"Say Goodbye to Sleep"

Hi everyone. Steve here. I'd just like to take a moment to say thank you. I appreciate your advice. I really do. We have no idea what we're doing, so the heads up on baby strollers, carriages, the existence of meconium...I am grateful. However, I think I'm full up on the comments that once the baby arrives, I will "never sleep again." 

First of all, this technically isn't advice. It's a taunt. And it's usually told to me through a knowing smile and a sadistic tone that screams, "Now you will share in my sleepless pain! Hahahaha!" Yes, that's an evil laugh. Because you're an evil person who delights in my suffering. 

Second, yeah...I know I'm not going to sleep! There's nothing I can do about it. I can't store energy by sleeping more now, then unleash it in 5 months. I want to just enjoy the time I have in peace...but I can't even appreciate a good nap anymore, because all I hear is your collective voice saying, "I hope you enjoyed that while it lasted! Hahahahaha!! I am evil incarnate!!" 

Third...This is something you tell a person being hunted by a nightmare demon. It has nothing to do with caring for a newborn baby! Nope! Nothing at all!!

Fourth...I love sleep. So you telling me I will no longer be doing it is like saying I'll never watch Star Wars again. It's just mean. So, again, thank you for your advice. But let's stick to advice, and put the sleep talk to bed. 

Don't Be Fooled By The Rocks

Since becoming a 9-month-long designated driver, I've had to find creative ways to fit in when eating out. Last night at dinner with co-workers, to my delight I spotted a virgin margarita on the menu.

"What?? A margarita for me and my Jelly Bean???"

YAAAASSSS!!!!! I am in! I even added salt to the rim like good ol' times so it looks like the real thing. And guess what????


It tasted NOTHING like a margarita. I know. Shocker, right? It was basically just a bunch of pineapple juice. What's up with all the virgin cocktails including pineapple juice? No one wants that. Too sweet. No bite. No fun. Sorry pineapples, your juice is lame.

Turns out, tequila is a really important ingredient for margaritas. Without it, you might as well suck on a jolly rancher rolled in salt.

The search for the perfect mocktail continues...

NYC Street Fair with Baby Goggles

Now in my second trimester, I have noticed a newfound hunger -- a hunger mostly for sweet, fried, chocolatey, sprinkles-covered and buttery-drenched treats. 

So, you can imagine my sheer delight at the discovery of a NYC street fair in my neighborhood this past weekend!!! The whiffs of funnel cake and kettle corn alone set my heart aflutter.

Sprinkles of powdered sugar are kisses from angels.

I am a pregnant cliche and I don't care who knows it!

WATERMELON!!! ME HEART MELON. SO. MUCH.

Here's what I didn't expect to be excited about --- child care! 

Before preggo life, I would go to the NYC street fair excited to stumble upon a new pair of earrings or orchid or scented candle. This time around, I practically attacked the two girls manning the Smart Sitting booth.  "Yes, I will take all of your brochures and email you a thousand questions!!!" If only they were covered in sprinkles...

Is It Possible to Look Cool at a Baby Show?

No. No it is not. 

Just Find an Old Lady!

Over the past few weeks I have noticed my ability to climb the subway stairs has been challenged, to say the least. By the time I reach the top I sound like the Big Bad Wolf, huffing and puffing. My heart is racing. Why on Earth aren't there benches at the top of every flight of stairs in the world? Would that be too much to ask? Shouldn't my tax money be going to the important things...like more public seating?

In the mornings, the worst thing is when I exit the subway first and end up ahead of the commuter pack. I'm like Simba in the Lion King, forced to sprint my way to the top or God forbid I'm trampled by a stampede of wildebeests. 

The good news is...I now have a new strategy -- seek out the oldest person on the subway, allow them to step in front of me, and walk behind them going up the stairs. It will look like the older gentleman or lady is holding up the line but in reality I am enjoying a nice, leisurely pace. To make my plan more convincing, I'll even look back at my fellow commuters, throw in a few 'How annoying is this??' facial expressions, and no one is the wiser. 

But seriously, let's get those benches at the top of stairs going. 

A Prophecy?

Today at the doctor, we were getting all sorts of sonogram pictures of Our Jelly Bean, and while we were staring in marvel at the black and white, grainy alien curled up, unsure of whether that was an arm or a leg or a tail, our technician let out a sigh. It seems she was having trouble getting the proper angles for certain pictures. She told us the baby was basically upside down. She shook the probe around, pushed harder, pushed lighter, had Stephanie turn on her side, turn on her back, turn on her other side, cough, sneeze, laugh, cry, and look really nervous. (she didn't have to be asked to do some of these things). Nothing seemed to work. After a half hour, the technician gave up and said, "Your baby is being difficult." 

We're hoping that wasn't a sign of things to come. 

Approximate recreation of the baby:

Just a Little Something We Made...

Of course we made a video...

Hell Yeah, Party Cake!

Purchasing this party cake tonight at the grocery store was the easiest and most delicious decision of my day. 100% guilt free.

Shifting Priorities...

So this is starting to happen on Amazon...

Our Jelly Bean is invading Amazon. (And yes, the video games are for me (Steve, not Stephanie)). 

Any Injuries We Should Know About?

Many of you know I enjoy my Bikram hot yoga. And when you're pregnant, you're supposed to do a different series of poses -- the pregnancy series. Since I'm not showing yet, I've been able to avoid making a big deal out of it. But Steve is starting to get concerned that our Jelly Bean will be scrunched during Salabhasana. And now that he's put it in my head, it's all I can think of! Yoga is supposed to be my relaxing time, not my time to think of all the ways I'm torturing Jelly Bean. 

So this weekend, it was time. 

At the beginning of every Bikram class, the teacher always asks the class, "Are there any injuries we should know about?" This follows with a chorus of complaints of knee injuries, back pain, hip surgeries, etc. I didn't want to follow by saying to the entire class, "I'm not feeling well because there's an alien inside of my body." Just seems bizarre. 

Luckily my instructor was alone at the front desk on Saturday morning. This is good. It's discrete, more intimate, low-key. Minimal room for embarrassment. So I say, "there's something I haven't told you yet..." She said "you're pregnant! I knew it! Your face has really filled out."

Just what a gal wants to hear! Yay! My face is totally fat. Hooray. Here I was worried about my belly  giving my secret away and it's all in my face. Don't get me wrong, not at all surprised with the diet of bagels and perogis, but nonetheless...a little harsh to hear. Namaste.

 

Friday Favorites List

Things I (Stephanie) am loving this Friday...

1. Smucker's Uncrustables

When Steve brought this goofy-looking box home from the grocery store I thought he had lost his mind. And after he then put the box in the freezer, I truly thought it was time to call for help.

But oh-my-goodness was I wrong! This pocket of peanut butter and jelly gooeyness is the best thing to happen to my life. Why on earth was I going to the trouble of actually making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? They are already made! And while I take the sandwich out of the freezer in the morning, by the time I reach for it at lunchtime, it's perfect!

2. Sneakers

Today I actually convinced myself that sneakers were okay to wear to work because my particular pair is dressy-ish...and by dressy-ish, I mean black and white and not completely dirty. And also, it's a Friday and people just want to go home. Everyone else is looking at their watches, not my feet.

3. Butter

Last week I mentioned buttery noodles as a Friday Favorite, and today I announce butter as general food category is a favorite.

Tonight Steve is making me go see "Captain America." Am I excited to see this comic book flick? No. Am I excited to douse my popcorn in loads of melty, yummy butter? Hell freakin' yeah!

Okay, It's Still In There

For the last few weeks, Stephanie has been convinced Our Jelly Bean evaporated into thin air and no longer existed. There was little visible evidence a human being was growing inside her, so we went to the doctor. And the doctor, as she always does, laughed at us. Then let us hear the heartbeat. Turns out it's still in there.

I'm starting to reconsider our position on the child preparation chart.

Should We Add Marlboro Lights to Our Baby Registry?

I have decided that our child will come out of the womb sounding like Harvey Fierstein. This is thanks to the millions of cigarette smokers in Manhattan.

Everywhere I walk...smoke!

My journey to work looks a lot like the video game "Frogger." At the first whiff of smoke, I do my best to dash and dart along the sidewalk and across the street from the culprit -- only to be attacked by another chain smoker. If I can't find a clear path away from the smoke, I try to hold my breath for as long as possible. And while I'm getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen I wonder...is that good for the jelly bean? Does holding my breath put a pause on everything happening inside my lower belly? Should I just accept that this is my baby's future?

The only thing working in my favor is my superhero sense of smell. Usually I smell the smoke first, which bides me a little bit of time. I swear I never once smelled a cigarette before this little adventure began -- which is now entirely concerning.

Smokers should really not be allowed to smoke outside.

Advice from Our Doctor

On our first visit to the doctor, two months ago, we had many questions. We explained to her that we didn't know what we were doing, should Stephanie avoid certain foods? Can she dye her hair? Should we swap out our soap and detergent for pregnancy-friendly products? When we leave the hospital, how do we get our baby home? (The nurse's response, "They won't let you leave the hospital without a car seat. After that, you can put your baby on a bus if you want to." (We won't be doing that)). She answered most of our questions, but left us with one lasting piece of advice...

"Babies are much tougher than you think. Crackheads have perfectly healthy babies all the time. You two will be fine."

So for those keeping score at home, on the child preparation chart, it goes Stevanie, then people who smoke crack.

Make Way! Pregnant Lady in Bar!

Last night we did something crazy...Yes, we were outside our apartment past 11, but that's not all...We went to a bar to see a friend play live music. When we usually see this friend play, it's in a relaxed, intimate setting with plenty of space and seating (and now we all know how much Stephanie loves chairs). Just a man and his acoustic guitar. Last night...turns out last night was a different type of gig altogether. First, we had to get our IDs checked at the door, which already makes me feel out of place. That means the majority of people who frequent this place are closer in age to 21. And we are just slightly outside of that demographic. (Okay...I'm slightly outside of the coveted 18-34 advertising demographic altogether. Which makes no sense because I didn't have any money between the ages of 18-34. But that's another post for another blog.) So we get inside the bar and it is JAM PACKED with young, drunk people. Literally, wall-to-wall-to-wall-to-wall with tall, skinny, carefree, sloppy, loud, people. People are making out. People are spilling shots. People are pumping their fists and yelling "We are causing a ruckus!" Which, by the way, if this were an actual ruckus, you wouldn't need to point it out to everyone. At the root of their excitement (besides alcohol) is our friend on acoustic guitar...except he's now flanked on stage by two electric guitarists, a bassist, and a drummer. This is not the intimate evening we are expecting. This is a full-on concert. But remember, we're out past 11. We made a special trip to see this show. We can't turn back now. Also, the entrance has been swallowed up by a gaggle of scantily-clad women swaying back and forth like arm-flailing inflatable tube men. No escape. So we must press on. The hostess at the front sees panic in our eyes and says, "There's also a bar in the back. Might be less crowded there." The bar is approximately 100 feet away. But standing between us and the bar are roughly 2000 people.

It looked something like this.

Now we have to press on. And Stephanie is being sent into a mass of unsteady humanity. We struggle to push our way through the crowd, and at every oblivious, drunken roadblock I just want to scream out, "Make way! Pregnant lady coming through! Show some respect!" But then I realize...the only appropriate reaction to that would be, "A pregnant lady? In a crowded bar!? Are you crazy??" followed by the entire bar booing us. It was at this moment that I realized maybe things are going to be different from here on out. We eventually make it to the back bar, where we watch the show from a TV while sitting comfortably in the corner. But the entire time in the back of my mind I'm thinking, "Well, this is it. We're stuck here forever. Unless we arm ourselves and fight our way out." I start looking around the bar for weapons I can use to part the crowd. 'Hm, those old-fashioned hipster lightbulbs could be effective. Maybe I can pull the leg off my chair. This tabletop has a nice copper finish that would work as a nice battering ram.' Eventually I abandon that idea and decide to ask for an application to become a bartender. I figure if we're going to be living here, I'll need to pay for rent. Then, the unthinkable happens...

The table behind us has received their food order. Quesadilla. And some sort of indistinguishable Mediterranean cuisine. Something I haven't mentioned yet is that Stephanie's sense of smell has suddenly become very acute. And once the odor from the quesadilla hits her nose, she is ready to leave. Like, immediately. There is no debating this. My dreams of becoming a bartender must be put on hold. We must escape. I quickly pay the bill (after a tense moment where I'm giving a faulty pen), and start thinking of an exit strategy. I spot a Fire Exit in the back, but the alarm may go off, and we don't want to shut down our friend's show. We realize the only way out is through...Back through the drunken mess. We steel ourselves. I take in a deep breath as we prepare to turn the corner. And now it's time...

We enter the main room to find...these 21-year-olds are kind of lame. Half the room has cleared out, and it's only midnight! God bless Millenials and their short attention spans (Yeah! Take that, Millenials!). We're able to casually stroll through the bar as if we're cool action heroes walking away from an explosion. We even got our own soundtrack. But yeah, that's the last time we'll do that. 

-Steve