36 - Domestication.

I recently began learning how to cook in a real way. Do you know how easy it is to bake chicken breast?!

This weekend I challenged myself to make meals for the week using the stuff we had on hand. (Okay, I cheated a tiny bit and got a couple things from the grocery store to complete some recipes.)

This meant meal planning. Meal prepping. And me, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. Oy. I AM ALL THE CLICHES.

I spent 5 hours in the kitchen making meals. It was crazy. Like actually crazy. I was racing against the clock because we had a babysitter coming promptly at 7pm. The babysitter coming means drop EVERYTHING and run out the door. Because. Babysitter. Get da hell outta there and be toddler-free.

I was crushing it, nailing it, so pumped. I made so much food and some of it is even truly delicious.

Time was ticking away and I hadn't eaten dinner yet. Surrounded by all this food, and hadn't eaten! The time came. The babysitter arrived. I had to do something. I'm pregnant, for God's sake! Feed the baby('s mother's thighs).

You know what I ate? After all that. I walked out of the house with a baggie of pretzels & cheese, and an apple wrapped up in a paper towel (which doubled as cutting board then napkin on-the-go).

WTF is my prob? Am I actually a toddler? (Well, cheese IS delicious. Who am I kidding.)  

35. The age that feels like real adulthood, no excuses, and people start saying things about women's reproductive parts. Screw you people.

I'd like to point out that the title for this post is my longest yet and it might be my favorite.

This post is actually a note about strollers and the life one lives when the stroller reigns. But before we jump in, I would like to give a nod toward the title I mentioned and say that people should mind their damn business when a woman turns 35 and doesn't have kids. In general people should mind their business, but there is such a THING about women and turning 35 and people being like, "OOOOOH her eggs are all automatically shriveled up" and "Now [one day later than yesterday, when she was 34] it'll be SO HARD for her to get pregnant and when she does the kid will probably be developmentally delayed, like, for sure" and "She's 35? I wonder if she wants kids. She should really think about that" and BLAH BLAH.

Full disclosure - I have totally had these thoughts. More disclosure - I recognized those thoughts, blew them up, and asked forgiveness from the females of the universe for making all the judgements. (They forgave me. Thank you, females.)

I've read so much about pregnancy and asked my OB and other medical pro's so many questions, especially the absurd ones. PEOPLE - let's just shut up about other peoples' medical business, agreed? Let's send blessings instead of judgements. Wish happiness instead of guilt.

The lady parts are powerful. Let's respect them.

Now I don't want to talk about the stroller thing.

#imwithallthehers #andalltheutes

34: The Pregnant Olympian

I was headed to the grocery store. I didn't have the bud with me (grocery store with no bud is my equivalent of a spa day, thank ya, Jesus!). I was flying solo. I had parked and was riding up the escalator from the parking garage. Now in my third trimester and feeling every bit of it, I was challenging myself to walk briskly up those escalator steps even though I didn't have to. I did it - really a great pace. As I was nearing the top I saw a woman coming toward me. She was coming at me at such a pace that we would arrive at the intersection of my escalator exit and her walking-towards-the store entrance at the same time. I decided I wouldn't let this happen. I WOULD beat her to the intersection and I WOULD clear her path without any doubt of my physical dominance no matter how pregnant I am. By the way, this was an older woman - my senior by at least thirty or forty years. Also by the way, I've been watching the Olympics and I am a total super fan of anything Olympiad. I felt this particular competition was in the bag. I picked up my pace, really focusing on my breathing to get maximum power. And - I made it. I took that corner like a freaking pro - probably set an OR (Olympic Record) if not a WR (World Record) and snuck right past my competitor, keeping up my pace through the turn and right into the grocery store. To say I was pleased with myself would be an understatement. In my mind I had a gold medal around my neck.

I crossed paths with the woman again in the produce section. My competitor had heart monitor stickers on her upper chest. But my medal was still legit.

33: A List

Toddlers are:

1. Neanderthals
2. The most high maintenance employers one will ever have
3. Tiny drunk adults
4. A terrible investment
5. Stand up comedians
6. REALLY bad at knowing what is and is not to be to put in one's mouth
7. Always looking good and feeling good
8. Capable of turning a dreadful day into the best day ever with just one giggle or hug
9. The worst roommates ever
10. Our future! THESE people are our future! THESE ONES!

32: This is my age! I am 32!

How many of you baby-wipe-carrying people use baby wipes to wipe things other than a baby and operate as if that freshly-wiped thing is now completely sanitary?

Anyone?

Asking for a friend.

31 - One more thing I should probably not state publicly.

I'm jumping into the middle of a whole storied day, here, so just a few tidbits of context first:
 - Emmett's sleep schedule was thrown off all day because of an accidental car nap in the morning (read: NOT ENOUGH SLEEP)
 - At the time we start this story it was 30 minutes past bedtime
 - We (the bud and I) were driving in the car

This scenario is a ripe for a car nap exactly when one should NOT have a car nap.

The bud also had an early dinner and by this point he needed at least a snack before throwing him in the crib for the night.

Well, GOOD THING I HAD A BAG OF TORTILLA CHIPS WITH ME!

I passed him one tortilla chip (excuse me, organic blue corn tortilla chip) at a time back to his little hand wagging in the air from his back-facing carseat. This accomplished two things:
1. Kept him awake on the way home, and
2. Put a little something in his belly - it was chips, but at least it was something.
Actually, here's one more thing - 3. It was great entertainment for me because his little hand wagging in the air from his carseat in the back, awaiting a gift from the front, is just about the cutest thing you've ever seen.

When we got home I lifted him out of his carseat and low and behold there were several partial chips there on the seat that snuck through the bud's hands and fell down off his lap. I didn't want to leave them there (because I'm so annoyed at my past self when my current self goes to put the bud in the car and finds a small pile of stale food from the last round of car snacking waiting for us in his carseat - gross). I was out of little trash baggies that I would usually use for this type of thing and we don't have a trashcan nearby in our parking garage. So without hesitation I popped those chips in my mouth. All of 'em. Scooped them up and tossed them back like it was absolutely normal. I did have a fraction of a second of logical thought about it - and this was still my best conclusion. To eat the tortilla chips that my tiny son probably slobbered on, rubbed around in his sticky little hand, dropped in his seat, and rested his [clothed] butt cheeks on for 20 minutes.

I felt pretty great about my decision (they were still a little crunchy!) until a few chews in and I tasted the essence of diaper. A couple more chews and the diap taste was overpowering. But CLEAN diap. And his carseat was ready and waiting for our next hurry-we're-late dash out the door so all in all, WIN.

30. The new 20.

This has nothing to do with 30 being the new 20, but I think it's a funny thing to put as a title.

It's been rather hot where we live and I've been unmotivated to go outside in such heat with my tiny person whose skin is as fair as mine, and me with my pregnant bun-oven already cranking up my internal temp.

So today the bud and I went to the mall. The nearest indoor mall to us (which is not the nearest mall to us) and we were greeted by magnificent air conditioning and new sights to see. I really rallied myself to get us there. Errands and going about town don't usually take so much out of me but as per my previous post I'm still getting past the "meh" in my head and the tired in my body, particularly with the part of life that is figuring out how to entertain the bud with things he'll enjoy, and ideally things I'll enjoy with him. You might be thinking - why would a toddler enjoy the mall? And I will tell you - the people to watch, the bright things to see, and the comfy, COMFY, air conditioning.

I had no solid plan of what to do when we got there. At the very least I figured I'd find a 70-yr-old mall-walker and follow that guy's path until Emmett's internal alarm for TIME FOR SOMETHING NEW went off, then we'd leave.

And now this is the story of The Gifts from The Mall:

My phone battery was at 8%. May as well take me out back and put me out of my misery if that thing dies (no WAZE?!), so I had to figure something out. I remembered to bring a battery pack but left the charging cable at home. Classic. Not 20 seconds into our mall adventure I walk by a small kiosk in a department store and thought - they must have a charging cable at this $10 And Under kiosk amongst the neon paraphernalia and furry keychains. They did (a hot pink one, score - so anyone 'borrowing' it will be caught pink-handed) and I happened to have a very, very old gift card for this department store that came within coins of covering the cost of the cable.

BOOM. Gift.

We were trolling for mall-walkers when I decided to pop into Baby GAP, just to see (maybe check out their maternity clothes area?) and imagine my disappointment when the clerk told me they cleared out their maternity section and will only be selling it online now!

Dear GAP - This is dumb. We pregnant people may make up a small percentage of your customer base but I assure you, when we are no longer pregnant WE HAVE BABIES and then CHILDREN and we want them to wear your clothes. Please treat us well while we are arguably insane and our bodies are changing every week and we are just trying to look cute and feel good so please, please let us try on these weird, paneled versions of your 1969's in the store and not have to deal with online returns if something doesn't fit because we will already be devaaassstaaaateeed that even though the size chart says "we" should be a Medium based on our pre-pregnancy size, "we" are truly a Large. And if I get this pregnant bod and that toddler to GLENDALE then I'll be damned if you can't just put some clothes on a friggin' rack.
Thank you,
Meg Miller

Anyway.

The clerk said to me, "We actually have a few maternity items here behind the counter, though, if you want to look through them."
I hesitated, figuring they're all either tiny sizes or super frumpy.
She said, "These items came here from another store just to clear the inventory and everything is marked down."
Marked down, eh?
"And everything is 90% off the ticketed price," she said!!!!
What? I mean, "It's 90% off the already marked down price?"
"Yes," she said!!!!
"Well, sure, I may as well take a look," I said. (!!!!)

I walked outta that place with two pairs of pants, a shirt, and a dress for a grand total of $3.49! USD! Including tax! Okay, GAP, okay. Thanks for that.

BOOM. Gift.

I also walked out of that place with a little bud who made himself a very stinky diaper while vrooming around the fitting room with his dump truck (the irony). And zero diapers. Yes, I left the house with ZERO DIAPERS.

We went directly to Target where I thought pretty hard about what diapers to get - the cheap ones just to get us through? The slightly more expensive ones we usually get [20% off from Amazon Mom, delivered to our door] because those are the ones we like the best? I went with the cheap ones, purchased them, had a tally of just three dirty looks from people with keen sniffers, went into the bathroom, and discovered/remembered that Emmett wears size 5 diapers. Not the size 3's that I just opened. Whatever. I went for it because dude's poop was kinda watery and it soaked through to his shorts. He's on the table, pant-less. There is no time, NO TIME!

The bud wasn't having it. The toilets were flushing, loudly. Everyone was opting for the hand blow-dryer instead of paper towels, loudly. There were a hundred people in there. Emmett was real bummed, like, reeeal bummed. I calmly sang Old MacDonald and Wheels on the Bus as if he gave a shit (pun) and as if he could even hear me over the chaos. Eventually the loud noises stopped, the bud was happy and diapered, and remained pant-less and strapped into his stroller, wagging his finger toward everything we passed asking, "Whussat? Whussat?" as we exited the bathroom.

I decided to try returning or exchanging the pack of diapers. Thankfully I got a 40-something, mom/aunt type lady when I stepped up to the Guest Services counter. As I glanced at Emmett's bare baby thighs and exposed diaper, I said, "Ummmmmmmmmm, we just had a sort of diaper emergency and I purchased this pack of diapers which is actually two sizes too small. I used one, but I'm wondering if I may exchange them, or...?" The lady asked for my receipt, gave me a reassuring look, scanned the diaper pack and handed me $7.07.

BOOM. Gift.

THANK YOU, TARGET. Thank you for the complimentary diaper that barely covered my son's pant-less cheeks because of my baby brain moment. Thank you, mom/aunt lady for being caring and understanding of this mall-walk gone wrong.

And thanks, again, GAP, for practically giving me those maternity clothes which will help me feel and look good while I set my Gratitude sail and raise my Sense of Humor flag. (See previous post.)

Thanks also to the bud for hanging in there and being awesome and not carin' to have no pants. And for refusing to even wear shoes during this whole ordeal which made us look EXTRA ghetto.

And to the lady warrior within me for the RALLY.

And to you!

And you!

And YOU get a car, and YOU get a car!

And thanks to Oprah. Because of the YOU get a car joke.