Photo Friday: A Year in Sandwiches

It is no secret that I am crazy obsessed with Jimmy John’s sandwiches. When I was working, I would go more than once a week. I was the mayor on Foursquare for a good long stretch, for $%#!s sake! Even pregnant I was going once a week; nitrates be damned. I can pinpoint who started my obsession and I can name at least ten people whom I have passed the joy on to.

Pinterest has plenty of “ideas” for monthly photo shoots, of course. Though they tend to be overdone and/or overly complicated. OF COURSE.

So that explains the following.

And full disclosure: I was not sponsored or paid or reimbursed or anything. Though I wouldn’t turn it down retroactively. (wink)

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Hosta La Vista

Last week, my mom was here to visit and man, I put her to work. She also put herself to work by bringing a suitcase – yes, a SUITCASE – full of various plants. She swore that the plants would have cost me almost $300 if I bought them all but they were free since they were from her garden. And then she got a little miffed when we found the same plants for a buck each at Lowe’s. Minnesota apparently overcharges for plants. Way to go, Minnesota.

So, yeah. I have hostas now in the yard. Hence the blog title I just couldn’t resist.

She also pulled up two dead pine trees from our back fence line, to which Big A called her a honey badger because “she’s so small and she just don’t give a f^&%. You know she went out there and just dug them out with her bare hands”. I didn’t witness it, but he’s probably right.

I shall sum up her visit with photos.

Not only did she come prepared with a carry-on full of foliage, she convinced the bakery to sell her a tub of the epic delicious frosting I swooned about. AN ENTIRE TUB OF FROSTING. It must have weighed two pounds. Shout out to P.J. Murphy’s for not thinking my mom was nuts asking them to fill up the empty Cool Whip container. And to TSA for not confiscating or eating it.

So we made cupcakes. And there is still another batch worth of frosting in the freezer for later consumption.

We played bingo. While eating Jimmy Johns. A convergence of two of my favorite things. I thought I couldn’t be happier. And then I won $500.

Unfortch, about 20 minutes before I won $500, she won $50 and somehow convinced me that we should split all our winnings. Since I hadn’t won in a long time and we usually don’t win more than $50, I agreed. WHAT THE F%&@ WAS I THINKING!? Luckily, I was able to buy her off with a $50 purse and I kept the rest of her share. I’m greedy, what can I say.

Then we played with power tools and made this broken fountain that came with our house that’s just been an algae creator for two years into a cute little herb garden.

And we painted the old office from the hideous purple

To a buttery tan sort of color. It’s on its way to becoming the (dun dun duuuuun) NURSERY.

After a week full of good home-cooked food, including homemade rouladen and spaetzle, we ended her visit with grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate malts. I felt like I was eight again. And it was awesome.

The worst part of her visit was dropping her off at the airport. Not because I would have to say goodbye, but as we pulled into the drop-off zone she said “Well. I’ll be back soon!” Like, too soon. Like a few weeks soon. WHEN THE LITTLE %$@! IS BORN.


The Third Trimester. The Final Frontier.

Dear @%^! Baby,

Well. Our darling little shithead. Yesterday, we entered the closing stage of your leeching. The third trimester. The final three months. The last 12-ish weeks. The culminating 84-ish days.

Don’t try to do the math. Pregnancy dating is dumber than a box of rocks and makes zero sense. If you ask Arizona, now women are pregnant for two weeks prior to conception. FEMALE BODIES ARE MAGICAL! Anyway, some say the 3rd tri starts at week 27, others says it’s 27 and a few days, others think it’s week 28. I chose to go along with the 28 weekers because, frankly, the longer I could stay in the 2nd trimester, the better I felt.


Let’s do a little round-up, eh?

Fruit Salad: The National Fruit and Fetus Comparison Board tells me you are roughly the size of a rutabaga. That is extremely unhelpful. I don’t really even know what that IS, much less how big it should be. I definitely don’t want to eat it.

Flavor Enhancers: Still can’t get enough fresh pineapple (so much so that I sent an angry tweet at Baja Fresh begging them to bring back their pineapple salsa. And then threatened to burn it down via my Facebook status), Mexican food or Jimmy Johns. I even reclaimed my Foursquare mayoral seat at  JJ’s which I am pretty damn proud of. I know that ham is supposed to be verboten, but dang nabbit, it’s all I want. ALL HAM ALL THE TIME.

Growing Pains: Holy man, the back pain after a weekend of house cleaning. I waddled for the first time after getting out  of bed with the stiffest back I’ve ever experienced. I waddled. I was not happy.

The Weight is On: I feel huge, but apparently my 11 pound gain has not been enough to appease my doctor. Lord knows I’ve been stuffing my $#^! face whenever the mood strikes. I was given instructions to “indulge more” once again. If she saw what I actually ate in the course of a day, she may change her tune. But, Doctor’s Orders! Pass the cupcakes. And milkshakes. And chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches.

(Sweet) Relief: The bathroom trips are getting annoying, especially when it’s four times during the night. WHEN THERE IS NOTHING IN THE BLADDER. Maybe if you would cease being a little shithead and stop kicking me in said bladder I wouldn’t have to roll out of bed to tinkle. And I mean literally. It’s just a %^#1&@! tinkle. NOT WORTH THE WADDLE.

I’ve also come to the point in the journey which requires doctor appointments every two weeks. I can tell you how they go. Check-in. Wait. Pee in cup. Get weighed. Check blood pressure. Wait. Doctor enters.

“Any pain?” Nope.

“Any problems?” Nope.

“Any questions?” Nope.

Get belly measured. Listen to heartbeat. Get information on what the next appointment will entail, if it is going to require a special test of some sort. Get the peace out, see ya later.

So mundane. Not that I want them to be anything different, but it kills my productivity if I have to go back to work afterwards. #justjokes #iamalwaysunproductive

I meant to take a picture yesterday to include here because apparently people are angry at the lack of bump, but I looked like hell and then just plain forgot. So suck it up for a few days, I’ll take some pictures this weekend. In the meantime, here’s how I played the system in the worst parking lot ever because my mom had just gotten off her flight and we were both starving. Even though I look visibly pregnant, I felt pretty %$@&~ shady walking away from the car in 4 inch heels. BUT I AM, IN FACT, PREGNANT SO NEENER NEENER. I didn’t see any further stipulations for space usage.

So, little rutabaga, hang tight a few more months. Or longer, it’s totally up to you. You are much safer in there than out here where I can drop you, scald you, bang your head against doorjambs, under nourish you, nick your fingers with fingernail clippers, forget to bathe you, over nourish you, yell at you, stare at you, poke you, scratch you, drop you again, break you, forget you in the car, leave you outside in the rain, forget to change your litterbox, etc. Stay here. Stay here as long as you can. 

The Pregnancy Halftime Show

Dear @%^! Baby,

Well. Little Guy. As of today, you and I have made it to the halfway mark without significant damage to each other. We deserve ice cream! And presents! And accolades!

I really cannot believe this crazy thing is at the 20 week mark. I still forget I’m pregnant most of the time, I’m not the size of a U-Haul yet and I can still rock my non-maternity clothes 71% of the time (with a little assistance, at least). I did, though, discover the joys of maternity pants this week and their kick-ass elastic waists, so my normal clothes, while they fit, are going to be taking a back seat to that awesome.

Let’s fill everyone else in on your progress and how you’re messing with my body, shall we?

Fruit Salad: According to the National Fruit and Fetus Comparison Board, you are roughly the size of a cantaloupe. That’s actually pretty sizable, considering you’re still in semi-hiding. Keep growing into bigger fruits, champ.

Flavor Enhancers: You have taste buds now. Hope you like cheese, spicy stuff, Jimmy Johns, chocolate protein shakes, Cherry Coke and strawberry smoothies.

Growing Pains: I have been having a little back pain, enough that I have to ask myself if I’ve had any Hot Pockets recently. The headaches only come on if I leave out the morning coffee. So I just don’t leave out my morning coffee. The heartburn, well, I can see why people would complain about this, but I’ve had old man heartburn since college. Keep the Tums on the nightstand and we’re good to go.

Sleep is for the Awesome: Sleep is not (yet) an issue. I’ve been sleeping better than ever, which is sort of awesome because I am usually a terrible sleeper. It used to take me forever to fall asleep (once asleep I am out like Rip van Winkle. Not to be confused with Robert van Winkle) but now I fall asleep before the episode of American Dad is over.

The Weight is On: Well, maybe not “on”. Total poundage for this whole thing so far is only about 5 lbs. Which is low, but nothing alarmingly low. I also don’t know HOW it’s only that much. I just got further orders to “indulge”. I can handle that.

The Graze Method: Since you’re all nestled up and snuggling with my internal organs, I was informed that you’re basically giving me a gastric bypass and squashing my stomach. So I can only eat a little bit at a time. And eat often. So somehow, now all I do is eat.

5, 6, 7, 8: Ever since Superbowl Sunday, I can feel your wicked dance moves more frequently. Mostly at night when I’m not focused on much else. But you’re definitely pop lockin’ up a storm and you let me know when I’m not in a position you like. Bossy little fetus.

You're like a Bump-It. For my belly.

Alright, I take shitty pictures of myself and there is no good spot in the house to do it. I either need to figure out the timer setting on my other camera or someone needs to come hang out with me once a week. THIS IS IMPORTANT, PEOPLE. These are memories. MEMORIES, DAMMIT.

Anyway. Halfway done, halfway to go! Keep up the good work, little fella, I guess? Good game?