Motherhood Uncensored

So, Lindsay Lohan Finally Checked Herself Into Rehab...

**UPDATE BELOW**

Who cares, I say?!?

The real news of the day is this, people:

GUESS who finally checked herself into the MATERNITY WARD??? 

(Do they still call it that?)

It's true, she's there.  And I didn't even get to eat that chocolate cake, damnit.  More information will be forthcoming, if I can figure out how to...you know...blog.                                       

xo--Tina (BFF)

Kristen had her beautiful boy early this morning and both are doing super well.  Kristen is happy and healthy and sounds great.  In BFF, 'Wind Beneath The Wings' style, I'm going to resist the temptation to steal her thunder and give you all the details *restraining self mightily*  but I'll give you the stats:

Drew Douglas.  8 (count 'em) pounds and 10 ounces.  21 inches long.  Very sweet with long monkey toes.

Until we meet again. xoxo

Apparently This is What My Baby is Waiting for in Order to Make His Timely Arrival: (Read: He's Never Coming Out)

The end of the Donald and Rosie fiasco.

A smile and cheerful word from my mother-in-law.

The Catholic church to accept female priests and gay marriage.

My husband's libido to return for exile.

Bridgette Nielson's timely exit from any television show.

My still sick 18 week pregnant bff being able to eat an entire chocolate cake (or even just a piece) and not vomit.

Johnny Depp himself actually offering to stimulate my nipples with.his.mouth.

Playboy calling to invite me to be their May 2007 centerfold.

Dooce to comment on my blog.

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Added: People to heed my word and put The Blog Exchange website on their regular read list. (The call for the February 1 Blog Exchange is up and running -- you didn't think just because I'm due any second I'd cancel, now did you?).

Hey Clearblue... Take it Easy

What is it about OB offices and magazines? It's like the Parenting Magazine breeding ground. I walk in and I have to fight the nurses and their fourteen magazines off me.

I'd prefer not to be weighed with magazines and 14 packs of prenatals in hand, thank you very much.

I suppose they are trying to gently tell you that you'll be waiting for a good hour until the doctor can look at you and say "Nope, sorry. Closed up like Fort Knox. Looks like you'll be preggers til February."

Cue evil laugh.

Anyway, I was perusing the November 2006 issue of Child Magazine when I happened upon a doozy of an ad from Clearblue Easy. (pg 135 if you can find the issue).

Basically, there's this text in the upper left hand corner:

How to use CLEAR BLUE EASY DIGITAL OVULATION KIT

1) Pee alalalala on a stick alalalalala see a smiley face lalalalala when you're most fertile.

2) SEDUCE YOUR MAN

For reals.

And even better is the accompanying picture -- a woman on her kitchen counter, wearing a cute sassy sundress, dancing for her husband while he is holding out a dollar bill and his glass of wine.

Now. I'm no prude. Hell. I've done my share of counter dancing. And I'm certainly a wine drinker.

But let's be frank.

A $1 bill? What self-loving wife would dance for less than a $20?

(All joking aside, could an ad, particularly one directed towards women, be any more tacky?)

I'MNOINLABO

*It's worth clicking through and reading to the bottom of this one. But if you don't like free stuff, then feel free to pass on by.

HEH.

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I'm hardly bold enough to think that I could start a annoying daily posting festival movement like some folks who hold much power (and for good reason) in their rapidly typing fingers. However, I realize that after reading the blogs of those soon-to-be-baby-having bloggers who have now had their babies, there's something that happens when they don't post.

Oh-my-god they had the baby!

They must be in labor right now.

I'm going to email her to see if she's in labor.

Yeah. It's already started when I call people.

Like I'd be calling YOU, telemarketer who happens to know my due date, when I was in labor.

What is it about people? Seriously. I'm not even sure I'll be calling anyone. Not even my husband.

Heh.

But anyway, I'm going to challenge myself (read: keep my mind off the fact that I still too clearly remember the feeling that I would literally split in half when the baby came out of me) to post as often as possible. Yes. And the posts over at my other blogs don't even count.

I'm talking real posts. None of this "Hey. Do you like my new toenail polish I'm just trying to say I posted when really I have nothing to say but hey it's a post" posts.

(Whatever the hell that means).

But please. I beg you. Don't feel obligated to follow suit. In fact, post less. That's right. Unless you've got something hilarious or incredibly touching, feel free not to post. Why not enter my baby pool instead (or in conjunction with your lower than average posts)?

Because the second most feared post-partum act behind the awful first poop and pee is visiting my bloglines unread list.

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I'm giving away a really really really cool thing here. Read it and then enter. Good luck!

The Home Stretch: AKA When I Start to Resemble a Peace Corp Worker Home for the Holidays

Apparently I have about six weeks left, give or take the extra two they like to tack on for good measure.

You know, first it's NINE months. Then you realize it's really TEN months. And then it's "whenever the fuck the baby decides to come out" which is the part that is really great, but then also really kind of sucks -- particularly when you've been enjoying your fairly taut and in tact vagina for the last 2 years. Like my midwife reminded me, "Your vagina is just never the same after having kids."

Gulp. Thanks. Just what I needed to get me through these last few weeks.

It doesn't help that I've started to resemble the next door neighbor's 27 year old English or Psychology major who is home from a 4-year "I couldn't find a job so instead I'm doing something noble by building huts for native tribespeople in Costa Rica" stint. Or, a "Survivor" reject.

You do know what I'm talking about right?

I tried shaving my legs, but I nearly fell over in the shower. And the other parts? Well... Let's just say my nether regions and below will be cozy warm for the winter.

I'm lucky if I lotion my face let alone put any make-up on. I have yet to resort to a doo-rag, but I have gone the "put some earrings on to distract from your pallid puffy face" route. Sadly, not even sterling silver danglies can help me.

I'm watching any and all crappy shows that I can get my hands on as if I haven't seen a working television in 3 years and I'm still in shock that certain people have shows but yet just can't.look.away.must.watch.

FLAVOR FLAVVVVVVVVVVV!

And as far as clothes go, I'm wearing the same three outfits over and over. Yes. Sort of like I'm living out of a backpack in the forests of Venezuela, except my outfits would not fit in a backpack because they are so incredibly large.

I'm even wearing mountain boots. Well sort of. I mean, they're by Merrell, so I imagine they're supposed to be fairly functional. You know. Just in case I have to climb a mountain in the next few weeks, I'll be prepared. But honestly, they are the only ones that fit my feet and will close up over my gargantuan calves (from all the hiking, of course). Heh.

And I'm eating like I haven't had anything but rice, fried cockroaches, and coconut tree bark extract smoothies for the past 4,009 days. Donuts? Give me 5. Pumpkin Pie? A whole one will do me just fine.

So, I'm calling this last month of pregnancy "The Rupert Month."

Sigh. If only they paid me a cool million for wearing a really bad tie-dye shirt and facial hair.