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As I’m typing this, I’m having a contraction.  BUT, it’s not one of those, “OH MY GAWD I’M IN LABOR” contractions.  It’s just something to remind me that I have absolutely no fucking control over this pregnancy whatsoever.

Last night I woke up thinking, “Damn, that hurt!” and I promptly went back to sleep.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…and probably a lot.  I never had contractions with Cara before I was induced.  I never wondered if I was going to make it to my “due date”.  Hell, once I passed my due date without a single twinge, I just figured I’d stay pregnant permanently.

This was me at around 15:30 today.  I was not happy.  Can you tell?

I used to look like this:

I liked this hair cut.  It made me feel pretty and thin and like I looked LIKE A FUCKING GIRL.

I’ll try and keep the story short.

I got my hair cut like a month and a half ago like it is in the second picture.  I liked it; I liked the chick who cut it.  But, my mom convinced me that I should try the chick who cuts Mom’s hair.  “You’ll LOVE her.”

We have had issues with eating out with Cara since she was a tiny infant.  Actually, that’s not totally right.  Other people have had issues with us eating out with Cara since she was a tiny infant.

When Cara was an itty bitty baby, I would breastfeed her when we went to dinner.  Since I hadn’t yet really gotten into the groove of the whole “breastfeeding in public” thing, I was VERY discreet and would request a booth in the back [and how about a curtain while you're at it].  Despite my shame tinged REALLY covered up breastfeeding, I got a myriad of nasty looks and whispers and a lot of shaking of heads.

Friday, glorious Friday!

Actually, I don’t have that unnatural love/devotion for Friday any longer since I stay at home with Cara.  Don’t get me wrong, Fridays are fine but it’s not like I get to leave “the office” for the weekend and come back on Monday.  I’m rambling now aren’t I?

Sorry.

It’s Fuck You Friday!  Yippee!

Now for the list:

I had one of those crazy hormone induced pregnancy dreams last night.  This is new territory for me since I haven’t ever been one to have the three headed baby dreams or the dreams where I give birth to a cat or anything weird like that.

[The only "strange" dream I can remember from my pregnancy with Cara was one where I dreamed that she had amber colored eyes and was a she.  I was kind of right; Cara did end up being a girl but she had blue eyes, not amber.  I was close though...right?]

If you’ve been trying to access this site in Internet Explorer [WHY?!] then I’m sure that you’ve been running into that cute little error box and then the site would abort on ya.

Well, the problem was Sitemeter and said code has been removed.  SO, to all of you who have NO clue what I’m talking about, carry on.  For those of you with Sitemeter on your own blog, delete it.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

Am I a sellout or “money grubbing whore” because I run adds on my site?

WIkipedia defines sellout like this:

“Selling out refers to the compromising of one’s integrity, morality and principles in exchange for money, ’success’ or other personal gain. It is commonly associated with attempts to increase mass appeal or acceptability to mainstream society. A person who does this, as opposed to following the original path s/he laid (or claimed to lay) out for him/herself, is labeled a sellout and regarded with disgust and immediate loss of respect. Selling out is seen as gaining success at the cost of credibility.”

This weekend sucked.  How’s that for a great introductory sentence?

Tucker was in Millington at Drill and Cara and I were at home.  For some reason, him leaving on Friday night really had an affect on me and Cara seemed to be more affected than last time.  To keep from moping around the house all Saturday, I drove down to Little Rock to see my ex-step-mom.  And now that I type that I’m wondering if I should explain.  Oh what the hell.

I try telling myself that I’m not constantly pissed off this pregnancy, but alas, that’s a big fat lie. Something about this fetus makes me ready to go at the drop of a hat. [Don't fuck with me; I'll cut ya.]

Hence the post about the baby shower and hence this post.

We went to Target yesterday for something supremely important [I've forgotten what it was.] and of course I had to pee because I have to pee every fifteen minutes or so. [This post talks a lot about pee and bathrooms...you've been warned.]

We all understand the basic concept of a baby registry.  Right?

Pregnant women and adopting parents sign up at a store of their choosing for the items that they want.  Then friends and family carefully select the largest, least expensive item on the list.  [Biggest bang for your buck]

If for some reason you either can’t access the registry online, in the store, or you just don’t give a shit then you purchase a gift card - just make sure it’s obnoxiously cute.