Not. Cool!
Kindly Old Granny Admin (KOGA) is most recently noted in this blog as a co-conspirator in the pickle controversy. However, she is also known around the work circles as sometimes blurting out completely inappropriate things to the wrong people in the wrong situations. She's old. It happens.

Example. In a staff meeting, we're talking about marketing ideas and one of our upcoming presentations. KOGA comes out with, "I think we should have [CEO] dress up as a leprechaun!" And she was dead serious. Everyone got really pensive and quiet and there was no eye contact in the room.

OK. So today, we're all in my boss' office and he's showing us some TV commercials that our parent company has run in the past. One of them involved cavemen (no, it's not Geico (or is it Aflac?), but those are my favorite commercials on TV, especially the one where they're in the restaurant and the one caveman is like, "Nothing for me, I don't have much of an appetite." Digress!) As the caveman commercial is on, [Son of CEO]'s assistant comes in and starts to watch the commercial. The cavemen are on screen, doing cavemanesque things.

KOGA turns to [Son of CEO]'s assistant and says, again dead serious, "Is that [Son of CEO]?"

Seriously. She thought it was him dressed in the caveman outfit.

To the assistant's credit, she was like, "No, that's his brother that they keep locked away in the attic."

But oh my God. Talk about uncomfortable. And hilarious.

Holy matrimony!
OK, who else besides myself wasted two hours of their lives watching the famewhore spectacle that was Rob and Amber's wedding? Although I must give it props for being better than Trista 'n' Ryan's wedding a few years back.

I think I caught the whole two hours, but I must have been in the bathroom during the "prenup" segment. Right?

Holy Idols!
And speaking of two hours of your life you'll never get back... who's planning on sitting through the entire Idol finale tonight? I am definitely more of a Bice fan than an Underwood fan, but I can't say I'd buy either of their records, so good luck to both of them, I guess.

The only reason I'm even considering tuning in (other than the fact that I HAVE to know who won) is to see what they could possibly do to make the show interesting.

And what happened to Anwar's dreads? He went for the Lenny Kravitz look. I'm not sure I approve.

State of the pregnancy: month seven and counting
So I see it's been a while since I posted. As a major presentation looms on the horizon, I haven't had the blogging time that I usually do. Not to mention that the weeks are flying by in anticipation of little Doodle.

My baby shower was this past weekend. It was a ton of fun but it really wore me out. I never knew that opening gifts would be so difficult! Not only to muster up enthusiasm at the 89th onesie that was unwrapped, but the physical stress of it all.

Highlights of the shower included my grandma telling my husband's grandma all about my ex-boyfriend and how much she liked him, my mom barely containing her annoyance at my grandma (divorced parents; grandma is dad's mom; mom hates dad and much of his family), and of course, my grandma attempting to whisper to me, but failing, that I should name Doodle after my father. (Wouldn't that go over well with my mom!?) Oh well. My grandma is 85, she's entitled to be a bit outspoken, I guess. I hope at 85 I'm blissfully unaware of my own eccentricities.

Doodle's room is jam-packed with goodies now. I tried to straighten up a bit in there, getting all the baby clothes folded and all the tags cut off (haven't washed anything yet -- can't muster up the energy for the task). The cats are exploring all the boxes and bags and are a little apprehensive, understandably. Molly, in particular, was really put off when all this new stuff arrived into the house on Saturday. Dom thought it was a great adventure. Oh, if they only knew what's in store for them.

This morning I had an ultrasound and found out that Doodle's estimated weight is now approximately 4 pounds, 14 ounces. Which is a little bigger than average but not by much. So we're still doing well. His little face has filled out and doesn't look nearly as alien-like as it has in the past. We saw him grab his little foot, which was adorable. I had a non-stress test scheduled but my ultrasound results were so good, the doctor canceled it. And although my sugar levels are getting higher, I'm still spared from having to take insulin.

As far as the changes in my body, there's no denying that I'm carrying a child anymore. Just within the past week, strangers have been asking me when my baby is due. I'm entirely in maternity clothes now, with the exception of a few large tees and sweatshirts that still fit. My back gets sore every day (at least during the week) around 4 and continues until I go to bed. Last night it was too sore for me to stay up and watch the "24" finale. I had to DVR it and I went to bed around 9:30.

But overall, I'm fine, Doodle's fine, and as the days tick down I'm both excited and scared a little bit more each day. The months have gone by quickly, but now that I have a little over seven weeks to go, I'm hoping that time slows down so I can enjoy the waning moments of life as I know it.

Naughty, naughty
I just ate FIVE Doritos. Wheeeeeeee!
I'm out of control!

Seriously, some of the girls in the office have this HUGE bag of Doritos that is stationed up on top of the wall between their cubes, and so it's above eye level. It taunts me.

Finally, I went over there and said, "Hand over the Dorito bag and no one gets hurt."

Ah. Nacho cheesy goodness.

The battle of the over-zealous grandmas
One thing is becoming abundantly clear as my due date approaches: there is a competition underway.

It hasn't been stated, but it's been hinted at, alluded to, and executed behind closed doors, or at least in the aisles of Toys R Us.

It's a game of granny oneupsmanship being waged between my mom and my mother-in-law. Who will be the best grandma? The most loved? The most capable of spoiling the yet unborn prince?

It's neck and neck right now, but my MIL may have taken a lead over the weekend...

Mom?
-Hosting my baby shower (and paying for it) (it's this weekend by the way) (oh crap)
-Offering to buy the crib and changing table (and calling me daily to see if I picked anything yet) (I haven't)
-Rounding up all my baby blankets and other items that are still useable from my baby stuff (and washing them) (twice)
-Commented to me on Friday: "[MIL] is a good person. She's going to be the babysitting granny. (long pause) I want to be the babysitting granny."

MIL?
-Went crazy buying shower party favors and table decorations. I went with her on Saturday to pick stuff out. Sunday she made a second trip and bought MORE stuff(without me) (oh Lord)
-Bought our two carseats (but not the ones I registered for)(grr)(oh well -- beggars can't be choosers!)
-Also bought a Boppy pillow (not off my registry again, causing me to scramble to figure out where I had registered for it and try to delete it so I wouldn't get duplicate Boppies)
-Also bought a children's book for "Grandpa" to read to young Doodle (prompting my FIL, an English teacher, to open it and read aloud: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...")(The End. NOW GO TO BED!)
-Also bought six HUGE stuffed animals that she wants to use as centerpieces at the shower (but really they're for the Doodster)
-Commented to me over the weekend: "Let me know if I get too out of control with this stuff."

As the weeks go on, I'm sure it's only going to get worse. Especially after he's born. I can just see it now... my mom will be overcome with jealousy because she lives farther away. Jealousy will lead to anger. Anger will lead to hate. (Sorry, I'm gearing up for the Star Wars premiere this week.) My MIL will continue the unabashed spoilage and my mom will have no choice but to follow suit.

So, when do you think they'll calm down? When Doodle's in college?

Poll
I'd like to point out that there is a new poll up. Now it might seem like a no-brainer (July 6 is before July 14; therefore, BB6 premiere will happen first), but due to the gestational diabetes there is a chance that I'll either be induced early or have a scheduled C-section before my due date if Doodle becomes too large. As of two weeks ago his estimated weight was at about 3 pounds. If he becomes in the 8 or 9 pound range, he's coming out, no matter what the calendar says.

With that knowledge in hand, go vote!

Out of time
My watch stopped working. I noticed it this morning. It must have stopped last night, at approximately 10 minutes until 10.

I'm one of those people who feels naked without a watch on.

So, despite the fact that I know that the watch doesn't work, I'm wearing it anyway. And I have looked at it at least six times today.

Is that mental of me?

PickleGate
Some of you may remember that a very kind co-worker brought me a jar of pickles and I was elated. Every afternoon I'd delve into our work fridge (which is small and just houses the lunch items of my 7-person department) and have one, maybe two, in a little bout of afternoon indulgence.

I was in the office over the weekend (yeah, it's that time again) and I decided to take a pickle break, but to my dismay, the pickle jar up and disappeared. It was gone. Gone!

Now I've heard that pregnant women can be absent minded, so I thought that there was a chance I'd left it somewhere. But after wracking my brain I couldn't remember doing such a thing. I always grabbed one out of the jar and then immediately put the jar back in the fridge, mostly so the garlic and dill aroma didn't travel too far in the department.

I was pretty much over it on Monday when I came in to the office, but one of my co-workers decided to ask Kindly Old Granny Admin if she knew anything about the pickle jar's disappearance.

Turns out, on Friday, while I was at lunch with three other co-workers, Bad Lady (of course!!!) went to KOGA and told her that the pickles had "been in there a long time" and "looked bad."

So KOGA threw them out.

Now, a few things are wrong with this scenario.

First, Bad Lady sits right next to me. Either she's really dense (OK, she is) or couldn't smell or see me eating a pickle every day. Not to mention, PICKLES DON'T GO BAD. They're pickled.

If the smell was bothering her or something she could have just said something to me. But I think that she purposely waited until I was gone to dispose of the jar. She's just shady enough to do something like that.

Anyhoo, KOGA felt so bad that she threw away my pickles that she went out and bought me a new jar. How cute is that? The new jar has a note taped to it that says "Please don't throw me away!"

One of my co-workers wanted to write "This means you, [Bad Lady]," on it, but I wouldn't let her.

I'll just make sure that I breathe pickle breath on her every time I indulge from now on.

Pitching in
In preparation for the child-to-be, the J. household is currently in a state of chaos. A partially-finished baby's room still houses all of my clothes, a large futon, and, until recently, the cats' bowls. In fact, this room was known as the cats' room for the first year and a half that we lived here. No mas.

It's hard to tell if the cats know what's going on. Dom has been a little bit more tentative when he crawls onto my stomach, and has encountered the baby giving him some swift kicks when he has tried to lay on me. But he looked around to see if there was a hand, or perhaps a mouse, to blame, rather than drawing the conclusion that the terror lies within.

Molly, on the other hand, still tries to knead on my stomach. So I'm not sure she's clued in to the situation.

However, both cats have become very adept at what I call "parent practice." This involves both of them roleplaying as small, misbehaved children. Recently, for no apparent reason, Dom jumped onto a coat tree, toppling it over into my husband's dresser, which then sent the small TV on top of the dresser flying toward the edge. Quick reflexes on my part saved the TV from disaster. Both of them are constantly on each other, chasing each other through the house. Molly will bitchslap Dom with no provocation whatsoever. Dom will jump onto the kitchen table and start eating crumbs off a dinner plate, or stick his face into my milk glass. Dom is also back on his kick of bringing stuff up from the basement in the middle of the night. Right now it's limited to towels and washclothes, but I know that underwear aren't too far off in the future.

And Molly, bless her little pathetic heart, barfs at LEAST once a week now.

But for all the trouble they have been getting in to, Dom at least has been pitching in to help. Why, just the other day he helped me put sheets on the bed:


And he also helped me put some laundry away:



So, really, I can't be mad at him.

Plus, no matter how much he and his female counterpart misbehave (or, in Molly's case, how much she hurls), they're still my babies.

For a couple more months, anyway.

I scream, you scream
You can go ahead and hate me if you want.

Here I am, in the home stretch of this pregnancy, and I still am at a net LOSS as far as my weight. I'm right about at my pre-pregnancy weight, and in the past month have only gained a pound.

Which means that I'm doing really well with watching my sugars and yadda yadda.

But that still didn't stop me from having a partial meltdown last night because we walked through the grocery store and I WANTED TO EAT EVERYTHING I SAW. Particularly ice cream. I would really like an ice cream sandwich, you know the kind that has chocolate chip cookies for the sandwich part?

Once this baby is born, ain't nobody going to get between me and one of those bad boys. With a root beer float as a chaser.