So, when you’re pregnant I’m finding out that people looooooove to talk about my bodily functions and habits that are, at all other non-pregnant times, completely inappropriate. Such as: “How much weight have you gained?” “Should you be eating that?” “Do you puke a lot?” And we can’t forget, in more or less words: “Are you planning on expressing milk from your ta-ta’s and offering it to your child?” Things I only want to talk about with my doctor or my mother. Or possibly other previously pregnant friends that I’ve had over for dinner at some point.
So the other day, I was out shopping with my sisters. We had just finished a long lunch and were in the car, headed to IKEA to buy cheap dishes. It was taking a little longer to get there than I anticipated, and offhandedly I stated that I needed to use the restroom. And I love my oldest sister for saying this outloud: “Don’t you hate it when people look at you like, “Oh, the pregnant girl has to go to the bathroom!” When really you’re just human. And humans have to go to the bathroom every now and again. So annoying right?”
And she’s right! All of a sudden my bathroom visits are monitored and noted (subconsciously at least) by those around me. So weird and slightly disturbing if pondered for too long.
I also don’t like the looks I get from waitresses after I order a milkshake. What? They’re delicious!
I will say though…with all of this privacy invasiveness…I find it oddly comforting that there are those that just want to know, and want to know how I’m feeling and how excited I am. Because, they’re excited too. It also doesn’t bother me at all when people touch my tummy. (If my arms were longer I’d reach out and touch theirs at the same time though. Hey. Fair is fair.) Some pregnant ladies really hate that, but maybe since I’ve been a little person my whole life and have had to deal with my share of curious questions, it’s nice to have the attention taken away from my short legs and towards my growing baby.
Also, I have add this little story:
I walk Stella every day around Batavia. People are starting to take notice, and it’s not uncommon for them to stop and say “I love your dog!” I’m thinking about having Stella run for mayor during the next election. Anyway, so the other day we were returning to the house and a lady in a Durango stopped, rolled down her window and shouted, “Hey! What’s your name?” I responded. She comes back with, “Are you with-child?” And I said, “Yes, I am.” And then she goes on into her story about seeing me around town and her granddaughter needed a talkin’ to about how I am a grown woman who is with-child. If we had been able to linger a little longer, I am positive this lady would’ve asked what my blood type was by the end of the conversation. It cracked me up.
There is no doubt that Stella has accepted Dave as her “pack leader.” She literally flops over every time she sees him. If he moves to another room, she’ll get up and wait patiently at the door as if to say, “After you,” and follows him in. And then she’ll shoot a look at me that says, “Me next! You third!” Woo. Fun times.
Anyway, so today Stella has been moping around in her crate, in the kitchen, on the deck…there is no life in her. She’s been this way since Dave left for work. If I move towards Dave’s desk her ears perk up and she runs to the gate to see him. He’s not there. If I move to the bedroom, she runs to the door to see if he’s there…No? Back to moping.
I’ve had this song in my head all morning because of this attitude:
So much drama!
This is the long, drawn out, and uneventful story of how we decided to get a dog:
Dave and I had been married for a few years and were pretty content with the way our life was unfolding.
One day, Dave said, “I think dog people are good people, I want to be like that. There’s something about a home where dogs live that is very inviting.” Well, he said something to that effect at least. He probably also said, “Jen you look amazing. I love it when you wear pajamas for two solid days.” Anyway. In my family, almost everyone has a dog. Only myself and my oldest sister were without canines. However, oldest sister has two kids under three, so she is exempt. My other older sister is the Mother Teresa of dogs–I would definitely want to be her dog. My baby sister has the cutest dog in the world, Walter. My younger sister has the sweetest Great Dane. And my parents have filled their empty nest with multiple dogs.
Funny story: We were taking a family picture a summer or two ago. All the new brother-in-laws and babies added to our family needed to be documented. After the picture, my Dad goes, “Okay! Now just the Barlean family.” I think to myself, “Oh, he wants one of Mom, Dad, and the five girls.” He sits down on the bench with my Mom and then says, “Alright Dave, take the picture.”
Nice. Anyway, I digress.
So then for the next year or so we started talking about dogs. We talked about breeds, we’d watch Dogs 101 on Animal Planet, and the National Dog Show became an annual Thanksgiving tradition ’round these parts. We thought about getting a Whippet, but that got nixed once we found out about the whole 0-35 mph in 6 seconds trait.
Cut to the chase: We settled on a Boston Terrier and we named her Stella. Dave agreed to get a puppy Christmas 2009, and we finally made the leap February 2011. We’re learning that we’re not necessarily puppy people…but we’re definitely dog people. Stella has challenged us every day and we’re finding that we’re more active in some areas, more laid back in others, and we work even better as a team than we did before. She is absolutely preparing us for parenting–mostly because she involves various noxious smells and bodily functions.
So anyway, that’s the story. I told you it was pretty uneventful. No helicopter crashes, trips to the hospital, or tense moments involving a computer screen (side note: one of my pet peeves is when the most dramatic moment in a movie is involves a person typing on a computer. Ugh!).
Next up, baby stuff. I promise. And a picture of Stella. Dave took a great one yesterday, but this post is so lame that it didn’t do it justice.
They are too much like a cracker.
They’re not quite as tooth-achingly sweet as Samoas or Tag-A-Longs…so it’s difficult for your brain (well, mine at least) to make the connection that you just ingested a bunch of sugar and should therefore be satisfied.
No. A Thin Mint is decidedly bland enough to trick your (my) brain into thinking, “You are eating a Ritz cracker that is exceptionally tasty. One more certainly wouldn’t hurt.” Indeed. One more wouldn’t hurt…right? Right?
Better content as soon as I decide what to write about first…my farting puppy or about the baby that is currently kicking me in some kind of nameless soft organ. Spleen perhaps? Who knows.
Well, Facebook has definitely taken over my life. But, I’m feeling the siren call of this poor neglected domain more and more. So, what have I missed in…2 (oh gosh!)…years?
1. The house is still standing, and we LOVE IT. I love my yard, I love my kitchen, I love our town. Love love love.
2. We got a puppy. Her name is Stella (or if you’re me-Stella Baby) and she’s the ornery-est Boston Terrier in the world.
3. And lastly, I am 24 weeks pregnant. Very excited about this one. Our little guy is treating me well, and if it weren’t for Stella’s puppy antics, I would have nothing to complain about.
Also wanted to put out there that I will be (hopefully) blogging more frequently. Now that I actually have things to talk about. Since we’re little people, there are a lot of factors we have to consider when we purchase things for Baby K, so I thought I’d drag you guys along for the ride.
Dave is working on a new “look” for this place, and I’m going to be putting it out there a little more via Facebook and Twitter (@unmerited).
See you soon!