Who the hell needs teeth anyway?

F*ck teeth.

Or more specifically, f*ck baby teeth.

We were just cruisin' along, feelin' badass because Sadie is awesome and sweet and happy and sleeps through the night (big ups to YOU Dr. Ferber)and then BAM!

Teeth.

And not just one or two or even three...SIX.

SIX MOTHER EFFIN BABY TEETH AT ONCE.

And now my sweet girl is like a mix of Damien from the Omen, Linda Blair from the Exorcist, Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka on a speedball bender.

Ok, she's not that bad. She still is pretty much the cutest kid ever and sweet as pie but her sleep has gone to shit. I'm up everyday between 4-5 AM pumping her full of Motrin and reverting to the old days where I tried to induce coma with my magical breasts. Dr. Ferber's about to come in her and kick my lazy ass but he can suck it. I've gotten used to sleeping through the night. I can't go back to that place.

In a moment of sleep deprived delirium I started thinking about how stupid it is for a baby to even get teeth. It's not like I've been all, "Hey Sadie, I'd sure love to feed you baby back ribs and beef jerkey. If only you had some chompers." The kid eats fricken mashed up apples, cheerios and cheese cubes for God's sake. That lady from Hoarders who lost her dentures in her trash pile could survive on Sadie's diet. Then I started thinking, shit, most of the BEST foods don't require teeth.

1. Ice cream
2. Soft cheeses
3. Creme brulee
4. Mashed potatoes
5. Chocolate souffle (or any souflee really)

So there you have it. I'm banging the gavel and saying no more teeth.

Oh, and I have to give a shout out to Mr. Val for getting a new job and kickass raise. Lord knows we need it, someone's gonna have to pay for all this Brie & Creme Brulee.

XOXO,

A day in the life.

6:00 AM: Wake up. Barf/Fart/Burp/Poop or all three. Yell at mom for some boob. Get said boob. Barf/Fart/Burp/Poop again. Have mom change diaper & put me in the first outfit of the day.

6:00-7:00 AM: Yell & flail about happily while daddy makes funny faces. Contemplate pooping again. Look in that reflective thingy and wonder who that cool baby is and why there are 2 mommas. This world is blowin' my mind.

7:00 AM: Kiss mommy & daddy goodbye. Try to barf on them so they remember me all day. Flail about happily in grandma's arms. Look generally adorable.

8:00: AM: Get in swing. Stare at the lambs that keep moving in a circle above me. Wonder where they are trying to go and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

10:00 AM: What the hell happened? Why am I still swinging and WHY ISN'T THERE A NIPPLE IN MY MOUTH.

11:15 AM: Phew. Portable nipple put in my mouth. Crisis averted.

11:30 AM: Barf/Fart/Burp/Poop, preferably all over myself. Enter outfit #2.

12:00 PM: Lay down on floor with grandma and try to roll over. Almost got it...success! Wait, how did I get on my back? I think I'll fart and barf again until it all makes sense. Cue outfit number 3.

12:30 PM: Emergency: Grandma has pinned my arms down and put me in a straight jacket. I'm in a weird cage like contraption and a giant sheep is making whale sounds above my head and I totally don't get it and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

2:00 PM: How do they keep tricking me into sleeping? Time to yell. NEED MORE BOOB. Mom's not here so how does grandma keep giving me her milk? I'll ask the lambs.

4:00 PM: At grandma's house. She keeps bringing me over here and putting me in another cage like thing with a giraffe that makes chirping sounds and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

5:00 PM: NARDS! They tricked me again. I'll show them...blowout+spitup=Sadie's revenge. I was getting sick of that outfit anyway.

6:00 PM: Doorbell. I'll get it. Wait, I can't walk. In walks....MOMMY & DADDY! YAY! I'm so excited I can't decide whether to laugh or cry! How about a little of both? Wait, what the...they're strapping me down again? This time in a chair? Now we are in the giant bouncy seat that moves and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

6:30 PM: They're sneaky, I'll give them that.

7:00 PM: Why I am I naked? I'm naked and being put in this warm, soapy bowl that feels AWESOME. So awesome I think I'll pee in it. There is a whale that spits water at me and we talk a little bit. I tell him about my day and how weird it was. He totally gets me. Good listener.

7:20 PM: Wait...this feels good, why are they taking me out? I think I'll voice my displeasure. No, I don't want to put a diaper on! LET ME BE FREE WOMAN. Hear comes the jammies. I scream a bit for good measure but truthfully, I kind of like jammies. They keep my feet so warm.

7:30 PM: No no, not the baby straight jacket! I'll be good, I swear! I'm so mad, can't you tell by all the YELLING AND SCREAMING??? Why won't you help me dude? You just keep walking and shushing and rocking me and it's getting darker and maybe this isn't so bad and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Tricky bastards. Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

XOXO,

Sadie

Life in the fast lane.

To quote my favorite show, Always Sunny in Philadelphia, "WASSUP BITCHES???"

I'm back at work which, surprisingly, means I'll be able to Blog again! Unlike my tyrannical little imp Sadie, my employer is legally obligated to give me breaks and stuff. More often than not I have to use them to milk myself but every now and then I get to steal a moment to play on the interwebz. So let's start off with a checklist of what's going on in the Valentine household as of late:

1. Mama is back at work: This is going surprisingly well. Before I was back at work I was racked with guilt about leaving Sadie Bug. Would she remember me? Miss me? Wind up on a bell tower in 16 years because of some working mother abandonment complex? I'm pleased to report that yes, she does in fact remember me; my mother in law lies to me and tells me that Sadie misses me desperately all day long; She has yet to pick up an automatic weapon or write a manifesto, so we appear to be good on all fronts.

I miss her like crazy all day long, but seeing her little face at the end of the day is amazing, especially now that she smiles and giggles at me all the time. Our mornings are fun too, we nurse and get up and play for a little bit before I get ready for work. Let me tell you, my "Pat-a-cake" rendition KILLS with the infant set. KILLS.

2. Sadie smiles! And laughs!: The smiling happens on the regular, the laughing happens when you've done something TRULY AMAZING like kiss her neck, nibble her toes or make up some awesomely weird baby-centric lyrics set to the tune of "Whoomp, There It Is!". We call her Dubya because at this point her laugh is a weird chuckle reminiscent of our last fearless leader, which is super awkward since the mister and I are both die hard liberals. I just hope she doesn't invade any Middle Eastern countries unprovoked. ZING!

3. New Wheels: There comes a time, once you've had a baby, put your hubs in grad school, work full time and move to the burbs where you have to come to terms with a second vehicle. We've been a one vehicle house for years, but the logistics were becoming insane. Like trying to solve a rubix cube on an Absinthe bender. (Which I totally recommend trying at least once in your life.) We hemmed, we hawed, we pondered incredibly insensible cars (I totally need a Mercedes, right?) but in the end wound up with a cute little Ford Focus. We got a kick ass deal on a year old model that is loaded (as loaded as a Ford gets that is). It's super fun to drive and very safe and I feel super patriotic for buying my first American vehicle. Take THAT right wingers. You may have guns and Sarah Palin but I have a piece of Detroit engineering in my garage bitches. It almost offsets the Huyandai aka "Axles of Evil" Tucson that we also own.

4. I'm skinnier than before I was pregnant: This is a total attention whore moment. I am totally one of those chicks that other chicks hate. I was at my pre-pregnancy weight at my 6 week post partum appointment and now weigh about 5 pounds less. Before you start sending me hate mail, please remember that a.) I had a 10 pound baby b.)I have to breastfeed said 10 lb. baby and c.) I have to lug around that 10 (now 15 lb.) baby all the time. Call up US Weekly, that should be the new Hollywood fab diet, the "TEN POUND BABY DIET". I bet the Kardashian skanks will fully be onboard, until they realize that they have to parent the baby too. Babies totally interfere with the "let's wear way too much eye makeup while living off our late father's estate and trolling for professional athletes to sponge off" lifestyle. But I digress.

Anyhow, life in Valentine land is pretty awesome. My baby rocks, my husband is super cute and I fit into my skinny jeans again. Now if I could just fit into all my shoes...

XOXO,

Your baby is an asshole.

Before you get mad at me, it's a line from Sex and the City. And no, I don't think my baby is an asshole.

Well, not all the time anyway.

But seriously? Having a baby is no joke y'all. They are like, SUPER needy, round the clock. I liken the new baby experience to a Wiley Coyote cartoon, where he gets an anvil dropped on his head by the roadrunner (which makes no logistical sense by the way, the roadrunner was way too skinny to carry an anvil, but that's a topic for another time). Anyway, he'd get the anvil to the head and be smooshed into the ground and then he'd peel himself off the pavement and little birds would be swirling around his head and there was an anvil shaped dent in his noggin.

That's pretty much how I feel everyday.

And I have an EASY baby. No, I don't have one of those babies that magically sleeps through the night or can already help me with laundry, but I do have a super sweet little girl who isn't colicky or fussy, who loves to snuggle all day and sleeps pretty well at night. Plus, I have a super awesome husband who helps do everything short of nurse her, which I wouldn't put past him if he thought he could.

However, the reality of child rearing is that even under such ideal circumstances, it's exhausting. I have no idea how single parents do it or parents of super fussy/colicky babies. Y'all are better women than I.

That said, it's the most amazing experience I've ever had and I love my little Sadie so much it actually takes my breath away. Since I've had her for 8 weeks now, I'm pretty much a baby expert, so here are some of my lessons learned to date:

1. Having a baby shines a whole new light on yourmom. I've been peed on, pooped on and barfed on daily since my little Sadie Bear came home. This kid is prolific in the bodily fluid category. And I did all this to my mom. Just know this: your baby will be a giant karmic kick in the ass for what you put your parents through.

2. You will make parenting choices you swore you never would. You know those proclamations you made pre-baby? "I won't be a short order cook" or "I'll never let my kid watch TV" or "I won't buy my kid anything with a Disney character on it".

Yeah you will. You'll do ALL of it and like it. You know that beautiful nursery I showed you a while back? It's essentially a very well appointed walk in closet for Sadie. Where does Sadie sleep you ask? Why right next to me in bed. Yep. We are thoseparents. Turns out that nursing a baby is kind of a round the clock job. And this mama didn't exactly love getting out of bed 4 times a night to lug my 10 pound bambina in and out of bed, so here we are, co-sleeping. I know, I know, you aren't supposed to sleep with your kid. But you know what? I LIKE IT. She likes it. And Mr. Val likes it too. So that's what we do.

3. Baby swings are little Christmas miracles, sent from Jesus. Our Fisher Price Papasan baby swing is the only reason my house doesn't look like a Hoarders episode. No joke, that shit is like baby crack. Or baby Valium, more precisely.

4. Being a mom makes you pensive. Since I've had Sadie, I've thought a lot about the many children who are not born into such loving families with parents that have the resources to care for them. I think it weighed heavy on my mind b/c of the holidays as I imagined all the little kids who don't wake up to food everyday, let alone presents. This has spurred Mr. Val and I to give back a little more, through charity and hopefully our own actions throughout the year.

5. LET PEOPLE HELP YOU. This is probably the best advice I got and the best advice I can give. If your wonderful Mother in Law asks if you want her to bring you breakfast/lunch/dinner, say YES. If your mom and stepdad buy you and your husband massages for Christmas and offer to babysit? Say YES. If your friends offer to come over and just hang out with your baby so you can bathe? Say YES. Your own psyche and your husband will thank you.

6. Get on birth control ASAP. I kid, but truly, this kid is adorable but we have ZERO interest in another for at LEAST 3 years. I told Mr. Val that I wouldn't even think about until then, but since he isn't sold on the idea of 3 sexless years of marraige, to the IUD I go.

Oh, and one last tip, try to have a kid as adorable as Sadie. It makes the 4 AM explosive poops much easier to laugh at.

XOXO,

10 pounds of heaven

I apologize for the accidental blogging hiatus, but I was unavoidably detained giving birth to my 10 lb. daughter.

Yep. 10. Whole. Pounds.

I want you to drink that in for a moment before I recount her birth story and note that I am not a big woman. My license says I'm 5 foot 4 whilst reality says that I'm 5 foot 3 when the wind blows straight up from the ground. My normal weight is between 120-130 lbs., depending on what time of year it is here in Chicago and how many bratwursts I'm currently shoving down my gullet. In short, I'm a small fry. This makes my 10 lb. baby story all the more surprising/terrifying/cautionary.

We blitzed past my October 27th due date with zero progress. No dilation, no effacement and no "dropping" on the part of the baby. I grumbled my way through the 40 week appointment, mad at my own body and my apparently lazy baby. The doctor agreed we'd go one week past and go from there. I got to the 41 week appointment and same story, in fact, I think my cervix was actually getting more closed at this point and I could hear Sadie laughing at me from inside my uterus. The doc agreed that it was time to induce so we set up an induction date of November 4th.

We got to the hospital around 10:30 PM on November 4th after my "last meal", which consisted of an Italian Beef, Cheese Fries & Chocolate Cake from Portillos. (Don't you dare judge me...I was about a thousand weeks pregnant.) They set me up in our L&D suite and began the medieval torture that is modern day obstetrics.

I was started on a low drip of Pitocin, which from her on out will be referred to as "The Devil's juice". I also was given a Foley catheter, which is a fancy way of saying they shoved a water balloon up my cervix and blew it up and yes, that is every bit as unpleasant as it sounds.

Let me tell you a little something about Pitocin. It sucks. Once the contractions kicked in, it was like a freight train was driving through my ladybits over, and over, and over. The contractions were massive from the get go and came one on top of another for what seemed like forever. I labored until about 4 AM until I just couldn't take it anymore and opted for the sweet release of drugs. The world's greatest anesthesiologist came to my rescue and gave me an epidural with such precision and quickness that had my husband not been holding my hand I would have kissed him. With tongue. I forgot his name due to the MIND NUMBING PAIN I was in, so in my mind he shall always be Dr. Kissyface. Because I literally wanted to kiss his face.

With the Epi in place I was finally able to sleep which we did as much as you can when you have an ever expanding water balloon in your nether regions. Early that morning they came in to check me and I'd dilated to 4 cm and effaced to about 60%. All of this was encouraging, however to make a long story short, it was the furthest I would get. They let me labor until about 4:00 PM until they lost Sadie's heartbeat. Let me just say, this had to have been the scariest moment of my life. It's never a good sign when 6 people in scrubs come racing into your hospital room and start prodding you, probing you and saying things like "STAT". Luckily they found her HB again but they switched off my Pitocin and Mr. Val and I looked at each other knowing exactly what was coming.

The doctor came in and yammered on about whatever for what seemed like forever but the only words I heard were "C-section". I wish I could tell you that I handled myself with some dignity here but the truth is that I was terrified and completely broke down. Like ugly, hiccuping, sobbing breakdown. I shooed everyone out of my room and just cried like a baby on Mr. Val. Not because I had some burning desire to shove an apparently hostile child out of my loins, more due to the lack of control. I was scared for me, scared for her and just really didn't want my body sawed in half.

A new anesthesiologist arrived and I could tell he recognized right away that I was beyond hysterical. Bless his heart, he upped my epi with enough drugs to tranquilize a rhino and into surgery I went.

I cannot tell you how incredibly bizarre it is to be awake while your body is being cut into. All those little tugs and pressures were so strange. I was shaking like a leaf the entire time, I thought just out of fear but it turns out I also lost a lot of blood which didn't help matters. They had to cut through the placenta to get to her AND use a vacuum to get her out, which made the grossest popping sound when she finally did come out. But she came out safe and sound which is all that matters and after a few frantic moments of me begging to see her, I finally heard her cry, the most wonderful sound I'd ever heard.

I'm not going to lie, recovering from a c-section is rough and caring for a newborn is essentially like hitting a brick wall at 80MPH. But it is a truly awesome thing to look at your child and see yourself, your partner and all your dreams and love in that little face. So without further ado, I give you:

Sadie Joan, born November 5th, 2010 at 10 lbs. 1 oz. This was my favorite picture from the hospital, I love that we are just checking each other out like, "Hey! I know you!"

















And now, almost three weeks later, here is my little Sadie Bug:




















I can say without hesitation I've birthed the cutest kid on the planet. She looks just like her daddy and I think my heart may explode with happiness every time I see them together. I will be posting more regularly again now that I am starting to get the hang of typing one-handed while my little munchkin spits up on me.

XOXO,

She's late, she's late for a very important date.

My baby is a squatter.

I am officially one week past my due date and I'll be honest, I'm not handling it well. I had a doctor's appointment on Monday where they confirmed that I've made ZERO progress at all. Luckily, my doctors office is very understanding of crazy pregnant women and said I could pick my induction date which is tomorrow! Tomorrow evening Mr. Val and I will check into the hospital to have a baby. That has to be one of the most surreal sentences I've ever typed.

I'm not going to lie, I'm a little freaked out. But I got my meltdown out of the way on Monday and now I'm just excited to meet my little princess. I'm hoping that all I need is the kick start and that I can deliver her but if not the most important thing is that I hold my healthy baby girl by week's end.

One cool thing about the induction date is that I will likely deliver her on Friday, which is my late Grandmother's birthday. When we were deciding on a name it was either going to be Sadie Elizabeth or Sadie Joan, after one of my grandmas. We decided on Joan who is my Mom's mom. Now it looks like my sweet Sadie will have one grandma's name and the other's birthday, which I think is pretty cool. A little nod from my Grandma Betty in heaven perhaps?

Anyway, we are just counting down the hours now and I'm in full on nesting crazy mode. Cooking, cleaning and getting ready to meet this wonderful little person that we are already so in love with.

XOXO,

To bend or not to bend. That is the question.

When I used to think of having a baby, I'd always leap to the actual birthing process and shudder. I used to think that I'd never have the cajones to push a human being through my loins. That all started to change around the time that I couldn't see my toes anymore. Here is a list of things that I can no longer do without assistance:

-Put lotion on my legs below the knee
-Put on underwear (caveat: I actually can put on underwear, it's just not guaranteed to be on the right way unless Mr. Val helps. Just last week I realized about 3/4 through the day on Thursday that I'd been wearing my underpants inside out all day.)
-Buckle/Tie shoes
-Paint my toenails

I also am finding shaving incredibly difficult but my foolish pride is standing in the way of asking for assistance. I'd like for there to be SOME mystery left between my husband and I, even if it has led to some patchy shave jobs as of late.

The other big issue at this stage is bending over, which for a klutz like me, has led to a few existential crises as of late. Case in point:

The Vending Machine Incident:

One of the more recent food items I've gotten addicted to is Raisinets. I've always liked them, but I stone cold LOVE them now. It's great because the raisins counteract the chocolate and the vending machine at work stocks them and lets face it, Raisinets are like the last thing to sell out of a vending machine. I'm the only one who buys them willingly, the only other time they get picked is when the machine is all out of other candy.

But I digress.

Anyway, today I was waddling down the hall to get my Raisinet fix when the unthinkable happened. I dropped my damn quarter and it rolled partially under a cabinet. I stood in the hall for a minute weighing my options. I could:

a.)Bend down and get it and pray to the baby Jesus that I don't fall over/split my pants/pass out from sheer exhaustion
b.)Waddle back down to my desk and get the dollar that is hanging out in my purse for emergencies such as this
c.)Forget about it completely, you don't need Raisinets anyway
d.)Stand there until someone passes, at which point rub my belly and look sad and hope they offer to pick up my quarter

I actually thought long and hard about option d., but I'm not the world's most patient person. I was about to go for b., when the voices in my head started trying to convince me that bending over isn't really that bad and I should just get my lazy pregnant ass down there and pick up my quarter. So, I went with a., which involved me bending at the knees as low as possible and running my fingers under the cabinet until I felt the sweet, chocolate producing metal rim of my quarter. Right as I was about to grab it, the worst possible thing that could have happened, did.

A throng of co-workers round the corner just in time to see me writing around on the floor, my pregnant ass huffing and puffing for a stupid quarter. This being a particularly chivalrous group of young men, they approached and asked if they could help me up, did I fall, yada yada yada, to which I mumbled that I had just dropped my quarter and I was OK and thanks and have a nice day. It would be fine if this were the end of the story, but nooooooo. Apparently my karmic balance sucks b/c as I head to the vending machine I realize that they are headed that way too.

Did I mention it's 10:00 AM in the morning?

The first guy gets trail mix, quite possibly the only thing in the vending machine less popular that Raisinets. The second guy gets pop tarts, classic morning choice, and the third guy gets some cookies. I'm feeling better because lets be honest, Raisinets are way better than Pop Tarts or Cookies, so I put in my money and make my selection, arriving at that blissful moment when you get exactly what you want out of life. I started to waddle back to my desk when I hear, "Rasinets huh? My mom loves Raisinets."

Sigh.

There are only so many indignities a gal can take, before she is capable of things never before possible. Which is why I am no longer terrified of childbirth. The prospect of a life without seeing my toes or shaving my entire calf without incident is much more terrifying than labor.

Until then I'll keep weighing my options when I drop stuff...anything over $5 I will probably huff and puff my way down to the floor for, under that all bets are off.

Those were some damn good Raisinets though.

XOXO,

The unbearable weirdness of being knocked up.

Here is the honest to god truth about being pregnant for the first time:

It's super weird.

It's weird that all the sudden I want pineapple, like, NONSTOP. It's weird that one day I look skinnier than before I peed on that fateful stick and that the next day I wake up with Lou Piniella's body. It's weird that I vacillate between sex sounding AWESOME and threatening to punch my husband should he so much as LOOK at me lasciviously in the SAME DAMN DAY. Basically, in the words of the immortal Dwight Schrute: "A three-ounce fetus is calling the shots. It's so bad ass."

And here's the other honest to god truth about being pregnant for the first time:

It's really scary.

All of the sudden I'm tasked with a waterfall of major decisions. Do I keep working or stay home? If I stay home do I REALLY want to eat top ramen and use single ply toilet paper until my husband is done with grad school? Do I cloth diaper or not? If I let my baby cry will he/she turn into a serial killer? If I don't let my baby cry will he/she turn into a serial killer?

There is no reason for me to be so panicked. Mr. Valentine and I are ready for this baby. We have good jobs, good educations, a stable loving marriage and a supportive family. But even when you find yourself in the incredibly blessed position that we Valentines are, it's hard to not be flummoxed by the sheer magnitude of what you are about to do. Truthfully, 15 short weeks ago Mr. Valentine and I had a trough of Margaritas and decided to throw caution to the wind and now it's (holy shit) baby time. You can see how I am a little suspicious of our judgment.

But then I see the little terry cloth robe I bought babyVal. It's the only thing I've bought so far, but I couldn't resist. I run my hands over it and imagine the little miracle whose arms will soon fill out those sleeves, whose tiny feet will poke out the bottom and whose bright little face, no doubt topped with curly dark hair will stare at this brave new world and all its wonders. And I know that without question I can do this and how much I want to. And I know that all the decisions will get made, in due time, hopefully more right than wrong. And every time my husband kisses my stomach and whispers goodnight to this baby, I am reminded that I've already made the most important choice of all, which was choosing him. The rest of the pieces will fall as they may, but the only thing we really need is each other.

Well, that and the occasional Margarita ;)

XOXO,

Up the Duff....

...is a delightfully tacky British turn of phrase for pregnant.

Which I am.

This is another mea culpa for my erratic blogging as of late, but it's hard to come up with pithy comments about cheese when all I can think about is the tiny succubus that's currently residing in my womb.

I have no intentions of turning this into a pregnancy blog as I think most of them are boring and I'm certainly going to stay my cheese eating, wine swilling self...just in mom form. And no, I'm not drinking wine while pregnant. My desire for a baby without gills trumps my lust for the Jesus juice.

That said, it's a pretty major life change so I'll obviously give you the highlights here, but none of the gross stuff, b/c some stuff should just be locked away and suppressed, never to be exposed save for the safe haven of a psychotherapist's office.

There is the standard list of knocked up questions with my not so standard responses:

Weight Gain/Loss: I'll never tell, but I can tell you it's not that bad. Despite the fact that I ate grilled cheese sandwiches exclusively for a week.
Maternity clothes: not yet, though I am scouring websites to find cute ones that don't cost a fortune.
Stretch Marks: no and I plan to do anything, including drink the blood of virgins to avoid them. I am hoping my mom's kick ass genetics come into play here.
Sleep: is the new sex.
Movement: at my last u/s babyVal was moving around like a maniac, which I clearly can't feel at this point. This worries me as it indicates a crazy baby is on the way. Karma really kicks you in the ass,no?
Food cravings/aversions: cravings have been all over the place. Some days fruit, some days cheeseburgers. The most obvious symptom is that I am utterly susceptible to suggestion. If I see someone eating a turkey sandwich, I want a turkey sandwich. The other day a colleague of mine was eating sushi, which I can no longer can eat. I almost cried. Bitch.
Gender: I suspect girl. Mr. Valentine suspects boy, though I assume this isn't so much a suspicion as a desire to reenact the "Wanna have a catch?" scene from Field of Dreams.
What I miss: staying up past 9:30.
Best moment this week: seeing babyVal moving around at the doctor.

So that's it for now. I promise to never veer into STFU Parents territory and to always maintain my rapier wit. You just have to promise to love me when I cry and give in when I demand pickles.

XOXO,

The Five People You Meet on Facebook.

This post is inspired by a status update from one of my high school friends that read, "If you were mean to me or ignored me in high school, why on Earth would I confirm your friend request?"

Excellent question.

Facebook is undoubtedly an amazing way to stay connected to people. It is especially useful for people like me whose friends and family are far flung. That said, like any cultural phenomenon, Facebook leads to some strange and uncomfortable reunions. So let's discuss the five most commonly annoying/bizarre/disturbing people you will meet on Facebook:

1. The former mean girl/guy: He stole your lunch money. She stole your boyfriend. It doesn't really matter how cool you were in high school, there was always someone there who wanted to make your life miserable. But now he/she is a grownup. He/She's changed! Oh, and he/she wants to be your "friend".

Bullshit.

This person is likely still a terrible human being and just wants to be able to poke around your pictures and see if you are hotter than he/she is.

This happened to me last month. I got a friend request from a high school classmate we'll call "Jack". The last interaction I had with "Jack" was ten years ago, when he and his evil girlfriend "Molly" three way called me and tried to trick me into admitting my secret desire to steal "Jack" from "Molly". I don't really care if "Jack" has since found Jesus, won a Pulitzer or delivered a baby in a taxi, to me he will always be the douche from high school who three-way attacked me.

Friend request? DENIED

2. The Attention Whore: She danced on tabletops at high school parties. He always has a story ready to one-up yours. Like a cockroach, the attention whore is impervious to hints and the Internet only makes him/her stronger. The Attention Whore posts inane status updates hourly and comments on every post in your news feed. To make matters worse, the Attention Whore likely suffers from low self esteem, which means that any attempt by you to block them will be met by many follow up friend requests.

You are powerless against the Attention Whore.

Friend request? DENIED THE FIRST 6 TIMES. THEN FINALLY ACCEPTED.

3. The Ugly Duckling Turned Swan (UDTS): She had braces, frizz and acne at graduation. He was the "husky" one of the bunch. In the years since high school they've befriended the treadmill, Proactiv & Botox and want you to know that YOU MISSED THE BOAT YOU SHALLOW BITCHES. The UDTS has entire photo albums devoted to his/her rock hard abs and probably a head shot. The UDTS also makes a habit of posts like "I heart spin class" or "Pain is weakness leaving the body".

The UDTS is likely single as their obsessive need to re-write their high school history has rendered them an emotional black hole.

Friend request? ACCEPTED. WHO ARE YOU KIDDING? YOU'RE NOSY.

4. The Religious/Political Zealot: He found Jesus. She found Sarah Palin. The zealot uses Facebook as a twenty-four hour soapbox for various rants. You can expect lots of links to Fox News & MSNBC as well as videos of James Dobson telling you why God hates gay people. They also will ask you to support various causes like, "1,000,000 Strong That Believe Global Warming is a Myth" or "Yurts Rock!".

Be aware that very little of what the Zealot says is based in reality. Zealots do not like to be confused with facts.

Friend request? ACCEPTED, BUT YOU SHOULD PROBABLY BLOCK THEIR FEED.

And finally...

5. The Family Member: Facebook changed when old people got involved. You used to be able to put up college pictures but now your mom is on Facebook. She doesn't want to know that you did your fair share of body shots on her dime while getting your B.A. in Communications. The Family Member also includes random relatives & Fourth cousins who want to get to the elusive 100th friend mark. The Family Member will comment on ANYTHING unsavory in your profile, so be alert. The Family Member will also at some point disclose something you didn't want to know about your Mom, so this is another time to take advantage of Facebook's various "block" functions.

Friend request? YOU HAVE NO CHOICE. IT'S YOUR FAMILY.

It really is a brave new world. I must go now. I have to go join "10,000 Strong for Feta" and "Aquarians for the Ethical Treatment of Badgers."

XOXO,