Halloween Party

One of The Banker's many charities hosted a Halloween party tonight. As it turns out, they don't make costumes for pregnant ladies. The outfits at the store consisted of naughty nurses, slutty cats, naughty nymphs, and so on. Since I won't be showing my midriff this year, nor will I be tempting trick-or-treaters with a glimpse of my behind, I had to improvise. So this was my costume:



The get-up was a huge success, with many of the 2,200 party goers exclaiming how much they enjoyed it. Complete strangers asked to take my photo, and one drunken co-ed ran up and excitedly rubbed my belly and yelled how cute I was--much to my shock--before racing off.

A drawback? After hours of wearing the green mud mask, my skin has the slightest tinge of green in some areas. Just in time for the little trick-or-treaters!

Some icky business

When I was in college and working at the local paper, one of the crappy jobs I had was to write obituaries. It was really awful stuff, something that made me feel uncomfortable, sad, and depressed. Even today, I hate reading the obit section and rarely do so. So it was with some trepidation that I logged on to have my own obit written for me. And here's what I got:

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Sick and tired

White spots on the back of the throat. Throbbing sinuses. Snotty nose. Sheer exhaustion. I was all ready to post about our level II sonogram complete with baby sitting cross-legged (seems he/she wants his/her gender to remain a mystery as well!), but now have no energy to do so. And there's so little I can take to run the infection out of my body. I pray this little bit of misery is over soon!

Where I've been...

I know! It's pathetic. I missed my blog-aversary post, my birthday post, and I've been uselessly quiet for awhile. So where've I been?

I've been to the doctor after a scare and was rewarded with the most detailed sonogram pictures to date: a living, beating soul within. Bent legs and a thumb aimed right to a tiny mouth. And the jarring, wonderful realization that there's a baby in there.

I enjoyed a quiet birthday, though subdued may be a better description. Such a different type of year and such a different type of celebration! And I wasn't in denial about my age change this year. I feel older.

I organized and hosted a neighborhood block party. When The Banker and I first moved into our neighborhood four years ago (before leaving within months for Chicago), a lovely older woman had a breakfast to introduce us to our neighbors. The dear woman has since moved on, so no one really had marked the coming of new faces to the block. Deciding to change that, I gathered a dozen or so neighbors for a fun potluck. By all accounts, I think it was a success.

And amidst this busyness, I've been trying not to feel overwhelmed by my options. Will I be able to work part-time for my company, or will I have to find an alternative work schedule somewhere else? What classes will I need to cram into my third trimester? And where to begin with all the choices in car seats, cribs, and strollers? To birth naturally or succumb to the allure of pain management?

I've been thinking about how nice a vacation would be, even though it's only been a month since we returned from England. There just doesn't seem to be enough time or energy to tackle all these issues.

The romance of pregnancy

With just days to go before my birthday, I felt the oddest sensation--much like a marble rolling just slightly back and forth for a mere second or two at the lowest point of my bulging belly. Now the question remains: Was it the baby moving or gas?

Sigh. Pregnancy is really sexy, huh? ;-)

Sad, but true

I've never before understood when people would sigh and sheepishly say, "I totally forgot it was my birthday." I mean, as a kid, you knew the months, days, and hours until your big day--the one spot out of the year where things truly revolved around you. You'd hinted at all the presents you wanted, decided on a party and guests, and even specified what kind of cake would be adorned with candles.

But as you got older, the celebration changed a bit. Fewer cartoon characters and more beverages. And yes, no party favors, unless it was one helluva hangover. But nonetheless, you were well aware of your birthday's place in the calendar, and festivities were appropriately planned.

Somehow this year was different. When The Banker mentioned my birthday next week I was caught off guard. I'd actually forgotten. How did this happen? It seems life has been so hectic, that the dates have slipped by unnoticed. Instead I'm focusing on things farther out. There's the Oct. 10th date--the date of my next big sonogram. And I'm waiting, desperately waiting, for the first movement I can feel. Now THAT would be a birthday gift! And of course, the can't-get-here-too-soon date that is March 10, or thereabouts, when the little one makes his or her big entrance. (Yeah, we've opted for surprise over painting the room blue or pink.)

By comparison, when people ask for gift ideas, the list is pathetically limited. No clothes. What fun is that when your frame is ever-expanding (too much for my mere four months, if you listen to my mom, who tells anyone who cares to listen)? No fun night out with drinks and friends. No energy and obviously, no drinking. Books are always a good choice, but few find that exciting. And the house needs work: a new dishwasher, oven and range, countertops. But that's a bit much to ask.

I guess part of me misses the excitement that birthdays held when I was younger. But I suppose my future is more about making sure that birthdays and holidays are memorable for a new generation. And that's not so bad. Although a drink sure would be nice. =o)

This and that

So where exactly did my vacation calm go? Yep, that holiday buzz has been replaced with the frantic pace of life. So where to begin?

Well, for starters Sister #1 and her husband made good on their pipedream of leaving town and abruptly did so yesterday. My sister quit her hotel job, her husband his teaching gig, and within the week the house was filled with boxes and general panic. I'm thrilled for them both--the two years The Banker and I spent out of town were wonderful, full of adventure and self-discovery--but we're sad to see them go. They were great fun to spend time with and it leaves me as the sole remaining daughter in town. What a loaded position that is!

Also, I began doing some digging at work into maternity benefits...and alternative work schedules. The Banker and I'd decided that after my three months of leave, I'd ideally go back part-time. Except the really big company I work for, while promising flexibility and employee-friendliness, apparently has some strict criteria for alternative work schedules. Specifically, tenure requirements I don't meet. It would help if I had a manager to go to bat for me, but my manager was just reassigned to another division and isn't due to return till I'm on leave. And the interim manager? She doesn't know me from Adam and even better, she's so close to retirement that she doesn't give a shit.

So where does that leave me? I still have a few people to talk to, in about two month's time, to determine if I really can't take on an alternative schedule. And then The Banker and I talk budgets, job options, and lifestyles. And I try to figure out what I want to do with my life. No biggie, right?

And to finish out the this-ing and that-ing, here are some more (requested) pics from our vacation...that blessed time that already seems so long ago.


Tower Bridge


Roman Baths in...appropriately enough, Bath


A view of pubs and towering castle in Scotland

Home again, home again

London was incredible. Bath, Lacock, and Stone Henge were beautiful. And Edinburgh was wet. Overall, it all was so invigorating, so refreshing, so much fun. It was really difficult to come home, though, and I begged The Banker for more time. Actually, I begged for a permanent change of address. Ever sensible, he made sure we made the flight.

But here's just some of what we saw:







I was so blown away by how rich the history was, everywhere we went. And the people were so kind, so accomodating. And even better? I felt great the entire trip. More later when I get caught up some more on my sleep, laundry, and such.

Two Days and Counting...

That's right, just two more full work days and then vacation begins! I feel like a kid at Christmastime. It can't come soon enough, and I know it will be over all-too-quickly. Few things make me out-and-out giddy, but travel is at the top of the list. (Followed by trips to zoos, amusement parks, a good adventure, furry creatures, nature walks, great wine and food, and a damn good book. Childish, huh?)

We managed to get tickets to see a Comedy of Errors at the Globe and Avenue Q while we're there. A day trip to Edinburgh and Stone Henge are also planned. Cross your fingers that all goes well--no travel headaches, stressful world events, or health issues.

I'm packing my crystalized ginger (thanks, MM!) and pray that a clear head, boundless energy, and a calm stomach accompany me on the journey. Here we go!!

Changes

There are so many changes this new, unexpected state has wrought on my body and my life in general. Today I start my 11th week, but I'm already firmly in maternity clothes. If you were passing me on the street you'd think I'd either totally let myself go, or I done got myself knocked up. My once-flat stomach is firmly, undeniably pooched. My gawd, I'm going to be a whale. After years of careful weight monitoring, watching the scale creep upward is truly difficult.

And my chest, never meager to begin with, has rocketed past the Ds into what I call the Es. For flippin' ENORMOUS. I feel like Dolly Parton, and every time a male head swivels, I feel dirty--instinctively putting my hand to my stomach as if to shield the baby's eyes from disgusting men. The Banker, not mincing words, has even taken to shaking his head. "They're huge," he sighs. "I'm not gonna lie."

And I can't even look at a piece of meat or fish without every ounce of me quivering in repulsion. Red Lobster commercials send me into fits. I want carbohydrates, thank you, and a never-ending supply. Bagels, pasta, mashed potatoes, yes, yes, and more. The organic produce I paid out the ass for? That's the sort of thing I vomit all over myself when I'm about two minutes from work, forcing a 15-minute drive home in my own spew to clean up and change.

Oh, and yes, that kick-ass trip to Peru planned for two years? That has to go by the wayside. I'm admittedly crushed. Despite my joy over our surprise, my family and friends knew what that adventure meant to me. We've promised ourselves to re-book the trip in a few years. If the travel company ever returns our funds, which is what that insurance thing was supposed to be all about.

The Banker and I did agree to take a sloppy seconds trip. We booked our tickets about two weeks ago...to London. I think the universe is laughing at me, denying my travel-starved body any sort of vacation. We’re slated to leave on Aug. 31st and are in wait-and-see mode. If there's another terrorist attack or plan uncovered, we'll eat the money and cancel. And I think I'll begin to climb the walls in frustration. That or eat a pound of mashed potatoes.

A tentative return

The Banker and I met at the doctor's today, medical records in hand, both a bit nervous. We'd reason to be. We were meeting my new doctor for the first time. And we were anxiously awaiting some answer, some sense that everything was going to be okay.

The new doctor was friendly, young, knowledgeable and very approachable. She went through the litany of precautions and concerns and admitted that it may be too early to find what we were looking for. Nevertheless, she took the electronic equipment and began circling it over my belly.

Then there it was. Finally. A rapid-fire heartbeat. 168 beats a minute. The doctor grew animated and couldn't help gushing, "So strong! This means your chance of miscarriage drops to one to two percent."

After the weeks of stress, illness, pain, and panic-inducing spotting, she gave us the hope we'd been waiting for. That this new little one may be sticking around for the long haul.

My Absence

It's been awhile, I know. I just haven't exactly known how to approach my blog given the latest set of circumstances. My life was turned upside down over the holiday weekend, and I'm spending the better part of my time accepting and trying to nurture this change. I don't yet know if it's permanent. I do know that if it is, it will forever alter my life. So I'm not ready to write about it. It's too new, too uncertain. But I'll be back, I promise. I just need a little bit of time, and if you have them to spare, some happy thoughts and prayers that all goes well.

Where things don't go according to plan...

Well...let's see. Since my Dad is in Canada fishing, he sent his most trusted colleague out to look at the house to give it a once-over before we made an offer. He thought the roof needed work, spotted mold in the basement (as did The Banker), and said that the house was shifting a bit (as does any house--but perhaps a bit more than normal for a home only 20 years old). He said he thought the house was overpriced and would need some work.

Then, The Banker pulled some comparison sales in the neighborhood as well and determined the selling price was too high. So we offered $40,000 below the asking price, no contingencies. The Banker said the owner seemed insulted at our offer (he designed the house and did much of the work himself...which explained why some of the crown moldings weren't flush, etc.).

So we're just letting our offer hang there, awkwardly twisting in the muggy air. So we'll have to see. The owner WAS asking too much. And because of how the house was situated on the property, it couldn't really be expanded, should we need more space. So the questions still linger. Isn't the house a little TOO close to the property line? Is it too small? Is there a better house out there? Or are we being too conservative in our offer? Will we regret playing hardball? The doubts have begun to creep in...

It happened!

It was accidental, a total lark. But we knew almost instantly. As soon as we were alone, The Banker turned to me and said, "We're going to do this, aren't we?" He didn't need my enthusiastic "Yes!" for an answer. I think my face said it all.

This country home sits on the side of a four-acre lot and boasts three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, a great kitchen, huge living room, and small basement. The bedrooms are large and the bathrooms amazing. The house has more curb appeal than any we've seen in our months of looking. It sits back from the road, encircled by a white fence, with a frontyard full of trees. The back of the house has a small cedar deck and a pool (vinyl but inground. The jury is out on this selling point because pools can be dangerous for littles ones and dogs). The small pool is lined with bushes and plants and has a small terrace. The backyard spreads out from there, firmly fenced--but with so much green space!--leading to a small metal barn with four stalls, a corral, and then two acres of pasture land. It's so beautiful. The pasture is cut short, currently a chipping green for the owner. Needless to say, The Banker loves this ammenity!

So we're going to make an offer. The owner today insinuated there'd been several calls about the property. The Banker insists the owner is asking too much. We'll see how he responds to our number and go from there. My stomach is in knots because this thing could get yanked from beneath us. (Yes, I know, then it wasn't meant to be. But still. When has that ever made the difference?!)

And then there are the other questions. It's a long drive downtown...what about my commute? It's only 15 minutes from my parents' home, but isn't it like a different world? What will this mean to our longterm plans?

But I can't answer those questions. Instead, I keep coming back to how it felt out there last night, looking out onto the rolling green under towering clouds. I felt peace.

Remedy for a foul mood

Friday night I found my remedy for an exhausting two straight weeks of work and family demands: sushi and sake with best friends. Friday evening, still reeling from Thursday's dinner disaster, The Banker and I met our closest friends for sushi to celebrate my best friend's birthday and The Banker's. The conversation and laughter flowed as quickly as the alcohol and delicious rolls. It was just the pick up my spirit needed. It really is an amazing thing when someone knows you so thoroughly inside and out that nothing goes unsaid--even if you've said nothing at all.

Saturday night brought another of The Banker's work functions, and Sunday has been spent at various Father's Day celebrations. So while I'm not exactly ready for the beginning of another work week, I'm a little less frayed around the edges. And this week only holds a handful of obligations, which means that I can get caught up on some freelance work and maybe some reading as well. Maybe. =-)

Random musings

There are days when I'm overcome with the desire to quit. To pick up, pack lightly, and leave. To discard the obligations, responsibilities, and orders that sometimes hang very heavy on my frame. There are times I want so much to leave it all behind, to feel refreshed by new adventure and brought alive by freedom.

Last night was one of those nights. We had dinner with The Banker's family and the CFO of our city's Arch Dioceses at one of the nicest restaurants in town. It was one of those meals where people talk, tossing about huge sums, big names, and banal banter. The Banker's brother and his wife, most specifically the sister-in-law, lorded over the conversation, pulling the CFO and his wife into their web of six degrees of separation. Always adept at social climbing, last night the two were in their element. Whenever The Banker or I tried to pipe in on any subject, the sister-in-law intervened, talking louder, re-focusing the conversation, and regaining her court.

Not that I cared much to talk to these people. We had little in common. They didn't travel, didn't know anyone we knew, and really only wanted to focus on their grandchildren. Little ones was a topic the sister-in-law was keen on; she could brag about her son and share the woes of all his allergies and other maladies.

One of the few times I got a word in edgewise was terribly painful. It went as such:
CFO--"Have you read Marley and Me? It made me cry!"
Me--"I've been meaning to read it. Do you have any dogs?"
CFO--"No, I really don't have a taste for animals."

What the hell?? The wonderful food was hard to swallow, the expensive wine tasted sour. And I caught myself thinking, "Why am I doing this? Why am I here? And why do I spend so much of my precious time at miserable events such as these when all they serve to do is crush my resolve, my soul, a little bit more?"

It's times like these when I wonder what part of my genetic code, my upbringing, has ingrained the "sit there and just smile until this hell has passed" mentality. This sense of responsibility and proper decorum so chafe at the other part of me, the tiniest bit of gypsy spirit, which while kept tightly under wraps most of the time, occasionally swells up and cries out in pain. It's then the fake smiles and bullshit conversations hurt the most. It's then that I find myself so disappointed for playing into all of this, for lacking the strength to say "No," to scream "Shut the fuck up!" to shout "Who the fuck cares?!"

She nags at me, spreading discontent, questioning what happened to that other path, the one filled with a different sort of life. She prods me to pick up that passport, discard the responsibilities I pretend to enjoy, and do something, anything, different. I do want to break out of this rut, but all those other enticing options don't entail adulthood, compromise, martyrdom. And as the age 30 hovers on the horizon, and I slug it out at work and watch The Banker trying so hard to carve out his place in the business world, I think I should probably silence this little voice. Because being a gypsy is not compatible with adulthood. And this is now my life.

A WTF Wedding Weekend

So this weekend was totally bizarre. The Banker and I get into Arlington Heights on Friday in time to pick up his tuxedo, find the hotel, take a ten-minute nap, and get ready for the rehearsal. And that's where things really got messed up.

It seems the groom-to-be was in rare form on Thursday night, so intoxicated he could barely stand. And in the process of this "fun," had his wallet, full of credit cards and $1,000 cash, stolen by A STRIPPER. So he cancels all the credit cards, unbeknownst to the bride-to-be, who's at the spa with her bridesmaids. Imagine her surprise when she exits the peace and calm of a day at the spa to find that all her credit cards are denied. So she's late for the rehearsal, and tensions are understandably a little high.

The rehearsal drags on until finally we get clearance to head to the rehearsal dinner. There the bride-to-be admits to me that there is so much yet to be done--including place cards, parting gifts, various decorations, etc. So I say, "Well, since the boys are going out tonight, I'm totally at your disposal."

"WHAT?!?!"

Yep, the poor gal had no idea that the men had another night of debauchery planned, even though the groom-to-be had already had SEVEN bachelor parties, including one to VEGAS and COSTA RICA. She storms over to her beloved and they have a low and heated conversation...thanks to yours truly. The guy is entirely huffy and rude to his future wife. And I'm thinking if he were mine, I'd kill him.

So since the boys are heading out, I follow the bride-to-be back to the hotel and help hold her things while she tries to check in. With no credit cards. That bridal suite and the two shuttles needed to transport the wedding guests from the hotel to the church to the rececption and back to the hotel? Yeah, that needs to be held with a credit card. Apparently my credit card, because there are no others available.

Finally the night ends as the clock is closing in on one a.m., after having helped various bridesmaids complete all the final tasks for Saturday's wedding. The men? They were out drinking.

But for all the craziness on Friday, the wedding actually went off without a hitch. I couldn't wait to get the hell out of town on Sunday, though. The Banker and I regretted to the couple's offer of brunch in their condo, and at 6 a.m., mouth still feeling full of cotton from too much vodka, we began the drive home.

And it feels damn good to be home. And with a husband who doesn't have a gambling addiction, problems with strippers and credit cards, and a total crap attitude.

A weekend in the Windy City

In an odd twist, before we left the city The Banker was asked to be in the wedding of a colleague from the, well, bank. It struck me as particularly strange because the people I chose to stand by me at the altar were my sisters and my best friend, whom I'd known for almost a decade. The Banker had known this guy for a year and change. But heh, who am I to judge?

So we're driving up to Chicago this Friday, or the outskirts, to be exact. We'd originally planned on driving to save money; it didn't make sense to fly and then rent a car. But that was before gas became the equivalent of liquid gold.

And while I'm always up for a good meal and dancing, I have to admit that I'd rather spend the weekend in town. Between the four freelance stories I'm juggling, the need to get a Father's Day gift and a birthday gift, a general need for some downtime, coupled with the dread of the long drive and weekend of strangers, I'm kinda in a sour mood about the pending nuptials.

So I need to pull my head out of my ass a bit. I need to find something to re-energize myself with. I need the energy of a child who's just been given a shot of expresso and a new puppy. Now how can I get that bottled up?

Finally, the lies and secrets are finished

It's been a long six months of sneaking, lying, and secret pay-offs, and finally, it's finished. The Banker returned home from a long day of golfing and opened the fridge in search of a cold beer and he found it: his (very) early birthday gift.

He'd wanted this brand of watch since we married, but the price Tag was such that it wasn't a rational purchase. But last January I called the family's jeweler and asked if I could put something on layaway. I'd just received a little chunk of change in the form of a freelance payment that could begin to whittle down the price tag.

The Banker is ever-vigilant about our bank accounts, so I knew I had to fund this surprise entirely on the side. So for the last five months I've been secretly whittling. Selling old CDs and DVDs. Racing home to get the mail and fish out any freelance checks that might be waiting there. Taking every crap writing job that came my way. Squirreling away ever odd $20 that would otherwise pay for lunches and odds and ends.

And I've felt bad about being so deceitful. Our thorough screwing by Uncle Sam came after I'd put the watch on layaway, so despite the fact we needed my extra funds, I had to forge ahead. But it was all worth it. The Banker is thrilled beyond words and proudly wearing his new bit of bling. And now those extra checks can begin to go toward our upcoming trip. And I can quit being so sneaky.

Maybe.

Day Off

I took today off so I could sleep in a bit, work on some freelance, and get a pedicure and my hair "did" with the sisters for tonight's gala event. (And maybe head to the chiropractors. Curse you, lowerback!)

Yup, tonight is one of my favorite charity events: Jazzoo. A creative blacktie, everyone decends upon the local zoo to mill about the hundreds of tents filled with offerings from the city's best restaurants. Three stages beckon with a variety of bands and the night will, hopefully, be clear, late, and a great amount of fun. The girls and I are having feathers put in our up-dos, since birds of a feather...