2004: Year in Review
Some people won’t drink before noon. I won’t eat blueberry pie before dinner. Thus necessitating some major time-killage until the little hand lands on the 5. So I present to you this year’s YIR, complete with handy bullet points.
Looking back: Highs and lows of 2004
- Getting pregnant. This was definitely Year of the Belly, since I conceived somewhere around the end of March and have been percolating up until this very minute. I’ve learned a whole lot about responsibility, maturity and sacrifice — and Beanster isn’t even here yet.
- Buying the house. With a lot of dedication and some of the above-mentioned sacrifice, we were able to save more than $10,000 this year. Pretty fucking amazing, in my opinion. We bought in July, moved in in August, and have been turning this little smurfy Cape Cod into home ever since. I’m rather in love with it, actually.
- Grandmatt’s passing. He’s my father’s father, and was always strong and encouraging of my artistic talents and a great believer in my abilities. We got to see him one last time in April when we drove to Florida for a visit, and I’m glad we did. Grandmatt died within a week of Iain and I finding out we were pregnant. A superstitious Catholic part of me believes there’s a purpose behind that. Love you, Grandmatt.
- Quitting smoking. I’ve smoked since senior year of high school, for no real good reason. After about eight years of money down the drain and ashtray-breath I quit cold turkey the day after I took the E.P.T. test. I’d like to say I haven’t looked back, but of course I have; still, despite wistful glances I’ve kicked that habit for good. Iain quit cold-turkey on the day of our second wedding anniversary, which was an awesome gesture, even if it did turn him into a nasty bastard for about a week.
I think I’ve grown up a lot this year. I’m taking the important things a lot more seriously, and I like to think I’ve got my shit together. I also like to think that I’m well prepared to bring this baby into a harsh, Dubya-ruled world, and raise him to be a good man.
And I met quite a few of my goals from last year, too, which is cool.
Looking ahead: Goals for 2005
- Save another $10,000, or at least enough to make some larger improvements to the house.
- Successfully birth this bambino and get him to his first birthday without major calamity.
- Find a balance between work and home, husband and baby, immediate and extended families, self and others.
- Kick Iain’s ass at Monopoly. Just once.
Bottoms up, everyone.
Cousins
Don’t we look alike?
Due date
Still no baby. I think we’re going to bust out some drastic measures here pretty soon, see if we can’t coax him to join us. [Hmm … one recommended measure is actually the same activity that got us into this mess in the first place. How does that work? Do they cancel each other out?]
Though I’ve been complaining about Beaner’s tardiness, I confess I woke up this morning and freaked out. It was one of those abbreviated “I’m not ready for a baby!” attacks. I think part of it is because my last day of work before maternity leave was just yesterday, and frankly, I want a few days to put my feet up before I have to birth a young’un.
But then I listen to the sound my skin makes as it’s pushed to the absolute edge of its endurance and then I wait for the little “pop!” as another stretch mark appears to join its brothers. That’s when I change my mind again and start hopping around, trying to encourage a timely descent of Mr. I’m Waiting For An Engraved Invitation. Hasn’t worked yet, but hey.
In other news, like there could be any other news: We bought a bird feeder and attached it to the tree right outside our picture window. We’re waiting to see if The Obese Squirrel will figure out how to divest it of seeds; I think this is the same squirrel that ate our jack-o-lantern and then bled all over the remains. Nasty little bastard.
How ‘bout, um … Helicopter? We still don’t have a name for Junior. But Tiberius Khan is sounding better and better.
I don’t know if I can stay up that late: Say, do people not do the whole “pork and sauerkraut for New Year’s” thing out here? I hate sauerkraut, but I was rather surprised that it wasn’t on sale at Mars. It’s always on sale this time of year back home in Ohio; perhaps the tradition is a German/Pennsylvania Dutch thing?
God, seems like just yesterday I was freezing my ass off in some little get-up, walking around Windsor or Bowling Green, headed to some drunken party and kissing boys as the clock strikes. This year i’ll be wedged into the living-room loveseat, watching either Dick Clark [does he still do that thing?] or the extended edition of Return of the King. Jesus Christ, I’m lame. Is it because I’m pregnant or am I just a loser now? Has the homebody tendency entrenched itself so deeply? Does anybody care? I don’t. I’m going to go eat some fudge now.
P.S. Dear Beaner. You’ll love it out here, I swear. The weather’s terrific, the house smells like banana bread, and we’ll put Guns’n’Roses on the stereo. Mommy is very understanding, and Daddy will whistle you a little song. We’ll even feed you. In fact, you won’t have to do a thing! We’ll just put your clothes on for you and change your didies and give you all the lovin’ you can handle. JUST PLEASE GET OUT OF MY BODY. I won’t even spank you for kicking your mother for the last three months straight. Pinkie-swear.
Gee, thanks, Stretchmark Fairy!
That’s all I wanted to say. I have a roadmap of lilac scars radiating out from my navel now. It rather resembles the hellish street situation of central D.C. Maybe that’s why the baby hasn’t arrived yet — he’s still stuck on Constitution Ave!
Boxing day, eh?
OK. Yesterday crappy, today much better. Maybe it being the 26th, not Christmas, takes the pressure off.
We both woke up before 10 a.m. and were scoping for deals at Target by noon. I finally got those damned nursing bras I’ve been meaning to get [hello, wide world of B-cup!] and Iain got a pair of khakis for school. We stocked up on half-price wrapping paper and holiday cards and ornaments for next year’s tree. And we decided to spend a little of our Christmas money and splurged on some DVDs and — dare I admit it — board games. I even contemplated wrapping them and sticking them under the tree, but that would be silly.
Anyway. The moral of the story is: Christmas is just a day, and if you want presents, you should go buy them the day after, when they’re on sale. Now my debit card is appeased and I feel much better about things. Iain not being hungover helps a little, too. And … so does the fudge.
Buckle-butt: We finally installed the car seat. I am completely and totally ready for this baby.
So this is Christmas
Ugh. Worst. Christmas. Ever.
Christmas Eve was all right; Karen and Jon came over for a steak dinner, and we played several rounds of Cranium. Two of the players had many, many ounces of extra help from Capt. Morgan. By the end of the evening they were the good kind of drunk, where everything’s a hilarious performance, and we were all laughing so hard I was afraid I would laugh the baby out. It was fun.
But today left a little something to be desired, as far as holiday cheer is concerned. Santa brought Iain an apocalypse-grade hangover, the kind where you wish you would just hurry up and die already so the pain will end. For me, he brought an uncontrollable urge to reorganize the baby’s room at 6 o’clock in the morning.
Christmas dinner was microwaved chicken parm with a side of fudge.
Having received bountiful gifts of cash from our parents, there were only two presents under the tree, one for each of us, from my sister. We opened them around 3 o’clock, as soon as Iain was able to sit up without falling out of bed and concussing himself. He got The Baby Owner’s Manual, a handy little guide with a sense of humor, and I got a gorgeous daisy brooch with little rhinestones in it. If I were skinny again I’d wear it with my chocolate-brown vintage velvet blazer and the jeans I only got to wear twice before my abdomen ballooned. As it is, I’m going to wear it in hopes that its beauty will distract the viewer from my belly, which vacillates between resembling a basketball and a bag full of rabid weasels.
I knew going into this holiday that it was going to be different, because it was just the two of us and our jobs and bank account and girth and temperament prevented us from doing it up old-school-style. Even though I knew all that going in, and even though the rational part of my brain reminds me that Iain and I had already talked this whole thing out, it’s still a little disappointing.
And since I’m 39 and a half weeks pregnant, enormously hormonal and pretty much constantly miserable, just about everything that doesn’t involve first-stage labor is a disappointment.
Purely ornamental
Merry Christmas Eve, ever’body! We’re spending the holidays in Baltimore by ourselves for the first time this year, and we’re celebrating Baby Jesus’ birthday by eating chocolate [me], getting drunk [Iain], and watching three seasons of The Family Guy [both of us].
Hope your holidays are as special!
Moving along
Two centimeters dilated and the baby is at -2 station, according to the doc this morning.
Let’s get this show on the road, Junior. I promise it’s nice out here. You’ll love it. Let’s give it a try, no?
Girl time: Kyle and Meg made it here safe and sound, with about two metric tons of baby items in tow. I can’t believe how generous! And girls, I promise I’ll take care of it — when you have your babies I’ll deliver it right back.
This evening we’re going to bake bread and give making buckeyes another go. Mmm, and fudge, too. Two kinds! What can I say, the baby wants chocolate. And if I don’t indulge him now, there’s no telling how long he’s going to stay in there, right? Right?
Gearing up
Happy news: There’s snow on the ground, and cousin Meg and cousin Kyle are coming to visit on Wednesday. Whoo-hoo!
This makes the prospect of another 12-hour Monday much easier to stomach.
Top three obsessions this week
recent flickr
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my sewing tutorials
See my tutorials featured on SMS' Handmade Holidays!
