Recipe for nausea

Well, it started yesterday. Nausea. I wouldn't call it morning sickness. It's not as bad as when I was pregnant with Malena. Of course, it's only been one day.

I had the bright idea to make chicken sausage gumbo. This is funny, because I did the same thing when I was early pregnant the first time.

First thing you have to do is cut up a whole chicken. The sound of the bones cracking beneath my super sharp Henkels knife was disgusting. I looked down at what I was doing and just felt sick.

Second thing you gotta do is look at the recipe. I happened to be following the one from Vernon Roger's Cajun Cookbook. It took me back to my days in Louisiana when good ole Vernon was the anchorman for WAFB-TV channel 9...until he got busted with Baton Rouge's own version of a Heidi Fleiss while he was wearing a diaper doing God-knows-what. Ugh. The very thought of a grown man in a diaper made the nausea return with a vengeance!

Third thing you do is make a roux. Easy enough. Just keep stirring. Don't let it burn. And, DO NOT, whatever you do, DO NOT TASTE IT. Duh! I forgot it tastes like sin. Urge to puke continues.

Fourth thing you must do (which isn't mentioned in the recipe...I wonder why) is drain the nearly two cups of pure artery-clogging orange grease from the top of the delicious brew. It is a result of boiling the tasty yet FOUL (ha ha get it!) faux-andouille sausage from Portugal and the chicken skin. Score another one for nausea.

I had to stop singing "Jambalaya Crawfish Pie-a Filet Gumbo" just so I could eat my lunch.

With this ring, I declare thee a crazy woman.

I just spent, literally, a good 3 or 4 minutes trying to remember on which ring finger I'm supposed to wear my wedding rings. Is it the right...or the left? What the hell, I can't remember! How can I not remember?!

Is it possible that pregnant brain is already kicking in?

Google, how do I build a bomb?

Who wants to help me blow up a Rite-Aid Pharmacy?

It took these idiots 6 whole business days to fill my prescription for my prenatal vitamins. They weren't even deterred by my every-half-hour phone calls on Wednesday of this week.

If this kid has spina bifida, I swear I'm suing the shit out of those people.

Didn't the glasses give it away?

63% scored higher (more nerdy), and 37% scored lower (less nerdy).

What does this mean? Your nerdiness is: Not nerdy, but definitely not hip.

My friend Deborah sent this to me. GOD! I was sure she was nerdier than me! Just kidding. ;-)

4 weeks 4 days

How to know you, unfortunately, are not the first-born child:

When your Mommy buys your very first toy from the local sheriff station's rummage sale, throws it in the washer, and when it comes out, she proclaims, "Good as new!"

Anthony Kiedis, you're my boy.

Everyone has heard the phrase "time flies." This is so true. We all know it. Here is one pathetic example of how time has flown for me.

I'm walking out the door on my way to the dentist, just after finding out that I'm pregnant again. I decided to drive the Honda (formerly my car, but ever since we moved, for some strange reason T.J. and I have switched cars) so T.J. would have the other car with the baby seat in case he wanted to take Malena to Mexico to escape the life of being a father of two.

The radio stations were playing crap, so I turned on the CD player. And there it was. The tunes of the Red Hot Chili Peppers...bringing back those familiar moments of being fat, hot & pregnant. And there I was...pregnant again. I had never taken that CD out of the player. In nearly 2 whole years, that Greatest Hits CD had remained snugly in that slot. The most embarrassing thing about this is that the Honda doesn't have a CD changer. There is only one CD, and those Chili Peppers better flippin' feel honored. Perhaps they are my fertility good luck charm.

So, I suppose that is what happens when you have kids. There is no time for anything.

Still not convinced...entirely

Okay, when I got pregnant with Malena, it was pretty obvious. At least now, looking back at it, it was pretty obvious. I was really hungry, waking up at night to pee, and of course, my boobs were KILLIN' me.

It is different this time, which is why as soon as the sun comes up I'm taking another test because I just don't really believe it.

I am having some nosebleeds (which happened later in pregnancy the first time). My hearing is becoming supersonic dog-esque again (damn that TIVO squeal!). I have been waking up at night, but mostly because I have a toddler who, on occasion, likes to belt out in the early morning hours...many times for NO GOOD REASON. But, so far, that's about it.

I mean, what about my boobs! Why don't they hurt? Oh...probably because this little creature named Malena transformed my once perfectly perky size A love toys into deflated mammary glands when she decided to reject them after a good 7 months of lactation abuse. Oh God, does this mean I have to do that AGAIN?

Heard it from a guy in India

Do you know what this is? Yes, it's one of those "easy to read" pee-on pregnancy tests. What do you think those lines mean? Let me break it down for you...

Angela: Hurry, hurry, come in here! I couldn't hold it in any longer, so I took a test because I wanted to know before I went to the dentist. Don't be pissed, I swear I didn't peek!

T.J.: (Not believing his wife) Where is it?

Oral-Hygiene Obsessed Woman Insanely Brushing Her Teeth: I'm scared! You look at it! I can't look at it.

T.J.: (Digging under the pile of clothes where crazy woman hid the pee stick) How many lines is it supposed to have?

Angela: (Flossing madly) Two...I think.

T.J.: (Very confused) It's negative...wait, where's the box?

Angela: (Swishing some low-alcohol-content mouthwash) It's right here. What does it say? I can't look at it!

T.J.: Yeah, it's negative.

Angela: I knew it.

T.J.: (Staring at the pretty directions) I don't know.

Angela: (Suddenly realizing it's a stupid plus/minus-graphical-read-out-type-of-a-test) Oh my God, did we read it wrong?! I think we read it wrong! Call the number, CALL THEM!

T.J.: (Walking briskly towards the kitchen) I'm calling!

Angela: (Running quickly behind) Hurry! They close at 5 p.m. Eastern time! Shit! I think they're already closed!

T.J.: (Speaking to someone on the line) Yes, um, we took one of the EPT tests and, um, if there is one line going up and down...

Angela: (Idiot!) Speaker phone! SPEAKER PHONE!

T.J.: (How the hell do I put it on speaker...oh, orange button) You there?

Customer Service Guy in, Of Course, India: ...yes, mum, dat is indeed a puzItive an-sa, mum. It duzn't matta if dee line is ver-dee faint.

T.J.: (Smiling ear to ear) Thank you, sir.

India Boy: Thank you fa calling EPT, suh. Should you have any ma questions, please call..blah, blah, blah.

Angela: (Yes, I wanted to get pregnant, but what the hell have I gotten myself into...again!) I can't believe we had to call a guy in India to find out if I'm pregnant. You think that's right? (Hugs and kisses and I-love-yous all around.) I don't think it's right! I mean, I feel like I'm about to start my period! I have to go to the dentist. What do I tell him if he asks?

T.J. (Very proud) I'm a one-hit wonder! (Story NOT to be told later...T.J. would kill me. Just ask Dr. Shettles.)