A Year in Search Terms

I have a stats program installed on my blog that gives me some fun information on who is visiting my blog. Nothing too crazy of course, just typical stuff like I can see the IP address of commenters (not a big deal since my commenters are Alana and my mother about 90 percent of the time). Basically I check it out on occasion to see how many people viewed my blog on a certain day. My biggest day was, not surprisingly, the day I THOUGHT Holland was going to be born, August 27th. I had 99 views that day. Big time blogging! Anyway, my favorite thing about the program is how it shows me the specific terms people searched for on a search engine that made them land on my blog. Often it is just “itsybitsybaby” or “alexia lysandra” or something that shows that they were specifically trying to find me and it is someone I know. But what is really fun are the terms people search and randomly stumble upon me. Alana has been bugging me to write this blog since this summer. With 2008 ending tomorrow, I thought I would finally document it for all to see. So here we go:

My Top Ten Favorite 2008 Search Terms That Led to ME!

10. tillamook cheese and pregnancy (Oh Tillamook…you and your cheese curds are such a tease!)
9. baby clothe swear house (This one creeps me out. Is it a horror film?)
8. “i am barefoot” (hippy la la, is that you?)
7. future nordstrom leaders (This one freaked me out a little at first (Big Nordstrom Brother! Stop watching me!) until I realized I had mentioned being in FNL in a past blog. Phew)
6. styrofoam cubes for sale (Internet search engine user, you have come to the right place)
5. where in the netherlands can i have a 3d ultrasound (Again. Totally the right place)
4. vancouver living (Holland and I will be on the cover of the upcoming spring issue)
3. why does my baby’s forehead look big (Warning: your future son or daughter MAY have a complex if you make this an issue)

Number two is a tie: “slutty baby clothes” and “fleas in bassinet.” The discovery of this fun little combo back in August inspired this IM to Alana:

12:35 PM me: somebody found my blog by googling “slutty baby clothes”
12:36 PM between that and “fleas in bassinet” from earlier in the week, I pretty much feel like i can win the best parent ever award

While those were my two longstanding favorite terms, today someone used one that bumped them out of the number one spot. Drumroll please.

And my number one favorite search term that lead to my blog in 2008 IS…………..

1. feel like shit pregnant

Yeah, I’d say that pretty much summed up my year!

Farewell 2008! I won’t miss you in the slightest!

Birth Art

I signed up for the class because I thought it would help. I was pretty miserable. And alone. I googled “single moms,” “single pregnancy” and “single xyz baby very sad please help etc” on that day in April. I managed to find a “birthing class” for single moms, and promptly signed up for it. It was scheduled for July. And I was pumped. I was going to find new friends! New, pregnant, SINGLE friends! To replace the friends that had forgotten me! It was going to be amazing.

I should have known I was going to be in trouble when I read that this class was a “Birthing From Within” class. I had tried to read the book and knew it didn’t really “vibe” with me. I knew I wanted to try and have a natural birth, but wasn’t going to bet the farm on it.  (it’s a good thing you didn’t! Love, your epidural)

Flash forward July: We met at our teacher’s house in North Portland. It was very, very hot. I knew almost immediately that I wasn’t going to fit in. I was the ONLY girl there with a male doctor. Oh, and yeah, I was the only girl there WITH A DOCTOR. It was a lot of, “oh, you are letting a MALE into your birth? wow…” and “I am birthing in the water because the hospital is so evil” etc, etc, etc. Basically, a very open and welcoming place! They were all super judgey and I felt like I was in high school. Pregnant high school, with mean hippies. Oh, yeah, guess what?  I was the only girl there with health insurance. Or a full-time job!  Take that, bitches.

Our first class, the teacher told us to get on the floor (THE FLOOR!) with some paper and chalk and pastels to draw our “birth art.” I felt like I was in a bad dream, or at least fifth grade art class. I kneeled my eight months pregnant 200 pound ass onto the floor and “closed my eyes” and “thought about the thought that most represented how I wanted my birth to be.” BARF. When it was time to open our eyes and “draw the image we saw,” I did my best. As the other girls went around the room and shared theirs, I really knew I was in the wrong place. It was a lot of “this flower represents my vagina” and “this bird is flying over me in the field of my birth” and la la la, hippie hippie la la. When they got to me, I showed them my drawing:

 ”This is me. I am happy, because I have my baby, and I am not pregnant anymore. Everyone else is happy too. And the sun is shining.”

And that is exactly how it was!

The end!

Well, not really the end. I didn’t make any friends through that class, and later went on to have a VERY hospitalized birth, complete with induction, my water being broken, epidural and all…and I am totally okay with that. What I am not okay with is how much “natural birthing” was shoved down my throat when I was pregnant, and how rude the girls in my “birthing from within” class were to me. I hope they all had really painful, drug-free births. And mostly, I wish there was a genre for nice, hospital-birthing, single moms who want to make friends. Because I would love to meet them.

Change

December 17th, 2007

I woke up feeling like total crap. I had felt like shit for about a week. Really tired, no appetite and almost too tired to function. The week prior I had accidentally fallen asleep during a staff meeting at work, and was getting to a point where I could barely make it through the day. I was frequently forgetting to do things and getting really upset really easily. Friday night I had passed on going out, choosing instead to sit by myself on Emily’s couch, while she was on a date, eating an entire block of Parmesan cheese and falling asleep while watching TV. Things were a little bizarre. I thought my workload and the season were just getting to me. 

I stayed in bed for a while that Monday morning and debated calling in sick. I remembered the big projects I was trying to complete at work and knew I needed to go in, like it or not. I spent the day frantically trying to complete the holiday related projects being thrown at me left and right, taking a break only to take Emily to the airport midday. I made it through the day and ended up staying until about 8pm. For the last half-hour I was there, I sat at my computer, reading my new obsession: parenting blogs. My co-worker had sent me an email with some links of blogs to check out after I professed my love of everything in the “parenting humor” niche to him at our holiday party a week and a half earlier. How convenient and hilarious of me.

Sometimes, you know something deep down, but it is so deeply buried that you can go about your life pretending like it’s not there. I had known I was pregnant, I think, since the week it happened, truly, probably even the night it happened. But I still went about my life, acting like everything was okay, and not taking care of myself at all. I was sick, I was tired, I was miserable. And things were about to get a lot worse.

Sitting at my computer that night, the idea suddenly popped in my head that perhaps I should take a pregnancy test. My almost week late period suddenly seemed like a big, glaring, obvious sign, and a sudden sense of urgency took over. I left work and instead of going home, I drove to Vancouver to my mom’s house, stopping at Walgreen’s to pick up a pregnancy test. (Why did I go to Vancouver? Good question.) The girl behind the counter said to me, “If you don’t mind me asking, do you want to be pregnant?” I didn’t mind. I answered, “No. Very much no.”

I arrived at my mom’s house and took the test. Positive. Two pink lines. Just like that. Everything was over for me. I stuck the positive test into my purse, and walked to my mom’s bedroom. I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t know what to say. “Are you bringing the champagne for Christmas Eve?” she asked me. I just smiled and said yes, and then wandered back to the great room to get on the computer and stare blankly at the screen. I got a text on my phone from Emily. “I arrived safely!” it said. I wrote back, “Awesome. I am pregnant.” She was the first one to get the news.

I couldn’t talk to Emily in any form besides text, since she wasn’t getting very good cell reception in Iowa, so I called Chantelle, Eva and Eryn, and ended up staying up too late over at Eva’s apartment, talking with her about WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO DO. I woke up in the morning and scheduled an abortion, and went over to the father’s house that night. I proceeded to tell him, some boy I had known for one month and two days, that I was pregnant, that I wasn’t planning on keeping it and that I didn’t expect to ever see or hear from him again. I went to sleep that night and dreamt about Holland, and I dreamt about her the next night too. Thursday night I came home from work and picked up the magazine my Catholic university sends out to alumni every month, opening it right to an article written about what happens to babies who die before they are born. Things I did the next day include, but are not limited to: buying a book on pregnancy, telling my mom, buying pre-natal vitamins, stopping drinking and smoking, and, of course, calling the Lovejoy Clinic to inform them that I wouldn’t be needing that appointment after all.

Holland’s Arrival, Part Three: Thursday

Thursday, August 28th: Around five AM Nurse Jen came in to take my vitals. Envisioning myself stuck in bed for the next week or so, I asked her if I could possibly have a fresh gown and maybe brush my teeth and hair. I also threw up a couple more times (Dignity, Dignity, where oh where have you gone?). She kindly helped me freshen up, and then said it was time for the dreaded check of the stubborn cervix. I braced myself for the worst (”one and three quarters dilated! Maybe you will have a baby sometime before Halloween!”) and was thrown completely off guard when she announced “Five centimeters!” Holy crap, are you serious? Her pitocin magic tricks must have worked, because all of a sudden, my body was cooperating. I asked her how long she thought it would be before Holland was born, and she said that generally it takes about an hour per centimeter, and then to expect about two or three hours of pushing. That put Holland’s ETA somewhere around 1pm. I rounded up to 2pm for good measure.

Unfortunately, Nurse Jen’s shift was about over, and it was time for my day nurse to come aboard the labor ship. Around that time Emily woke up and I shared the good news with her. After she left for work I called my mother, who was just waking up. I told her that there would be a baby today after all, but not to hurry because it wouldn’t be until later in the afternoon. This was around 7:15am. Nurse Debi came by to introduce herself and see if I needed anything. I mentioned that I might be feeling contractions through my epidural, and she said it might be running low again, and to let her know if it got painful.  It didn’t hurt, so I didn’t really give it another thought.  A little later Jen (Friend Jen, not Nurse Jen) came by to visit before work. While she was there I kept feeling the same something through my epidural. Still nothing painful, just pressure.  Soon Jen had to leave for work, and I sat in my room, watching the Today Show, happily and nervously anticipating the day’s events. I started to wonder about the contractions I was feeling. They were a lot lower than the ones from the day before. Was I feeling the urge to push? I convinced myself that I was just overly-eager about having the baby, and that it was highly unlikely that I was anywhere near ready to push. So I ignored the feeling (the feeling that was coming stronger and stronger, every few minutes) and continued to watch the Today Show.

About an hour of this passed, and then a doctor came in. I knew that my doctor wouldn’t be available to deliver my baby that day, he had explained to me the day before that he couldn’t be there because of a scheduling conflict, but one of his partners would be. The woman taking his place was very sweet and friendly, and I decided I liked her. I told her about the feeling I was having, and she suggested that she take a look and see what was going on. The next words out of her mouth were “Oh! Your baby’s head is RIGHT there! I need to go change!” She looked around the empty room next and asked me if anyone was supposed to be there with me. I told her my mom was on her way, but that I wasn’t sure where she was. The doctor told me that we didn’t have time to wait, but she would change as slowly as possible to give my mom time. She then exited the room, crossing paths with my mom on her way out (phew!).

And THEN, it was ACTION TIME. The bright lights came on, my nurse and the baby nurse came in, the lower half of the bed disappeared from beneath me, the stirrups came up, and the doctor and all her doctor tools arrived. I remember feeling really nauseous and shaking a lot (My mom: “You are cold, you need a blanket.” Me: I am not cold, I am just shaking.” My mom: You are cold, I’ll get you a blanket.”), but feeling really excited and not scared at all. Again, god bless the epidural. At around 9:40 I started pushing. My thoughts during that time included being amazed it didn’t hurt, thinking that if my mom took any unattractive pictures of me I would kill her, and marveling at how skinny my legs looked up in the stirrups. The nurse and doctor kept telling me “good job! we can see her head!” and I didn’t believe them, because it was too easy. Then all of a sudden, at exactly 10:18am, less than 40 minutes from when we started pushing, there was CRYING, and a BABY, and my mom’s exact words were “Alexia! She is beautiful! She doesn’t look like you! She is so beautiful! She doesn’t look like you at all!” They put her on my chest and put a warm blanket over us. Boom. Just like that. Holland got really quiet right away, and just stared at me with her huge eyes. I was in complete shock, like I was watching this happen to someone else. They turned off my epidural and doctor finished up down below, stitching me up and all that fun stuff. There was a lot of other activity going on around me that I don’t remember, I was in such a daze. One thing I do remember is how excited I was to get THREE beautiful, magical ibuprofen (forbidden while pregnant, and my personal painkiller of choice), three packets of delicious saltines, and a glass of ice water (and NOT throwing up afterwards!).

The next few hours saw Holland’s first bath, the beginning of the flurry of visitors our room would see over the next two days, the stress of learning to breastfeed, and a lot of staring at my amazing, beautiful baby. I spent the rest of the day showing off Holland, calling/texting/IMing/emailing people and trying to rest. I stayed up until 3AM that night, watching my baby, making sure that she was still breathing, afraid that if I went to sleep she wouldn’t be there when I woke up. Two and a half weeks later, I am happy to report that she is still amazing, still beautiful and still here (and I still wake up every night just to check).

My mother clearly ignored the no unattractive pictures rule. This is me seeing Holland for the first time. We both look pretty worn out.

MY FIRST MEAL! Sooo excited. I ate this and also had my mom bring me up another meal from the cafeteria.

Super Relaxed Baby Holland after her first bath. This is when we first discovered her love of getting her hair washed.

We both look a little more pulled together in this picture. An hour or so after her birth.

Holland’s Arrival, Part Two: Wednesday

Wednesday, August 27th: Day two. In my mind this day goes on forever. There were close to no pictures taken (a good sign that things were not going well) and my memory is a bit hazy because of the various traumas and medications I experienced. In any case, here it is.

We were woken at 6am after less than three hours of sleep by a nurse who brought me some toast and informed me she would be inserting my IV. I have never had an IV before, and I have had my blood drawn only once before. Needles really scare me. A lot. I was so nervous about the IV being inserted that my stomach started to hurt, so I couldn’t eat my toast (something I would regret hours later when I wasn’t able to eat and 24 hours had passed since my last meal). First the nurse gave me a shot in my left forearm, to numb the area she would be poking with the needle. She then attempted, no less than six times, to insert the IV into several different veins. She gave up and sent in another nurse, who inserted the IV on my other arm on the first try. I had an IV because I tested positive for beta strep, and needed antibiotics during labor to keep from passing it to the baby. (Science Class Time: Beta Strep is a naturally-occurring bacteria carried by about 25% of women. It is harmless to us but can be passed on to the baby, causing inflammation of the lungs or spinal cord, and even meningitis. Eek!) Emily left for work around that time, and about an hour later my mom arrived. I had been napping, waking up when she walked through the door, and almost immediately throwing up. I have no idea why. The nurse started me on some anti-nausea meds in my IV after that. The morning was uneventful. My contractions were inconsistent, I was exhausted, etc. Nothing was really happening.

My doctor arrived around lunchtime to break my water. Everyone assured me it wouldn’t hurt a bit. Guess what? IT HURT A LOT. A whole fucking lot. Not to mention being gross and messy for hours afterwards. Ew. My mom jokingly made the comment around this time that if I was still only a centimeter dilated that she would be taking me home. So when my doctor checked my cervix and told us that I was 1.5 centimeters, we decided that the half centimeter was probably added for our benefit. We hoped that things would start to move along faster now that my water was broken, and at first they seemed to. My contractions started really hurting, which we took as a positive sign. I walked around the hospital a little, sat on the exercise ball. Unfortunately, moving around was tough because of the IV, and sitting in bed is not really a fun place to be when you are having contractions. By about 5:30pm, I’d had enough and asked for an epidural. I think this was right around the time Emily got off work and rejoined us in the Birthing Suite of Fun.  I got some Fentanyl in my IV to tide me over while we were waiting for the anesthesiologist. It didn’t do much for the pain but put me in a waaaaaay better mood. Around 6pm the lovely and beautiful anesthesiologist arrived. I was pretty freaked out about the idea of the epidural. I kept replaying the conversation I’d had with Chantelle a few days prior about her epidural experience to calm myself down (she said she was really scared about it too, but couldn’t even feel it when they put it in.) I think the narcotics they had given me in the previous hour probably helped me deal with it a little better. It was mostly the IDEA of what was going to happen that was scary, more than what I actually physically  felt (that held true for a lot of my experiences that day). I got three shots in my spine to numb the area (I only felt the first one) and then she inserted the epidural. I felt nothing. And then, when she was done,  I REALLY felt nothing. It was amazing. I finally got to rest for the first time in so many hours. The bed suddenly felt so much more comfortable, and I was no longer snapping at my mother. They gave me a catheter right after the epidural, which is icky, but I don’t really remember what it was like. I definitely didn’t feel anything. 

I have very little memory of the hours that followed. I know Emily called and texted a lot of people who were wanting updates. I remember checking my facebook and myspace accounts and having a lot of “OMG you must have had the baby by now!” messages from people, which made me feel like a huge disappointment. I was starving, and of course, not allowed to eat. My nurse brought me a popsicle. I ate a quarter of it and then threw up. Awesome. Sometime that night someone checked my cervix (I can’t remember if it was my nurse or my doctor. It could have been the lady who emptied the trash for all I know). I was not any more dilated than I had been that morning. I was very sad. Since my water had been broken, there was a pretty strict period of time that the baby needed to be born in before we started risking infection. I thought for sure I was going to need a C-section, as contractions were getting me absolutely nowhere. I told my mom to go home and get some rest since clearly, there would be no baby tonight. I told Emily the same thing but she decided to stay. At some point Alana came by to visit, bringing magazines. I was so out of it, I don’t even remember talking to her. That night my lovely nurse Jen, whom I loved, consulted with my doctor and then decided to turn off my pitocin and start over again. She made it her personal goal in life to help me avoid a C-section, and told me so. My doctor came by to give me a pep talk (your cervix looks MUCH better today than it did yesterday! You are still only 1.5cm dilated but it is such a more attractive 1.5 centimeters!) Around 10pm, I fell asleep.  I was woken up a few times that night by Nurse Jen, who had to flip me from one side to the other when Holland’s heart rate started to fall, or when she needed to take my blood pressure and temperature, or when my epidural medicine ran low and needed to be replenished. I was so out of it I barely even remember these interactions. I do remember throwing up a couple more times, caused by drinking some water. My legs were so numb I couldn’t even feel them. It was bizarre. I  had dreams (nightmares) the whole night of being stuck in the hospital permanently, unable to move or get out of bed. I was 100 percent convinced that the next day I would be getting a C-section, and had very little hope left at that point of things going the way I wanted them to.

The only picture taken that day. Right after I got hooked up to the IV earlier that morning. Notice the uneaten toast.

Next time: Thursday, August 28th

Holland’s Arrival, Part One: Tuesday

Twelve days later, I finally feel like I have the energy to attempt writing this all out. It’s going to be long, as the process leading up to Holland’s birth was a hellish, neverending experience, so I am breaking it up by day. Here goes.

Tuesday, August 26th:  Two weeks ago today. I was supposed to check into the hospital to get induced at 8pm. Getting induced was not my ideal birth scenario (oh, how my hippie la la Birthing From Within class would be shaking their heads at me right now) but I decided to for a variety of reasons, including my doctor thought it was a good idea and HEY! I WAS REALLY TIRED OF BEING PREGNANT. The biggest reason had to do with insurance things I won’t get into. Basically, I needed to not be pregnant in September, and the way things were going, it was looking like I might be. So. Procrastination being my middle name and all, I still had quite a bit to do on Tuesday before I could go to the hospital. I worked my ass off all day, getting my room ready, packing, etc. I think all of the physical exertion of the day (definitely not part of my normal pregnant routine) may have had a hand in the contractions I started having at 6pm. I was soooo excited, finishing up everything and getting ready to take a shower, when the hospital called and CANCELED my induction. UGHHHHHHHHHHH. I was so upset, as my previous blog post states. In truth, they were only postponing it, but all I heard was CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL!  I thought for sure they wouldn’t be able to get me in later in the night or in the morning like they said. I thought now I really was going to be pregnant forever. FOREVER. Blame the dramatics on being nine months pregnant. I texted my brother and told him to bring home ice cream, got in bed and started watching the democratic convention. Watching Hilary’s speech actually cheered me up (yay, go democrats!) and I started feeling a little better. Then, at around 9pm, the hospital called. I could check in at midnight! Yay!

At 11:30pm, my mom and I drove out to NW Portland, parked and found our way to Labor & Delivery. Emily met us there. My room was really nice. Huge, with a pull out bed and a flat screen tv and wireless and all the other amenities one needs while birthing. My doctor came in to say hi and let me know some good/bad news. Since I was having contractions on my own, they wouldn’t be able to induce me like planned. They had wanted to use something called miso (???? I am assuming it is different than the soup. Or maybe not? Induction Through Soy?) to get my stubborn cervix going, and then start pitocin in the morning if necessary. Since I was having contractions on my own, they couldn’t do the miso anymore. So the plan changed to me going to sleep and seeing where we were at in the morning. Hopefully in labor! Oh, how naive we were. My mom stayed while they got me all hooked up to the monitors, and then took off to go home and get some sleep. Emily and I chatted for a while, too excited to sleep. A nurse brought me a couple Ambien and told me to get some rest. I took the Ambien, hesitantly, since prescription medicine tends to make me act really  loopy. However, I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep otherwise. About an hour after taking it, I got up to go into the bathroom. I could feel myself talking and moving a lot slower. I looked in the mirror, and my face looked different. I called Emily into the bathroom and asked her if the mirror was magnified. She told me it was not. I told her that my face was moving, and looked like a drawing of my face, not my real face. I also informed her that my nose was moving and my eyebrows were growing. She took a picture of me to show me in the morning that none of these things were actually happening. After that I stopped fighting it and went to bed, thinking we would meet Holland in just a few short hours! It was about 3:30am, and I had no idea what I was in for the following day, the day Holland refused to be born.

 
This is just the beginning. Thank god for wireless internet.

I would come to despise those monitors.

My nose is moving! And my eyebrows are growing! Aaaah! A portrait of Ambien-induced hallucinations.

Next time: Wednesday, August 27th.

Update…

At the hospital, having contractions all on my own! Wooo. (Rage has subsided.)

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.

I am 40+ weeks pregnant. I am no longer required to be productive.

Back when I was in my final weeks of work and freaking out about how much stuff I had left to do both at work in my personal life, I kept a to-do list. A very long to-do list. I kept telling everyone that the last thing on my to-do list was to have a baby, and once I completed everything on my list that came before that, I would be able to relax. I am happy to report that I have actually completed about 95% of the tasks on the to-do list, and have moved almost completely into Relax Before Baby Arrives Mode. In case anyone was worried, here is proof that I am really, truly taking it easy:

How I spent my LAST babyless weekend:

SATURDAY:

8am: Wake up.

9am: Meet Jen for breakfast at Gravy. Eat a lot and gossip a lot. Things we are best at. Besides G-Chatting.

10:30am: Go by my Portland house to pick up some stuff I still have there (prompting a call from Aaron later, worried that someone broke in since I locked the deadbolt, something he never does. Yes, someone broke in and stole all the pink candles and pregnancy books, and then decided the house wasn’t secure enough.)

11am: Home Depot. Tracked down tiny pegs to hang shelves that we MUST hang in cabinets before Holland arrives. Decided Home Depot employees are incompetent and that place is hell on earth. Found pegs myself. Am exhausted from effort.

11:30am: Arrive back at home. Change back into default outfit of maternity leave (boxer shorts, tank top and my green robe. I am officially the weird pregnant cat lady of my neighborhood).

11:35: See what the cats are doing.

11:45am: Fall asleep.

5pm: Wake up. 

5:15pm: Call Emily, from whom I had four texts and four missed calls of the OMG ARE YOU HAVING THE BABY variety.

5:30: See what the cats are doing.

5:45: Emily arrives.

6pm: Joe comes home from Sauvie’s Island. Entertains us. Goes to bed.

6:30pm: Emily and I install my car seat base. We are successful. Or rather, she is. I watch. We decide I am a soccer mom.

7pm: Emily and I pack my hospital bag and pick out Holland’s going home and picture outfits. Squeal. Fold baby socks.

8pm to 10pm: Lay around the house, read. See what cats are doing.

10pm: Joe still isn’t awake, and thus, cannot cook us dinner. Mom and I eat warmed up leftover taco meat with cheese on top with chips.

11pm: Go to safeway for ice cream. Spend 10 minutes in the magazine aisle reading fitness magazines while holding a quart of double chocolate brownie ice cream, hot fudge and caramel topping. Decide even I can’t bring myself to purchase that combo, and leave the magazines behind.

SUNDAY:

Midnight: Joe wakes up, leaves to watch olympic basketball with his friends. Emma wakes up Mom and me. We entertain ourselves by looking at all my old pictures on my Flickr account, watching Fresh Prince reruns and spying on the cats.

3am: Finally start to fall asleep again. Joe comes home, wakes up me, Mom and all the animals.

4am: Mom makes us macaroni and cheese with kosher hot dogs. I tell Joe that I used his iTunes to download a Jonas Brothers song, to which he replies “MOM! Alexia used my password to buy a Jonas Brother’s song on my iTunes! Now someday when I try to buy a house my credit will be ruined!”

4:30am: See what the cats are doing.

4:45am: Go to bed.

8am: Wake up. Promptly go back to bed.

2pm: Wake up again. Take inventory of house. Everyone else is asleep. Even the cats.

2:30pm: Go to Burger King. Eat. Wonder how I could have forgotten how amazing Burger King is.

3pm: See what cats are doing.

3:30pm: Write blog.

4pm: My mom just woke up and said something about how we have stuff to do before Holland arrives. I am going back to bed. Right after I see what the cats are doing.

How I spent my afternoon

Also known as, a serious dose of reality. Holy crap!!! Chantelle’s not pregnant anymore and soon I won’t be either!!! I need to get ready!