Unfortunately, very unfortunately, I am turning 30 this week - Friday, to be exact. I am less than thrilled at this prospect. It doesn’t help that Hubby will not hit 30 until August so I am the first to reach this…milestone. And so the question becomes: what would make me happy on my birthday? What can possibly be done to avoid tears and depression over getting “so old”? I do not want to at any point start talking about where I thought I would be/what I would be doing/what I would have accomplished/etc. by the age of 30 (not that I actually feel bad about those things but, you know, birthdays tend to do weird things to one’s perspective…). I do not want at any point to examine my scalp for gray hairs, my face for fine lines and discolorations, my ass and thighs for strange bulges. I do not want that.

So what do I do? Bear in mind that Sam has caught yet another cold which means that my original plan of leaving him with my one mommy friend so that Hubby and I could go out is now out of the question for fear of Sam’s little girlfriend getting sick. So this means whatever happens we will all be together, which is fine. I guess I’m just a little worried about being hit with the “Oh crap, I’m 30″ no matter what activities I use to distract myself. And maybe I’m being ridiculous. Maybe come Friday morning I’ll feel great about everything and there will be no tears in sight. Who knows. But I don’t want another day of colds and the cold keeping us trapped in our apartment, moping around with nothing we can think of to do. Honestly, what can you do when it’s gross out and it seems like every time you leave the house your toddler catches yet another bug? I’m scared to take Sam out when his immune system is down but that’s like all the time. We already spent most of January staring at each other. Anyway…I digress…birthday activities. Winter. Sick kid. Pregnant birthday girl. Any ideas?

Labels: Birthdays

Sooooo…we’ve lived here nearly 9 months and I’ve made precisely one friend. Sure, I have acquaintances and other moms I talk to at playgroups and stuff, but as far as someone I feel I have a mutual connection with I’ve just got the one. It may sound like I’m complaining, but I actually feel I’m quite lucky for meeting her and developing our relationship. I think it’s very difficult to find someone you really understand in the midst of being a stay at home mom, especially when you throw a move to a new city into the mix. At playgroups and parks and museums and such you really are only starting with the common thread of having a kid, not like meeting people at work or an activity where from the start you have a common interest. It’s hard, especially considering the fact that you have to make your connections while wrangling your toddler and trying to mediate fights over sippy cups - can you really have a decent conversation with a stranger while your kid is dumping cheerios on someone else’s floor or stealing a baby’s rattle?

Well, somehow I did. And the best part: she’s got a daughter exactly Sam’s age. I know. Lucky. We spend at least one morning a week together, wrangling our kids and successfully having meaningful conversation over the decibal levels of our screaming children. It rocks. Sam is quite passive around this girl. I think he is amused by watching her. When she says, “Bam sit here,” he does so and then watches to see if she is pleased. She is. “Bam push,” and he pushes her around in the wagon, both smiling. He sits and lets her listen to his heart with her stethoscope and when she wants a toy that he has he very quietly walks up and hands it to her. Somehow their personalities just work well together.

Today was the day we decided to get the Hubbies together too, so we headed over there for brunch. A real brunch. We ate quiche and the other adults had mimosas. I was in charge of the “something sweet” and we all sat around the table, kids strapped into boosters, and chatted while trying desperately to get our children to eat something other than muffins, which works in its weird way since our kids are the same age and what is normal for us is also normal for them. There’s no fear of Sam making a mess or being too loud, because their daughter is doing the exact same stuff (she’s actually much, much louder).

Afterward we all headed for the playroom and the bedroom for pony rides and bed jumping as we regaled each other with tales of parenting and memories of former lives. We were like real adults again as we positioned ourselves around the bed to create a buffer that would stop one of the tots from flying off the bed as they flung themselves around.

And to top the morning off, I give you this little gem:

Labels: Mommy friends

Whenever I was feeling sorry for myself while pregnant with Sam - not like a serious sorry for myself but like a, “Oh I’m so tired and gassy and sick of my job and bloated and fat and ugly and it sucks,” sort of way - I would watch one of the Lord of The Rings movies. Frodo had it bad, he really did. Has to leave home to do this damn quest that he didn’t even sign up for, bear the weight of that blasted ring, sleep on the edge of rock cliffs, leave his friends, get stabbed by Ringwraith blades…man, it’s rough. I knew that no matter how I was feeling I didn’t have it as bad as Frodo and should therefore feel good about my situation. During my third trimester when my hands and feet broke out in unbearable itchy rashes that were untreatable due to the dangers of the drugs to the baby I watched a whole lot of LOTR, but by then I was taking it much more seriously and I really wasn’t sure that Frodo did have it so bad. At least when Frodo went to sleep on that rock cliff he didn’t lay there scratching his feet until they bled…anyway…

I’m not sure yet, because we still aren’t caught up with the new season, but I think my pity character for this pregancy will be Jack Bauer. I mean, seriously, dude returns after spending two years being tortured in a Chinese prison only to find out he will now be handed over to another group who wants to torture him to death and he is sacrificed for the country that abandoned him…several times. Rough. I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad about the fact that my farts make me gag and want to vomit.

Am I the only one that does this? Do others have characters that they fall back on to comfort them in times of pregnant misery? If so, who are they? I love a good pity party.
And I suppose I should explain where the heck I’ve been:

I know, ridiculous. It has been so long. Everything is fine. We are alive and I appreciate those of you who have contacted me to make sure things are ok. We’ve just had a whole lot of sickness going around. Not even a week passed after that Norwalk virus thing before Sam came down with a fever and a bad cold, and then I caught it. And we STILL have it. It’s now been two weeks. We’re recovering but it seriously feels like we’ve been sick all winter. We’ve been trapped in the house, which is not good for one’s psyche, especially when we get very little sunlight in here, and it’s just been kind of rough. Top it off with the constant morning sickness nausea and you’ve got a pretty good sense of what’s going on over here. But we are alive and even heard the babe’s heartbeat today, so all is well.

Labels: Bodily functions, Pregnant