit together. Her nannying skills whip that house into shape in less than a week—which is probably why she has no references. My dad always said you need to stay at a job at least 6 months.

Here’s what I learned from the movie:

  • Just because Mary Poppins can fly doesn’t mean she’s a witch. Witches have brooms. I suspect Mary Poppins was probably one of the early X-Men.

    No broom and no pointy hat = Not a witch.

  • If you snap your fingers, your room will clean itself. What the heck, Poppins! You just set up all parents and nannies for failure.
  • If medicine tastes good—like a spoon full of sugar—children will take it. Tell me something I don’t know. We do this with Ozzy Pups all the time…except we use peanut butter.
  • You never need a reason to step in time. And no one will get mad about chimney soot being tracked all over their house as long as you sing and dance while doing it.

    In my house, let’s keep it confined to the roof, gentlemen.

Most importantly, I learned the correct way to fire someone. You bust the top of his hat out and break his umbrella. The firing is just implied.

A Plea: Steal All of Our Cameras

Kiefer is crunchy. I am not, so while he sleeps, I pump him full of high fructose corn syrup to curb his West Coast crunchy ways.

Sometimes I forget, and we run into problems.

Kiefer suggested we find a birthing class. (This isn’t the crunchy part.)

When I looked up local instructors, I ran across an instructor’s website and saw a picture of her wearing only a bikini top sitting in her bathtub spread eagle and holding her baby…with the umbilical cord still attached…at both ends.


That shudder…that was when I lost my innocence.

I immediately made a note to up dosage on Kiefer’s night-time high fructose corn syrup IV.

Thoughtsy: ::calling Kiefer:: Are you trying to kill me?

Kiefer: Hello?

Thoughtsy: I just sent you an email with a link…with a naked lady and a baby…with the cord still attached to both of them. I veto that instructor.

Kiefer: So there’s a cord. It’s a very natural thing.

This is how our baby will be arriving. Notice the fully clothed stork and the lack of umbilical cord.

Thoughtsy: Showing the Internet my coochie snorcher with a cord coming out is not natural for me.

Kiefer: Jesus! Why did you send me that picture? I shouldn’t have opened that at work.

Thoughtsy: Why? It’s nat-u-ral, remember? No one will mistake it for porn….There’s an umbilical cord in the picture. Did I mention it was still attached…between her legs?

Kiefer: You’re supposed to focus on the cute little baby.

Thoughtsy: How can I do that when there’s a CORD DOWN THERE? While we’re discussing this, just to be clear, no pictures from down below during the delivery process.

Kiefer: But I just bought a new camera.

Thoughtsy: And you may use it from your position…at my head.

Kiefer: Ooooooor…I could mount it to the doctor’s chest.

So I guess what I’m asking for is one of you to steal Kiefer’s camera in February and then return it once the baby is born.

Just to be clear: I am not dissing the new mother in the pic. She’s awesome for giving birth drug-free…and for being comfy enough with her body to post her mostly naked self on the Internet. It’s just not for someone like me who hopes to go to sleep one night and just wake up in the morning with a newborn whose been dropped off by the stork.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I tried pulling that trick on KAW when she was knocked up, but she didn’t buy it.”—Chase McFadden

Are You Crapping Me?

Captain’s Log, Star Date December 12, 2013.

It’s been 13 days since Kiefer left for his business trip. He should return today.

But…if he doesn’t…I don’t know…how much longer I’ll survive on my own.

I’ve seen things…no woman should have to see. I’m done things…no pregnant woman should have to do. ::shudder::

It all started with laryngitis. Laryngitis that’s still not gone because it’s impossible to rest my voice when I’m the only person around to stop Ozzy Pups from stealing socks (Drop it!).

Then there was all of that snow.

But now, things have just gotten progressively harder.

Boo and his friend hung out at the house for a couple hours before basketball practice. Boo’s friend used the bathroom…and he…clogged the toilet in MY bathroom, not the kids’ bathroom.

Of course, I didn’t discover the clog until I was already doing the pee-pee dance. I had two options:

  1. Use the kids’ bathroom upstairs…which is never a good idea.
  2. Unclog the toilet myself.

Since I’ve never actually plunged a toilet, and because a pregnant woman with a heightened sense of smell should never have to plunge a toilet that’s been clogged by a kid that’s not even hers, I choose Option #3:

Call Dad to unclog the toilet while I ran Boo and his friend to practice.

I’ve decided to head off future bathroom problems by placing a woman figure on my bathroom door.

If Kiefer isn’t home this afternoon, this may be my last entry. Please send reinforcements…and extra bathrooms.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I agree…that’s classic protective behavior. Ozzy is putting himself between you and potential frosty danger, just like a Secret Service man. You should get him a little earpiece and some shades.”—BluzDude

Once the Door Is Open

Before I was pregnant, I started reading a blog written by a newly pregnant woman. She’d just found out she was pregnant, and it was cool to follow her on her new journey.

But I noticed something about her posts. She wrote about poop. A lot. Apparently, when you’re pregnant, weird shit happens. Literally.

And I swore when I was pregnant, I would never blog about poo. Because that’s yucky. And because girls don’t poo.

But you know what? I’m allowing myself one pregnancy poo post. Why? Because it’s funny.

While Kiefer and I were in Greece….

Kiefer: Are you ready to check out?

Thoughtsy: Yep. Go ahead down, and I’ll meet you there.

Kiefer: I can wait for you.

Thoughtsy: Awwww…that’s sweet. But I have to go to the bathroom.

Kiefer: You pee a lot.

Thoughtsy: No. I have to go to the bathroom.

Kiefer: ::blank stare::

Thoughtsy: In the 5 years we’ve been together, I’ve yet to go #2 while you’re around, and I’m not about to start now.

That was me opening the door. Figuratively. Not literally.

this is 40

I can only pray that I never literally open the bathroom door. After a 9-week ultrasound, this happened:

Thoughtsy: All my clothes are tight. Stupid baby bloat.

Kiefer: You mean all the pooping?

Thoughtsy: What? ::pause:: I have no idea how to recover from that question.

Not often is Kiefer able to catch me unawares. But he did, and I have only myself to blame. But I refused to let him win; I could take him. Not able to come up with something clever, I had only one option: give him too much information.

Thoughtsy: Actually pregnancy makes you constipated.

Kiefer: ::silence::

I thought he might make the obvious “you’re-full-of-it” response, but he didn’t. Ha! I won!

Or so I thought. Once we got home, I started eating a cheese stick.

Kiefer: You know that’s not going to help your problem, right?

Well played, Kiefer. Well played.

Ladies, guys are just always going to be better with the poo comebacks. Don’t fight it. And for goodness sake, don’t open the door.