Fingers are overrated anyway, right?

Holland had her first injury today. Inflicted upon her by Yours Truly. Accidentally, of course. This morning I had the bright idea to clip her nails. Yes! Brilliant, Alexia.  Something I have done many times before quickly turned into Nightmare on Baby Street when she started to scream and I realized I had nicked her finger. A little red spot appeared on the tip of her pointer finger, followed by blood. BLOOD! The crying lasted about a minute and a little bitty band-aid on her finger stopped the bleeding, and I thought we were done. Flashforward to daycare, 30 minutes later: “Oh, really? She needs a band-aid? Those are a choking hazard. Isn’t there anyone who can watch her for you?” Um…no. That’s what I pay you for, Daycare. So, after facing my choices of NOT going to work (not really an option right now) and bringing her in with me, I made my choice and Holland and I drove out to Pop Art, making it in only a half hour late. We camped out downstairs in the Annex, and after dealing with a few distractions, some crying (hers) and a few computer problems, actually managed to be pretty productive.

She was really quite helpful.

I really am going to be pregnant forever.

I was supposed to go to the hospital tonight at 8pm to get induced and FINALLY have this baby. They called at 6pm and told me that they are too full, and that I can’t come in. They advised me to “call back at ten” and maybe they can get me in at midnight. If not, I am “on the schedule for the morning.” Um, like I was on the schedule for tonight? That’s reassuring. So, here I stay at home, watching the Democratic National Convention, eating ice cream and BEING PREGNANT FOREVER.

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is so unfair. I feel sort of bad for the nurse whose job it is to call all the women who have been pregnant for what feels like a year and cancel their inductions. It was all I could do to restrain myself and remain civil, when all I wanted to do was throw my phone at the wall and scream. I am probably going to need more ice cream. I’ll update later when something actually happens besides me sitting around in my pajamas, incubating a kindergartner.

This is what it sounds like…when fleas die.

As promised. The story of what happened to my feet. Or, why I am so itchy. Or, what $70 can buy you if you as lucky as me.

If you remember, I wrote a couple weeks ago about how my lovely roommate (love you Aaron!) let one of the cats out on accident. Apparently Mia picked up something else besides a taste for the great outdoors on her adventure…and brought in FLEAS! Eeeeew. I have never had to treat Basil for fleas in the year and a half I have had him…nor have I had to treat Mia in the time she has been under my care (as she is my surrogate cat, until my brother is back in a living situation where he can have her). So imagine my surprise when last week on Monday, Aaron casually goes, “oh, I think I just saw a flea.” Hmm. I thought, oh I will just go pick up some Advantage at the vet by my house tomorrow after work. Unfortunetly, that was the day I had to leave work at lunchtime to go help my sick mother survive her staph infection, so I stayed at work a little later to make up for that… not making it back to the neighb by 7pm (closing time for the vet) I figured, no big deal. I would just go Wednesday. So I get home, change into my pajamas, and sit down in the living room. I look down at my feet. There are about three fleas on each foot. Itty, bitty, little, teeny tiny fleas. Ew. I grab them all and throw them in the toilet. Drown, suckers. I walk back out. Again. Fleas on each foot. AACK! This happens about four or five more times in the next fifteen minutes. I am freaking out. I run out to my car, in my pajamas, and drive out to Delta Park to Petco. Advantage comes four to a pack. $70. yay. I buy it, along with some organic rosemary carpet spray. I race back home, thinking of my poor, itchy cats. I treat both of the cats and spray the carpet. The difference is drastic, and immediate. We have seen maybe one or two fleas a day since then. I actually haven’t seen any in the past couple days. I think all of the evil little things are DEAD. Phew. However. The damage was done. My feet look seriously BAD. I have about fifteen bites on each foot, five on each ankle, two or three on each leg, and a couple on my arms and sides. But my feet. Are. The. Worst. It doesn’t help matters that, being nine months pregnant, I can’t wear shoes to hide them. It’s flip-flops, everyday. It also doesn’t help that I itch itch itch myself like I am a third-grader with the chicken-pox. So bites turn into sores, sores into scabs. Lovely. I am such a beauty queen. This weekend my mom took one look at my feet and said, “I’m sorry. But you look like white trash.” They are starting to go away, but I fear I might have permanent scarring from this little adventure. I would take a picture but I am too embarrassed. It’s like the universe said, “How can we make Alexia even LESS attractive these days? Oh I know. Let’s make her look like she has an infectious foot disease.” Thanks, Universe.

A special place in hell

Scene:

Present Perfect in downtown Portland.

I am trying to purchase a card for a co-worker. The lady working at the store takes note of my pregnancy and decides she needs to start commenting on it.

Evil Old Lady: So, are you having a summer baby?

Me: [Realizing what is coming] Yes. August.

Evil Old Lady: “August!! By the looks of you, it could be a spring baby! Are you sure there aren’t TWO in there?”

Me: Uh, no. Just one. She is big.

Evil Old Lady: It’s a she? What’s her name?

Me: Holland

Evil Old Lady: Holland? Are you going to call her “Holland Oats?” [laughs]

Me: [speechless]

Evil Old Lady: Have you heard that one yet?

Me: Uh…no. [Slowly backs away from the lady and exits the store.]

Pregnancy still sucks

Week 25. Last night I googled “videos of childbirth.” BIG MISTAKE. As badly as I want this to be over, actually thinking about how it is really going to end doesn’t help the situation any. Today was beautiful and warm out. It was depressing. The weather is getting warmer and by the time summer hits, I will be well into my third trimester, and probably as miserable as ever. I have an entire summer ahead of me of doing nothing and not having fun ever. Nothing fits me in my closet anymore, and I couldn’t fit into a single thing at Forever 21 today.  I haven’t really bought clothes from anywhere else in years.  I don’t know where to buy maternity clothes that don’t TOTALLY SUCK. Everything at Mimi Maternity is really overpriced. The maternity section at Target is so bad it’s actually funny. The clothes are HUGE and boxy, with these obnoxious prints all over everything. NOTHING is long enough for me anywhere. It is time to get serious about maternity clothes shopping. I may be miserable, but I will be damned if I will look like some frumpy fat ass on top of it.

I heart being pregnant

JK. I am sitting here on my couch watching the cats lick eachother. They are friends! They never do it when I have my camera handy, though. I had to leave work early today because I have felt sick all week and today it finally caught up with me. According to the internet, my uterus is the size of a soccer ball. I can feel said uterus under my rib cage and it makes me naseous.  Literally, it makes me naseous, not just the thought of it. I am a month away from my third trimester. Can’t wait!

In other news, I finally got a computer of my very own, which is pretty much the most exciting thing that has happend to me in, oh, about 6 months. I made chili this week and it turned out AMAZING. Oh, and the Office is on tonight. Wow, i lead an exciting life.

To close, I would like to introduce a new feature called “Rude Things Complete Strangers Have Said to Me This Week.”

“What does your husband do?” Oh, I am not married, but thanks old man I don’t know. Please pray for my illegitimate child!

“You are due in AUGUST?! But you are SO BIG! Are you having TWINS?” Thanks Safeway Checker Lady. I appreciate your concern. Please rot in hell.

Diet Coke No More

So, I have decided to give up diet coke again. Of all the bad habits I had to stop when I found out I was pregnant, diet coke has been the most difficult, which kind of surprises me. And makes me wonder what exactly is in it that makes it so damn addictive. I managed to stop drinking it for about the first three months of my pregnancy, but then decided I could have it in small amounts. It went from me really appreciating the small amount I got to have, to now, again, being totally addicted and drinking too much. The past couple weeks I have been feeling more guilty about it, and not even about the caffeine. Seriously: WHAT IS EVEN IN DIET COKE?? I don’t mind putting weirdo fake sugar chemicals into my body, but I don’t think it is good for the baby. While I am nowhere even NEAR the levels I was drinking pre-pregnancy, I still feel guilty. Also, the past few times I have drank it, I have felt sick after, which tells me Holland isn’t liking it either. So, I will add it to the list of things I am looking forward to reacquainting myself with this September.

Adios, Diet Coke.

I hate you, wordpress

I just spent most of my lunch posting a blog about my presents from Lindsey and Quinn, and stupid Wordpress deleted it when I published it.

 I will try again later.