Thursday, October 27, 2011

The Beginning of the End

I can hardly control my excitement...

A painter is coming tomorrow to give us an estimate for how much it'll cost for him to paint our house.

This is the day I've dreamt of for the last 6 months.

And I realize that this is proof that my life is rather dull.

But please understand - tomorrow starts the end of a 6 month stress that seems to consume me (mostly as I try to fall asleep at night).

Tomorrow starts the end of our beige walls, the end of our white walls, the end of our blegh walls (FYI: blegh is not a color).

Tomorrow starts the end of Mr. San Antonio having to listen to me stress over our lifeless walls, and insist that my life won't be complete until they are no longer beige (are you sensing a pattern?).

The reason this process has taken 6 months is because I have been incredibly, and rather uncharacteristically, indecisive (I mean we planned a wedding in 3 months... and it's taken me twice as long to pick out paint colors?! What is wrong with me?).

I thought I would pick colors on the first try and run with them. But the first batch of colors we tried looked beautiful in the tub, and florescent on the walls. We needed sunglasses. I wasn't ok with that. And Mr. San Antonio really wasn't ok with that.

I continued to try different samples, and would paint pieces of cardboard that I would then prop up around the house for us to walk by, assess in different lighting, etc. But we would quickly decide we didn't like a color, and it would take me weeks before I would go out and get a different sample.

Finally I decided that if I put the color directly on the walls that would force me to make a decision more quickly - because I would get tired of having walls that looked like a rainbow crashed into them. (Besides, with a baby coming, I really don't have room for leprechauns... unless they clean houses... are they known for that?)

Getting frustrated with myself, I began asking friends how they went about the color-picking process.

One friend said she painted everything white and just added colorful furniture. It works great for her, but all our furniture is beige or brown or white... so I need some life on the walls.

A second friend said she went into a design store, flipped through magazines until she found a room laid out similar to her own, and then told the assistant to make her house look like that. I like that idea, but I don't know if our bank account would.

A third friend said she went to the paint store, looked around, saw some colors she liked, and purchased several gallons of each. They then painted the house, disliked one of the colors, and said "oh well". I like her style.

So I went ahead and called the painter, and picked some colors from a swatch. And am committed to just go with it.

I'll keep you posted...

The Decisive Bird

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Birth Plan

It occurred to me this week that I've always envisioned going into labor at home... but that I don't really spend that much time at home. I spend a lot of time at work. In an office. With lots of men.

Then I started to panic.

What if I go into labor at the office? What would I do?

Mr. San Antonio's office is northeast from my office, and the hospital is northwest of my office. So it would not be efficient to wait for him to come get me and then drive back to the hospital.

And I've heard it isn't advisable for laboring women to get behind the wheel.

So what are my options?

1. Ask one of the very nice men that I work with to drive me to the hospital. (Risking the possibility of sharing a very intimate experience with someone that I have no desire to share such an experience).

2. Call a cab. (Again, risking the possibility of sharing a very intimate experience with someone I REALLY have no desire to share such an experience).

3. Walk across the street to the hospital next door to my office. (Could be fine, except I work down town in a very touristy city, near a popular tourist parking lot, where one often hears mariachi bands playing. Not that I'm totally opposed to being serenaded while in labor, but I'm not sure this is what the tourists expected for their rated G family vacation).

4. Hitch-hike (See risks listed in option #1 and #2).

5. Ask a female co-worker to be "on-call" (Risks: she might freak out, Pros: I avoid the other risks mentioned above).

And so, I decided to prepare for option number 5, and I sent an email to the few female co-workers who are typically around the office when I am. In the email I asked them to please consider being my on-call chauffeur, told them where they can find all my emergency info (on a bright orange post-it above my desk), and offered to send them information on how to deliver a baby in the car.

I got positive responses. And some good tips - such as, there should probably be two ladies with me in the car - one to drive and one to keep me calm in the back. Another tip included keeping a box with packing bubbles in the car, so if the baby is born mid-ride, Baby SA will have a nice soft and absorbent landing.

I hope my baby is not born into a crate of packing bubbles. But surely that's not the worst way of entering the world.

I mean if I give birth in my office, the first thing Baby SA could hear is Cielito Lindo.

"Ay, ay, ay, ay..."

The Pampered Bird

Thursday, October 20, 2011

27 weeks and counting

I'm sorry I haven't posted in awhile. The Longhorns lost two games in a row, and I've been in mourning.

Not just their losses... but my own personal loss in that none of my Longhorn shirts fit over my baby belly.

It is a sad day in our household. However, a dear friend donated a Longhorn onesie to our collection of burnt orange wear - so Baby is ready to go.

Baby SA also attended his/her first game this past weekend. And heard momma and her friends get asked to a bachelor party.

Apparently wedding rings and being with child are not deterrents to grown boys who have been drinking a lot by three in the afternoon.

It was a nice weekend away, but it is always good to come home.

Mr. San Antonio welcomed me with a fresh cut yard (notice I didn't say grass... we've been in a drought and our yard is more weeds than grass, but at least it's green...ish). He also welcomed me with a proposition to go for a walk in one of our favorite neighborhoods, and he patiently let me walk at my slow-poke speed and stop to catch my breath at every hill we tried to climb.

And as I huffed and puffed my way along, I not so secretly envied the women who were running by us with lungs full of air - and it made me pretty excited for the day Baby SA is no longer nestled by my lungs, dependent on the oxygen I breath in, but instead riding along in a stroller with his/her own strong lungs.

Thinking about that made me do a count down... 13 more weeks (give or take - because what baby ever came on its "due date"?). 13 weeks.... 3ish months.... ok, is anyone else freaking out right now?

Last week at Baby SA's intestinal check-up, Baby was 1lb 13 oz. Baby had the hiccups, and had his/her feet at my ribs and head and arms down (of course I could have told you that with out the ultrasound, because I get punched down low all day long). The intestine still looked the same - scar tissue is there but doesn't seem to have grown. The Doctor gave Baby a 25-50% chance of needing surgery.

Books say that babies pack on about 6oz a week from here on out... so by the end of this week Baby SA should be just over 2lbs.

And in other news, Mr. San Antonio and I finally appear to have settled on a boy name and a girl name... not that we're going to share before we get to meet Baby in person for ourselves. But it's pretty fun for us to be able to use actual names at home. We've come a long way from when we called Baby "the parasite"... aren't you glad we are becoming parents for the next generation?

Ok, final thought for the day - we've started taking some birthing classes. And I think they are going to provide some good stories. How could it not when the instructor says this at the first class, "At every class I am going to show you birth videos to get you used to seeing the process. Today I will start with the least graphic. This is mainly for the dads in the room... I've found it best to ease them into these kinds of things."

Maybe she should have offered them a drink first...

Happy mid-October finally scarf and hot chocolate weather here in Texas,
The Pampered Bird

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Longhorn Baby

This weekend is the long awaited (since last fall), biggest (since King Kong), most exciting (since... ok I'll stop) event in the current Texas Longhorn football season.

It's Red River Shoot-Out time!

Or, as I was recently informed, "Red River Rivalry" time. Apparently "Shoot-Out" has been deemed "un-PC". Most likely by someone not from Texas.

For those of you who don't care about Longhorn football, the Red River Shoot-Out is the biggest game of the year, against the Longhorn's biggest rival - Oklahoma University (OU).

It is such a big rivalry, that it takes place on neutral ground in Dallas (mid way between Austin and Oklahoma). It also happens to take place in the middle of the state fair (friend Oreo anyone?).

For the record, the one time I went to the game the Longhorns won. I would say it's because of my presence, but I don't want to give myself a big head about it.

To celebrate this year's game, Mr. San Antonio and I invited ourselves to my parents' house for a viewing party. In return my mom asked if any guys coming (i.e. Mr. San Antonio, my brother, and my sister's boyfriend) would please help my dad move some furniture around. I was completely offended and responded with something along the lines of,

"How sexist of you! Don't you know that women become superwomen when they are pregnant? I could lift all that furniture with my pinkie finger! You really should take advantage of this skill while you can!"

To which my brother responded, "Great, now Mr. San Antonio and I can go shotgun some brew-skis, while Marissa does all our work."

And my dad replied, "Oh good, would she mind moving my barbells upstairs too?"

Mr. San Antonio stepped in and said, "The lesson to be learned here is that feminism is bad for women. See what it causes us men to do? We are chugging brew-skis and making you carry our heavy stuff. Not such a good deal for women."

I love that man.

Now I'm going to unashamedly put my feet in his lap so he'll rub them for me.

Ok, I'm back.

To get our child ready for his/her inevitable future (i.e. being a Longhorn). My mother purchased some gender neutral pieces that the baby can come home wearing from the hospital. Can you say Longhorn hat and booties?

And that baby is going to come home to this:

And just in case anyone is confused... the baby goes from in here, to in here.

Now we just need a little paint on the walls, some decorations, and a baby. 

We're working on all three. 

The question is should the walls be burnt orange?

Hook 'Em Horns,
The Pampered Bird

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Descriptive (maybe too much so) Terms

I know, I know, I still haven't shown you the pictures of the nursery.

I also still haven't ordered the paint for the nursery.

Nor have I chosen the paint for the living room.

Which is why I haven't ordered the paint for the nursery.

But is not why I haven't shown you pictures of the nursery.

I haven't shown pictures because I haven't uploaded them from the camera.

You could call me lazy, but I prefer the following descriptive terms:

1. Busy,
2. Lover of sleep,
3. One-who-chooses-to-put-eating-before-uploading-pictures,
4. Working woman with so many deadlines converging I told Mr. San Antonio today that my head is going to explode and we may need a clean-up on aisle 9,
5. (Was the last descriptive "term" too wordy? Maybe too visual?)
6. One-who-hasn't-uploaded-pictures-but-also-hasn't-swept-in-a-couple-of-weeks
7. One-who-has-taken-great-libery-with-the-term-"term"
8. One-who-has-now-confused-herself-greatly

So, take your pick. Name me what you wish. Just make sure to only use it behind my back.

When I alerted Mr. San Antonio to the fact that I woke up 30 minutes early just to make the house presentable for a friend of his coming over for dinner (please disregard the fact that by the time I got up he was already downtown for his weekly men's Bible study), his comment was somewhere along the lines of "Great, did you clean up the yard too?"

He added a smiley face and some sweet romantic words (that I won't share here), to (I think) indicate he was joking.

I wish I was quicker on my feet, so that even now, hours later, I could come up with a witty reply... something along the lines of:

"Well, you asked for a man cave, so you got a man cave, and man caves aren't cleaned by women."


"Oh, you mean your graveyard? The place where you hang all the deer antlers that scare away potential burglars at night? I didn't think graveyards needed to be cleaned."


"Oh, well, um, yeah, too bad!"

But I didn't reply in any such way. Mainly because I didn't want him to feel inferior to my verbose strategies of verbal banter.

That didn't really make sense, did it?

Feel free to use your chosen term for me again.

In the mean time I'll work on liking sleep less, and liking to upload pictures more.

Thank you for staying tuned!
The Pampered Bird


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