Broken Promises

Remember that post from this morning? And I said I was going to try and not be cranky for the sake of my husband, and enjoying the last few weeks of what is surely going to be a twice in a lifetime (tops) experience?

Yeeeaaaahhhhh...about that.

See the thing is, there is this guy who joined my firm not long ago. And he is weird. I'm not one to judge (well I am, but go with me on this one) but he is just kind of weird.

He doesn't have cable. He plays on-line gaming games or something. And he has a my space page which frankly, is embarrassing for him (pictures of him in costumes flash on the screen and some Weird Al Yankovich song plays in the background).

All of this, I could deal with. Or, I could at least ignore him and just say 'hi' politely when I see him. BUT. BUT there are some things I have no tolerance for, not now at 8 months pregnant, not EVER.

He is a low talker.

And he talks about work in the lunch room.

Did you catch that? AT LUNCH PEOPLE! HE TALKS ABOUT WORK AND CASE LAW AND JUSTICE ROBERTS HAVING SOME TYPE OF SEIZURE AT LUNCH. Also, I feel compelled to tell you all that he wears a three piece suit to work everyday...and we are a business casual office. Honestly, I didn't realize they still sold 3 piece suits and pocket watches. I half expect him to wear a derby hat to work one day.

So that's the background. Let's get to today at lunch:

I was in the middle of talking about Big Brother 8, and Evil Dick, and he interrupted to: #1 say he has never seen Big Brother (see aforementioned lack of cable tv) and #2 ask if anyone had heard the news about our Cheif Justice having a seizure.

Only it took me a while to figure out why he was interrupting because I couldn't hear a DAMN WORD HE SAID BECAUSE HE TALKS SO SOFTLY!

I wanted to scream "SPEAK UP JACKASS!" but then I reigned it in a little and just said "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" in a nasty tone. he then went on a ten minute rant about the ramifications of the Cheif Justice's seizure and what it would mean for the high court.

What? WHAT? WHO CARES? I just want to eat my bologna and cheese sandwich with mustard and my peach (with cool whip...that last post really gave me a hankering).

I don't care about Justice Roberts and his seizure that is apparently no big deal anyway. I mean, I would prefer that Roberts be off the court, but seriously? It's lunch, and Big Brother 8 is way more interesting of a topic.

And secondly, this guy is a weirdo. I hate to get all highschool cool kids here, but on-line gaming?!? REALLY? He doesn't have cable? I can't work with that. I just can't. And for the record, Big Brother 8 is on CBS...NOT CABLE.

So get off your intellectual high horse you three piece suit wearing ass, and speak the hell up when you are talking in a room full of people. And oh yeah, in case you didn't notice...we are eating lunch...AWAY FROM OUR DESKS and metaphorically, AWAY FROM WORK. So no one gives a shit about the time you read Justice Roberts opinion and found a typo.



So I wasn't kidding when I wrote this morning that I would try to be less cranky...just, well, ummm...I will try: STARTING NOW!

The Butterman Cometh...but not yet

I like being pregnant. I mean, don't get me wrong, it isn't all peaches and cream (ooooh...I could totally go for peaches and cool whip right now!). But the fact is, it is exciting, and even though the last 2 weeks have been completely uncomfortable, and I haven't slept in a week and a half, at the end, I will have Baby Butterman.

Plus, I have to say, my husband is totally in love with the pregnant me. I am not looking hot ladies, not by a long shot, but this kid keeps touching me and hugging me and kissing me, and telling me how cute and beautiful I am. And here is the kicker: HE TOTALLY MEANS IT! I'm not kidding...he really loves me being pregnant.

And that my friends, makes all the difference in the world. He loves it so much, he makes me love it. Swollen ankles and all.

But I feel the shift. It is getting harder, and I am not hopeful for the last 5 weeks of this 9 month marathon. I can't sleep and it is making me irritable. I am stressed out beyond belief at work (I don't even want to talk about the fact that they denied my request for extended maternity leave), and frankly, Butterman is starting to get bigger than the house he is currently in...which is not pleasant if you are that house.

So I have been slightly cranky lately...particularly about the sleeping thing. And that saying about if mommy isn't happy, then no one is...yes, I think that may be true. I notice that it is getting harder on me, but also harder on him. So I am going to try and make a super human effort to not crank out so much, and really enjoy these last few weeks of torture...I mean, the miracle of life...


Yesterday, after a long day of work, we went grocery shopping. I think the term "know your limitations" would be appropriate here. First, I had to pee the entire time we were in there, despite however many trips I made to the bathroom. Second, I got incredible heart burn while we were there. After trying to just get through the heartburn, we walked to the pharmacy aisle and bought tums, which I promptly opened and ate.

Then I sneezed.

Then I turned to my husband and said "I just peed a little bit"

Then he looked at me. This man who has been so excited for so long with the pregnancy, the same man who can't keep from kissing me and hugging me and touching my belly all the time. And with a resigned look on his face said:

"Alright, this is getting tough huh? You are a real mess right now."

Indeed I am.

.....ummmm? I'm at a loss for words

The air conditioner in our car broke.
Last Monday.



If my husband does not get it fixed today, I can not be held responsible for what I might do.

I Have Seen the Future.....and it freaked me out

When you are pregnant, people with small children love to give you "advice". If by the term "advice" you mean laugh at you and your ignorance of what is in store for you once that baby makes a prison break out of your belly. Usually, this "advice" comes in the form of sharing stories about their children. You know, little 'anecdotes' of how cute they are. Right. And while they are laughing and getting a kick out of the funny story about little Joey and that time he barfed so far it hit the opposite wall of the bathroom, and...(well I don't remember how that story ended because I think I blacked out at how gross it was) you politely laugh along with them the whole time trying not to run screaming out of the building.

Now some people, are genuinely sincere when telling their cute little story. These people tell you how much you will grow accustomed to waking up at 4 in the morning because you sense something is in your room. When you open your eyes, there is a small person standing 2 inches from your face and asking you for a donut. And there you have it: that is parenthood.

These people invevitably end their story by telling you "It's hard, but it is the greatest thing you will ever do" and you can tell they mean that. You can tell by the way they tell you without a trace of anger in their voice, that being woken up at 4 in the morning because you feel a 3 year old's eyes burning into your skull, only to have that 3 year old ask for a donut, is actually the greatest thing in their life.

But then there are those that will tell you some story about how "oh my god, the breastfeeding almost killed me, and he never slept, NEVER...and you are doomed to a life of pain and sleeplessness..." And you listen, waiting for the inevitable ending comment of "but it is so worth it, we love little Johnny" which never comes. It is almost like these people want you to be as miserable as them, and they want that misery to start RIGHT NOW, because they can't even wait another second for that baby to be born so you SEE WHAT I'M GOING THROUGH WITH MY LITTLE MONSTER!

Yeah...what is it with those people? Those people are annoying. Incidentally, these people are the very same people who think it is acceptable to ask when you are due and then act all surprised because GOOD LORD YOU LOOK LIKE YOU WERE DUE YESTERDAY AND ARE YOU SURE YOU AREN'T HAVING TWINS? OR A 15LB BABY? Ummmm...yeah. So these people really wonder why their kid is such a monster? Apple, Falling, From Tree. It isn't far.

But back to the people who tell you the funny anecdotes...and they are funny...but really? This is going to happen? They get that close to your face and breathe on you to wake you up? And ask for a donut? At 4 in the morning? Because I have to tell you: more than one person has told us a story like this. But they all seem to be happy to tell it, so I am going to go with the flow.


And maybe sleep with one eye open at all times.

A long drive in...

This morning my husband and I got into a huge fight, with raised voices on the drive into work. First, we rarely raise our voices when we disagree, but more than that, the fight was about my firm's softball game last night.

Which neither of us went to, or had anything to do with.

Yes. We are in that stage of summer heat/aggravation/pregnancy.

My firm has a softball team. I play sometimes, but in light of the bowling ball in my stomach, I am on the disabled list this season. Sometimes I go to cheer them on, but lately...well, lately I'm all "eeehhh, who cares about softball?" So I didn't go to last night's game. A game played against the Federal Judges.

FEDERAL JUDGES. Who we appear in front of and ask (sometimes beg) for their discretion regularly. Yes, those federal judges.

And while my husband likes to say "on the softball field, everyone's just another guy", these judges are, ummmm, how do I put this fairly?...these judges are serious about the game and winning. Do you get what I am saying? No? Fine then, be that way. I'll just come out with it. These judges are jackasses. They try to impose the same power they have from the bench on the softball field. And they cheat, or try to take advantage of other teams because of who they are off the field.

Which isn't fair is it? But what are you going to do about it?

According to my husband (and my firm's male associates on the team) you should tell them where to stick their robes and gavel, and fight them on every bogus call.

Which would be fine, if the next day you didn't have to go before them and ask for a continuance of the trial because your expert witness isn't available next week. A request that they can grant or deny at will with no oversight or recourse. A request that is not appealable. A request that literally impacts your entire case, and the case of your client who is paying you an exorbitant amount of money to do everything you can to win.

Which was the only point I was trying to make. I agree that it isn't fair that they act that way, and I agree that it would be wrong of them to base their decision on how you acted during a softball game and their personal feelings toward you...but where does that get me in light of the fact that it actually happens. So while it isn't fair...what's that saying?....oh yeah. LIFE ISN'T FAIR.

Do you think your client will care how unfair it is when you tell him the reason you have to try the case without your expert witness is because you stood up for yourself when the judge tried to call you out at second during a softball game? That depends...will you think it's fair when your client doesn't pay his bill because you mouthed off to the judge the night before you had to ask him for something?

Whatever, the point is...my husband and I were screaming at eachother over this on the drive in. Did I mention neither of us was involved in this game in any way? Yet it clearly made sense to have a blowout on an otherwise beautiful Friday morning.

Also, in our morning stop to Dunkin Donuts, my husband, driving like an ass because he was angry, pulled a Dukes of Hazard style manuever and drove into the parking lot from a major 4 lane highway without slowing down...effectively jumping the car in the air over the curb and squealing into a space.

Nice. Because that's what every uncomfortable pregnant woman needs: To be Luke Duke at 7:00 in the morning on the way to a tough day at work. I seriously considered rolling down the window and jumping through it when he pulled over to let me out in front of my building. Trust me, if it was at all a logistic possibility I would have done it simply to make a point. Sadly, I can barely roll out of the car as it is.

The End.



**Really, I have no cute ending to this story. But I won't leave you hanging. My firm won by a single run. Now you can sleep tonight...

Correction: The sun did not explode, for it still burns brighter than a thousand suns

Oh. My. God. The heat. I would love to describe in detail the absolute swelling in my feet, but I fear words will fail me. I need to take a picture, but I don't want to scare small children who may have access to this blog.

I realize I am harping on this feet swelling issue, and truly, it is so far the only real problem I have had in this pregnancy, but sweet sassy mollassy, I have seen nothing like this swelling, and no books really describe it as being this dire of a situation. I may just be paranoid, but I could have sworn the doctor looked a little nervous and horrified as he said "no, that's normal..." and trailed off while staring wild eyed at my feet.

Because I don't have a picture of my feet, I will describe it (accurately I must say) in this way: My feet and ankles look like Shrek's. Yes, Shrek's feet and ankles...only not green, and with a french pedicure (which I wrongly thought would actually make my feet look more normal, but really just freaked out the peducurist). Basically, it looks like I am wearing Shrek's actual size feet on my 5 foot frame.

ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? SHOULD I CALL 9-1-1?

Clearly, I am the only one truly alarmed by this issue. This is what pregnancy has done to me. I am a raving lunatic about my feet.

ME: Honey, Look at my feet! (for the 100th time inside of an hour)

Husband: (not looking)

ME: LOOK AT MY FEET!

Husband: (Exasperated) I have seen your feet okay? I have been looking at your feet all night long. I UNDERSTAND that you have swollen feet!

ME: I don't give a damn if I ask you to look at my feet one thousand times. YOU SHOULD LOOK AT THEM EVERY GOD DAMN TIME I ASK! I am pregnant, and my feet are swollen. I have done everything for this baby and you have done nothing. NOW LOOK AT HOW SWOLLEN MY FEET ARE DAMMIT! (I actually may have growled like a tiger at this point).

Husband: (rolling his eyes) WOW, those are some real swollen feet you have there!

ME: (Acting like no yelling had taken place) I know! Can you believe it?!? I mean, look at them!



I think we may both be sick of me being pregnant...

The Day the Sun Exploded

It is ninety seven degrees outside. 97. Three degrees shy of 100 degrees. Am I the only one that thinks if it is going to be 97 degrees we might as well just go for 100? I mean we are so close, why not just go for it?

Also, there is this:

Apparently, my new office is situated across the hall from the WORKOUT ROOM! Do you think they are trying to tell me something? Well I'll show them. I will go into the workout room everyday at 4, sit on the bike, and watch Oprah on the flat screen tv...Now whose laughing?!?!

Lastly, I just got an email saying that snack machine won't be hooked up until Friday. Do they not realize I am 32 weeks pregnant? The snack machine is pretty much all I have going for me at this point. What am I supposed to do?

I am seriously rethinking the whole "work right up and until the baby is born" thing. I mean, I was willing to try, but you gotta meet me half way here people. Can I get a Baby Ruth at least?

Wedged In

My office is moving. Two blocks. And lo, the aggravation that two measley blocks in the city is causing us...

Just like when you move homes, you have to pack up everything. Is there any torture more torturous? I am going to go out on a limb here and say, "NO." Apparently I have unwittingly accumulated over 6 paris of shoes under my desk. How did this happen? May I remind you that I no longer fit into a single pair of shoes due to the swelling in my feet? So the shoes, yeah, they don't really seem necessary. Flip flops are really the only relevant footwear for me now. Thank the sweet Lord it is summer!

So where was I before I got off on a rant about the CRAZY swelling in my feet? Oh, that's right, the office move. Due to the impending move, we ordered a bazillion (I am not kidding, we actually asked for a 'bazillion') plastic orange crates approximately the size of a large laundry basket with a lid. We were told to pack all our files and belongings into said crates, stack them three crates high on a wheelie thing and lable each crate with a specially numbered tag representing our office. So far you are following me right? Well you would be one step ahead of me, because I had difficulty with the corresponding number/office tag concept.

After my secretary explained it to me for the fifth time, we started packing. She is older, and I didn't want her lifting anything too heavy. I am pregnant, so she didn't want me lifting anything too heavy. Fighting ensued. We clearly made a great packing team. You see where this is going right?

We packed the crates, one crate at a time, one file at a time. Then we would call in someone to stack them. Because I have difficulty bending due to the human being inside my stomach, I sat on the floor and packed the crates as my secretary handed me the files. That way, I didn't have to bend, and neither did she. The crates began to stack up all around me. I stayed put, and my secretary would just bring an empty crate and put it next to me where the full crate that had gotten stacked had been. It was really minimal effort on my part.

Pretty soon, I had stacks of crates all around me. I was facing the window, and my back was to the door. My secretary organized the stacks so that she left a pathway directly behind me so we could get to the door. Then, unbenknownst to me, she walked out to the copy room or something. Who knows where she went, but she didn't tell me. Shortly after her departure, I finished packing the crate next to me and decided I had to go to the bathroom. Executing this task required that I get up.

Immediately to my left was a stack of crates. Immediately to my right was a heavy crate freshly packed and up against a stack of crates. Does anyone see the problem here?

In order for me to get up, I needed to roll from a sitting position over onto my hands and knees and then most likely with assistance, pull myself up. There was no room to roll over, and no one to assist.

I yelled to my secretary to come into my office. There was no reply. Clearly she was not at her desk. Then and there, I mentally assured myself that if I found out she was downstairs smoking a cigarette, I would strangle her with my bare hands...assuming I was ever ambulatory again.

I sat there, wedged in between the crates for a minute, contemplating my situation. Butterman was kicking, and I was just sitting there. Kind of relaxing once I gave up hope for myself, actually.

But then I remembered that I had to pee. "Guys, anyone?" "Help me, I'm wedged in" "I can't get up" each statement made with more urgency.

In the office next to mine, is a name partner. He is older, and kind of stodgy. Definitely WASPY would be a good word. Anyway, he came running in and before I could say anything, he superhumanly pushed over one of the stacks of crates in a total panic. He obviously thought I had fallen. Then I rolled over and grabbed his arm to pull myself up, and he almost fell over.

I just looked at him and said "thanks, I was stuck down there" and then went to go to the bathroom. It occurred to me later that this partner was probably counting down the minutes to the move when his office would be far, far away from mine...