Here's To Silly!

Today I woke up to a severed horse's head in my bed.  Speaking figuratively, of course.  You may recall my discussion of courage a while back.  I have continued to wear large and dangley earrings, and Wonderman has continued to, well, wonder at my brazenness. 

After my shower today, I put in a pair of large plastic hoops - you know the kind, it was the type that made me wish I had pierced ears in the 80s.  They are not just large, but also zebra-striped, which just adds to their awesomeness.  As I put the soft plastic back on the post I thought out loud to myself, "Bean will probably think these are great toys, placed in reach just for her," and then continued on to put the second earring in.  I had been wearing them for perhaps ten minutes before her grabby little hands reached upwards.  I knew her intentions when I both felt and heard her warm breath in my ear.  Luckily the back was so soft it was super easy for her to pull out and start chewing on.  No harm, no foul.  So I switched earrings. 

I put in a pair that was not small, but not garish by any standard.  They were on fish hooks.  I've worn them lots and lots of time since Bean came on the scene.  They were my safe choice.  Then, while I leaned over Bean this afternoon, the term "safe" was erased from their description.  She caught hold and pulled mightily very, very quickly (before this she's always been a fairly slow, gentle, and exploratory grabber of earrings).  She pulled the jewelry quite out of my ear.  It hurt a little, but nothing serious.  That is, until I saw the earring.  The hook was completely bent in a very un-fishhook like manner.  I realized at that moment that her strength is ever increasing, and it was sheer chance of angle that allowed her to merely bend the hook rather than tearing my earlobe clear through.  Sigh.  I surrender.  Looks like it's a decade (depending on the number of children and their spacing, of course) of dowdy earring for me, coming up. 

Conclusion:  David is not the only little person to face off with a giant and win.

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Wonderman thinks I am brave.  I suppose I am.  See, Bean developed a very strong grip quite some time ago.  Often, when I am holding her, she grips my hair and pulls down on it.  I think it gives her a sense of security.  Here in Dominica, my hair is not nearly so available, as it is almost always pulled up and back.   You would think that would leave Bean with no security.  This is not true.  She is content to grip my earring and pull down to gain her sense of well-being.  An easy solution would be to forgo grip-able earrings, but they're not nearly as cute or fun.  Beyond cute and fun, big earring have sort of defined me for most of my pierced life.  If I'm not quite ready to give that up, does that mean I have not fully transitioned to "Mommy" yet?  If I give up earrings, do I give up on me?  Heh.  What started as a light-hearted post now seems all tortured and angst-ridden.  Meh.  I just like me some bling.  Is that so wrong?
(Is it mind-boggling to anyone else how such a gorgeous child can have such a silly picture taken of her?)


Conclusion: Some things are worth risk, and only the risk-taker can make that judgment.

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Last night I had an interesting experience.  A friend of mine told me that I look really cute pregnant, followed with the clarification: "I know you never feel cute pregnant, but you really look cute pregnant."  I smiled and said thank you, as my mommy trained me to do.  Still, it kind of took me aback.  I realized that even though I often feel that I am in extreme discomfort with the heat and humidity and crazy shooting muscle pains and general fatigue, I don't feel that different than I did before.  Sometimes I still get surprised when I look in the mirror, because I look exactly the same - only with a HUGE belly.  It's like I haven't changed at all and this whole pregnancy thing is all a figment of my imagination.  Anyway . . . back to the cute thing.  I didn't like being told how I felt.  I actually still feel cute.  Call me crazy.  Acknowledge that I have a way over-developed sense of vanity.  Whatever.  I almost always feel generally cute.  I also assume that most people can tell that I'm cute (ok, "cute" may not be the word choice I would generally go for.  I'd probably choose something like "wildly attractive," but that's just my sense of hyperbole coming into play again).  I figure being pregnant is kind of like being bald: 
 I still felt cute (mostly).  I was definitely glad to not be bald anymore when that stage passed, but the lack of hair didn't detract from my cuteness.  Being pregnant, I am fully looking forward to wearing real clothes again and being able to slip through a crowded room without bumping people, completely unaware of the actual size of my bod.  Still, I'm cute.  And you can't take that away from me.  I'm not sure if that's weird, annoying, or good.  Hopefully I can successfully transfer that to the rest of my life, just like Amy is in the process of doing.  Although, sometimes my lack of caring what other people think about me has actually caused more problems than it has solved.  Meh.  I'm sure I'll find the balance somewhere.  Or not.  Who needs balance, when you're cute like me?  Exactly.

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We are now entering the third trimester (you have to know, that as I typed that, I heard "Twilight Zone" in my head.  I know they're not really connected, but sometimes this whole thing seems so strange that it sort of fits.  But maybe just in my head).

The belly at 29+ weeks:


And me giving Bean a little hug:


And as much fun as I've had playing around with Picnik, I had to leave this one un-edited.  I can't explain the face.  Please don't ask.


Is it inappropriate to say that the three balls in that photo (two boobs and a belly) kind of look like a Simpsons character or something to me?  Or maybe a muppet.  Try it, it's not that hard to picture a silly face on there.  I probably need to design a t-shirt that does just that.  It would be awesome.

Added bonus photo, with a quiz question.  Can you guess which side of the bed is mine and which one is Wonderman's?


Conclusion:  Pregnancy is definitely changing things, but it is a delight despite the discomfort.  Still, I can't wait for two things (listed very much in order of importance): to meet Bean already and to sleep on my stomach again.

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I hit a new milestone this morning.  I think I reached the "Diva" level of being a princess.  Now, don't get me wrong, I value being a princess and I know that all girls are princesses.  I know I deserve to be treated as such.  Bryan taught me well.  However, maybe there should be limits? 

Lemme 'splain.

As I put on my dress this morning, getting ready for church, Wonderman was still reclining half-asleep in bed (he doesn't require nearly as much time to get pretty as I do.  Must be something about being a princess).  Anyways, I pulled my dress down over my head and felt something tickle my leg.  At first I assumed it was simply the tie that hangs down, but it continued too far down my leg to be that.  Then I saw the roach that had apparently been spending quality time IN my dress skuttle down my ankle and across the floor.  Of course I yelped.  And then stood there, expectantly.  I told Wonderman what happened and then pointed, waiting for him to get up and kill the damn bug.  He performed expertly, jumping out of bed, grabbing one of my shoes, and killing the damn bug.  It wasn't until later that I realized how selfish that was.  I am most capable of killing damn bugs.  I've done it my whole life.  I'm not usually super squeamish in relation to crawling things.  However, the roaches really get to me.  And it was IN my dress.  And I'm pregnant (I"m not sure how that relates, but it seems like it works as a good excuse to get what I want in MANY situations.  Don't judge me for taking advantage of that).  Still, I think today the standing and pointing put me on either toddler or diva level.  I prefer diva.

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I haven't been very good at taking (ok, having Wonderman take) pictures of my expanding abdomen.  I just have two:

This is me at two months, before I was showing anything at all.  It shows my pearl, that lovely little rounded spot that makes me a woman, but no baby.  When the picture was taken, I found it a little depressing.  Seeing where I am now, I think I looked quite slender:

This is five months.  I'm actually starting to look like a cute pregnant lady.  Cool. 

From the front, I just look wide, but happy:

Bean spends plenty of time kicking around and making life exciting.  I can't wait to meet her.  I know, I know, she'll come when she's ready.  I'm not ready yet, either.  I do worry a little about how big I'm going to get.  This is already awkward sometimes, and it's just a little belly.  We'll see how it goes.

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Makeup and I have an interesting relationship. I love trying new things and a new eyeshadow or lipgloss can pretty much always make my day better (me? buy three new lipglosses the day before going on a date with a boy that I really liked, just because somehow it gave me more confidence? maybe.). However, I'd like to imagine that I'm that totally awesomely gorgeous granola who needs no makeup to show the world her gloriousness. I used to go through stages. Once, dating a very pretty boy who always wore cologne and matchy clothes, I warned him that the daily makeup stage was bound to end soon. I'd like to believe that's not why he dumped me, but I may never know. That was seven years ago and I've been wearing daily makeup ever since. Not sure why. But I am sure that I recently made some drastic changes to my routine, which are DELIGHTFUL!
First was reading a friend's blog (to which I would provide a link, but I can't find it becaused it's been a while and she doesn't have a search option on her blog) about red lipstick. I remembered the glory days when a friend of mine described me as the girl who wore dark lipstick to church. Much time had passed since then and I wanted to return. Enter a sale on Maybelline's new lipgloss, which is basically eternal. I had to try it. What a delight! Bright red lips forever. The forever part lost some of its appeal when I had to use a sandblaster to get it off my face at night. Once I was introduced to an effective remover however, I augmented my collection with another shade and moved on to the next connundrum - ze cheeks.


I'd read that blush should be the color I turn naturally when flushed. One day after working out, I looked in the mirror and realized that my peachy-browny blush was doing me no good. I also am now 30 and aging quickly, so I took to heart the advice to find a cream blush, as it makes one look younger. ;) I found it and I love it, I think. It's very pink and when I first put it on I felt like the seventh grade me on picture day when Mamar said to me right before stepping in front of the camera "Oh, I wish you would've told me you were going to wear makeup." Le sigh. For years after, she tried to instruct me on blush application. Sigh, I must've been a poor student. The first few times I put on my new blush, I felt like a ridiculous low-end doll that was painted by a hyperactive child forced into slave labor that had to meet a certain daily quota or certain death. It wasn't pretty. There was bright Peony-color everywhere. Then, something changed. Perhaps it's the sheer nature of my new tint, perhaps with practice my abilities are soaring. I do certainly look younger and fresher and ready for summer. Almost dewy, in fact.

Conclusion: I never meant to be that girl who wears daily makeup. Inside, I sort of make fun of her for not being able to leave the house without war paint. Still, as long as I am playing the part, I might as well look good and have fun doing it.

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So, as I read everyone else's blog (and I do mean everyone, sigh), I find myself feeling at times a bit intimidated. I'm not sure if I'm crafty enough, witty enough, stylish enough, or funky enough. I have come to the realization that I probably need to wear my glasses more often and post pictures of me wearing my glasses. I'm pretty sure that will put me closer to the category of cool blogger (the first time I wrote that, it said "blooger," and, let's be honest, that is probably a great way to refer to myself, it seems like a mix between blogger and booger, which is what I am), which is where I of course want to be. Now I really am getting ready to get down to business with the whole blogging thing.

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