Old and Pregnant

So the big announcement is exactly what you thought when you read the title.  It's official, confirmed by my doctor and I'm ready to share.

I'm old.

When did this happen?  Three months ago I wasn't old.  I was 34 and full of life.  I was wearing heels and bouncing into work.  I was staying awake past 9:30 and finishing entire Comcast on Demand movie rentals.  I was able to read in bed for longer than five minutes. I was hittin' up the clubs...all up on that Kryptonite and you could find me in the A... Okay, I haven't done some of these things since I was 29 and I had to look up Kryptonite in the urban dictionary. Kids today...whew.

Well, the news is true.  I am old and I am not happy about it.

To most people, 35 is not terribly old. 35 is the new 16 or whatever nonsense people tell you.  If 35 is indeed the new 16, then someone forgot to tell my lower back and gray hair. The truth is, that statement is crap and I only hear it from 20 year olds and it makes me wonder, "Then how old does that make you?" Truthfully, 35 is just 35.  And most would declare that 35 is not old.

It is considered old, however, in the world of say professional sports, modeling careers and, in my case, pregnancy.

AMA or Advanced Maternal Age is what they call it.   First of all, I hate the word 'maternal'...it makes me immediately think of the word 'frumpy'.  'Advanced' is only cool when someone is talking about your child's learning, and when you partner the two and throw 'age' at the end of it and it makes me want to start ordering cases of Ensure and looking at features for my Hover Round.

Better yet, and I think I proved the case for necessity when I fell down the steps at the Marriott, I need a First Alert necklace.  Only, can it ring directly into the kitchen to tell my husband to bring me up another beverage?

It also makes me feel like my doctor is shaking his head thinking, "She knew she was AMA and she went and got pregnant anyway.  Hussy!" The phrase is just so dire...when any census will show you that many many women had babies well into their 40's and were up working in the fields the next day (don't tell my husband this...I told him that AMA means 'Absolutely Must Avoid all housework for at least the next 16 months.)  To which he responded, "Well that doesn't really change anything around here then does it?"

The nerve of him saying such things to a ticking time bomb of raging hormones.  Well, okay, being AMA and all I think my hormones are doing more sauntering these days.

"So you are now considered 'Advanced Maternal Age,'" my doctor explained to me during what they called a pregnancy confirmation visit in January.  I leaned in.  "What does this all mean, Dr.?  Am I in danger of breaking a hip in delivery?  Will this be partially covered by Medicare?  Should I have the theme song to Golden Girls as my birthing music?" I grabbed his arm, "Are you going to write me a prescription for Boniva?"

I'm not sure if the Hippocratic Oath says something specific that discourages doctors from rolling their eyes at overdramatic patients, because I felt like he reeeeallly wanted to, but didn't.  Instead, he leaned in to me and said, "We'll talk about it at your next visit.  That'll be $40."

I don't think I can do 30 more weeks with a doctor who doesn't have a sense of humor. Wait a second I'm making note of this on my birth plan post-it.

RACHEL'S BIRTH PLAN POST-IT NOTE


1. EPIDURAL NOW  
2. Only funny doctors

Okay... most important stuff covered.

Well, whatever AMA it is to mean...and don't you worry, I'll share all the senior details along the way (if I can remember them), I am indeed what I like to call, Old and Pregnant.

Due in September...and our little family is excited - except no one is excited about me being 8 months pregnant in August. I said no one.

On a totally unrelated note, Andy wants to know if he can come live with you from early July to mid-September.  Think it over and get back to me later.

The Other Rachel

I must start this post with a warning.  This one is not funny.

These last few days have left me heavy hearted for two close friends.  They are both dealing with things that I can describe in no other way than to say...it's unfair.

Both are wonderful, beautiful, fantastical people.  Both are facing things that are hard, bitter and emotional.  Their specific troubles lie at opposite ends of the spectrum, but I am equally bummed about both.

Don't you just hate weeks like this?  Weeks where you just seem to get bad news after bad news about people that you love?  That is this week for me.

One of these people is a friend of mine named, Rachel.  I met Rachel at my home Church years and years ago.  I am older than her (by about 7 years I think) so there was a lot of years I knew of her, but did not know her.

She would turn out to be a kindred spirit.

I recruited her to perform in a mystery dinner theater that I had written and was going to perform at some local churches.  It took nothing to convince her to hop on board.  When it comes to writing and performing, I would learn, Rachel is an "all in" kind of person.

She helped me finish my script, we bounced ideas back and forth and I came to adore her incredible intelligence and amazing sense of humor.  She played one of the main characters to perfection.  Everyone in our rag tag cast thought/thinks a lot of her.

This week I learned that she is facing the toughest performance of her life...Non Hodgkins Lymphoma.  Oh how many times have I said to myself, "this isn't fair."  She shouldn't have to deal with hospitals and chemo treatments.  She shouldn't have to take heavy cocktails and be on a first name basis with nurses at Emory.

In my moment of anger and sorrow, oddly enough, I turned to her blog.  She has begun her journey in true Rachel fashion...fearlessly and by making us laugh.  I know in my soul that she CAN do this.  She CAN go through this journey.  I just so wish she didn't have to.

I told you in the beginning that this post would not be funny, no, for that, I'm going to let my good friend, Rachel take over.  To steal a quote from her CaringBridge site, "Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand."  ~Mark Twain

Thank you for your transparency, Rachel.  I love you so much!

Check out her blog! - Lymph to Victory

1989-1990

Those were great years.  Possibly my favorite of my childhood.

It was after make-up and before a driver’s license.  I had gained a slight advantage over my unruly hair from, say, sixth grade, and was blissfully ignorant that I was a marriage away from a flat iron. 

My biggest concern was whose mom was dropping off and whose was picking up. Okay, well it was a close second to the beginning of the school year classroom seating arrangements and what cute boy would grow to love me over the span of a semester as we worked on our science homework together and passed quippy notes.

With the help of Turtles stamps, I was growing my cd collection.

I saw every movie made during that time period. 

Dead Poet’s Society broke my heart. 

Christmas Vacation was released…it would forever define Christmas moving forward. 

Public Service Announcements were about runaways…not Crystal Meth.

C+C Music Factory was making us all sweat ‘til we bled…and we were all pretty much fine with that.

I was at the Playground…ya know…with Iesha (are you trucking with me?)

We didn’t have real problems back then…why should we?  We had just been introduced to Dylan McKay and his overalls and NKOTB was telling everyone to “Hang Tough."  I was doing my best to do that in secret as my NKOTB fandom was of the "in the closet" variety.  

Those were the years I was unashamed to be crafty…artsy even. 

Not the good crafty, mind you.  I was more like Theo’s horrific shirt made by Denise crafty.  You had to look hard if you really wanted to see my genius.  

I used to take old Keds.  I mean old Keds.  Not white anymore Keds.  Should have been thrown away six months earlier Keds. 

You get the picture.

And I would attack them armed only with puffy paint, glue on sparkle gems and a vision.

Debuting each new pair of puffy painted Keds was as exciting as opening nights would become later in my life or posting a new blog would be even later than that. 

I would debut them at school.  Most people would just stare.  Some would say things like “wow.”  One boy would inevitably ask me when the box of crayons had thrown up all over my shoes. 

Undaunted I would go home convinced that the problem was that no one “got me.” And indeed that most likely was the reason...that and the tacky multi-colored Keds I was wearing that were so bright you literally could not look away from them.

I think my most memorable creation had to do with a jean jacket that I “refurbed”.  Let me stop right their and share with you my level of obsession with jean jackets.  I loved them.  Loved everything about them.  Loved the way a pair of dangle earrings fell at the slightly turned up collar and how fantastic they looked when paired with a banana clip. I still love them.  I would like nothing more than to wake up tomorrow and learn that jean jackets and sweater skirt sets (see Can't Buy Me Love...or my 7th grade class picture) were making their comeback.  

But back to my 1989 self and jean jackets.  

Enter Teen Witch. This gem of a movie starred the original Lively sister…Robin.  I wanted to be her.  I knew a refurbished jean jacket was the way to go.

I assembled my puffy paint collection, old pins, earrings that were missing their match and anything else I could find.  I had an old jean jacket hanging in the back of my closet that I was going to work my magic on.  I went to work, spacing the earrings and pins out on the back of the jacket to perfect that “organized messy” look that would partner so well with my pre-smoothing serum frizzy hair and my hoop earrings.  I attached the earrings and pins and puffy painted some finishing touches.  I sat back and admired my work. 

I was incredibly pleased. The jacket may have been flashier than my first pair of Jams or my original orange Swatch watch with the hot pink watch guard. I could not wait for school the next day. 

The next morning, I donned my new Teen Witch inspired jacket, re-sprayed my bang wall, slipped into my puffy painted Keds, secured the Chinese jump rope that never left my wrist all four years of middle school (you never know when you might need a Chinese jump rope at a moment's notice) and started for the door.

Oh Wait.  I also put on my hot pink lipstick holder necklace with the mirror inside and the black tassel hanging from the bottom.  Can’t believe I almost forgot that. 

NOW, I was ready to go to school. 

So what was the reaction at school?  Who was the first to want a Rachel designed Teen Witch inspired jean jacket? 

Sadly, we’ll never know.  I went to get into my mom’s car to go to school and leaned back against the seat.  When I did, I gave myself the most unsanitary and painful acupuncture treatment from the high concentration of mainly post earrings I used to decorate the back of my jacket. 

My back burned in agony.  I was wounded…possibly mortally.  I strained to feel the trickles of blood that I was sure were finding their way down my back from the puncture wounds.  Spontaneous tears began to stream down my face from the pain.

So, in the end, the jacket didn’t make it to school and the incident reminded my mother that I was overdue for a Tetanus shot.

Today, I look back at those years and wonder if I am still that fearless.  I mean that fearless minus the puffy paint of course.

Just a regular old update

Right now, I'm trying to save all of my "interesting" material as I work on my submission for the Erma Bombeck writing competition.  It happens every other year and I want to take a crack at it.  I am limited to 450 words.  I have NEVER been able to convey ANY message in less than 700 words...so the challenge is two-fold for me.

I have exactly one month to write something hilarious, Erma-like and short.  I might as well have said I'd climb Everest.

So here is how our holiday went...

Samuel didn't sing one word of one song in his entire Christmas performance (he's in the red sweater in the back).  I'm not sure why I got to the school 1 hour early to reserve seats when I could have seen him look annoyed and frustrated at home on any given day. :)

He loved his visit with Santa.  And his dad's camo hat.  And Santa.  And presents.  And The Nightmare Before Christmas.  We sat down and Andy shared the Christmas story.  You know, the one about Jesus.  Samuel interrupted a few times to add a ghost and a zombie into the manger scene.  I told him to stop going totally Hollywood with a very traditional story.

Aunt Jen came over the week before Christmas to make Christmas cookies with Sam and when we came home from our date, we found that he had talked her into making zombie cookies.  Excellent.  The spirit of Christmas is alive in this little one (or undead, as the case may be).  This is a cute pic of them on Christmas eve.

On Christmas morning, he completely forgot what he was supposed to be excited about. I asked him what day it was and he told me it was Saturday.  Then I asked him who came to the house while he was sleeping and he said "Nanny Cooke?".

No, Samuel.  Nanny Cooke did not come by last night while you were asleep.  AS you would say to me "I think that's kind of weird."

He finally got it.  As seen here.

He was very excited to get a minion.  Funny, I thought that's what we were to him.

Despite his unnatural affinity for all things undead, this little boy gets sweeter and sweeter everyday.  He is a joy in ways I could have never imagined and, like all parents, Andy and I stay amazed at him.  I had such a great time with him over the holidays and we were both sad to go back to the normal day-to-day of work and school.

Finally, my Christmas present to myself.  A writer's nook.  It's really hard to get a good picture of it but I love the space and I finally have my own little corner to be creative.  

In addition to the amazing holiday we had, my parents celebrated their 40th anniversary by taking their children out to a fancy dinner and cracking open a bottle of Cristal that my dad has been saving for awhile.  Andy and dad got to enjoy most of the bottle because the rest of us, apparently, "didn't get it."

Andy had a lot more time off than normal and it was wonderful to have the family time.  In fact, for the first time in a really long time, we rang in the New Year together and celebrated by playing a pretty cut throat game of Candyland.  

Well, that's all for now!  Happy New Year!

I'm only mildly crafty. Got it Pinterest?

Pinterest projects that turn away only mildly crafty people.

When you take something that is 3 steps and make it 20.  Nutter butter ghosts need no more instruction than this. - Step One: Dip Nutter Butters in white chocolate and put in the refrigerator. Done. Don't make 8 steps out of going to the store and opening the packaging.  You are just insulting my intelligence.

Taking things that kids have no problem eating and making it “fun”. – There is no need to make hot dog art.  Ever.  Your kid probably has no problem eating a regular looking hot dog and if he does…all the better.

When any of the steps say “drill a hole” like it’s totally natural.  Here’s the natural sounding sentence:  “Now all you need to do is spread the cheese on the cracker”.  Here’s the not natural sounding sentence, “Now all you need to do is drill a hole in the wood”

Don’t act like that’s normal.  Like I have a drill and its components sitting next to my coffee maker.  The actual step should read something like this: “Now, you do have to drill a hole next so send your brother-in-law a quick text asking him to bring his drill over the next time you have a holiday meal at your house, when he texts back with some sort of follow up dimension-seeking drilling inquiry, tell him to come prepared for a variety of scenarios because you don’t understand his question.  Put the project aside in the hall closet.  In three years, when you are packing to move, dust it off and put it in a box so you can continue to not finish it in your new house.

Don’t tell me to get out my double boiler.  Just say, microwave.  Chances are that people who know how to use and own a double boiler will come to this alternative to the microwave on their own…you’re just making us all feel bad. (see also: “Now, pull out your pre-seasoned cast iron skillet").

When it shows a craft with 27 license plates making something.  Yes, I love it…but where do you think I should go find 27 licenses plates of varying shapes and colors?  Also can I use lefty safety scissors to then 'fashion' them into the shape of the state they represent? No? then forget it.  I'll wait for the Rooms to Go knock off and spend 8 years paying for it with no interest.

When the instructions start with “All I did was this” then tells me to go to 4 different stores for supplies. There are some weeks I don’t even make it to the grocery store once.  Also, for the last time, I DON’T KNOW WHERE A HOBBY LOBBY IS.  If its not found at Target, I’m not doing the craft.

I am never going to get something ‘specially cut’ at Home Depot.  Everything about that step intimidates me.  Home Depot. Specially Cut.  I don’t go to Home Depot unless I need a Christmas tree and they sell those in the parking lot.

When you ask me to ‘repurpose’ something I don’t even own.  No, I don’t have an old map lying around that I’m just itching to modge podge (whatever that is) onto all my extra wooden letters in the attic.  Nor am I wondering what do with all these extra mason jars.  Also, why do people just ‘have’ clothespins? I don’t even know where you buy clothespins if it’s not the year 1909.

So there you have it.  I wish I was this all-crafting do it yourself-er...but, alas, I'm just not that girl.

Andy and Rachel on Vacation

Andy and I went to Savannah/Tybee Island last week.  As seen here:

and here...

Here is a picture tour of our adventures.  

First things first: Buy a bottle of barbecue sauce at the Chevron station.

Check.

Second order of business: Buy a coffee crumb cake from that very same Chevron station.  

Check. Check.

Try to eat and end up getting crumbs all over Andy's car.  Be nonchalant as you pick crumbs out of your shirt and dust off your pants in the hopes that he won't notice the mess you are making.

He looks over at you and says, "I know what you're doing." 

Feel Chevron Station crumb cake eating shame.

Once you are in Savannah, go on haunted pub tour.  

Feel the need to buy a drink at every pub to support the local economy.  You, after all, want to do your part.

Unfortunately, in this case, supporting the local economy leads to talking to pirates, and being, what the tour guide called 'insensitive' about the dearly departed.

At the conclusion of the Haunted Pub Tour do these things:

Fling last drink into the bushes at the oldest landmark in Savannah (Andy). 

Go to Jimmy Johns and spend 20 minutes thanking the employees for your sandwich (Rachel).  

Lose your room key (Andy and Rachel).  

Go to sleep at 8:30 (Andy).  

Start texting your friends (Rachel).  

Vacation/Romantic Getaway Losers (Andy and Rachel)

_________________________________________________

Now...For Andy and Rachel's worst souvenir contest (this is a contest we started on our honeymoon when we found and purchased a delightful light up Jesus picture...with the idea that every time we got away on a trip we would keep up the tradition...after 7.5 years of marriage this is the 2nd time we've played this game).

THE CONTENDERS

1. Shell boxes are not new...but they are not good souvenirs unless you are decorating your coastal timeshare...and even then although they may fit in a little better, it doesn't make it right.

2. The hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil monkeys...you have to buy all three.  Otherwise, you're just tacky...

3. As previously stated on FB: Now it IS a reproduction of a pirate coin necklace but according to the packaging it's an authentic reproduction. Which as far as reproductions go is what you want to look for.

 4.  Can't...look....directly...at...it.  Certainly don't want it opening my bottle.

5. My personal favorite.  Life sized gas station pump gum ball dispensers.  Here's what the electric pink signs say more or less:              

Gas Station Pump Gum Ball Machines

Price..........$1125

Sale Price...............$995

Reduced Sale Price........$749

Cash Price..............$543

Reduced Sale Cash Price............$356

FINAL NO HAGGLE PRICE........$249 

There were 8 of them in the store...I guess it was a slow year for gas station pump gum ball machines.  The economy hurts everyone, people.

6. And finally, you all can expect to get this for Christmas...who doesn't want...

A Shark in a JAR!!!!

This concludes everyone's favorite vacation game! Tune in in 7.5 years for more souvenir fun!

Next we went into a store with gigantic signs that said NOTHING OVER $9.99 and EVERYTHING $9.99 OR LESS.  This is where I bought a swimsuit cover up for $23.99.  Things that make you go hmmm....

Finally, we ate at that Pirate House!  Delicious!

All in all, a good trip!

Bye, Y'all!  ARRRGGGGG

Because I'm lame