A year-ish ago, I tried to get The Husband to watch The Walking Dead with me on Netflix. He refused. There was always some lame excuse (“Some of us work weird hours, HEATHER.” “Some people are tired after work, HEATHER.” “I can’t pay attention to this AND play a video game at the same time, HEATHER!”) Eventually, I let it go and decided that when I had time (Because, after all, my life is just full of free time hoping to be filled with three seasons of a show. Just kidding. That’s a lie.), I’d just watch it on my own. HE DIDN’T WANT TO WATCH IT, he said.
Approximately six months after that, my sister was over for dinner, and the Husband so casually began to discuss The Walking Dead with her. Whoa whoa whoa. Say WHAT?! How did he know ANYTHING about a show he WOULDN’T MAKE TIME TO WATCH?! Well, turns out that in between his weirdish work hours, he was able to pump out a season and a half of the show.
Well, I’m not one to hold grudges (That’s another joke, guys. I love me a good grudge. Or a bad one. Doesn’t matter. I won’t let anything go.) but I was pretty pissed he did this. So much so that I resolved never to watch the show myself. Sure, he apologized, but that wasn’t good enough. He betrayed me. So now, in turn, I would have to take that betrayal out on Rick and his gang of misfits.
I kept that grudge going (and reminding The Husband of said grudge often) for another six months or so. Longer, probably. It felt like a very long time period where I was denied the opportunity to jump into a hot pop culture news item because MY HUSBAND WATCHED SEASON ONE AND SOME OF SEASON TWO WITHOUT ME.
Fast forward to my second month of pregnancy. I was so sick, guys. So, so sick. One day, I could barely get out of bed without having to run to the bathroom. I decided there was no way any work was going to get done. Or that I’d even be able to drive to work. So I called in. Jason was adamant that I spent the day resting, but we were both pretty confident that I wouldn’t.
“Why don’t you just let it go and try to watch The Walking Dead? You have all day. You can catch up!” he offered.
“NEVER!” was pretty much my reply.
I watched him pull out of the driveway and promptly turned on Netflix and queued up Episode 1. Followed 42 minutes later by episode 2. Followed by ALL THE EPISODES. At one point that day – I think I was 5 or 6 deep at this point – Jason came home to check on me. (Fine. He wins points for being a sweetheart thus far in my pregnancy.) I paused it only long enough to let him know that he’s lucky the show is so good and that I was willing to put my grudge aside so that I could get to the point in the series where he left off, so that we could watch together.
I think his plan all along was to get me pregnant so that I’d get sick so that I’d have to stay home so that I’d HAVE to put on Netflix because daytime tv is horrible so that I’d HAVE to start watching The Walking Dead so that I’d HAVE to realize that it’s an awesome show so that I’d have to let go of my grudge so we could watch the rest of season 2 and then season 3 together.
I finished three seasons in three weeks. It’s been about a month since we finished, and I feel empty inside. We’ve tried to fill our nightly void with Season 7 of Psych (If you don’t watch it, you should. It’s hilarious. The banter and references remind me of Gilmore Girls. The first episode is not great. Power through and get to episode 2. And then watch ALL THE EPISODES. So good.) and season 7 of Dexter (It’s normal to have a crush on a serial killer, right?) But guys, it’s not the same.
I miss Rick. And Daryl. And the constant zombie survival plan that Jason and I update while watching it.
(What I don’t miss is Carl. Ugh. Carl!)
How do people wait a whole damn week for a new episode?! Guess I’ll find out in October.
I PINKY promise this won’t turn into a “mommy blog”. Buuuuut, every week, I’ll be doing these updates. If they bore you, feel free to go ahead and wait for the next post. But you probably shouldn’t skip these, because we all know how funny I am and, also, Discovery Channel is live in my body RIGHT NOW! Don’t you care about science?!
What baby is up to this week: Your baby can now squint, frown, grimace, and possibly suck his thumb! Thanks to brain impulses, his facial muscles are getting a workout as his tiny features form one expression after another. He can grasp, too, and if you’re having an ultrasound now, you may even catch him sucking his thumb. From head to bottom, he measures 3 1/2 inches and he weighs 1 1/2 ounces. His body’s growing faster than his head, which now sits upon a more distinct neck. By the end of this week, his arms will have grown to a length that’s in proportion to the rest of his body. (His legs still have some lengthening to do.) He’s starting to develop an ultra-fine, downy covering of hair, called lanugo, all over his body. Though you can’t feel his tiny punches and kicks yet, those little hands and feet are more flexible and active.
Food cravings and aversions: I think this is the first week where I’ve SERIOUSLY had a craving. I went to Friendly’s for lunch with a girlfriend last weekend, with my mind randomly set on a chicken quesadilla and mashed potatoes with gravy. BUT FRIENDLY’S RUINED EVERYTHING. We went at 11:45 and they serve breakfast until noon on Sundays. What?! After some unsuccessful attempts at coercion, I was left to order a bagel. But I couldn’t stop thinking about my lunch that would never be. Later in the day, after listening to me talk about it for hours, Jay had me order it to-go and he went and picked it up. Awww, amirite?
A few days later, nobody felt like cooking. Where did I want to go to dinner? Friendly’s. What did I order? A chicken quesadilla and mashed potatoes with gravy. I could have had it for dinner yesterday, too. And I certainly wouldn’t mind eating it today. But our bank account and my waistline have other plans, so I’m going to try to limit our Friendly’s trips to
once twice a week.
Baby items purchased: Over the weekend, we went down to the city for a concert and to visit friends (and to deliver them our big news in person!) We made a run into FAO Schwartz, with hopes of buying my “niece” (my bestest’s little girl) a birthday present. We came across a clearance bin, with puppets from Where the Wild Things Are. I picked up two and made my first official purchase for our little guy/gal. (They go along with our nursery theme. Can you guess it?)
Favorite moment: Lots of favorites this week. Going to a Jay-Z & Justin Timberlake concert at Yankee Stadium, while 3 months pregnant, in 103* heat will be a memory that neither of us will forget (Sorry for crying at a concert, Jay. But it.was.so.HOT!). Telling Jason’s best friends (since childhood) that we were pregnant was awesome. And, of course, making our “official” announcement to the rest of our family and friends. It’s all still a little surreal.
Thoughts: One night this week, we were bored and looked up gender predictions based on old wives’ tales. Jason read off 8 different tales, and every single one of them pointed to the same gender. We even did science! I peed in a cup and added baking soda. Whatever. If the cup fizzed, like a shaken bottle of soda, it’s supposed to be a boy. If it doesn’t do anything, you’ve got a little girl.
Guess what, guys? Zero fizzes. This REALLY threw me for a loop, as it agreed with all other tales that we were having a girl. I have been adamant since day one that this little baby is a boy. And I
am never wrong don’t like being wrong. But a little, tiny, girl?! If we find out it IS a boy, I’m writing ALL the old wives – all of them – and calling them out for the frauds that they are.
Also, I’m starting to get a little bit of a bump. Sooooo, that’s weird.
I know how much you love to read about the pillow talk between me and my husband, you little voyeur. What? Is that not the right word? Oh wells. Sticking with it. Last night, we had a good one. Pillow talk, that is. So funny that I was in tears, actually. Because I think it was so hilarious, I’m assuming you’ll think it’s dumb or you won’t get it. That’s fine. I’d just like to have it for my records, to someday remind my husband that he told his imaginary therapist (whom I invented) that he thought I was smart. It’s on record.
The scene: We were just getting settled in bed. Jay was playing a game on his phone. I was bored.
Me: Do you think I’m smart?
Me: But, do you just think I’m average or would you say I’m above average intelligence?
Jay: (mostly ignoring me) Above.
Me: So, say you sit down with a therapist for the first time and he says, “Tell me about your wife.” What would you say?
Jay: I’d say that you’re very smart. Above average smart.
Me: Aw, that’s so nice of you. Thanks for thinking I’m smart.
::Fast forward five minutes. Jay sits up on the edge of the bed, and I began snapping the top of his boxers::
Me: Look! I’m pretending to play that instrument that you pluck with your fingers!
Jay: ::pushing me away from him:: Uuuuum, a guitar?
Me: No! Not a guitar. Gosh. I know what a guitar is. A mini guitar. You know. A mini banjo.
Jay: Nope. I don’t know.
Me: You know mini banjos? Like the kind they play around a campfire at the beach, with no shoes on?
Me: Jay! You know! Like in Hawaii?
Jay: Soooo you don’t mean a campfire with your friends? You mean a campfire in Hawaii? … You mean a ukulele?
Me: Yeah! I think so! Wait. Is that the mini banjo or is that the wooden flute they play?
Jay: Are you being serious right now? The wooden flute that WHO plays? You’re not being serious. There is no “mini banjo”.
Me: Yes! Like, in order of size, it goes guitar, banjo, mini-banjo aka ukulele. Right? So a ukulele is a mini banjo, not the wooden flute?
Jay: No. I just … no. Are you pretending to be dumb or is this serious? Why do you keep saying wooden flute?
Me: I’m serious! Also, you can only play the mini banjo –
Jay: – ukulele.
Me: .. the mini banjo in Hawaii, correct? Regular sized people can’t play that. Their fingers are too big.
Jay: Still nope. That is also incorrect. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I’m beginning to rethink what I’d tell my therapist.
The Husband likes pretzels, and bought some to bring in his lunch to work. Like a
good loving thoughtful little wifey, I took the entire bag of pretzels and divided them up (based on serving size) into little sandwich bags and stashed them in our snack drawer, so it’s no fuss for him to grab in the morning and throw into his lunch bag. The problem is that I only do helpful things for him, and like to create as much chaos for myself as possible. Which means that I haven’t pre-bagged any of MY chips or popcorn.
Whhiiiiiiiich means that this morning, when I wanted chips or popcorn, but didn’t want to put the effort into putting chips or popcorn into a baggie, I grabbed a bag of pretzels. And said to myself, “No. It’s fine. You like pretzels just fine.”
But now I’m sitting here, munching on pretzels, telling myself that when I get home today little missy I will most certainly bag up MY snacks. Because I don’t even really LIKE pretzels.
Yet, I continue to eat them.
And I probably won’t bag up my snacks. I can just do it in the morning.
What an informative post this has been.