Re-launched, but still slightly under construction. :-)

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

Hysteria, When You're Near

I seem to recall reading somewhere that the word “hysteria” comes from a term used by doctors in ancient Greeze. Doctors thought that women experienced emotional imbalance when the uterus traveled around inside the body.

This makes some sense to a pregnant woman. Things that seem completely insane to non-pregnant people appear perfectly reasonable to me. It is normal to bug bomb my car. It’s nearly mundane to want to sleep in the bathtub. And if I want to dip cheese into chocolate, why shouldn’t I?

As late as the 1960s, some psychologists categorized pregnany as a mental illness. I’m beginning to see why.

“Pregnancy will make you crazy,” Jessica H. told me yesterday, in conspiratorial tones. I wish someone had told me earlier But the bigger secret: Men get it too.

Scott works at a pizza joint, and his co-workers have all noticed the change. In a fog, Scott dumped a tray of used paper plates and plastic utensils into the dishpit... the clean side. It wasn’t until the dishwasher yelled at him that he even realized what he had done.

Sunday, June 27, 2004

Milking It

I’m already using the pregnancy to my advantage. Driving to Atlanta, Scott turned on the radio. He likes his music very loud.

No, you don’t understand how LOUD it is: I have (not very serious, but measurable) permanent hearing loss from childhood ear infections, and it’s too loud for me.

“Honey!” I cried. “The baby is going to kick out the radio!”
Scott laughed.
I held up my thumb and forefinger and pressed them together.
“It’s little ears are only this big!”

Friday, June 25, 2004

My Body is a Wonderland

There should be some reprieve between finding out that you’re pregnant, and experiencing the effects of pregnancy (of course, I am eight weeks along). But I guess my body going insane was the first indicator, anyway.
  • My boobs are huge. I’m renaming myself Mt. Boobamunjaro. I can’t imagine what they’ll be like at 9 months. They’re going to have their own weather systems before the pregnancy is over.
  • Dear God, the cramps. I might as well be having the baby now. I’m told that it’s my uterus expanding. Great. Like any part of my body needs to get bigger. Apparently, labor is an estimated 4 billion times worse. That’s okay. In my “emergency labor oh-my-god-we’re-having-the-baby-NOW bag,” I’m packing a rubber mallet. I hope Scott has the balls to knock me unconscious.
  • My stomach is trying to escape. I think the plan is that I will get so frustrated by the indigestion that I will rip it out of my body. It’s a plan that just might work. “Oh,” said Jessica, a girl I work with. “That means the baby will have hair!” The “baby” is the size of a grain of rice. It has cilia, right now, not hair.
  • I have to pee every three minutes, but the rest of my body can’t seem to clear itself out. I’m carrying around 23.7 tons of water weight. When I walk I can hear myself slosh.
  • I’m sure it sounds like I’m complaining, and I am, but because this whole thing amuses me. It’s like I’m wearing someone else’s body. It’s a process from which I’m detached.
“But, you’re glowing!” Scott said, and God love him for thinking it.
“Honey, I’m not glowing. That’s the ever-present sheen of sweat I’ve gathered from dragging my pregnant ass around this hot-ass town.”

Saturday, June 19, 2004


Everything seems so overwhelming. Yesterday, someone at work asked me how I felt. I said, “I feel pregnant. I want to beat everyone up and take all their food!”

Big laugh from the other mommies.

Friday, June 18, 2004

For Them to Poop On

Of course, my parents had to shit all over it. They lectured us for two hours about how disappointed they were in me, how they thought I was smarter than this.

Scott is trying to handle it with his usual aplomb. I suppose he’s simply more of a grown-up than I am. But this was most inappropriate.

My sister tried to make me feel better: “Why do you listen to them? They’re crazy. Don’t listen to the crazies.” And I laughed. But I don’t feel better. I’ve never been happier in my life. Why did they have to be such assholes about it?

Thursday, June 17, 2004

Oops, We're Pregnant!

I tell Penny first, then we call his parents. They are ecstatic, and they tell us that they have an entire nursery’s furniture stored in their attic. I call to move the wedding date, and am offered free use of the botanical gardens! All of Scott’s friends’ wives are pregnant, and due only a month before I am. Everyone is nice at work - except Sumo, but that’s to be expected. I come home to 15 messages of congratulations! I feel fantastic - Scott and I are both terrified, but it’s in the “actually living my life” vein of terror, which is the best kind to have. The timing may be off, but my partner is right, and we already have a fantastic support network in place. We’re excited and ecstatic and everything else you can be that basically means happy.

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

Wedding is another word for "crazy"

My mother has already sent me an email of directives. So I sent her this email:

We’ve decided on a theme for the wedding: Spingtime picnic. We’ve going to cover the tables with Astroturf and plastic flowers and bugs. The chairs will be covered with red and white gingham fabric, and we’ll all eat ham sandwiches and potato salad off of paper plates.

All of the party favors will be little boxes of chocolate covered ants. Remember the story Dad used to tell about eating the ants? That’s where I got the idea. Scott’s family comes from the McDow’s of the McDow peninsula of Ireland. It’s a farming community, and agriculture has always been a big part of their lives so we're bringing in some of old farming equipment as decoration: a plow, rakes, pitchforks, etc.

I may ask Kelli to break out her clogging shoes from middle school because Scott’s sister, Vivian, is going to do a caeli, which is Irish stepdancing, and it would nice if someone from our family could join in. Scott is thinking of having all the groomsmen wear bolo ties. I thought that it would be funny, since we have a country picnic theme, to come barefoot and with a pillow stuffed in my dress, and Dad could carry a shotgun. But I thought that might be too much.

Scott panicked. He sent this email to my mother:

Mrs. McGowen -

Your daughter has been smoking crack. The proof: her most recent email. However, we are going to have a very dignified wedding. You and I are going to see to that. There will be no Astroturf, no bare feet, no black bridal gown, or other crazy shit. I am glad to have an ally in this mess. Please help me make this wedding something your daughter will be proud of 20 years from now, since I plan to be looking at those photographs with her at that time. I am so happy to have you as a mother-in-law.

Let's synchronize our watches! Good luck!

Love, Scott

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

Bad Mojo

Why is it that four different people have asked me if I plan to go on the South Beach Diet now that I'm engaged? And someone scoffed at my engagement ring the other day: "If my fiancee gave me a teeny tiny plain old ring like that, I would not marry him!" Wow. That's love. I'd have married Scott if he proposed with a doughnut ring... but then I would have eaten it.

Anyway, back to my mojo. I seem to have left it at the Bat Cave.

I got my first table 15 minutes after I got to work today. Just as they were sat, my contact popped out of my left eye. Then, one of the hostesses told me that I left on my headlights. I ran out into the pouring rain to turn them off. As I reached into the car, my left bra strap snapped. What the hell?

I stood for a moment, in the rain, making a silent apology for offending the universe. Then I went back inside. As I passed a girl in the kitchen - the new girl who made a mean comment about my very beautiful ring - she fell on her ass. Hmmm...

Shit like that happened all night long. Frankly, I'm surprised we all survived.

Saturday, June 12, 2004

Too much time on their hands

Why do people turn their noses up at my ignorance of wedding planning and, well, complete lack of giving a shit about the things I suppose I should give a shit about? Like, no way I'm paying $200 for a cake.

"That's cheap!" said Stephanie. "Geez, are you having your mom make it, or something? That is so ghetto."

Um, I'm not having my mother make it, but wouldn't that be nice - not ghetto - of her?

"So, what are your colors?" some new girl at work asked me. "Colors?" I said, completely confused. "Yeah, you know: the color scheme of your wedding. What color are the bridesmaids going to wear, the groomsmen, the decorations, the cake, the flowers, the -"

My head began spinning while I tried to take all of this in.

"I don't need a color scheme for the wedding. I'm going to wear a white dress - because my fiancee actually cares about that, not my first choice - and I'm just hoping that he shows up and says yes." The girl looked and me and then rolled her eyes. "Your wedding is going to look stupid." I grinned and said: "How would you know? You're not invited."

Thursday, June 10, 2004

What decade is this?

My manager grabbed my ass last night. Could've killed her. I've worked on the "Don't Grab Stacey's Ass" ad campaign for a year, now, but apparently I'm not reaching my target audience.

Fun so far

I like this being engaged thing. I get lots of hugs. I'm so happy I'm drooling on myself.

Unfortunately, now there's a huge party to plan. Can't we just make a fucking big pot of spaghetti? I was trying to figure out what kind of wedding dealio to expect, so I asked Scott what he was going to wear. "A tux," he answered. Crap. That means I have to get a formal dress.

Our list is already out of control. We're at nearly 300 people without even asking our parents who they are inviting. If the list stays the way it is, each guest will be issued a single Saltine and a plastic cup of water at the door. Happy reception feast!

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Going to the Chapel

So, we're engaged. Yeah, never mind about the story. As I move entries from one site to another, I'm deleting posts that annoy my husband if I can live without them.

There was much confusion and uproar at work today. Scott worked at Restaurant of Evil with me - and, obviously, these other people - but I really keep my private life mostly, well, "private." Most people didn't even know that we were dating, and that was okay with me. I'm not up in there to make friends and have a social life. It's just a job.

Unfortunately, when one person screams in the alley, others are there to observe and participate. And one scream was all it took. The subsequent screams came from me - trying to get away from the horde of women slowly surrounding me and crushing the life out of me. God, just take the ring. I love it, but I'm not going to sacrifice my life for it. And yet, it is very important to me.

Hostess: Can I try it on?
Me (snort): If you can take it from me.