For some reason at work, our department always has snacks. When I got back after my maternity leave, I found that person who replaced me had brought in an M&M dispenser that, when you pull the arm of the Peanut (or is the the Plain?) dispenses candy from his golf bag. Sometimes its full of M&Ms, sometimes other small round candies like Skittles but we try to keep it topped up. The rest of the company knows that they can rely on us for a mid-afternoon candy break, so we get more visitors than we otherwise would because we are, by and large, an anti-social lot.
Anyway, since Monday the Christmas gifts have been dribbling in....mainly client and supplier "Thanks Yous" and they have been 100 per cent edible. Here is a rundown of what we have had in the office this week:
1 box (2 layers) of pecan "Turtle" knockoffs
1 box 20 Timbits
1 tin chocolate covered Oreos
1 box Turtles (the real thing)
1 box Chocolate covered baklava
1 tin filled with 4 boxes of Lindor Truffles, interspersed with some Clementines (to stave off scurvy, no doubt)
1 box chocolate covered butter cookies
1 box bittersweet chocolate Pastilles
1 box Hazelnut Seashells
1 box Turkish delight
1 Sweet Marie Chocolate Bar each
Right, now there are two people in the office, and there is one more person coming later. The only things that are gone are the Timbits and the Turtle knockoffs (they came earlier in the week). And we have 6 hours to get through the rest. Thank GOD for maternity pants...this is going to get ugly.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Done! Done! Done!
I have achieved something resembling success in my Christmas preparations - which is good, considering tonight is my last night before tomorrow's Pre-Christmas Christmas in Burlington, and we leave at 6 am for Boston on Saturday.
Last night, Eric thoughtfully cleared his schedule so he, Kieran and I could have the evening to finished up the shopping, without me having to take the child on my own. We decided to pick him up from daycare and start to shop immediately in order to maximize our time before baby meltdown. After the first store, where the scenario I blogged about yesterday in regards to taking our son shopping immediately began to unfold (crying, insisting on walking, wandering off and then loudly - and embarrassingly - resisting all attempts to rein him in) we left the store empty handed and called in an emergency babysitter. Smart move.
After child and babysitter were safely at our house, we had enormous success. Shopping is now officially completed and all that is left is wrapping and packing for the trip. I'm even thinking about putting my cookie baking back on the list tonight. Unheard of success!!
Last night, Eric thoughtfully cleared his schedule so he, Kieran and I could have the evening to finished up the shopping, without me having to take the child on my own. We decided to pick him up from daycare and start to shop immediately in order to maximize our time before baby meltdown. After the first store, where the scenario I blogged about yesterday in regards to taking our son shopping immediately began to unfold (crying, insisting on walking, wandering off and then loudly - and embarrassingly - resisting all attempts to rein him in) we left the store empty handed and called in an emergency babysitter. Smart move.
After child and babysitter were safely at our house, we had enormous success. Shopping is now officially completed and all that is left is wrapping and packing for the trip. I'm even thinking about putting my cookie baking back on the list tonight. Unheard of success!!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
I have found a great way to reduce my Christmas to-do list. Its quite ingenious really....as the days tick by and deadlines loom, I simply start to drop things I was going to do.
For example, I was planning on making another few batches of cookies to bring to my brother's house....now, its off the list completely. So are various things I was going to make for our "pre-Christmas Christmas" at my other brother's house this Friday. My Christmas card list is getting smaller by the day and is teetering on the point of complete oblivion. And, you know what? I'm not stressed out about it any more. Instead I'm going to concentrate on the things I MUST do...like finish my stupid shopping.
And you know what else? I'm just going to come out a say it. I LOATHE shopping with Kieran. Since the day he was born he has been a poor shopper. I cannot remember a single time when he sat quietly in his carrier while I shopped. I see other parents with their babies who are nestled in their car seats fast asleep while their mother leisurely reads the label on the organic baby food and I seethe with jealously. In my case, for the past 18 months every trip to the store has been like that old "Supermarket Sweepstakes" game show. For the first year or so I had a 10 minute window where I just tore through the aisles throwing what I needed into the cart before his window of goodness would slam shut with a ferocious scream.
Now that we are well into toddlerhood, it's even worse. I avoid taking him out by myself whenever possible because he's just a menace. He hates his stroller (and always has) and, yay for me, hates sitting in a shopping cart even more. Even though his face is about 5 inches from mine, he holds up his hands in heartbreaking agony, sobbing uncontrollably until I pick him up. Then, naturally, he wants to get down and he's off like a shot on some path of baby destruction and danger. So, last night, in desperation I took him to the store, where within 2 minutes the above scenario started to unfold, and to make a long story short, I wound up throwing things into the cart to the tune of $100 at the checkout while having bought almost nothing that I actually went to the store to buy. I came home frustrated and even more frazzled and praying that Baby #2 will be a stroller-lover, or at least have a 15 minutes goodness window.
For example, I was planning on making another few batches of cookies to bring to my brother's house....now, its off the list completely. So are various things I was going to make for our "pre-Christmas Christmas" at my other brother's house this Friday. My Christmas card list is getting smaller by the day and is teetering on the point of complete oblivion. And, you know what? I'm not stressed out about it any more. Instead I'm going to concentrate on the things I MUST do...like finish my stupid shopping.
And you know what else? I'm just going to come out a say it. I LOATHE shopping with Kieran. Since the day he was born he has been a poor shopper. I cannot remember a single time when he sat quietly in his carrier while I shopped. I see other parents with their babies who are nestled in their car seats fast asleep while their mother leisurely reads the label on the organic baby food and I seethe with jealously. In my case, for the past 18 months every trip to the store has been like that old "Supermarket Sweepstakes" game show. For the first year or so I had a 10 minute window where I just tore through the aisles throwing what I needed into the cart before his window of goodness would slam shut with a ferocious scream.
Now that we are well into toddlerhood, it's even worse. I avoid taking him out by myself whenever possible because he's just a menace. He hates his stroller (and always has) and, yay for me, hates sitting in a shopping cart even more. Even though his face is about 5 inches from mine, he holds up his hands in heartbreaking agony, sobbing uncontrollably until I pick him up. Then, naturally, he wants to get down and he's off like a shot on some path of baby destruction and danger. So, last night, in desperation I took him to the store, where within 2 minutes the above scenario started to unfold, and to make a long story short, I wound up throwing things into the cart to the tune of $100 at the checkout while having bought almost nothing that I actually went to the store to buy. I came home frustrated and even more frazzled and praying that Baby #2 will be a stroller-lover, or at least have a 15 minutes goodness window.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Dirty Kicking
So, after my flurry of activity last week, I have basically come to a standstill as far as Christmas preparations go. I still haven't even done my Christmas cards and I even got special photos of Kieran for just that reason. Sad. Tonight though, after the child is in bed, I'm going to sit down with my list, a cup of of tea and plate of Christmas cookies, turn on the Season Finale of America's Next Top Model and write them all.
But, at least I've been busy with other things that are NOT Christmas related. My girlfriend and I went to see Dirty Dancing, the musical, last night. Highly, highly enjoyable. The only problem really was that the character who played Johhny (the Patrick Swayze role) had a curly mullet that was supposed to make him look like a bad-ass, but instead made him look like a loser. Otherwise, they did a good job of adapting a movie to the stage. The crowd loved it....mainly because it was full of 20-40 year old females who grew up with the movie like I did. I was tempted to buy a baby bib that said "Nobody puts Baby in a Corner" but didn't because they only came in pink and blue.
The baby also LOVED the show. Kicking like crazy almost the entire time, which I take to be a sign that I'm going to give birth to either a girl or a gay man. I guess the kicks could have been interpreted as "can you turn that down, I'm trying to sleep" but since this is my child, I know they were kicks of joy.
But, at least I've been busy with other things that are NOT Christmas related. My girlfriend and I went to see Dirty Dancing, the musical, last night. Highly, highly enjoyable. The only problem really was that the character who played Johhny (the Patrick Swayze role) had a curly mullet that was supposed to make him look like a bad-ass, but instead made him look like a loser. Otherwise, they did a good job of adapting a movie to the stage. The crowd loved it....mainly because it was full of 20-40 year old females who grew up with the movie like I did. I was tempted to buy a baby bib that said "Nobody puts Baby in a Corner" but didn't because they only came in pink and blue.
The baby also LOVED the show. Kicking like crazy almost the entire time, which I take to be a sign that I'm going to give birth to either a girl or a gay man. I guess the kicks could have been interpreted as "can you turn that down, I'm trying to sleep" but since this is my child, I know they were kicks of joy.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
The Pressure!
So, I'm starting to feel the Christmas (sorry, Holiday) crunch. I keep thinking of all the shopping, baking, wrapping, packing (since Christmas is always spent at my brother's in the US) that all still waits to be done...most of which hasn't even been started.
In an attempt to feel like I'm doing something, I spent last night, baby free (well, toddler-free at least) tramping around the mall, wondering why all the stores now seem to only be expensive clothes stores. We barely stopped anywhere because I'm just currently NOT in the market for overpriced designer clothes or trendy teenage clothes. It was very odd....no wonder people head to big box stores in droves. Aside from minor stocking stuffers, all I bought were some new maternity clothes. (Where , incidentally, I had an exact repeat at the Bay as I had a few weeks ago - seriously, that store cannot figure out how the match sale prices on the rack with the prices that come up at the register. But I finally got the frazzled clerk to honour the sale prices, got rid of my Bay gift card and now will never have to subject myself to that colossal hassle again.) Merry Christmas to me!
Still, though. The pressure is building. I advise no one to be around when the explosion happens.
In an attempt to feel like I'm doing something, I spent last night, baby free (well, toddler-free at least) tramping around the mall, wondering why all the stores now seem to only be expensive clothes stores. We barely stopped anywhere because I'm just currently NOT in the market for overpriced designer clothes or trendy teenage clothes. It was very odd....no wonder people head to big box stores in droves. Aside from minor stocking stuffers, all I bought were some new maternity clothes. (Where , incidentally, I had an exact repeat at the Bay as I had a few weeks ago - seriously, that store cannot figure out how the match sale prices on the rack with the prices that come up at the register. But I finally got the frazzled clerk to honour the sale prices, got rid of my Bay gift card and now will never have to subject myself to that colossal hassle again.) Merry Christmas to me!
Still, though. The pressure is building. I advise no one to be around when the explosion happens.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
The Call Nobody Wants.
So, I didn't intend to actually make this as a pregnancy blog, but it seems to be heading that way. Or at least, there is very little else going on to blog about...the usual is happening pretty much every day...you know, baby still cute, work still boring, yadda yadda.
But yesterday I get a call from the genetics department at my hospital. As you may recall, I hadn't seen my ultrasound results because the lab had not sent them to my OB in time for my last appointment, so I've been working a "no news is good news" basis. And then the call comes. They would like to review my ultrasound results with me and can I go directly to the genetics department at the hospital at 10 am tomorrow. "Its nothing really to worry about," said the woman on the phone, but the damage was already done. Genetics department? The next day? Yeesh. Obviously, there is SOMETHING to be concerned about.
So off we go this morning where at promptly 10 am, we are ushered into the office of a genetics counsellor. Her first words? "I guess the Genetics Department is the last place you want to get called to during your pregnancy, huh?" So far, not good.
She goes on to pull out my ultrasound results where, from what I can see, everything is checked off as normal. And then she starts talking about "genetic markers" and "soft signs of Down's Syndrome" and I know, obviously, she is going to tell us that I have one, or God forbid, more than one. But she says the ultrasound detected one called an "Intercardiac Echogenic Focus" and I interrupt her. "You mean, a bright spot on the heart?" Yes, she answers.
So, oddly enough, I had this exact same marker the last time. Apparently there are several "soft signs" which in and of themselves are essentially meaningless as long as all your blood work and other ultrasound checks were fine. But as soon as the words Down's Syndrome are mentioned in connection with YOUR baby you absolutely cannot help but be stressed. Last time when my OB mentioned this result off-handedly at my appointment and reassured me that it was highly unlikely that anything was wrong, I worried for a few weeks, regretted not getting the amnio, and then managed to put it out of my mind. And everything was just fine. So, this time, I still opted against the amnio and have decided to worry even less.
The counsellor agreed...based on the weakness of this marker and the fact that the rest of my test results were "perfect" and "fantastic" they do not recommend any further testing...so really, I'm left wondering...does it do any good at ALL to summon a pregnant woman to what seems very much like an emergency last minute appointment for this reason? I know, I know. They have little, if any, choice. It's the age of disclosure and if I had decided to go ahead with further testing - especially if one would consider termination based on the result - its better to do it sooner than later. It's just that nobody wants to get that phone call. And last time, the OB just told me in the office when I showed up for my appointment, so I'm just wishing they had done it that way again.
Oh, and another thing? We're not able to find out the gender. Every single box on the ultrasound report was ticked off as being "Fully Seen" except the box marked "Gender." So, I guess we'll find out the old fashioned way...in the delivery room.
But yesterday I get a call from the genetics department at my hospital. As you may recall, I hadn't seen my ultrasound results because the lab had not sent them to my OB in time for my last appointment, so I've been working a "no news is good news" basis. And then the call comes. They would like to review my ultrasound results with me and can I go directly to the genetics department at the hospital at 10 am tomorrow. "Its nothing really to worry about," said the woman on the phone, but the damage was already done. Genetics department? The next day? Yeesh. Obviously, there is SOMETHING to be concerned about.
So off we go this morning where at promptly 10 am, we are ushered into the office of a genetics counsellor. Her first words? "I guess the Genetics Department is the last place you want to get called to during your pregnancy, huh?" So far, not good.
She goes on to pull out my ultrasound results where, from what I can see, everything is checked off as normal. And then she starts talking about "genetic markers" and "soft signs of Down's Syndrome" and I know, obviously, she is going to tell us that I have one, or God forbid, more than one. But she says the ultrasound detected one called an "Intercardiac Echogenic Focus" and I interrupt her. "You mean, a bright spot on the heart?" Yes, she answers.
So, oddly enough, I had this exact same marker the last time. Apparently there are several "soft signs" which in and of themselves are essentially meaningless as long as all your blood work and other ultrasound checks were fine. But as soon as the words Down's Syndrome are mentioned in connection with YOUR baby you absolutely cannot help but be stressed. Last time when my OB mentioned this result off-handedly at my appointment and reassured me that it was highly unlikely that anything was wrong, I worried for a few weeks, regretted not getting the amnio, and then managed to put it out of my mind. And everything was just fine. So, this time, I still opted against the amnio and have decided to worry even less.
The counsellor agreed...based on the weakness of this marker and the fact that the rest of my test results were "perfect" and "fantastic" they do not recommend any further testing...so really, I'm left wondering...does it do any good at ALL to summon a pregnant woman to what seems very much like an emergency last minute appointment for this reason? I know, I know. They have little, if any, choice. It's the age of disclosure and if I had decided to go ahead with further testing - especially if one would consider termination based on the result - its better to do it sooner than later. It's just that nobody wants to get that phone call. And last time, the OB just told me in the office when I showed up for my appointment, so I'm just wishing they had done it that way again.
Oh, and another thing? We're not able to find out the gender. Every single box on the ultrasound report was ticked off as being "Fully Seen" except the box marked "Gender." So, I guess we'll find out the old fashioned way...in the delivery room.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tales of the Long Waist
I'm just so tired. I'm not sure if its the pregnancy or if I'm still recovering from our extended long weekend in the US, but I'm dragging this week. I guess a weekend of stomping around American shopping malls will take its toll on anyone, but at 5 months pregnant, I felt like I wanted to saw my feet off at the end of the day. The worst part is that I could not partake in any post-shopping hot tub therapy.
Anyway, so apparently I'm FEELING pregnant. And I'm well into maternity clothes however, just like last time, nobody seems to be able to tell. I remember my last OB telling me that I would go my entire pregnancy with people telling me that I didn't look that pregnant because I am (get this) "long-waisted". Having reached my peak height of 5ft3 in high school I have never, ever been "long ANYTHING", but she was apparently right. Right up the end I never had a single stranger, well-meaning store clerk, or neighbour ask me when I was due. And I guess I'm on the same track this time.
This doesn't mean, of course, that I don't gain weight. I have gained over 10 pounds already and now that I'm feeling better there are many, many more pounds to come. But yet, I'm sure come March when I'm feeling like I'm going to burst, I'll be at the hair dresser again and she will not mention my huge stomach because apparently it looks more like I'm carrying an embarrassing ball of fat than a baby. I really hate that.
Anyway, so apparently I'm FEELING pregnant. And I'm well into maternity clothes however, just like last time, nobody seems to be able to tell. I remember my last OB telling me that I would go my entire pregnancy with people telling me that I didn't look that pregnant because I am (get this) "long-waisted". Having reached my peak height of 5ft3 in high school I have never, ever been "long ANYTHING", but she was apparently right. Right up the end I never had a single stranger, well-meaning store clerk, or neighbour ask me when I was due. And I guess I'm on the same track this time.
This doesn't mean, of course, that I don't gain weight. I have gained over 10 pounds already and now that I'm feeling better there are many, many more pounds to come. But yet, I'm sure come March when I'm feeling like I'm going to burst, I'll be at the hair dresser again and she will not mention my huge stomach because apparently it looks more like I'm carrying an embarrassing ball of fat than a baby. I really hate that.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
So Much for THAT Idea
I conducted an unofficial experiment on the weekend...and what a spectacular failure it was. Due to a series of events too stupid to even blog about, I found myself without a prescription renewal for Diclectin - the sweet, sweet anti-nausea medicine that has more or less saved my sanity for the last 3 months. (And its funny I say that because even with the pills I've been violently ill most days, but I shudder to remember how bad I was without them.) However, the last few weeks I've been feeling much better overall, so when I realized I was without a prescription I thought I would try to see if I could go without the pills. HA! Needless to say after skipping my night dose, I woke up on Saturday morning and within minutes I was feeling so ill that I ended up having to skip the Parent and Tot swim class or else risk being the mother who throws up in the wading pool.
A few hours later, I'm talking to my mother, who has oddly been against the pills from the start - even though when the sickness set in and I was unable to keep even the tiniest amount of liquid down, she was actually considering cancelling their then-upcoming trip to Ireland out of concern for my well-being. Anyway, she seems to think that somehow my body has become dependent on the pills and that if I had never been on them to begin with, I'd be fine by now. I know she is wrong, but I decided to give her theory a try and skipped the pills that night too. Enter the spectacular failure - I will withhold the details, but it may be enough to say that after a short car ride I had to return home to change my clothes entirely - including my underwear. Needless to say, I went to the walk in clinic that afternoon to beg for a prescription renewal.
I guess I should have asked the doctor about my mother's theory, but ,while I'm sure she hasn't, I have thoroughly Googled the subject without reading any legitimately scary information. The Motherisk hotline thru Sick Kids Hospital is 100 per cent behind it, and my own doctor when she first gave me the prescription told me that no other drug has been tested as much as this and to, I quote, "not be a hero." But there is a kicker, according to Motherisk, the American equivalent of the drug was pulled from shelves 20 years ago due to a lawsuit claiming that takers of the drug had a high incidence of babies with get this...limb deformities. Sigh. However, it was later proven that the incidence was no higher than if you weren't on the drug. Still, the drug has never been reintroduced (although there is an American over the counter equivalent - a do-it-yourself concoction of Unisom and Vitamin B6).
So, while pregnant with Kieran I never so much as took an illegal aspirin and still he was born with 4 fingers missing, it leads me to an interesting thought...had i been this sick with him and been put on Diclectin (neither of which happened), I think I would have reacted quite differently to the news that the drug had been pulled in the States for limb deformities. I'm quite sure that I would have questioned the official diagnosis of the apparently totally random Amniotic Band Syndrome and instead blamed the pills which I so selfishly took at the expense of my poor defenseless baby. Or at the very least, have blamed the pills for causing the ABS. Even though I wasn't on any prescription medicine with Kieran I still question every cup of coffee, every time I stood needlessly in front of a microwave or even accidentally slept on my stomach during my pregnancy with him. I think any mother would. And I may well have hesitated to have another child, knowing that I might get that sick again and, as a result of my desperation, another child might pay the price. But I guess in pregnancy, just like in life, all we can say is that to varying degrees, sometimes the odds are on your side, sometimes they aren't.
In the meantime, I filled my prescription and am back to taking the pills because I'm quite sure that I, not to mention my unborn child, would not have survived the last few months without medical intervention. Fingers crossed though.
A few hours later, I'm talking to my mother, who has oddly been against the pills from the start - even though when the sickness set in and I was unable to keep even the tiniest amount of liquid down, she was actually considering cancelling their then-upcoming trip to Ireland out of concern for my well-being. Anyway, she seems to think that somehow my body has become dependent on the pills and that if I had never been on them to begin with, I'd be fine by now. I know she is wrong, but I decided to give her theory a try and skipped the pills that night too. Enter the spectacular failure - I will withhold the details, but it may be enough to say that after a short car ride I had to return home to change my clothes entirely - including my underwear. Needless to say, I went to the walk in clinic that afternoon to beg for a prescription renewal.
I guess I should have asked the doctor about my mother's theory, but ,while I'm sure she hasn't, I have thoroughly Googled the subject without reading any legitimately scary information. The Motherisk hotline thru Sick Kids Hospital is 100 per cent behind it, and my own doctor when she first gave me the prescription told me that no other drug has been tested as much as this and to, I quote, "not be a hero." But there is a kicker, according to Motherisk, the American equivalent of the drug was pulled from shelves 20 years ago due to a lawsuit claiming that takers of the drug had a high incidence of babies with get this...limb deformities. Sigh. However, it was later proven that the incidence was no higher than if you weren't on the drug. Still, the drug has never been reintroduced (although there is an American over the counter equivalent - a do-it-yourself concoction of Unisom and Vitamin B6).
So, while pregnant with Kieran I never so much as took an illegal aspirin and still he was born with 4 fingers missing, it leads me to an interesting thought...had i been this sick with him and been put on Diclectin (neither of which happened), I think I would have reacted quite differently to the news that the drug had been pulled in the States for limb deformities. I'm quite sure that I would have questioned the official diagnosis of the apparently totally random Amniotic Band Syndrome and instead blamed the pills which I so selfishly took at the expense of my poor defenseless baby. Or at the very least, have blamed the pills for causing the ABS. Even though I wasn't on any prescription medicine with Kieran I still question every cup of coffee, every time I stood needlessly in front of a microwave or even accidentally slept on my stomach during my pregnancy with him. I think any mother would. And I may well have hesitated to have another child, knowing that I might get that sick again and, as a result of my desperation, another child might pay the price. But I guess in pregnancy, just like in life, all we can say is that to varying degrees, sometimes the odds are on your side, sometimes they aren't.
In the meantime, I filled my prescription and am back to taking the pills because I'm quite sure that I, not to mention my unborn child, would not have survived the last few months without medical intervention. Fingers crossed though.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Frustration, Thy Name is Wedneday
What a week. I wouldn't go so far as to say its been BAD, just annoying. I know there so many things to actually be thankful for, but sometimes as we all know, you can't see the blessings for the stupid details.
You see, I was scheduled for my big Level II Ultrasound on Tuesday. This would be the one where they measure everything anatomical and make sure the baby has all the necessary parts...you know, things like fingers, which, as we now know, are NOT automatic. Due to an earlier mix-up at my doctor's office, I missed the deadline to make an appointment at the hospital for this ultrasound, so to get it done on schedule, I wound up at a private lab downtown. And this lab, as I discovered, refuses to tell you anything to do with the ultrasound results - good or bad...including the gender of the baby, which we desperately would like to know. Thwarted.
And then yesterday when I finally saw my regular OB, despite assuring me they would, the lab hadn't even sent over the results yet. So now I must wait 4 more weeks before I find out the gender. And I WILL wait....to hear back from the doctor now would mean something is wrong, so I'm content to wait 4 weeks if it means that all is otherwise well. I'm well aware that getting to know the sex is pure luxury, so I'm not going to rock the boat. But still, there I was, thwarted again.
After the OB appointment I had quite a bit of time before I had to pick the boy up from daycare, so I went across the street to the mall. I haven't bought myself a single stitch of maternity clothes yet, and cannot face another winter of wearing the same 5 things I wore with Kieran. I hesitated because we are heading to the States next week, but its so rare to have a chance to shop without a baby and stroller, I thought I would look. As it turns out, everything at the The Bay was on sale, which was exciting because, in general, maternity clothes are crazy overpriced. After trying on a million things, I narrowed my choices down to about 6, and brought them to the counter where the oh-so-sweet sales clerk informed me that everything scanned in at regular price...including the stuff THEY had already marked down on the price tag. And she just shrugged in the way that told me I was shit out of luck. So, in the back of my mind, knowing I'd probably find even better deals in the US, I walked away. But then, as I was walking away, I was increasingly pissed both because I had wasted all that time and then not bothered to ask for a manager as well as being pissed that I wasn't getting any new clothes.
Seething, I wandered back out of the mall and wound up at the tea shop where I ordered a cup of Earl Grey to make myself feel better. After I got the tea, I was still mad at my Bay fiasco so I decided to just leave and go get Kieran early. And what happens as I'm stepping outside? I walk out the door and promptly drop my entire untouched steaming beverage all over myself and the sidewalk...and then to add to my total humiliation? I start to cry. I can only blame my stupid frustrating day, stupid people and stupid hormones.
You see? Thwarted. And I went home.
You see, I was scheduled for my big Level II Ultrasound on Tuesday. This would be the one where they measure everything anatomical and make sure the baby has all the necessary parts...you know, things like fingers, which, as we now know, are NOT automatic. Due to an earlier mix-up at my doctor's office, I missed the deadline to make an appointment at the hospital for this ultrasound, so to get it done on schedule, I wound up at a private lab downtown. And this lab, as I discovered, refuses to tell you anything to do with the ultrasound results - good or bad...including the gender of the baby, which we desperately would like to know. Thwarted.
And then yesterday when I finally saw my regular OB, despite assuring me they would, the lab hadn't even sent over the results yet. So now I must wait 4 more weeks before I find out the gender. And I WILL wait....to hear back from the doctor now would mean something is wrong, so I'm content to wait 4 weeks if it means that all is otherwise well. I'm well aware that getting to know the sex is pure luxury, so I'm not going to rock the boat. But still, there I was, thwarted again.
After the OB appointment I had quite a bit of time before I had to pick the boy up from daycare, so I went across the street to the mall. I haven't bought myself a single stitch of maternity clothes yet, and cannot face another winter of wearing the same 5 things I wore with Kieran. I hesitated because we are heading to the States next week, but its so rare to have a chance to shop without a baby and stroller, I thought I would look. As it turns out, everything at the The Bay was on sale, which was exciting because, in general, maternity clothes are crazy overpriced. After trying on a million things, I narrowed my choices down to about 6, and brought them to the counter where the oh-so-sweet sales clerk informed me that everything scanned in at regular price...including the stuff THEY had already marked down on the price tag. And she just shrugged in the way that told me I was shit out of luck. So, in the back of my mind, knowing I'd probably find even better deals in the US, I walked away. But then, as I was walking away, I was increasingly pissed both because I had wasted all that time and then not bothered to ask for a manager as well as being pissed that I wasn't getting any new clothes.
Seething, I wandered back out of the mall and wound up at the tea shop where I ordered a cup of Earl Grey to make myself feel better. After I got the tea, I was still mad at my Bay fiasco so I decided to just leave and go get Kieran early. And what happens as I'm stepping outside? I walk out the door and promptly drop my entire untouched steaming beverage all over myself and the sidewalk...and then to add to my total humiliation? I start to cry. I can only blame my stupid frustrating day, stupid people and stupid hormones.
You see? Thwarted. And I went home.
Monday, November 12, 2007
The Weekend
We hit the Giant Toy Warehouse on Saturday. Discount toys in a temporary warehouse. They hand you large plastic bags when you walk in and you just go to it. In the book section, in addition to millions of kids books, they had some adult Christmas-themed books, one of which I threw in the stroller basket. We left, spending almost $200 on toys and gifts, and when we were walking to the car, I notice Eric laughing and shaking his head. My new recipe book, entitled "A Perfect Christmas" was still the bottom of the stroller, unpaid for. So I ask you...can you have a Perfect Christmas if your gifts have been shoplifted...even accidentally? (No, we did not go back and pay for it ...we're thieves not idiots.)
After the Warehouse, we stopped a the mall. No sooner are we inside than we notice that Kieran needs to be changed...quite urgently. Eric and I, as usual, play a little game of Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who gets the privilege of the public poppy diaper change and I lose. So, off I truck to bathroom, where I quickly realize that I had removed the pack of wet wipes without putting them back in the diaper bag. Gack, I find some barely damp restaurant wet naps which barely sufficed. By the time I had located the Wet Naps though, Kieran was past his diaper change patience limit and was writhing to get away. Finally done, I stood him up, rammed on his pants fast as I could and left. As we are winding our way through the food court, I noticed people staring oddly at us. After one older couple could not keep their eyes off Kieran (and not in a good way) I happen to look down. I have crammed both his legs into the same pant leg rendering him completely immobile waist down. By the time I get to Eric, I'm almost hysterical and we had to pull Kieran's jeans off mid food court to fix him up. The kid never said a peep.
So....Saturday is Parent and Tot swimming lessons. This is our second go around...the first Kieran was very young - three months when we started - and just clutched to me in fear. Now that he's almost 18 months, he's much more comfortable in the water and runs to the bathroom at the mere word "bath"....and during class...he's clutched to me in fear. Now, instead of getting better in class he's getting worse. The Floaty Boats? He screams in fear. Life Preserver day? Screams in fear. The instructor takes him away from me to practice his back float? You guessed it. All this from a child who has never had a single problem leaving me anywhere else. Now in class while all the other babies sit happily in their floating starfish, Kieran is the only one wailing and pathetically reaching for me. "Is he ALWAYS like this?" the teenage instructor has asked me several time, but clearly doesn't believe me when I say no, almost never. In class, he's "That Kid" and he's mine.
Sunday we had our company kids Christmas party. It's a huge company and the party, somebody clearly should have warned me, is total chaos. It's held at an indoor amusement park thing, and there is a massive lineup for everything. And Kieran is at exactly the wrong age...he wants to ride the train, but doesn't get the concept of waiting his turn. So I have to hold him for 20 minutes while he squirms to get down where I know he will immediately attempt to run onto the tracks. So, I'm at the train while Eric holds our place in the long "Photo with Santa" lineup. By the time we get back, he's been at the front of the line for 15 minutes waving people past. Kieran doesn't know Santa at all, so is consequently not interested in sitting on his lap for love nor money, so our photo, naturally, is a write off. Thank God, for his new favourite food, the candy cane.
After the Warehouse, we stopped a the mall. No sooner are we inside than we notice that Kieran needs to be changed...quite urgently. Eric and I, as usual, play a little game of Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who gets the privilege of the public poppy diaper change and I lose. So, off I truck to bathroom, where I quickly realize that I had removed the pack of wet wipes without putting them back in the diaper bag. Gack, I find some barely damp restaurant wet naps which barely sufficed. By the time I had located the Wet Naps though, Kieran was past his diaper change patience limit and was writhing to get away. Finally done, I stood him up, rammed on his pants fast as I could and left. As we are winding our way through the food court, I noticed people staring oddly at us. After one older couple could not keep their eyes off Kieran (and not in a good way) I happen to look down. I have crammed both his legs into the same pant leg rendering him completely immobile waist down. By the time I get to Eric, I'm almost hysterical and we had to pull Kieran's jeans off mid food court to fix him up. The kid never said a peep.
So....Saturday is Parent and Tot swimming lessons. This is our second go around...the first Kieran was very young - three months when we started - and just clutched to me in fear. Now that he's almost 18 months, he's much more comfortable in the water and runs to the bathroom at the mere word "bath"....and during class...he's clutched to me in fear. Now, instead of getting better in class he's getting worse. The Floaty Boats? He screams in fear. Life Preserver day? Screams in fear. The instructor takes him away from me to practice his back float? You guessed it. All this from a child who has never had a single problem leaving me anywhere else. Now in class while all the other babies sit happily in their floating starfish, Kieran is the only one wailing and pathetically reaching for me. "Is he ALWAYS like this?" the teenage instructor has asked me several time, but clearly doesn't believe me when I say no, almost never. In class, he's "That Kid" and he's mine.
Sunday we had our company kids Christmas party. It's a huge company and the party, somebody clearly should have warned me, is total chaos. It's held at an indoor amusement park thing, and there is a massive lineup for everything. And Kieran is at exactly the wrong age...he wants to ride the train, but doesn't get the concept of waiting his turn. So I have to hold him for 20 minutes while he squirms to get down where I know he will immediately attempt to run onto the tracks. So, I'm at the train while Eric holds our place in the long "Photo with Santa" lineup. By the time we get back, he's been at the front of the line for 15 minutes waving people past. Kieran doesn't know Santa at all, so is consequently not interested in sitting on his lap for love nor money, so our photo, naturally, is a write off. Thank God, for his new favourite food, the candy cane.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Poppy Guilt.
Traditionally, I have been a faithful poppy wearer. Jokingly, I have often referred to them as a scam because of their remarkable ability to disappear from my lapel forcing me to buy several more prior to Remembrance Day, but I admire the cause, and always have. (Thank you Canadian School System). As far as poppy loss goes though, this year was no exception, I got mine right away and it lasted 10 minutes - tops - before it was gone. When I got home from the grocery store where I purchased it was already nowhere to be found. And now, I haven't seen any poppy boxes since to replace it. Not a one. We used to have one at our reception desk in the office, but this year, that too was gone.
This leaves me a bit concerned about the current state of Remembrance Day. I know very few people who, after having left school, observe it in any way aside from wearing the poppy. But come November 1, the obligatory flowers pop up first on newscasters and then, presumably, across the general population. But this year, (or maybe its just the first year I've noticed) I see very, very few people wearing the poppy. I was on the train last night and the woman across from me had one on her jacket, but when I looked around at the rest of the passengers, of the 30-odd people whose lapels I could see, I saw 3 poppies. I'm sure the poor Veterans would think we were a sorry lot indeed.
So, here is the question...is it that people just don't really care anymore, or are they like me, serial poppy losers who are just between purchase and/or given up? Anyway, I guess its all beside the point, because in 3 days they will be gone again and I will have to wait another year to attempt to redeem myself. Or more likely, in 3 days my guilt will disappear just like the dozens of poppies that I have lost in my lifetime.
Sorry Veterans.
This leaves me a bit concerned about the current state of Remembrance Day. I know very few people who, after having left school, observe it in any way aside from wearing the poppy. But come November 1, the obligatory flowers pop up first on newscasters and then, presumably, across the general population. But this year, (or maybe its just the first year I've noticed) I see very, very few people wearing the poppy. I was on the train last night and the woman across from me had one on her jacket, but when I looked around at the rest of the passengers, of the 30-odd people whose lapels I could see, I saw 3 poppies. I'm sure the poor Veterans would think we were a sorry lot indeed.
So, here is the question...is it that people just don't really care anymore, or are they like me, serial poppy losers who are just between purchase and/or given up? Anyway, I guess its all beside the point, because in 3 days they will be gone again and I will have to wait another year to attempt to redeem myself. Or more likely, in 3 days my guilt will disappear just like the dozens of poppies that I have lost in my lifetime.
Sorry Veterans.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Parental Reality Check
My parents were in town this weekend. Considering how far away they live, they are relatively frequent visitors to our neck of the woods, and it's always nice to see them, as they are helpful and always willing to babysit (whoo hoo).
But, as with all good things, there's the downside...my mother can be very , how do I say this, difficult. She one of those people who does not know what is inappropriate to say to people - especially her own children. Prime example: apparently she was reading a study that linked cancer to weight and eating habits, which leads her to blurt out gems like this:
"Well, according to this study, you and Eric are going to get cancer for sure." She says this with such authority that you would think we had been named personally in said study.
This comment is just one example of the little gems she comes up with all the time, which after all my years on this planet, I should be used to, as she has done this all my life. But, it never fails to make my blood boil. She just says things that are downright mean and then justifies her words by saying like: "I says what's on my mind, and if you don't like it, too bad." As though this is a valid defense. And it doesn't have to been food related, it could be anything - housekeeping, child rearing, spending habits, nothing is sacred or off limits. Obviously, it her own mind, she is a regular Martha Stewart, without, of course the jail time or the tendency to gain weight.
I've often wondered why she has never learned to curb this tendency, as it always changes the tone of what was otherwise probably a perfectly pleasant conversation. But she is my mother, and in general, there is more good than bad that goes along with her visits. Thankfully, in this, (and in most respects) I'm nothing like her. I don't know anyone else who is. And that's a good, good thing.
But, as with all good things, there's the downside...my mother can be very , how do I say this, difficult. She one of those people who does not know what is inappropriate to say to people - especially her own children. Prime example: apparently she was reading a study that linked cancer to weight and eating habits, which leads her to blurt out gems like this:
"Well, according to this study, you and Eric are going to get cancer for sure." She says this with such authority that you would think we had been named personally in said study.
This comment is just one example of the little gems she comes up with all the time, which after all my years on this planet, I should be used to, as she has done this all my life. But, it never fails to make my blood boil. She just says things that are downright mean and then justifies her words by saying like: "I says what's on my mind, and if you don't like it, too bad." As though this is a valid defense. And it doesn't have to been food related, it could be anything - housekeeping, child rearing, spending habits, nothing is sacred or off limits. Obviously, it her own mind, she is a regular Martha Stewart, without, of course the jail time or the tendency to gain weight.
I've often wondered why she has never learned to curb this tendency, as it always changes the tone of what was otherwise probably a perfectly pleasant conversation. But she is my mother, and in general, there is more good than bad that goes along with her visits. Thankfully, in this, (and in most respects) I'm nothing like her. I don't know anyone else who is. And that's a good, good thing.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Your Shoes, My Problem
I am a wearer of comfortable shoes. This is not meant as a euphemism for lesbian, I'm talking strictly about footwear. And now that I take the train home most nights I have time and again congratulated myself on the fact that I don't have a penchant for heels. I'm also apparently a slow walker and thusly, any type of uncomfortable footwear compounds my problem.
But last night, I'm running late and on Thursdays, I cannot miss the train. I just can't. So, I'm doing my extreme short-legged shuffle as best I can but I know I'm cutting it really close. As I enter the train station there is a relative labyrinth of stairs I need to maneuver to get to my platform. The first flight is down and there is a woman in front of me. A young woman. Hunched over at an angle that blocks the stairs, both hands on the rails, and inching down the stairway. Her heels rival anything I've seen recently on the Project Runway catwalk. Because I'm so late, I'm starting to lose my mind...but she's so wobbly that I don't actually have the heart to try to pass her for fear of taking her down completely. But, after what seems likes minutes, we finally get to the bottom and I fly past her thinking about making a comment about her poor choice of shoes causing me to miss my train but I flashed back to the Tim Horton's episode earlier this week and decide against it.
Then, it happens again, this time on the extremely long flight UP to the platform. Frak, Frak, Frackity Frak people. Different woman, slightly different shoe style, same painful, aggravating result.
So, no, I didn't miss my train. (Better story if I had) But I didn't get a seat. I had to stand in the aisle besides a hugely obese woman eating an ice cream cone. She shot me a challenging look but may have been surprised that I wasn't questioning her odd choice of commuter snack (Go Trainers are, almost without exception, apple-eaters. Maybe I'll cover that in a future blog-post). Anyway, I was actually looking at her shoes. Comfortable, practical. I'll be that woman, size be damned, could have covered some ground in those puppies. Is that too much to ask?
But last night, I'm running late and on Thursdays, I cannot miss the train. I just can't. So, I'm doing my extreme short-legged shuffle as best I can but I know I'm cutting it really close. As I enter the train station there is a relative labyrinth of stairs I need to maneuver to get to my platform. The first flight is down and there is a woman in front of me. A young woman. Hunched over at an angle that blocks the stairs, both hands on the rails, and inching down the stairway. Her heels rival anything I've seen recently on the Project Runway catwalk. Because I'm so late, I'm starting to lose my mind...but she's so wobbly that I don't actually have the heart to try to pass her for fear of taking her down completely. But, after what seems likes minutes, we finally get to the bottom and I fly past her thinking about making a comment about her poor choice of shoes causing me to miss my train but I flashed back to the Tim Horton's episode earlier this week and decide against it.
Then, it happens again, this time on the extremely long flight UP to the platform. Frak, Frak, Frackity Frak people. Different woman, slightly different shoe style, same painful, aggravating result.
So, no, I didn't miss my train. (Better story if I had) But I didn't get a seat. I had to stand in the aisle besides a hugely obese woman eating an ice cream cone. She shot me a challenging look but may have been surprised that I wasn't questioning her odd choice of commuter snack (Go Trainers are, almost without exception, apple-eaters. Maybe I'll cover that in a future blog-post). Anyway, I was actually looking at her shoes. Comfortable, practical. I'll be that woman, size be damned, could have covered some ground in those puppies. Is that too much to ask?
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
The Black Cat
We have a very friendly, sweet black cat named Wesley. About a year ago (after we'd had him for almost a year) we moved from an apartment into house and when spring arrived, he one day darted out the door and has pretty much remained an outdoor cat ever since. (Unlike our other cat, Sassy who is fat, lazy and likes to be outside for about 5 minutes as long as no loud cars go by). Wesley comes inside for food and a nap, but otherwise is very happy to spend his life outside, getting fleas and killing things.
Now today is Halloween, so being responsible cat owners, we have decided to keep him inside, which is no mean feat. Wesley is smart and fast so you have to think ahead every time you open the door. As for not letting him outside during Halloween...I thought this was a known thing. People do bad, scary things to innocent black cats this time of year. I have heard this time and time again. My coworkers apparently have not and seem to think I'm being ridiculous and overprotective and that nobody would actually hurt a cat just because its black and outside at Halloween.
I don't think I'm way off. Maybe its believing the worst in people, but I would never forgive myself if tonight happened to be the day he never comes home and would always imagine that he suffered a painful, torturous death at the hands of some Halloween-crazed satanist.
And for one night, birds and rodents in our neighbourhoods can forage for food in peace for it is the one night THEY may be safe from a painful, torturous death at that paws of Wesley, who is undoubtedly their own, personal boogeyman. Ironic, huh?
Now today is Halloween, so being responsible cat owners, we have decided to keep him inside, which is no mean feat. Wesley is smart and fast so you have to think ahead every time you open the door. As for not letting him outside during Halloween...I thought this was a known thing. People do bad, scary things to innocent black cats this time of year. I have heard this time and time again. My coworkers apparently have not and seem to think I'm being ridiculous and overprotective and that nobody would actually hurt a cat just because its black and outside at Halloween.
I don't think I'm way off. Maybe its believing the worst in people, but I would never forgive myself if tonight happened to be the day he never comes home and would always imagine that he suffered a painful, torturous death at the hands of some Halloween-crazed satanist.
And for one night, birds and rodents in our neighbourhoods can forage for food in peace for it is the one night THEY may be safe from a painful, torturous death at that paws of Wesley, who is undoubtedly their own, personal boogeyman. Ironic, huh?
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Perspective
The other day I'm at the drugstore with Kieran shopping for devices that will tame my unruly hair. I'm sifting through an assortment of headbands, and absently hand one that I've decided to buy to Kieran to play with. A short while later, after I've moved away from the accessories aisle, I happen to look into the stroller to see that the headband is not there and he's playing with his soother instead. I retrace my steps through the store to see if he dropped/threw it on the floor but it's gone. I check beside him in the stroller - no luck. And then I look more closely at my 16-month-old son. He has the hairband alright, on his head, tucked behind his ears - right where it should be.
I've been pregnant now for around 120 days. Of those days, I have thrown up on at least 80 of them, usually more than once. This pregnancy has been almost a complete 180 degrees departure from my last and has, I'm just going to say it, been horrible. Of course, I want this baby, but its hard to feel unfettered maternal joy when, for the umpteenth time, the barf bag that you made use of in the car this morning had a hole in it and has leaked all over your pants. So, this barfapalooza, combined with the sheer amount of work that babies and toddlers require - not to mention the sleepless nights, early mornings etc etc. - has periodically made me question the wisdom of our decision to expand our family.
So as I continue to be mired in a vomit-flavoured haze and wonder why I decided to do this again, I just think of my boy as looks up at me in wide-eyed innocence, soother in mouth, headband on head, and I think, yes, I can do this again.
I've been pregnant now for around 120 days. Of those days, I have thrown up on at least 80 of them, usually more than once. This pregnancy has been almost a complete 180 degrees departure from my last and has, I'm just going to say it, been horrible. Of course, I want this baby, but its hard to feel unfettered maternal joy when, for the umpteenth time, the barf bag that you made use of in the car this morning had a hole in it and has leaked all over your pants. So, this barfapalooza, combined with the sheer amount of work that babies and toddlers require - not to mention the sleepless nights, early mornings etc etc. - has periodically made me question the wisdom of our decision to expand our family.
So as I continue to be mired in a vomit-flavoured haze and wonder why I decided to do this again, I just think of my boy as looks up at me in wide-eyed innocence, soother in mouth, headband on head, and I think, yes, I can do this again.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Backwards, as usual
I guess I'm doing this backwards. I should have introduced my blog and then launched into my rant, but I guess that's my impulsive, aggravated side rearing its ugly head.
So, yeah, I've been thinking of a blog for a few months now. Although I know lots of people who have blogs I don't really visit them all that often. Every few weeks maybe. But a few months ago, while innocently googling my new obstetrician, I stumbled onto a birth announcement, which turned out to actually be also a death announcement, for a baby said doctor had delivered that had died tragically shortly after birth.
Oh, it gets worse. The announcement was attached to a blog which this poor woman had started whilst blissfully pregnant, but morphed into a horrifyingly tragic tale of infant loss, miscarriage and infertility and she had links to dozens of other blogs all dealing with the same thing. A sane person would have clicked off and never gone back. Instead, I was hooked. Now there are a few of them that I check regularly because I find their stories so fascinating and almost always well written. Often they are hilarious. Sometimes heartwrenching. The few that find I read regularly are all people who are newly pregnant, like myself, so I identify with them for the most part. (Although their respective journeys' to becoming pregnant are fraught with fervent hope, danger and emotional upheaval and mine can be summed up, both times, as "WTF?! Already?!")
Then a couple weeks ago, a good friend of mine, announced she was starting her own blog (not pregnancy related thus far, which has been a nice break) and it made me think again that I thought I should try this. And now here I am. Bloggin'. Enjoy. Or not.
So, yeah, I've been thinking of a blog for a few months now. Although I know lots of people who have blogs I don't really visit them all that often. Every few weeks maybe. But a few months ago, while innocently googling my new obstetrician, I stumbled onto a birth announcement, which turned out to actually be also a death announcement, for a baby said doctor had delivered that had died tragically shortly after birth.
Oh, it gets worse. The announcement was attached to a blog which this poor woman had started whilst blissfully pregnant, but morphed into a horrifyingly tragic tale of infant loss, miscarriage and infertility and she had links to dozens of other blogs all dealing with the same thing. A sane person would have clicked off and never gone back. Instead, I was hooked. Now there are a few of them that I check regularly because I find their stories so fascinating and almost always well written. Often they are hilarious. Sometimes heartwrenching. The few that find I read regularly are all people who are newly pregnant, like myself, so I identify with them for the most part. (Although their respective journeys' to becoming pregnant are fraught with fervent hope, danger and emotional upheaval and mine can be summed up, both times, as "WTF?! Already?!")
Then a couple weeks ago, a good friend of mine, announced she was starting her own blog (not pregnancy related thus far, which has been a nice break) and it made me think again that I thought I should try this. And now here I am. Bloggin'. Enjoy. Or not.
For Rock Chicks Everywhere...
So, I guess I’m one tough chick. I almost got into a fight at Tim Horton’s (how embarrassing) this morning.
Since I got back to work in June, I have developed a lovely morning ritual. Eric and I drive into work together, he parks at his office, which is about a 10 minute walk from mine. As I walk to my office, I stop at the new Tim Horton’s down the street and brave the insane morning line-up, wait the obligatory 15 minutes to get to the front before I recite “Large Steeped Tea with milk. Toasted 12 grain bagel with cream cheese” and hand over my $3.24. (Before anyone from the peanut gallery says anything about bagels equaling 4 pieces of bread, just shut it. I’m 4 months pregnant and baby wants a bagel, OK?)
Anyhoo, so I get in the lineup this morning and, as usual, we are backed to the door. About 30 seconds later a tall blond woman wearing a business suit, short skirt and tall boots comes inside and doesn’t get into the line, which has curved so that we are standing parallel to the door. Rather, she sort of stands there at the side, beside the man in front of me, disregarding the line, which continues to form obediently behind me. The man in front of me moves ahead and she immediately steps in. I’m a bit shocked and, before I can stop myself, mutter: “By all means, go ahead”. She WHIRLS around and stares at me in fury.
“EXCUSE me?” (belligerently)
“Uh, I was here before you.” Because she was so clearly in the wrong, I honestly wasn’t expecting her to react, but I’m in it now.
“No, you WEREN’T.” She’s pissed, which oddly I find amusing.
“Yes I was, but that’s OK, go ahead.”
“Well, I was here first, but if its SOOOO important to you, YOU go.” Her tone implying she is simply above this sort of petty interaction.
The friggin’ liar stares me down, and admittedly, she’s a tad frightening. Clearly, she thinks she’s good looking. But her face is seriously unattractive and her eyes are heavily outlined in black. Sort of like a rocker chick with a good job. And now, people are looking.
Still, I know I’m right, but I wave her off and she says: “Well, if you were here first, I didn’t mean to get in front of anyone….I didn’t do it VICIOUSLY.”
Viciously? No lady, you were either ridiculously oblivious or a total bitch. I’m leaning toward the latter. She turns around and stands there with her back to me and it’s sort of awkward for the rest of the wait. Later, as we near the front, she leans forward and says something to guy in front of her and he laughs, turns around gives her an nauseatingly obvious once over. Appreciatively. Guys are soooooo easy. And he talks to her a bit more and she laughs some more. I’m feeling ill, and for once, it’s not the baby. How can he possibly take her side?!
But, still what is up with people these days? I was just saying yesterday, after what can only be described as a harrowing trip to the grocery store where I almost ran into a old woman with my cart and then later, totally bashed another woman’s almost empty cart while in the checkout, that people are all too cranky. Both incidents were my fault and I apologized PROFUSELY to both people involved, but neither was nice about it in the slightest. OK maybe the old woman had a point (although I didn’t actually touch her- probably because she squealed in warning first.) But the one in checkout? What’s the big deal? Your cart was almost empty! Yet, she glared at me as though it was made of Grandma’s irreplaceable bone china. I think that is why I spoke up this morning in Tim Horton’s. Last Friday, I may well have just rolled my eyes at the woman as she stepped in front of me and said nothing. But not today. Sure, it may have been juvenile to be getting into a scrap prior to 9am over who was before whom in the coffee line, but I’m actually happier that I did.
Be warned business rock chicks everywhere…you may have met your match.
Since I got back to work in June, I have developed a lovely morning ritual. Eric and I drive into work together, he parks at his office, which is about a 10 minute walk from mine. As I walk to my office, I stop at the new Tim Horton’s down the street and brave the insane morning line-up, wait the obligatory 15 minutes to get to the front before I recite “Large Steeped Tea with milk. Toasted 12 grain bagel with cream cheese” and hand over my $3.24. (Before anyone from the peanut gallery says anything about bagels equaling 4 pieces of bread, just shut it. I’m 4 months pregnant and baby wants a bagel, OK?)
Anyhoo, so I get in the lineup this morning and, as usual, we are backed to the door. About 30 seconds later a tall blond woman wearing a business suit, short skirt and tall boots comes inside and doesn’t get into the line, which has curved so that we are standing parallel to the door. Rather, she sort of stands there at the side, beside the man in front of me, disregarding the line, which continues to form obediently behind me. The man in front of me moves ahead and she immediately steps in. I’m a bit shocked and, before I can stop myself, mutter: “By all means, go ahead”. She WHIRLS around and stares at me in fury.
“EXCUSE me?” (belligerently)
“Uh, I was here before you.” Because she was so clearly in the wrong, I honestly wasn’t expecting her to react, but I’m in it now.
“No, you WEREN’T.” She’s pissed, which oddly I find amusing.
“Yes I was, but that’s OK, go ahead.”
“Well, I was here first, but if its SOOOO important to you, YOU go.” Her tone implying she is simply above this sort of petty interaction.
The friggin’ liar stares me down, and admittedly, she’s a tad frightening. Clearly, she thinks she’s good looking. But her face is seriously unattractive and her eyes are heavily outlined in black. Sort of like a rocker chick with a good job. And now, people are looking.
Still, I know I’m right, but I wave her off and she says: “Well, if you were here first, I didn’t mean to get in front of anyone….I didn’t do it VICIOUSLY.”
Viciously? No lady, you were either ridiculously oblivious or a total bitch. I’m leaning toward the latter. She turns around and stands there with her back to me and it’s sort of awkward for the rest of the wait. Later, as we near the front, she leans forward and says something to guy in front of her and he laughs, turns around gives her an nauseatingly obvious once over. Appreciatively. Guys are soooooo easy. And he talks to her a bit more and she laughs some more. I’m feeling ill, and for once, it’s not the baby. How can he possibly take her side?!
But, still what is up with people these days? I was just saying yesterday, after what can only be described as a harrowing trip to the grocery store where I almost ran into a old woman with my cart and then later, totally bashed another woman’s almost empty cart while in the checkout, that people are all too cranky. Both incidents were my fault and I apologized PROFUSELY to both people involved, but neither was nice about it in the slightest. OK maybe the old woman had a point (although I didn’t actually touch her- probably because she squealed in warning first.) But the one in checkout? What’s the big deal? Your cart was almost empty! Yet, she glared at me as though it was made of Grandma’s irreplaceable bone china. I think that is why I spoke up this morning in Tim Horton’s. Last Friday, I may well have just rolled my eyes at the woman as she stepped in front of me and said nothing. But not today. Sure, it may have been juvenile to be getting into a scrap prior to 9am over who was before whom in the coffee line, but I’m actually happier that I did.
Be warned business rock chicks everywhere…you may have met your match.
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