BenFeed 6 months

BenFeed 5 months

BenFeed 4 months

Continued

BenFeed 4 months

Continued in another post!

BenFeed 3 months

3 months

BenFeed 2 months

BenFeed 1 month

Benny is one month!

BenFeed 2 weeks

Top 5 things I’ve missed while being pregnant (in no particular order)

1. Advil
I could write a dozen radio worthy country songs lamenting the loss of my dear friend Mr. Ibuprofen. I normally rely on these medical delights for controlling the pain and swelling in my gimpy knees, but alas this and pretty much every other NSAID was made off-limits to me during pregnancy. In the past 10 months these precious morsels of anti-inflammatory goodness have taken on the nickname of “unicorn tears” because of their preciousness, magical qualities and my obsession with their out of reach medical wizardry.

2. Shoes
Ok insert cliche of a girl who likes shoes here. Amazingly enough I somehow developed enough self-control to have not purchased a single pair of shoes this entire pregnancy. I deserve a freakin medal (seriously like a pair of medals that amazingly resemble Loboutins…wink…wink). I was scared off from shoe purchases with tales of swollen feet and changes in shoe size due to pregnancy. It didn’t help that I was laid up so much in the first half of my pregnancy and that in the second half I felt compelled to display my swollen tootsies and sexy cankles in flip flops. But the end is near and I plan to go seriously apeshit on some boots soon.

3. Adult beverages
Like most other prego ladies I missed drinking during my pregnancy. Ok before you get all Betty Ford on me, please let me explain. My longings were not necessarily about vodka tonics but evolved as this growing babies thing progressed. During the first 20 weeks I longed for any wet substance that I could swallow and retain. For a couple months I got the majority of my sustenance from IV bags and warmed Saline just doesn’t offer the same satisfaction as say a glass of lemonade. As I got better I shared my sister pregnant ladies wishes for caffeine laden coffee drinks and cold beers, but alas I resisted. It’s ok, soon I will be done being the sole food source for my offspring and free to consume whatever I please. What, why are you looking at me like that? Yes, I plan to breastfeed. Oh, Frick.

4. Control of my tear ducts
I don’t think I am much of a cryer. I am not normally what you would call weepy, but during these past ten months I am embarrassed to admit that my tear ducts have gone completely rogue. Here is a list of instances in which a strange wet substance leaked from my eyes:
A. I was appropriately told to “Shhh” (I cried uncontrollably for about 30 minutes for a reason I could not explain)
B. My husband innocently asked “oh you want ice cream too?” as I loaded up on junk at the Shopette. (I hiccuped cried for about 20 minutes while eating my ice cream)
C. I was told “no.” Again, I have no explanation but this caused me to descend into a weepy pile for about 15 minutes.

Luckily, I am coming to the end of this journey and soon will be able to regain control of my facial leaks and reserve tears for appropriate occasions only, like manipulating my loved ones.

5. Crack
Haha, just kidding. Everyone knows I didn’t stop using crack.

Evil Amongst Us

I really was hoping to avoid discussion of my cats. I don’t want paint myself as a crazy cat lady. By my official, jen-jen sanctioned definition you are not a crazy cat lady unless you have more than one cat and live alone. I most certainly do not live alone, well ok, except for those stretches when my husband is gone for work. But I definitely do not have cat furniture. So look at me, clearly a well adjusted, not crazy, well within the normal realms of feline stewardship, cat owner.

So I admit it, I have two cats, but only one of which is evil. Her name is Sacha. I should have known from the start she was the devil brought to this world to torture me. She hated me from the second she laid her eyes on me. My husband quickly surmised that her disgust with my existence is based on religious tensions.

His theory is that Sacha, being half Persian, is really a Muslim extremist who we plucked from a sleeper cell. She simply cannot stand to be adopted by a little Jew like me. How can she wage jihad when I am trying to spoon feed her chicken soup and have her wear my kitten sized yarmulke (yes I do have one).

But he has it all wrong. Its way simpler than that.  As much as she hates me, she loves the husband. I am her competition. And in her life-long quest to gain his affection I must be destroyed.  And despite the 8 years we have now lived together, she still stares at me with the same putrid hatred. Anyone who has spent a bit of time with her has seen the look. The best way I can describe it is the evil monkey from Family Guy.  The husband and I can be sharing a laugh and I can see her in the corner of my eye, observing me, staring at me, thinking, “just you wait bitch!”

Evil Monkey

Evil Sacha says "You are pathetic"

Now she has made several attempts at my life, but I don’t want to make this into a trial. Because, in all honesty, just as much as she hates me I am desperate for her regard. Like a silly 14yr old girl all I want is to be her BFF. Love me Sacha, love me, I’ll do anything!

My poor constitution the past few months has not pardoned me from her disgust. If anything it has given her new opportunities to display her superiority. While she normally appears disappointed whenever I enter a room, she now follows me into the restroom to watch me heave. She sits, perched on the tub observing my efforts with her evil monkey expression, surely thinking “ugh, you’re doing it wrong…again”. Likewise she does daily inspections of my vomit bowl, and then looks at me with disdain as if she was saying “gross, if it were me that bowl would be full of glitter and rainbows.”