Do you read this blog? If so STOP RIGHT NOW and go over to my new blog: http://cincodemommy.wordpress.com
Yes, that’s right, I’m taking all my creativity from here and blogging over there.
Now, go read!
I am moving this blog to Cinco de Mommy. Please update your links and readers and such!
…My Chemical Romance and I had a discussion about the differences in our cultural backgrounds and how I’m the Grinch. You see, I was raised Jewish. And I’m an only child. Ergo, I didn’t give a shit from whom the presents came (or where), I just wanted presents.
My Chemical Romance was raised… vaguely Christian-esque, with a large dose of Santa and two sisters.
I assumed my offspring felt the way I do about presents. I live with these kids every day, I know how they are about stuff.
I also wrongly assumed that I’d spent this holiday season nursing a newborn so I wouldn’t make it out to buy gifts. Joke’s on me! Thank you, ama*zon.com for having everything I needed (except for a whole-house humidifier). You came through, except when I get static shocks from opening the fridge.
Meanwhile, My Chemical Romance has this complicated scientific Christmas formula in his head that I only learned of tonight, but he wants to adapt it for our family — starting next year, since this Christmas is almost upon us and now it’s nearly 11pm and we have boycotted Wal*Mart for over three years now and Tar*get is closed, so hopefully this year the kids will simply enjoy their gifts and next year we’ll start the REAL tradition.
It took me a while to catch on, but now I totally get the plan and I think it’s great, and here’s how it works:
1. A certain amount of money is set aside for each kid, for gifts from Santa, and from mom and dad. Say $50/kid. So they will get at least one gift from Santa (which will not get wrapped) and one gift from us (wrapped). Or they might get a few small gifts from Santa (unwrapped) and a few small gifts from us (wrapped). Or some combination thereof, as long as the monetary value is equal to $50 (or whatever we decide).
2. We give each kid $5 for each sibling, to buy each other gifts. I’m sincerely hoping we can encourage them to pool their money for each other, or I’m going to end up with a bunch of tiny plastic dollar-store toys that will be broken by (next) New Year’s Eve.
3. My Chemical Romance and I have a set amount of money to buy each other one gift, one gift from Santa, and one gift from the kids, divided however we want.
As much as I have always preached that a due date is NOT like an expiration date on a carton of milk, omgiamsodonebeingpregnantwtfbabywillyougetthefuckoutalready!!!!!!!!!!!! As of now, I’m 10 days past my EDD given to me by an OB; 6 days past the EDD given to me by a local crisis pregnancy center when I first found out I was pregnant and had no idea when I was due.
Either way, I’m a few days past sanity.
For a pregnancy that has been so physically easy, this wayyyyyyy past my due date thing is psychologically very taxing.
I really hate to think about my birth experience as anything other than flowers and rainbows and puppies, but at this point it seems like a means to an end. That will take place at home. While I’m surrounded by friends and My Chemical Romance — and even my mom! But still: means to an end, BABY!
Here’s my day:
1:00AM: Wake up to use bathroom. Note that the nightsweats are not, in fact, my water breaking. Check toilet for bloody show. None. Sigh. Go back to bed — if possible. If not, read some gossip online and eventually fall asleep.
4:30AM: My Chemical Romance’s alarm clock goes off (every 9 minutes until about 7am). Wake up and announce to him that I’m still pregnant. Cry. Ask for reassurance that I’m not going to be pregnant forever — and that if I am, he’ll still have time off work after the alleged baby is allegedly born.
8:00AM: Wake up to screaming from kids. My mom is here to wrangle them — arriving 5 days AFTER my due date, she was supposed to help me with the baby — and the luster has worn off for all of them. At least I don’t have to feed them breakfast. Thanks mom! Get out of bed. Note I’m still pregnant. Cry. Try to reassure myself that I won’t be pregnant forever. Shower. Moisture heavily — my house is DRY. Put on maternity clothes that I thought I’d be finished with weeks ago — or at least, if I was still wearing them, they would be postpartum clothes.
10:00AM: Drag kids somewhere. Discovery Place, the movies, library, errands. Pray that we’ll have to turn around and leave because I start feeling contractions… to no avail. Lunch.
1:00PM: Nap for The Informant, My Masterpiece (who naps in my bed with me), and me. Quiet time for Animal, Mineral, and Mom.
4:00PM: Make dinner/start thinking about where to go for dinner. Note that most of the day is over and apparently today isn’t the day I’m having the baby. Cry. Ignore phone calls, and don’t call anyone unless absolutely necessary, lest I have to start the conversation with, “I’m not in labor but…”
5:00PM: My Chemical Romance arrives home. Dinner. Post-dinner weepiness that I’m still pregnant. Negotiations with My Chemical Romance over who gets to put kids to bed. Check Facebook — although I’m not posting, because I have nothing to say except that I’m still pregnant and I’m tired of the comments about it.
7:00PM – 9:00PM: Eat. Watch TV. Knit scarf for Wii that should be done in a few years.
9:00PM: Get into bed with book. Note that I’m still pregnant. Cry.