I've never had a bracelet tell me I'm lazy before.

A few weeks ago I buckled in and bought the Fibit. Essentially, a wrist/wearable pedometer that goes the extra mile. Pun intended. Basically, I wear it and it tracks all the things: steps, distance, calories burned, "very active" minutes and sleep.

I wanted to wear it for a week without really changing my normal behavior to see what a true lazy ass I really am. Spoiler alert: turns out I don't move enough. You're supposed to get around 10K steps a day...I hit maybe half that. My "very active" minutes were pretty much a joke and we won't really discuss my sleeping habits around here. (That, I do plenty of.)

I'm a REAL glutton for punishment, so I also recently decided to add Weight Watchers to the list of things that make me want to fling myself off a bridge. See also: Barre classes, sit ups, running, and drinking more water/less pop.

So far (two weeks "all in"), I'm down about 5 lbs. and I haven't had any urges to a) eat my arm; 2) throw the scale out the window; or c) cry. This blog post basically serves as my therapy session to not participate in the above actions. And also to keep me from walking to the breakroom for a Snickers bar.

Keep typing...keep typing...keep typ

Send wine, Tylenol PM and Spanx.

"A change will do you good," they say.

"They" can suck it.

So I went back to work last week, but what I failed to mention is that I came back to a new job. Same company, new boss, new department. All good stuff, but my brain is nowhere near capacity to hold in everything I need to learn and do, as it's been mostly turned off for the better part of 4 months. Sometimes it hurts to think.

I've also gotten real sick and tired of my current state of health and wellness, so I've started eating better and working out (see also: Barre classes). This means I cannot stress eat and consume all the wines and cheeses while I whine about work, life, sore muscles and moderate to severe starvation. Ugh.

In related complaints, it's still winter. Still snowing. Still cold. And the kicker is that I'm usually a lover of winter, but at the moment I would do very unsavory things to click my heels and be on a beach in 2.5 seconds. Sigh. Spring, come quickly!

And if all of that weren't enough, we did this last night:

NOPE.

Kindergarten roundup for Alex. I'll give you one sec to digest the fact that that sign reads "Class of 2027," and then you can join me over here in the corner ugly crying about it. I know he's ready. I know it's time. I know he'll be awesome. It's just SUCH a milestone, you know?

And yet, one unrelated bright and shining star throughout all of these moderately overwhelming life situations has been the discovery of REVERSIBLE tights (black/grey and black/brown) that are also Spanx. THEY EXIST. For the record, they are only $18 at Target but the online product link is broken. You're welcome.

Hump Day, Bump Day!

bV is the size of a honeydew! 
She's still in the 17.2- to 18.7-inch and 4.2- to 5.8-pound range and continues to beef up.

bV at 36 weeks:
- She's getting closer and closer to being able to breathe on her own.
- Her skin is getting smooth and soft and her gums are rigid.
- Her liver and kidneys are in working order.
- Circulation and immune systems are basically good to go, too.
via thebump.com

Remember back when it seemed like Jessica Simpson was pregnant for 14,563.92 years? Yeah. I get it. So today you get her terribly unflattering picture instead of mine. Partially because I forgot to take mine, and mostly because I'm too lazy to do it now. Enjoy & you're welcome.

Also, today I made a hair appointment for October 8, knowing full well that I will be there. But secretly, I'm hoping not to be. I know with a scheduled C-Section that I'll just want everything to go delightfully & uneventfully according to plan, but I'm sooooooooo very, very over this whole thing that a part of me also hopes maybe she'll come early.

And in "I'm not totally sucking at this parenting thing" news, last night we asked Alex what the "best part" of Harper would be, and he told us her "smart brain." Turns out he's listening, after all.

Still pregnant.

You know, in case you were wondering. Because apparently, EVERYONE ELSE is.

#feelslikeit

Hump Day, Bump Day!

bV is the size of a coconut! 
She's about 17.2 to 18.7 inches. From here on out, she won't get much longer, but she's plumping up. She's now about 4.2 to 5.8 pounds, and she'll put on a pound or more of baby fat before birth.

bV at 35 weeks 
- Now, her hearing is fully developed, and she responds best to high-pitched noises.
- If it's a boy, his testes have probably fully descended.
via thebump.com

I find it odd that last week she was compared to a butternut squash and this week it's a coconut. I mean, isn't that a little backward in terms of both size and weight? Ahhh, well. Regardless she's growing and getting fruitier by the day.

I'm down to just 16 days of work left, which only gives me moderate panic attacks every 6-7 minutes. As much as I'm over being pregnant, I genuinely hope that Harper waits until her scheduled date to arrive. I had a week off planned before Alex (like I have with Harper) and Alex decided to come on that first day off - Monday. Even if Harper decides to give me just a few days to relax and enjoy my last days as a Momma of 1, I would be ever so appreciative.

Physically, I'm over it. I waddle better than Donald Duck himself and my pelvic area feels like a war zone with every step I take. So, you know, overall enjoyment. "Pregnancy is a real dream!" ...said no one, ever.

See also: ONE MONTH EXACTLY until little girl makes her arrival.

Pregnancy ain't pretty.

I'm sure if I sat here long enough I could come up with a laundry list of reasons why pregnancy is the most beautiful thing the galaxy. But in the here and now (see also: 31 weeks), the single good thing I can think of about pregnancy is the outcome itself. And even that can be questionable (see also: when your 4 year old learns that boogers and farts are funny).

And so, because I don't think I've done nearly enough complaining around here lately to keep you properly entertained, I give you my current top 5 list of things about pregnancy that can take a long walk off a short bridge. In no particular order, since I hate them all equally:

1. Leg cramps. Dear GOD the leg cramps. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night fearing my actual leg is being hacked off at the knee. And I eat my fair share of bananas, yo.
2. Pee. I'm not quite sure how pregnancy plumbing works, but I know it's real different from not-pregnant plumbing. All I do is pee. All the times. Peeing. Every minute. Of every day.
3. Pelvic stompings. With each and every step I take (which is a lot...please see #2) Harper knocks on my pelvis as if to ask, "May I come out yet?" I tell her YES every damn time, but allegedly she's playing a mean game of "ring and run" on me. Not cool, Harper. Not cool.
4. Food in general. Five minutes ago I wanted a granola bar. Now? I'm pretty sure granola is the worst idea, ever. This is the story of mealtime for me, 3 times a day, 7 days a week.
5. Clothes. Every single piece of maternity clothing ever made can go straight to hell as far as I'm concerned. The pants? Don't stay up. The shirts? Annoyingly too short or too boobalicious or too full of ridiculous bows or frill. The dresses? Miu mius, the lot of 'em.

I could probably take this list up to 100, but we'll keep it at 5 today so I have some more material for other posts. Ciao, gotta pee.

7 month itch.

So I'm getting to that point in pregnancy when I'm pretty much over it. Over the swelling. Over the hunger. Over the sleeplessness. Over the heartburn. Over the ninja kicks. Over. It.

And yet, there's nothing I can do to change anything about the above. But there IS something I can do about my hair. Hair and shoes. That's pretty much the only thing I have any control over as related to my person at this moment through October. And since we're all friends here we know that I'm teetering on the edge of even being able to wear shoes. Because Kim Kardashian called me and wants her feet back.

As such, I'm probably about to do something both a) drastic and 2) that I'll regret.Odds are high I will call my dear, sweet hair ninja Jenny over lunch and book myself a little appointment and I will come home as a blonde or with some terrible ombre or even worse...BANGS.

I'm on the cliff and there's no sense in talking me out of it. Because it's either that or I go out and get some maternity skinny jeans and we ALL know how that oxymoron ends.

Jenny, oh Jenny? I'm coming for you!

Hormones are a bitch, yo.

Yesterday was one of those days when Alex got a delightfully early bedtime (which he earned, let's be clear) and I retreated to the dark of my bedroom to decompress from the day and remove myself from all humankind. See also: DO NOT DISTURB. Unless you have wine. Then, please, disturb.

Alex has been especially...spirited...lately, and my energy and patience to deal with his 4 year old drama is all dried up come 6 p.m. The icing on this overcooked and dry parenting cake is that his sister has been a reeeeaaaaal dick lately herself. Pretty sure last night she had me by the ribs with her 25 week ninja deathstar grip and isn't going to let go anytime soon.

What I'm saying is I really just wanted to complain today so just keep reading along and I promise eventually I'll be back to my standard rainbows and unicorns shooting glitter out their bottom parts. Because I've got about 14 weeks left of these shenanigans and it's either I write my drama here and you suffer through it with me or I hop a plane to Cabo with nothing packed but a gross maternity swimsuit and some SPF 50 and I'll see you 'round later.

Dear makers of maternity clothing.

STOP with the bows already. Just stop.

See also: try to manufacture and stock more 12s than 2s, please. The majority of women all over the world thank you in advance.

You are cordially invited to the pants party.

Well, not really because they don't fit. Nothing does, really.

Tomorrow is 12 weeks (!!) and I've officially entered that "Today is the worst day of my life because nothing fits and I don't really look pregnant yet but I definitely look fatter so I'll just go eat some more ice cream...but wait I can't eat ice cream because the only thing that doesn't make me want to vomit is air so I'll just go to my room and sleep/cry some more" phase. It's a joyous place to be.

I wholeheartedly am 100% positive that this blog will contain 79.5% more pregnancy-related complaining than it did with Alex. Mostly because I know what's coming next but also because I legitimately look, feel and all-around am worse. Which might be optimistically glass-half-full for you people, because it guarantees some laughs in the next 6-7 months. So there's that.

Per uge, I'm happy to provide your daily entertainment whilst chronicling the events of the human growing we call pregnancy. So, you're welcome. Hump Day Bump day starts tomorrow!

29 is NOT the new 30.

Newsflash: It's 2012. The year I will turn the dirty thirty. (In related news, everyone on earth is invited to come to Mexico with us for my birthday. Had originally considered Vega$, but then I decided 30 would be much better spent in an all-inclusive resort, drunk at the swim up bar vs. getting arrested in Vega$. Stay tuned for more info on that...and friends, start saving your pennies now!)

As I continue to age gracefully, I've been noticing all these strange things happening around me. Like, for instance, my hair is REALLY getting gray. I've been gray "patchy" since I was 13 (thanks for those genes, Dad), but have mostly gotten away with using Clairol Root Touch Up every couple months or so. But now? Holy hell. I'm about 2 months from becoming Helen Mirren.

Don't see it? Allow me to zoom in for you.

That's 2 weeks of growth. TWO. I'm about to go broke buying root touch up. Should anyone from Clairol be reading this particular rant, I'm wiiiiiiiiide open for sponsorship. Allow me to be your charity case.

Please also note the forehead wrinkles. I can't even discuss those right now.

In summary: I'm considering shaving my head. Or just going all Helen Mirren on you. I think I could rock both.

Costco Etiquette.

Oh, sweet, sweet people of the internets: I realize that most of you are nice, normal people that really don't need to heed the warnings I'm about to give in this post. But for the 7% or so that I'm sure are offenders, take note.

Joe and I took our bi-monthly pilgrimage to Costco on Saturday. As usual, Alex was in tow and loving the front-row view from the cart. We had our coupons in hand and tennis shoes on foot (well, feet) and were ready to s-h-o-p. (Note: Costco trips are an event of the finest variety for the VeeDubs. We do every aisle. Every time.)

So I suppose that based on the blog title alone, you can guess that there were some real pains-in-the-asses that were in overabundance at our local Sterling Heights facility. Like, I'm talking douches of the greatest variety. Parking on the wrong side of the gas pumps. Pushing and shoving to the front of the free sample lines as if you've never eaten a day in your life. Ramming carts into small children and slow shoppers because you simply don't give a damn about other people. Dropping your empty free sample cups on the floor instead of in the trash can that is three steps away. Cutting in the checkout line when the very fine Costco employees are working so hard to maintain order. And my personal favorite, discarding your frozen pizzas somewhere in the granola aisle because you decided you simply didn't want it anymore.

It was the most frustrating 1.5 hours of my life. It was also a fantastic social experiment and a true test of my general tolerance for humankind.

Aaaaaaand, as long as we're at it, let me try to halt some of the impending comments I'm sure your fingers are ready to type. One: I know that Costco on a Saturday all but means seventy thousand locals, their children, moms, dads, uncles and Canadian relatives will also be shopping. Normally, this is fine. Two: I know that Costco's gas hoses are long FOR A REASON. I just happen to disagree with this reasoning. Three: I am a firm believer that a free sample is just that: a free sample. It is not a one-stop solution for a cost-effective Saturday luncheon for your family of seven. Four: I also know that the carts are roughly the size of a 2010 Toyota Prius. But for the love of cheese, practice a little bit of common courtesy! Pausing an extra two seconds as you turn the corner by the quesadilla sample might just save the leg of a 4-year old.

That's all for today. Tomorrow we'll have some uplifiting content around these parts. What was that? A giveaway you say? A really awesome GIVEAWAY! Sa-wheet!

Six Minutes.

All the time I have to post today, as I'm in a Photoshop training course for work. Very cool stuff, actually. Wish I'd gotten on the bandwagon sooner.

One thing to note: I like old people, really I do. I think it's cute when they hold hands in parking lots and even cuter when they sit next to each other in booths at restaurants and order off the senior menu. However, old people should NOT take advanced computer classes. Let me rephrase that so I don't sound like an old person hater with no soul. Old people that cannot see the 32" widescreen monitor in front of their faces and aren't really sure what a "mouse" is should not take advanced graphic design courses. It's just wrong. And frustrating.

In other news, my instructor looks like a beach bum displaced from the shores of Hawaii and sounds exactly like Jerry Seinfeld. Very, very hard for me to concentrate because all I see is him and Elaine on a surfboard wearing coconut bras and catching wicked waves somewhere in the Pacific.

New Day. No Drama.

I woke up on time this morning.

My Momma is at home, taking care of my healthy, happy little boy.

Joe and I arrived at work accident free.

All in all, today already looks to be 100% better than yesterday...with the exception of the phantom NAIL CLIPPER that sits somewhere in my vicinity. Seriously. No one's nails can possibly grow that fast. It's superhuman.

Where To Begin?

Ohhhh what a morning it's been. I suppose I will tell the tale from the very beginning, because that's what Julie Andrews would have me do. Buckle in kids, it's gonna be a long one.

Our morning began at about 6:45, when I woke in a frantic flurry because I had overslept the alarm and needed to be at work for a 7:30 meeting. We had worked it out the night before that Joe would drop Alex at daycare and I would pick him up at the end of the day.

As I was tornadoing around the house getting ready, Joe was being a dear and getting Alex ready for his day. You know - food, clothing and all that jazz. About the time I was applying my mascara, Joe hollered that he needed help because Alex was throwing up his bottle.

Lordhavemercy. My child was literally spewing 6 oz. of formula exorcist-style out of his lips. I've never seen anything like it.

After a quick check for fever (none) and realizing he was in very good spirts (still giggling at his 'toons and smiling like a fool), we decided he must've just had an upset tummy and carried on about our business. Five minutes later, I grabbed my cell phone, coat and computer and was out the door.

Cue the cameras to me walking into work and finally looking at my phone, only to find 2 missed calls and a text message from our daycare provider telling me she had the stomach flu and could not watch the kids today.

::facepalm::

In a tizzy, I called Joe EIGHT times, left 2 messages and sent 2 texts, hoping he would see them before he bundled Alex up and shipped him off to Daycare. Meanwhile, I went up to my desk and alerted my boss of the situation at hand. He was relatively cool about it and told me to just call into my morning meetings. And so I did - Supermom hops back in her car, managing meetings and life from the road.

Imagine my surprise upon pulling into the driveway and Joe's Jeep is nowhere in sight. Seriously? Did he not look at his phone? Uhhhm, as I very obviously demonstrated not 15 minutes earlier, this is very possible.

I put my meeting on muted speaker and sent Joe a text message: "Where are you?" I get back: "Headed to Daycare." I say, "Jane's sick. Come home. I'm here."

Fast forward 2 minutes to Joe calling me 3 times in a row. I'm still on my conference call, so I text him back, "In meeting. Can't talk." And I get back, "911."

Shiiiiiiiiiite.

I'll spare you the details moving forward, (mostly because reliving my morning is elevating my blood pressure) but to summarize, Joe got into a car accident as he was turning around to come back home. He and Alex are both fine, but the Jeep has seen better days.

I can't help but think that ALL of this could have been avoided if I just would have stupid looked at my stupid phone before I stupid left for stupid work. You can bet your sweet arse I won't be making that mistake again.

Oh, and Alex? Still spewing. My Momma's coming to nurse him back to health tonight and watch him tomorrow. Thank jebus for her.

Hi, I'm Kristi. How May I Help You Today?

Yesterday I had it o-u-t with the kind people at Target who were questioning the validity of a $7 Pampers coupon I was using.

You can already see where this is going, no?

We all know I basically live and die for coupons, and because of the incredible value of this particular one, I was not going down without a fight. I'll spare you the details of my nearly ten minute argument friendly conversation with the store manager, but at the end of the trip that $7 was fo-sheezy taken off my total. I am always right when it comes to couponing - take note, other store managers of the world that might be reading.

As if that wasn't enough, I later had a less than pleasant encounter with a nimrod of a sales associate at DSW. They didn't have the size I needed, so I asked the nearest semi-competent looking twelve year old with a nametag and walkie talkie if she could check to see if another local store had it in inventory.

She looked at me like I had asked her to recite the Gettysburg Address from memory. After twirling her hair around her pinkie finger and faking like she was actually soaking in my request, she giggled the most convincing little valley girl laugh and said, "Umm...I could, like, get you the number to another store and you can, like, call them?"

I'm sorry, what? I deadpan stared at her for 5 seconds and I'm pretty sure my nonverbals were read just fine by her peabrain. I swallowed everything I actually wanted to say and instead handed her the shoes in my hand and said as cheerfully as I could muster, "Oh, well that seems incredibly helpful. Thanks for your help, sugar." And left.

Really, I'm the loser in this situation. Little Miss Twit doesn't work on commission, and I still have to go to another DSW on my lunch hour today to seek out my shoes. I guess it was a moral victory for me...if nothing else.

Soooooooo, in honor of a weekend of shiteous customer service, I give you this:

Click here for a free sample of Pampers Cruisers with Dry Max. (You have to be a P&G Everyday Solutions member...if you're not, just sign up - it's free! And you'll have access to other great coupons, too.)

You're welcome.

Randomness.

Please forgive the pong-like nature of this post, but there seems to be so much going on in the world and this is the only way I can control my little corner of it. I give you...The Bulleted List.

• Ellen. First, her season premiere was amazing. Are you kidding me with that dance? The woman is in the 50+ club. Go, girl! Secondly, as the new judge on AI...unsure. I love me some Ellen as much as the next straight girl with a crush on Portia, but will wait to pass judgment until I see it for myself.
• Kenny Chesney. New song "I'm Alive" feat. Dave Matthews? Fabulousness. Download it now. Very chill. And I don't even like DMB...as a general rule.
• On that note (pun intended), when did Phil Stacey get a gig? I'm jamming to XM32 @ my desk and his song "You're Not Shaken" just came on. Rather Clay Aiken-esque, but overall somewhat catchy.
• Baja Fresh. What's with the brown color medium salsa? I mean, it's delicious and all...but brown? Really? That said, my lunch was muy fantastico.
• Stamps. Way too effing expensive. It will soon be cheaper to drive a 1984 Chevy El Camino across the continental United States to say "hello" in person than to send a card.
• Glee. I practially peed myself during the season premiere. Best new show of the season, hands down. I heart it.
• Mr. President. Apparently I tuned in waaaaaaay too late to proclaim an opinion on his "Back To School" message to le children. Truth be told, I rather agree with what she had to say on the topic. Preach, sista.
• Sharpie. Why can I not find the new retractable pens in any store in Metro Detroit? Rar. If you find one, buy it for me please. I will drive my El Camino to come pick it up.

Back To Work.

Today, I survived. That was about all I could do.

Dropping him off was not hard...he's in wonderful, loving hands. And quite honestly, he didn't know the difference. I, however, cried a few tears and then (as my Dad would say) "put on my big girl panties and dealt with it." A latte at Starbucks eased the pain and the next stop was corporate America.

Lord save me.

It wouldn't have been as sucky if I had been going back to my old job. Oh, did I not tell you this? During my SECOND week of maternity leave, my boss called to tell me about an "opportunity" for when I returned. (Aka..."you (and the other pregnant girl in our group) are getting fired... but we found a place for both of you in other divisions.") Yep. You read that right.

So, not only did I have to leave my precious child at day care today, I had to essentially start a new job. With a new boss. And no friends.

Today, in a word, sucked. It sucked major ass.

And now I shall go drown my sorrows in a vat of wine.

True Story.

I just popped in the 30 Day Shred with every intention of completing the 20 excruciatingly sweattastic minutes that make up Level 2, got 4 minutes into it and decided instead to just sit on the couch holding Alex. The worst part is that I kept it playing and watched for pure entertainment value. Then, instead of restarting it and actually giving it my all, I made the conscious decision to sit on my ass and blog. And Facebook. And e-mail. And otherwise do anything unrelated to exercise.

Maybe now I will go turn the treadmill on and watch the belt go 'round and 'round while I fold some laundry and snack on some poppingcorn.

I think I've reached a new all-time low.

Oh No She Didn't.

Today I went Mom2Momming with Keliann and Emily. 'Twas a 70+ table sale with no strollers allowed before 11 am. (Woot!) And how excited was I when I found THE table - perhaps even the table to end all tables? Very. The mom manning said table had (at least) a 3 carat rock on her hand and justsohappened to have all boy stuff! Polo, Tommy, you name it...she had it. And, it seemed that all the sizes were in the right season. JACKPOT!

After the M2M extravaganza (where we were all very, very successful), we grabbed lunch and continued on a quest to get me some nursing bras.

STOP READING NOW IF YOU ARE MALE AND RELATED TO ME, OR DISGUSTED BY TMI OF BOOBAGE, IN GENERAL.

I continue...

To set the stage, we were at Motherhood at Lakeside Mall. After being enthusiastically stalked by a staff of far too upbeat sales associates, we managed to sneak into a dressing room to try on the goods. I knew I wanted a sleeping bra, a few tanks and 1 "real" bra...you know, for those rare occasions where I will exit the home premises and don some non-100% cotton clothing for a social evening out on the town.

I managed to find 2 "real" bras, 1 sleeping bra and 2 tanks that I was relatively happy with. And BONUS! The sleeping bra that felt most comfortable to me just so happened to be a size SMALL. A SMALL!!! The last time I even looked at anything in a size small was...gosh, I can't even remember.

Off we trotted to the checkout, where we were once again greeted by an overwhelmingly cheerful sales associate.

No, I'm not interested in your credit card college savings program. No, I don't want to subscribe to Grandparents' Magazine. No, I'm not interested in ANY of the "free" crap you are offering me. Just freakin' ring my stuff up so I can take my non-returnable, non-refundable items that I wish were from Victoria's Secret instead of this crappy store and get the eff out of here.

After offering me everything but the kitchen sink, she finally got around to ringing up my actual purchases. Here's the part where she almost dies...

"M'am, are you sure that you want to buy the sleeping bra in the small?"

"Yes, I am sure." Why in the hell would I have put it on the counter if I wasn't?

"Well, I think you should reconsider the medium because your boobs will increase an entire cup size once your milk comes in." Gives me judging glance as if to say, "You're seriously not a small, lady."

"The small was comfortable. I will get the one I gave you, thank you."

She goes on to tell me with a smile about how awful breastfeeding is because you've got "milk squirtin' all over the place" and how "it just hurts" and she was "so glad she never had to do it again" and on and on and on and on...

Seriously lady? How did you get this job?

I could have strangled her. But I didn't.

I signed my receipt, grabbed my overpriced, non-refundable, non-returnable size SMALL bra and hightailed it on out of there.

I think in the world of friendliness, I'm really gaining ground, don't you?