#AtoZChallenge: ‘P’ is for Pregnancy

Today we’re going back over 10 years, to when I was pregnant with Little Man. I was a bundle of nerves during that pregnancy, and let me tell you, between the pregnancy hormones, my tendency to have mood swings whether I’m pregnant or not, and being tightly wound from the anxiety, I wasn’t always the funnest person to be around.

My husband is probably going to think that is the understatement of the year when he reads this, and you guys might think the same by the time you reach the end of this post. I’m not one to cry much — unless I’m watching Disney Pixar films, and then I can’t stop the waterworks — but I would cry over just about anything while I was pregnant..

The Vegetables

My husband and I had only been married for a year when we got pregnant with Little Man. We decided that I was going to be a stay-at-home-mom, so one of the things I did during my pregnancy was try to improve my cooking skills. This didn’t go very well for me, which you already know if you’ve read the Mommy Started The Fire post.

One day I decided to make stir fry, which included cooking a bag of frozen vegetables. The instructions said that I only needed a little bit of water to make the veggies, and I thought that was a mistake, since I’d never seen anyone cook veggies that weren’t covered in water (unless they were fried) before. (Dear 23-year-old me — steaming exists.)

My husband assured me that the veggies would turn out fine if I followed the recipe. Three minutes into cooking, I was convinced that he was wrong and got super upset about my plan of making a good supper being ruined.

This happened:

Let’s just say that my husband was pretty bewildered with this. After he calmed me down and I got myself together, I cleaned up the mess and got a new packet of veggies. I cooked them according to the instructions, and guess what? The instructions were correct. I just needed to have a little more trust in both the people in charge of putting recipes on the back of frozen food packs and my husband.

Navigating

In addition to being a sucky cook, I’m also terrible at driving places. I have a hard time remembering where things are, my brain doesn’t do directions, and I tend to panic when I’m trying to go somewhere new. If Driving Under the Influence of Stupidity charges were a thing, I wouldn’t have a license at this point.

One day I had to drive somewhere in the town I lived in and got lost. I tried using the GPS I got for Christmas, but it didn’t help because it told me to turn on a road that didn’t exist. I had never felt so betrayed before in my life — we waited in line at 5AM on Black Friday to get that GPS for a bargain, and it did this?! In a state of panic, I called up my husband, who was at work.

He was more amused than bewildered this time, especially when he asked why I didn’t use my GPS, and I told him that there was an attempt. He later told me that after he told a couple of guys at work that I was lost again, they also asked why I didn’t use my GPS (they were aware of my tendency to call and ask how to go places) and had a good laugh over it.

Grocery Shopping

There was more than one teary shopping incident during that pregnancy (there is no worse feeling than knowing you have to walk to the back of Walmart during the ninth month), but for this post, I’ll focus on the one that left a cashier kinda freaked out.

This was during the last trimester of my pregnancy. I went grocery shopping at Aldi and had the cart loaded up. During checkout, I got out my debit card to pay, and when I swiped my card, it asked for my PIN. I started to enter it, but then my mind completely blanked — I didn’t have a clue what the number was. Thanks, pregnancy brain.

The store was mostly empty and there was no one else in my line, so the cashier didn’t have a problem with me calling my husband to get the number. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer, which caused me to freak out a bit. I then called my grandmother to see if she had any idea what my PIN was, but she didn’t since she had no reason to know.

Cue the tears.

You guys would have been crying, too, if you had Aldi’s danish pastries in your cart and had to leave them behind. I’m only focusing on LM’s pregnancy for this post, but if I had opened it up to tear-fests during Baby Girl’s pregnancy, I’d write about the time I angry cried over the ice cream store being out of cookies and cream. Pregnant women don’t play when it comes to sweets.

I didn’t figure out the PIN while I was there. I had to leave the cart and wait for my husband to get back to me before I could pay for those groceries. Y’all better believe that I avoided eye contact when I eventually went back in. Good times, those pregnancy days.

Bonus: Poop

When Candy at Geek Mamas suggested that I should’ve saved the poop story from yesterday for today, the P day, I told her that I already had planned to write about pregnancy. That reminded me of something that combines the pregnancy and pooping worlds: The Fear.

There comes a moment during pregnancy when a woman makes a realization. Much like the, “Wow, I don’t even know this little leech yet, but I really love him!” moment, women also experience a, “Holy shit, I could poop during delivery!” moment. The Fear. That moment isn’t nearly as joyous as the former.

I was into the second trimester when I realized that it was possible that I could poop while trying to deliver my child.

I could see it happening plain as day — I’d be in the final stages of my drug-free delivery (lol) and instead of pushing out a baby, I’d accidentally push out a turd.

You’ll be happy to know that — after months of worrying about this and trying to figure out ways to prevent such a thing from happening — I didn’t poop. I asked my husband after delivering Little Man, and he assured me that no extras were delivered. Whew.

What’s something silly that you’ve cried over? 

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Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer From Hell

Prior to this year, I’ve never been very good at the Pinterest stuff. I’m not sure why this year has been so different, but I’ve had nothing but wins with everything I’ve attempted. Yay, me. In the past, though, everything I’ve attempted has looked like utter garbage. For example, check out the time I tried to make a dollhouse for Little Man. Hint — mine is on the right.

And since the doodled version doesn’t do the real pictures justice, here’s the real deal:

screenshot-2016-12-09-at-1-11-32-am

Last Christmas season, my husband was looking at stuff online and came across a recipe for Rudolph pancakes. He got all excited about them and decided to made them for the kids. When he finished, he came over to the desk where I was working asked to borrow my phone to take a picture of the pancakes.

Look at Mr. “I hate Instagram people who take pictures of their food” now, I thought, smirking.

I handed over the phone, but didn’t get up to look at the pancakes because I was busy at the moment. After he brought the phone back to me, with the picture still open, I quickly became unbusy after I saw his Rudolph.

Here it is:

Baby Girl was watching me do this post and said the one on the right looks like a scary monster. She isn’t wrong.

Holy neckbeard, Batman!

And, again, since the doodled version probably doesn’t do the real version justice, here’s the real deal:

I could not stop laughing. I spent the better part of two hours getting fits of giggles over those things. “Rabid” and “zombie reindeer that will eat Baby Girl” were a couple of terms people used to describe it after I shared it everywhere.

To add to the funny, my husband didn’t get why I was laughing at first. Neither did Little Man, not until I pulled up a picture to remind my husband and show LM what the pancakes were supposed to look like. And then we all howled with laughter, except for Baby Girl, who didn’t give a crap because she had chocolate chips and high fructose corn syrup in front of her for supper. (Coincidentally, it took her a solid 2.5 hours to go to sleep that night. I’m guessing part of that was karma getting at me for laughing so much.)

I’m kinda thinking that terrifying Rudolph should be in a few doodles of his own…

In case you want to make the Rudolphs and not have them look all sinister, it may help knowing that my husband blamed it on having purchased the wrong canned whip. He bought Cool Whip in a can over Redi-Whip. He thinks that had the Cool Whip not melted as quickly, that his Rudolphs would’ve looked perfect. I didn’t say a word.

Have you ever made food that turned out looking like something that would suck out your soul?

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Mommy Started The Fire!

In my post Rocking Motherhood, I briefly mentioned flaming doughnuts. Details were requested, so today you get the story. It’s less thrilling than it sounds, but I’ll happily give you the details. Those of you who follow my other blog are familiar with this story, so aside from the doodles, this will be a repeat for you.

Several months ago I decided to make my family a sweet treat. After looking around online, I found what was supposed to be a super easy doughnut recipe — no need for yeast or waiting for the dough to rise. I told the family over supper than I planned to make them. There was much excitement.

Maybe there wasn’t so much excitement as skepticism on his part.

After we finished eating, I pulled out the ingredients, put a pot full of oil on the stove, set the burner to high, and started mixing everything (very carefully, I’ll add, so that I wouldn’t accidentally get my finger caught in the beater and beat it again). The consistency of the dough was off and was more like a thick pancake batter than something I could roll out, cut, etc., so I changed the game plan.

“Y’all, we’re having doughnut balls instead!” I called out. I figured I could just drop spoonfuls of the dough, shake some powdered sugar over them and no one would care too much that they weren’t O-shaped.

As I was finishing getting my dough ready, my husband came back into the kitchen and asked if the oil was supposed to be smoking.

“I think it’s just steaming. That means it’s ready for the dough,” I informed him.

After I finished mixing the dough, I dropped a spoonful in the oil, and it instantly turned dark and started smoking. This is where the thing certain people have said that annoys the hell out of me came into play — “you might be smart, but you don’t have much common sense.” Instead of taking the doughnut out of the oil and taking the pot off the burner, I started fumbling around with the window to open it to get the smoke out. Baby Girl started coughing in her high chair and yelled “Mommy!” at me, giving me a nasty look. I got her out and handed her off to my husband who had just come back in, and I told him to take the kids to another room. The fire alarm had also started going off by this point.

Finally it dawned on me to turn off the stove and remove the pot, so I did and headed to the backdoor to take it outside. Just as I made it to the door, I thought I saw the doughnut light up out the corner of my eye, but the flame went out quickly.

After mulling over what to do with my pot of ridiculous hot oil and charred doughnut hole, I decided to dump the contents over the back porch onto the ground. Fortunately, the ground was wet from the rain, so no more flames happened.

When I went back inside, it was pretty smoky. Little Man came running in with a bag over his head, calling it his breathing mask.

My husband took the kids down to his mom’s house for a couple of hours to give the house time to air out. When they came back, they made a big deal about being able to breathe again and gave me a lot of shit over the whole thing.

It was hard to be too annoyed with them since they were making a reference to The Office.

So, now you know the story of the time I almost burnt the house down trying to make doughnuts. You also know why I rarely fry foods and why I will always avoid jobs where I need to make split-second decisions.

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