Friday, December 30, 2005

Milk and Chocolate

I was pretty sure my next blog was going to be about how I have been having dreams where my breasts are leaking milk, but my baby hasn't been born yet. So I latch on (properly, of course, to avoid nipple damage) and nurse from my own breast to see how it will feel. I was really hoping not to write about that, but here we are. Last night I had so much stress, so much worry the only thing I could think about that I wasn't afraid of was labor. Thinking of labor calmed me. It doesn't work that was in the middle of the day, but in a dream like state she just appears from somewhere below my waist, and they place her on my chest - clean and dressed in Ralph Lauren. Don't crush this for me dream crushers - I can picture it any way I want.

Today, I sat on the phone eating chocolate and cancelling my gym membership. Well, putting it on hold. I have been once since I got the membership - and that was when I was still wearing a bikini. A bathingsuit I now refer to as a betweeni - meaning that if you could even find it between my big belly and my marshmallow pillow thighs you had better be married to me.

Speaking of people that are married to me, Dan and the baby have formed their own relationship, independant of me. He read to her Max the Dog (Thanks Pat and Amy!) and their bond began. Now when I got to bed at night they play a game where he taps on my belly and she kicks back. Last night he shone a flashing light through my skin and we looked at my veins and watched my belly move as she kicked where ever he put the light.

Before eating the chocolate today I tried to eat french fries. The baby refused and threatened with many types of sickness if I proceeded, so I did not. Now I just want some meat. We are going to Dan's parents for dinner tonight, god willing my borther in law's girlfriend is not preparing a vegetarian meal.

Monday, December 26, 2005

A Match for What Once Scared You

In one phone call, some far off terror arrives in your face, extending it's boot into your chest. All fear becomes one fear. Though this is not as much a relief as it may sound. You fear that this horrid event, now sharing your holiday, now sipping your egg nog, right there hugging grandma and being thankful for your baby's gifts, this horror might continue. Fear is not a bang. A death. That first burst of the train's horn that wakes you from a perfect sleep. Fear is that train running on the track for the next 20 minute break in your last hour of sleep. Fear isn't the sound of that phone ringing, it's just the constant knowing that it will eventually ring. Fear continues.

Mine has. I carry it. Long before I got this baby in my belly I had this horror in my heart. But like a bougainvillaea my veins have wrapped around it, coursing with my blood, beating through my heart, keeping me alive to watch my father slowly die. Or heal. That's the fear. That someone else I love will have to subscribe to my same wait. That he'll move to the back of the line I've been in for 1 year and 5 months.

Nothing changes, and that's not soothing. You callous, you harden, you close and open again, you go through all your albums, staining your favorite songs with your toughest nights. You blister, you pop, and before you know it, before you care to admit ... you heal, and you love, and you continue. A match for what once scared you.

I know this doesn't make sense. I know the song you're playing on repeat will always remind you of this. I know that what I never thought could hurt me more than it had, multiplies infinitely when it becomes your pain. And I can watch. I can aide. But I can't feel it for you. So I give you something else. We give you something else. And instead of another drone in this line, my body feels like a fountain, this baby feels like a force field. A constant reminder that at one point we went on, and we will go on again.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

Christmas with the Relatives

A conversation... in two parts

Aunt: So are you two getting ready for the baby

L: Yep, just about.

A: You guys are gonna use WIC right. you got that in order yet?

L: (to be polite pretending to have no idea what WIC is, but really just trying to escape this conversation as soon as possible) Yeah, we figure they'll go over that with is in the birthing classes and the stuff through the hospital.

A: Well you really need to do that, with as little money and you two make.

L: WIC is for women who really need it, we don't want to take advantage of something that we don't need when there are others who could use it.

A: You'll be surprised what you'll need - they'll give you free cheese and cereal for the baby.

L: We're breastfeeding though, so see, we don't even have a need for that right now.

A: Well, you'll try! Breastfeeding doesn't always work out, you might not be able to do it.

L: (Gestureing her E cup breasts) Look at these babies, it's gonna work!

A: Not neccessarily, the size doesn't have anything to do with it. Alot of people have problems.

L: So, Dan, do you want to help me bring some things in from the car?

Conversation two

L: The day I found out I was pregnant we had a full bottle of gin in the fridge and I had just bought three packs of cigarettes.

A: So, did you give all of that up when you got pregnant?

L: I gave the cigarettes away but we're saving the gin.

A: You know, I hear the doctors say it's okay to have a drink or two when you're pregnant.

L: You know, I know it maybe ok, but I want to play it safe. If anything was wrong when she's born I would hate myself for having had that drink.

A: No. If anything was wrong when it's born it's not from the drinking, it's from the birth defect.

L: Still, I'm not that much of a drinker, so I can wait.

A:Well, doctors recommend that it's healthier for you and the baby to have a few drinks when you're pregnant.


Thursday, December 22, 2005

The Face of my Social Earth

Well, we have officially crossed over from being the couple among our friends that were having a baby, to the couple with no friends, who are having a baby. I knew we weren't getting out enough, but I said I didn't care. Too tired. Too sick. We have good friends, they won't forget us. And they didn't. They just finally caught on to how terribly boring we have become.

My hormonal little feelings are smashed because I invited people over last night for a pre X-mas get together to watch A Christmas Story and eat some food. No one showed up. Only one person even called to cancel. Dan took me to dinner and let me play his guy on Sim's for hours which cheered me up a little.

Then we went to bed and he made me laught until I thought for sure I'd piss myself. I woke up happy this morning, and not until after a cup of coffee (Mc Donald's decaf - go get yourself a cup of that right now...) did I feel the slightest bit sorry for falling off the face of my social earth. One friend actaully ended our conversation with, "Well, hurry up and have that baby so you can come out and drink again". Is there a transition? Do I need new friends? I have a friend with a baby now, should I just get more? Or should I just hurry up and have this baby so I can get out there and drink some more? Advise me wise readers.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

12 x 3 = ?

This morning, in the shower, while blowing my nose into my hands, my nose aborted the largest bloodiest wad of snot I have ever seen. Seriously, I probably can't do multiplication anymore.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Charming Nit Wit

Dan: I'm just saying you should try to take it easy with the sarcasm.

Lawton: You are just as sarcastic as I am.

Dan; No. No I'm not. That's your thing. My thing is something different.

Lawton: No it isn't, it's our thing, it's why we fit.

Dan: You have more of a biting sarcasm, where as I have more of a charming wit.

Dinner Conversations

Over dinner with Dan's mother and Aunt these two conversation occurred.

Convo. 1

Aunt: Anybody can get into a shelter back in New Hampshire.

Mom: No, no they can't. Not drug users, they're out on the street.

Aunt: Yes, drug users can get in too, they just have to sign something.

Lawton: As in if they use while they're there, they will get kicked out?

Aunt: That's right. They are also making a move now, back in New Hampshire, to allow sexual offenders and convicted rapists to be allowed in the shelters too. Which, I guess everyone needs shelter.

(Nod of agreement from all)

Lawton: Plus, all those homeless single mothers with their children have been getting a free ride, letting sex offenders in the shelter will really keep them on their toes, the worry will keep them warm.

(Nod of agreement from Mother and Aunt, look of "I told you to take it easy with the sarcasm" from Dan)

Convo. 2

Mother: You know they won't take the blood of people with tattoos at the blood bank, because of the risk of spreading hepatitis.

Dan: That's not true, I've given blood and so has my friend Carrie.

Mother: Carris has a tattoo?

Lawton: I don't give blood, it makes me woozy.

Aunt: Well, you can't be giving blood now anyway, with the baby.

Dan: Yeah, on her ankle, a big one.

Mother: Well that's just what I heard.

Dan: Maybe they take our blood, they just don't use it. They just dump it out the back of the truck while we're eating the free cookies.

Mother: I really thought they just didn't take it.

Dan: You must have been thinking of urine. They don't let us donate urine because of the hepatitis risk.

(Nod of agreement from all. Look from Dan as if he has shown me how to do this correctly)

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

The 7 Layers of Motherhood

Saturday, I went to IKEA to get some curtains for the bean's new room. While Dan got 2 1/4 of the walls done with primer this weekend, I thought I should be contributing too. So I met Suzy and Kim at the store and we began shopping our little hearts out.

A little about Suzy and Kim. Kim is that friend that you meet every few months at some social event, you always mean to get her number but never do, so it always seems like the two of you must not like each other, because you never hang out. When really you just need to exchange numbers. That's Kim. And then there's Suzy... God love her. How to describe Suzy to those of you who do not know her? I'll let the story define this friend.

So we're in IKEA, and we start all of our shopping downstairs. As you know, you cannot do this and then just take your things upstairs, you have to make your purchases to get upstairs, or leave all of your things and risk them getting picked up by other Swedish pillagers, or put back by a semi-motivated staff member.

So, we buy our stuff, get a lingonberry soda (yum - by the way!) and catch the elevator upstairs. On the way to elevator Suzy shows me the 50 IKEA shopping bags she stole while bagging her items stating "That's what they get for making me bag my own shit! I can use these for trash bags!". While I disagree with taking the bags, this is the cute part of Suzy that I find entertaining.

As we're waiting for the elevator, it arrives, opens, and an older caucasian couple walks out with a male philippino baby in their stroller. Suzy, totally unable to ever control her own decibel remarks, "Aw! Look a little Maddox!" I do not find this entertaining, rather mortifying, and Kim and I put our heads down as the couple leave the elevator. In the elevator, it is now Suzy, Kim, myself, and a Mommy who looks our age with a newborn. A conversation begins. I ask the baby's age, Mommy replies and the conversation ends. Suzy, being her ever bold self goes on to ask about the woman's stroller, and I cannot think of why she would give a shit at all.

20 minutes later we are all still standing outside of the elevator and I adore this new Mommy friend. She must be mine. I suggest she call me some time and we can get together, but this gets passed right over in conversation. Secretly, I blame Suzy (would one say "twat blocking" here?) and feel like I am trying to get a boy to take me to a 7th grade dance. I am failing. Simone, the new mommy, suggests we walk over to the kids section and keep on talking. Suzy walks with her while I fall behind with Kim.

K: She seems nice, do you like her.

L: I really do, but I think I went in for the number too soon, she rolled right over it, did you see that?

K: Yeah, but you'll get another shot, don't worry.

L: I don't know, Suzy is being a totally new mommy friend hog. She doesn't need this like I need this. I can't wait till that bitch gets pregnant.

Then, we all catch up, look at baby stuff, and chat. Now we're walking again and it is me and Simone, with Suzy and Kim behind us. Simone is from Munich and has a great German accent. She also has that fabulous German lack of tact. She invites me to her home some time to get ideas from how she has decorated her son's nursery. She tells me her furniture is expensive. I think she is referring to all of the furniture in her home, and deduce later what she is telling me is that other people bought her nice nursery furniture. I'm in. Suzy has been an excellent "Wingmom" and I will thank her later.

Then it happened. My first mini mommy brain explosion. Not my whole brain. Just a tiny piece. Simone with her mommy tummy left from having just had her 3 month old via cesarian, and me, 6 months pregnant with a belly out past my tits, and 100 lb. Suzy, are all discussing quilts when Suzy refers to the three of us, herself included as moms.

It went like this, first, I hated her for being so thin and daring to compare herself to us in anyway. She has not been sick, fat, had her breasts taken over by saucers claiming to be her nipples. She is tiny, and a nanny, and has no idea what it takes to earn the "we" in any "we moms..." statement!

Secondly, I remembered all of the years I spent as a nanny and dog owner comparing myself to mothers. Stating, out loud, that babies are just like having a dog and telling my friends that were mothers that I understood their situation exactly because my dog did something very similar. I was humiliated for 14 years of my own insensitivity.

But... what are you going to do? Ultimately, Suzy got me Simone's number, and I really have been wanting to move more in the direction of having other friends that are mothers. I also learned a valuable lesson.

I have been judgmental and presumptuous in every aspect of mothering, which I knew nothing about. Now all I can do is wait to see what price Dan and I will pay for every finger pointed, glare darted and whisper exchanged at the expense of some woman who I now see, was dealing with something so ungodly it can only be called... motherhood.

Sunday, December 11, 2005

The Post I Promised Not to Post

Dan and I got ambitious this weekend and decided to start cleaning out the baby bean's room. Dan did all of the work in there, while I cleaned the livingroom, diningroom, and attempted (and failed) to make a dent in our bedroom. Trust me, I still got the better end of that deal.

We decided the get rid of the queen size bed in the bean's room, which has not moved since Dan got into that house years ago. He calls me into the room to show me the pile of our old condom wrappers that have collected behind the bed and the irony is so sweet - watching my husband clean up the condom wrappers in the room that we're making for our child.

I can tell you right now, that Dan is disgusted that I am even talking about this with you. It went like this,

L: Oh my god, look at all those condom wrappers, how ironc huh?

D: Do not write about this on my space.

L:Wait, wait, don't pick them up I have to get the camera!

D:Lawton, you are not posting a picture of this on myspace, that is so gross!

L: It's not gross Dan, it's funny. Gross would be if there were used condoms back here. Are there?

D: No!

L: See, so it's ironic. It's funny.

D: Fine, but you cannot post those picture on myspace.

L: Don't censor me.

D: Don't post it.

L: Did you want to go buy paint?

D: Yeah, do you want to eat something too?

L: Yeah, let's go to that salad bar on Southern, I've never been there.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

Filling in the Holes

This morning I woke up with the tubbiest little wrists and ankles I've ever seen. On me. Not quite cankles, but tubby to be sure. I wonder this, if I retain enough water will it fill in my cellulite dents and divets?

p.s. I know the answer to this, so just let me have my cellulite free imaginational moment, alright?

I also have a horrible rash taking over my ankles and the tops of my hands. Dan is still trying to convince me that this is due to my poor hygene, but I disagree. Either way, I'm massaging my vagina cream into my hands and ankles because it's the only thing I know it's okay for me to use. Hot image, I know.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Taking it Like a Professional

One of the many privileges to working in a law office is opening all of the mail that comes through. This is how I figured out how much my attorneys make, how underpaid I am, that prisoners are only allowed to write in pencil, and that my boss� wife subscribes religiously to PEOPLE magazine. Every few months I open a letter from a bright young law student, overflowing with credentials, looking to work here as an intern.

In the beginning of my career here, I destroyed these letters upon receipt, not wanting any competition from someone who would actually know what they were doing behind my desk. A year later, feeling more confident that my knowledge of the law is not what makes me such an asset here, I pass these letters on to my attorneys, whom I will herein refer to as C and J.

The last one I gave to my boss, C, along with her other mail. She asked what this was, and held it up at me as if I had urinated on a document, and then set it on top of her desk for review. I told her that maybe an intern would work for free and that I thought she might like to review her application. C spent five seconds perusing the details and handed it back suggesting I give the application to J, stating that this girl sounded way too professional and smart for our office. Our? This girl was going to loose out on the job because she was smarter than me. While the competitor in me high fived my ego for beating this applicant, my ego used it�s other hand to dial up my self-absorption and insecurity. Was that applicant smarter than me? Do my bosses think I am dull? Well, I am letting them get away with paying me half of what other people doing my job make, but that�s because when I started here I had never done this before.

My entire resume was a lie. On it, I had years of experience as an Executive Assistant, a position I held for one day, as a temp is Los Angeles. I was an administrative assistant for six years at a company that never existed. I had friends lined up, assigned as former employers, ready to help me get a job � and this has always worked for me. I got the interview at the law offices of C and J and marched right in, confident as ever. The trick is, no one cares how well you get your job done if you�re no fun to be around. Fact. But, couple a charming wit, with a false history full of past successes and gushing references and if there�s not some bitch who already has your job opening the bosses mail then you�re all set. I sat on my feet during the interview, talked about my new beagle and did an impersonation of the crack head from which I bought the dog. Hired within three days.

Reason number 253 to be married to Dan

When his brother arrives for a night on the town wearing what Dan refers to now as, that little raspberry number, my husband's response is:

"When you came out of the closet, you should have left that sweater in there".

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Cyrano de Bergerac

I have a friend, let's call him my husband, Dan. While this friend does not read my blogs regualrly because he has a real job, where he's real busy, this allows me more freedom in interpreting him for you. Anyway, last night I am telling Dan all about Delicious Dimes and he suggests that delicious is a dude (of all things) and that I should ask the he/she a womanly question to see what kind of answer I would get. To Dan, a womanly question is, what size pantyhose do you wear. Women don't even know that! Sure enough, all I had to do was re-read the site to see it is, in fact, a dude looking for hot bitches for his website. Still, I haven't felt much like a hot bitch lately - so I am going to pretend my lesbian "Cyrano de Bergerac" is falling deeper in love with me as every day passes.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Lezzie McGuire

I am such a total Lesbian. I mock every guy that writes me with the slightest compliment but I get a compliment from a girl who goes by "delicious dimes" (or the like) and my heart's all a flutter. At this rate I won't get any work done today...

Monday, December 05, 2005

You've Got Mail

You've got mail

Just when you think barfing pineapple into the toilet at work was the grossest thing you'd encounter, you get this email...

Hi there! I'm just kicking back at work taking a break... Saw you on Myspace. Are you surviving that pregnancy? :0)

Cute guy here, 5'10", blue eyes, very cute.. In the Phx area. Want to chat?


-- N.

and this one

hi there,

u r a sexy pregnant.

hope u will have a healthy babe-)

and this one...

whats up girl? your amazingly beautiful , check out my pictures and profile and if your liking it please get back to me... such a turn on to see a pregnant woman...

A New Event

Normally, I have about an hour, within waking up, to eat something before this baby begins turning my stomach like a hampster on a wheel. So this morning, I woke up late, grabbed a jar of pinapple to take to work and then ordered a sandwich when I got in. I want the time line to be clear ;


woke up


got to work


ordered sandwich


vomited in mouth


projectile vomited for what seemed like an eternity


sandwich arrives

Now while I appreciate having a responsibility to eat, I wasn't out of bed 2 hours before puking, and I was in the middle of eating when it happened! Does the vominting part of pregnancy come back? Was that pinapple bad? Dan ate it, seemed fine? And most importantly, is it safe to eat my $9 sandwich, my pickle, my chips? Guess I'll try... something's got to get the taste of pineapple out my nose.

The Walk of Shame

I waited so long to get to the point where I looked pregnant and not just fat. Finally I have arrived. The reason I know is because at a restaurant on Saturday night, as Dan and I moved from our table at the bar to the table we were going to have dinner at, I carried my St. Pauli's girl non-alcoholic beer (still in it's bottle) without a thought of this being a problem. When we were seated the hostess tossed our menues before us and wisked away. Dan asked if I saw how many glares I just got crossing the dinning room, and did I notice that even the hostess hated me.

"My first public judging!", I exclaimed, excited to be showing, to which Dan replied, "I am sure it won't be your last."

Friday, December 02, 2005

Ain't That the Way

As with most things, I am fully aware that I have done this to myself. And by this I am referring to the gentlemen who are writing to compliment my sexy pregnant profile.

I could try to convince you that the reason I am peeking out through my hair in that photo, is because it was the first my husband has taken of my pregnant body and before I saw this photo I just thought I was fat, and therefor found this picture very embarassing. "But Lawton, you are clutching your breasts in a seductive manner!" Rest assured my darling readers, this is not to be coy. This is because what were once my beautiful breasts have in a short 5 months managed to sag and stretch into rocks in socks that must be held out of the way for photographs or for fear of callousing the nips from letting them drag on the ground.

So yes, I do need to get a new photo up, that doesn't have such a "knocked up chick looking for cock" feel, but in the mean time, let me assure all of you gentlemen that are "into this" how not sexy my pregnancy is.

I have now passed the point of uncontrolable passing of gas, and entered into the world of not being able to manage the volume of my gas. I let one go last night that was so mighty, it woke me and the dog up.

The only sex I've had in the last three weeks is something my husband and I now refer to as "the incident" which later required medication and falling asleep with a bag of frozen pees between my legs.

I have not shaved my legs or armpits in three months, and if any part of me is italian, gentlemen, it's the part that controls the growth of every hair on my body.

At this point in my writing I read what I had so far to my husband Dan, with a proud, "That was some gross stuff huh?" to which he replied, "not really, if you're into pregnant chicks".

Damn. I guess like any lady ever, I have to take down the more revealing picture to get you fuckers to read my blog, or skip my site all together. And the worst part is, I don't even get to feel sexy from the compliments because they're coming from weird guys who are into pregnant chicks. Ain't that the way.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Waking Up Guilty

I have funally gotten it to the point where I am smelling clove cigarettes in my dreams. Whe I first quit smoking, I was constantly smoking in my dreams, then I was pregnant and smoking in my dreams - sometimes I would forget I was pregnant and suddenly realize middrag. The I would check my pack and see that I only had three left so I figured, if I've already smoked the whole pack, what harm is there is finishing these last three?

Then, about two weeks ago, I dreampt about going to buy a pack of cigarettes, but not being able to get to the store. I took this as a good sign of my faultering addiction. I never got to the store in the dream.

This morning, I woke up having dreampt about storming out of an argument, 5 1/2 months pregnant, with a clove cigarette and a book of matches in my hand. The matches were to make my mother (who incited the arguement) think I was going to smoke it, but really I just went for a walk around the dog run (kind of a weird dream) and sniffed the cigarette until I dropped it and it broke. When I went to pick it back up again to continue with my olfactory addiction- it had already been smoked...hmmm. It's not deep, but I didn't wake up guilty.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

It Happened Like This...

I put on my white linen pants, one of the only two pairs of pants that have fit me throughout this pregnancy, and they were too tight. I keep them on thinking they will stretch and that they are just tight from having been in the dryer. I am fucking wrong. I keep them on anyway, which is amazing becuase never in my pre-pregnant life have I left my house in clothes that are too tight for me. It's not my thing. I get in the car, careful not to forget my box of chocolates, my stand in cigarettes, and I drive to work.

Actually, I only make it around the corner when the van infront of me some how hops the cement guard rail infront of Tempe St. Luke's Hospital and hits a palm tree so hard that it splits the front of the van in two. I stop the car and get out. I call 911. I get disconnected twice and then 911 puts me on hold. Then I get an operator who puts me on hold. Then I get put back on hold. There's more holding going on in this 911 phone call than in a Mariah Carey video, and I am very disappointed in my emergency service. OR should I say grateful that it's not my emergency. Luckily, the palm tree was in the parking lot of a hospital. I completed my 911 call and felt my part was through. I begin to walk away and it feels like I have just wet my too tight pants. I get into my jeep, hit the steering wheel and scream, "I cannot wear these pants to work!". I go back home. I put on sweat pants and wonder if there's something wrong with my empathy that I would scream about my pants when, not ten feet away from me, someone lays in critical condition. Not to mention the fact that if that fucker hadn't hit the cement guard rail "just so" I would have been forced to hit him, and could have easily found myself in a similar state. Mostly I'm just pissed that I have to buy bigger pants.