I HATE IT!

OH MY EFFING LORD.  I have to say that I freakin' hate hate hate hate hate sharing a computer with Bryan.  Hate it.  Loathe it.  Detest it.  Would rather be poked repeatedly by firey hot metal instruments.

He's a damn memory hog, he's on here all the damn time, all the settings and icons are jacked up, and I feel like he's panting over my shoulder the entire time I'm on here.  I feel like I have to justify everything I'm doing so that he won't come over here and tell me he needs to do this or that so I have to get off.

My business has suffered because the PC is so slow it's like watching paint dry just to upload photos, let alone try to post crap on my blog or website.  Half the time when I go to visit my momma boards the pages won't even load.  THEY WON'T LOAD because this computer is a PIECE OF CRAP because Bryan has put programs and processes on it that I DON'T WANT ON HERE.

My dad's friend was supposed to take a look at the laptop and see if there's anything he can do for it, or at least pull the data off the hard drive.  Yeah, he hasn't even cracked the damn thing open yet, so it'll be, oh, TEN YEARS FROM NOW before I even know what the hell's going on with my laptop.

Okay.  Enough bitching.  Today's picture day at Marissa's school, and she requested that I flat-iron her hair (I'm really good and only threatened to flat-iron her fingers once).  She and my mom went shopping last night for school clothes and a picture day outfit, so here she is.  Someone needs to come over and help me put the smack down on her so she'll quit growing up so fast.

Muooosh.

That's what my brain feels like, lately.  What is it about being pregnant that completely saps all your coordination and higher brain function, huh?  Maybe that's why the doctors always treat pregnant women like they're stupid.  Because they drop things, forget things, lose things in a record 1.7 seconds (like, I JUST had my keys in my hand, where did they go?  Oh!  they're still in my hand....), they stumble around and walk into things like looney old drunkards....  yeah. 

And that brings me to one of the things that I was thinking about earlier:  the fact that I've been reading everyone's blogs and not leaving comments.  It's not that I don't *want* to leave comments, it's just that I don't have anything relevant or funny or important to say.  Picture me sitting here with my head tilted off to the side, and a little bit of drool hanging from the corner of my mouth with a semi-lucid look to my face.  So please know that I'm lurking in the shadowy corners of the internet, but I'm not coherent enough to leave a comment.  Or, if I do leave a comment, and it happens to be dumb or completely irrelevant, it's not my fault.  Blame it all on lil' bean.  Damn fetus!

So.  You know how there's this phenomenon where pregnant women tend to cut all their hair off during or right after pregnancy, right?  Yeah, it happened to me both with Marissa and Phoebe.  Well, this time I've decided that I will not succumb to the hormonal urge.  BUT.   I feel compelled to change something about my appearance.  I've been thinking lately about getting my nose pierced.  Seriously!  FER REAL.  See, I wanted my eyebrow pierced, but I just don't think it's a good idea, so maybe a little hoop or stud in my nose would be good.  If I don't like it I can always let it close up, right?  I've seen pictures of mommas with nose rings, and they look damn cute, so why not?  Not that I can afford it, or anything, but hell.  If the rent is a little short this month, dad, it's for a good cause. 

Last topic for this morning:  Phoebe.  Now, it's been awhile since I've been around 16 month olds, and the only toddler I really have to compare her to is/was my nephew, who is 2 years old now, so if I sound amazed by things that are developmentally normal, just BEAR WITH ME.

The girl is talking up a storm.  I mean talking all.  the.  time.  She says, "Here ya go!" when she hands something to you or when she wants something.  It's the cutest thing when she wants you to hand her something and she doesn't think you're going to do it... she says, "here ya goooooooo!" in the saddest, most pathetic voice you've ever heard in your LIFE.  She is also fond of the color yellow, and will walk up to just about anything, point to it, and say, "LELLOW!" 

Everything is a puppy to her.  Flies, bees, dogs, sometimes even other babies.  She says and waves "Hi!" and says and waves "Buh-bye!".  When she hears a knock at the door she stands there saying, "hi!" over and over again until the door opens (then she runs for cover and pretends to be shy).

She craps her pants, and then comes over and pulls on my clothes saying, "poop.  poop." repeatedly until I take her to the bedroom, and now she'll let me walk with her and hold her hand, which is the cutest thing in the freakin' frackin' whole wide world, lemme tell ya. 

She'll play with something she's not supposed to have, like the remote control, and say, "nooooooo!" over and over again while she's doing it, because she knows she's not supposed to have it.  If we try to get it from her she'll clutch it to her chest and say, "baaaaaaaaaabeeeeeee!" in the hopes that we won't steal her baby from her.

There's a ton of other things that she does (peeing on electronic equipment being her forte) but I'll leave it at this for now.  I'm going to check out that video sharing program that everyone's been using lately and see if I can get it to work for me, and then.  THEN.  You will see the magical wonder that is Phoebe in action.

Can't sleep.

I woke up at 6am this morning with a headache.  There's a fire raging not far from here, and I can smell the smoke.  It's making me cough and giving me the headache, I'm pretty sure, but I like fresh air, so I've only closed 1/2 the windows in the house.  This is, like, the 3rd such fire that's been in that area in the past couple of months.  Kinda scary.

My mom left yesterday to drive to New Mexico to attend a friend's daughter's wedding.  At the last minute she asked if she could take Marissa with her, and Bryan and I said yes, even though Marissa missed a lot of school last week because she was sick.  Marissa was super excited to go see the place where I "grew up", even though I didn't really grow up there, I just lived there for 5 years.  I hope my mom has time to take her to White Sands and drive her past my old high school and maybe do some sight-seeing.

Since Marissa's gone and Bryan has school I don't really know what to do with myself.  I've been cooking intricate dinners from scratch (we're talking de-boning whole chickens here, people), doing dishes and laundry, sorting through stuff to get rid of in preparation for our move, watering the lawn, vacuuming, and trying to engage Phoebe in independent play (the child will NOT play by herself, so finding something to occupy her is a challenge).

So, we might be moving to the next city over, in a different County.  My sister and her husband were renting a 2 bedroom apartment, but they left to move to Arizona and still have, like, 7 months left on their lease.  I went to look at the place the other day, and it's really really tiny.  Like, the size of a shoebox.  I don't have a problem living in a small space, and I'm actually kind of looking forward to downsizing our stuff, but Bryan really doesn't want to let a lot of this stuff go, so I'm dreading the fights we're going to have over it.  Sometimes he's just so unrealistic it's frightening.  There's no way we could afford a bigger apartment, and we've had tons of time to look for something here, but we just haven't done it.  Really, we made the decision to take this place by our inactivity, but for some reason he feels like we have no choice and we're being forced into moving into the shoebox. 

I'm dreading moving, because every time I've been pregnant I've had to move, and it's a damn pain in my ass, pregnant or not.  At the same time, though, I'm looking forward to not having a water bill or a gas bill or a trash bill, and I'm looking forward to having my a space where no one can come over and yell at me for not having cleaned out the pool.  It will be really nice for us to have our own apartment again, as tiny as it may be.  I think the change will be good for me.

It's official...

I'm pregnant.  Ok, really, though, I went to see the doctor.  See, about a week ago I was really really sick, so Bryan took me to the local ER to be checked out.  I was worried because I had severe abdominal cramping and vomiting, and since I don't have a way to check my BP I was concerned about lil' bean. 

The ladies at the hospital were really nice, and couldn't BELIEVE that I was still waiting on Medi-Cal to get their act together.  The head nurse gave me the card of the doc that was on-call that night, and suggested that I try to be seen by him, but warned that he may not take me on as a patient since I haven't had prenatal care to date.

I *was* able to go see this doc, and it was actually kind of a funny visit.  There I sat, half naked, defensive, mouthy, and at the same time desperately hoping he would be my doctor so I wouldn't have to deliver lil' bean at the County hospital.  Luckily for me he took me as a patient, after much stern lecturing about the fact that I haven't been seen by a medical professional for this pregnancy.  Whatever, you wanna be my doctor?  Cool.  Lecture all you freakin' want.  I can tune you out, mister pister.

So, anyway, I saw the doc on Friday, and he ordered an ultrasound for Saturday.  I *almost* broke down and asked the tech to tell me the sex of the baby, but Bryan stayed strong and said no, so all we know is that it's for sure not a puppy (DAMMIT). 

Lil' bean weighs approximately 4.5 lbs., and is estimated to arrive around Thanksgiving.

Say hello!

 

Ouch.

Last night Bryan and I were in the bedroom talking and cleaning up, and Marissa and Phoebe were out in the living room playing.  So we thought.

I heard Phoebe start to cry, so I ran out, and she was ON TOP of the kitchen table, ON TOP OF MY COMPUTER, and she had taken off her diaper and peed all over my laptop.

While that might sound funny, it's really not.  My laptop won't even power on now.  I had business information and e-mail contacts in there, pictures, project ideas, etc., that I don't know how I'm going to get back.

We can't afford to take it in and get it fixed, we can't afford to replace it.  I know it was just an accident, and no one is at fault, but I can't help but feeling like all the nice stuff we have eventually gets completely trashed.

I really want to be that 2-year old brat and stomp my feet and cry, because that's how I feel.  Since I can't be a little baby about it I'll just suck it up and do the best I can, but I'm so sad.  And I feel pathetic that I'm so sad over a computer, but oh well.  That's the truth.  I loved that laptop, and it was all mine, and now it's gone.