Men on Facebook

Here’s my personal opinion: Facebook is girlie.

We women are the ones updating our status a few times a day, commenting on all of our friend’s status updates, wasting hours staring at pics of old high school friends and squealing, “I can’t believe that’s HER!”, and occasionally stalking ex boyfriends.

It’s such a girl thing.

Guys, on the other hand…well, they have Facebook for different reasons. They open an account, find lots of people from high school and college, look at their friend’s pages once or twice, then abandon the whole thing for weeks at a time.

Unless they find an old girlfriend.

Those of us with “lady bidness” search for old boyfriends--but to actually send a Friend Request and start something up? Ummm...no. We don’t want to come across as the freaky stalker ex-girlfriend. (Even though that’s what we are every time we Google the guy, but whatever. We’re not talking about Google, people.)

Guys do the same thing, but they go one step farther and send the Friend Request. Not being a guy, I don’t know what their reasoning is—but I can guess. (Nasty beasts.)

I’ve accepted friend requests from two ex-boyfriends. One was honorable—one was not. (No surprise there—when I dated them, once was honorable and one was not.)

Facebook hookup, anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

I can understand the appeal of the long lost ex. Once upon a time they were a huge part of your life—just like the 400 other people clogging up your Facebook page.

But I got a weird Friend Request today…

How about the guy I had a 2 week fling with before my cowardly fade out? That guy who called me at booty call hours and I SWORE had to be married….that guy who’s last name I could never remember until one day—HELLO!—Friend Request in my in-box! Remember me? Let’s chat.

GAH! Are you serious, buddy? 2 weeks way back in 2002 DOES NOT qualify for a Facebook befriending! I’d like to forget that little blip in my life. Kaythnksbye!!!!

Also…how did you find me? I know I have a weird spelling of “Jackie”...but I have a different last name….did you spend hours scrolling through hundreds of possible Jaci’s to find me?

That’s some dedicated stalking right there. I’m kind of impressed.

I’m Pregnant—and I’m HAWT!

At eight weeks, I’m at the “I feel fat” pregnancy stage.


(The 20 piece Chicken McNuggets I ate by myself didn’t help.)

It’s a miserable stage where my pants are getting too tight and I look like I just finished binging on buttery comfort foods with Paula Deen.

(Why isn’t she my mom?)

As annoying as this stage is, I live in fear of the next one.

Pregnancy is kind of like opposite land. You feel nauseous but never puke…you’re tired but sleep doesn’t help…during the 2nd month you feel fat and live in sweats…during the last few months you feel hawt and wear skin tight outfits with bizarre confidence…

Even Heidi Klum fell victim to it. The critics gave her an “A” for wearing this (and let’s hope Motherhood Maternity isn’t inspired to create some horrific copy of it). As a mom who’s watched way too many Disney Princess movies, she reminds me of Ursula.

But, hey, I’ve been there. I remember running around in tattered pajama pants and a white pre-pregnancy tank top with a good 4 inches of Buddha Belly hanging out—and feeling SEXY in it. *Shudder*

Who knows what insane outfit I’ll embarrass myself in this time. But for now, I’m content to hide in my sweats.

At least they match my wild hair, glasses, and no makeup. I’m tired, people. Fo’ realz.

Gender Testing at the Chinese Buffet

7 Weeks: I’m tired and slightly nauseous late at night. Oh, and I gained a pound. (Not too bad seeing as my jeans will barely button thanks to massive bloating.)

Since I am not laying in absolute misery with a bucket, ginger ale, and boxes of saltines bedside me…and I haven’t called off work because of dry heaves and endless sobbing...and I still have some interest in life…

Hmmm.

All signs say BOY.

I’m hesitant to even write this post because the Evil Goddess of Pregnancy Symptoms might find me and slap an extra dose of “Oh God, someone just kill me” on me—but really, this pregnancy is SO much better than my first.

With the Big E, I was sick by the 5th week. I was nauseous, dizzy, weak, and totally miserable. It didn’t help that I worked retail in a stifling hot mall, standing on my feet behind a jewelry counter and being harassed by my boss about having *GASP* a bottle of water on the sales floor and running to the bathroom too much.

This time, I have a comfy desk chair, unlimited snacks and beverages, a bathroom 5 feet away, a drawer full of Preggie Pops…and I got nothin’. Not even a twinge.

Plus, the Chinese Gender Chart says this baby must be a boy. Although…if this chart was really accurate…wouldn’t the hospital delivery room have nothing but girls one month and then all boys the next?

Maybe the Chinese aren’t very reliable. After all, my placemat at the Super Chinese Buffet said my baby is going to be a Tiger and he should “beware the Monkey”—and I’m a Monkey.

(Awkward.)

Wait…there’s the answer! My awesomely evil Monkey powers are subduing the baby’s inner Tiger, thereby causing optimal pregnancy conditions.

Beware the Monkey, male fetus!

Beware the Monkey.

An Open Letter To My Boobs

Dear Boobs,

What the hell is wrong with you two? I’m sick of the Diva Act!

You’re like Mariah and Whitney, and trust me, it isn't cute.

Okay crackheads, listen up. Every morning, you are gently tucked into an expensive bra. It’s pretty. It’s soft. The two of you are in separate dressing rooms and everything. As far as body parts go, you’ve got it made. YOU DON’T DO ANYTHING BUT LOOK GOOD.

Except for you, Whitney. You can look a little rough in certain lights.

But now that the uterus is getting a little attention for the first time in—oh, I don’t know—4 YEARS, you have to get all pissy.

Who’s idea was it to swell up? Huh? I’m looking at you, MARIAH.

Ladies, we just shrunk back to pre-pregnancy bras, okay? The tags are barely off the lace. BACK OFF!

Wait, you know all about “backing off” don’t you? That’s what you scream anytime the husband tries to touch you or give us a hug. And God forbid I take you out of your precious foo-foo bra and put you in pj’s.

You two think you’re too cute for cotton.

Fine.

You’ll get what’s coming to you.

You know Big Belly is going to show up in a few months and totally steal the show.

I suggest you learn how to deal.

Lovingly With All My Heart,

Jaci

First Pregnancy vs. Second Pregnancy

THEN: Anxiously pee on pregnancy test and squee in pure joy when lines appear.
NOW: Pee on test and moan, “Oh shit,” when lines appear. Shake and bang test on sink hoping lines will go away.

THEN: Stick perfectly flat stomach out every morning and ask husband, “Do you see that? I’m starting to show! LOOK!”
NOW: Stick battered, deflated, stretch marked stomach out and poke at it, wondering how bad it’s going to look THIS time. Ask husband for postpartum tummy tuck.

THEN: Browse maternity stores and find so many cute outfits! Baby bump! Pregnant! Tee-hee!
NOW: Angrily tear through maternity stores, loudly muttering about how expensive and ugly everything is and clearly TALL PEOPLE DON’T HAVE SEX because no one makes tall maternity jeans. Buy Bella Band and plan on wearing it until butt explodes from pre-pregnancy jeans.

THEN: Give up caffeine and gag down planks of salmon because the baby needs perfect nutrition!
NOW: Wash down chili dogs and cheddar chili fries with a gallon of iced tea—guilt free.

THEN: Become a hypochondriac, feeling each and every pregnancy symptom and gushing about it to anyone who will listen.
NOW: Ignore the cramps, sore boobs, and wild mood swings and move on with life. I’m pregnant. So what? I still have work to do.

THEN: Wander through baby departments squealing over tiny sleepers and cutesy bibs.
NOW: Dig out stored baby things and find them all yellowed with iron-formula-spit-up-stains. Shrug and say, “The baby will only be in them for 3 months. Who cares?”

THEN: At 6 weeks, lay in bed every morning munching on saltines and moaning through all day nausea.
NOW: At 6 weeks, wonder what happened to the morning sickness…am I going to miss it this time? (Please God.)

Pregnancy: Round Two

Okay…


Deep breaths…

I’m preggers.

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!?!

Needless to say, this baby is an out-of-the-blue surprise. Sure, I wasn’t using anything, but—hello? It was kind of hard to have Elizabeth! It took about 4 months of ovulation charts (I even took my temperature every morning) and a certain alignment of the sun, moon, and stars.

5 years later I’m a member of the Super Fertiles? What happened to my PCOS? (What the heck, ovaries! You told me you were screwed up! LIARS!)

I’m sadly unprepared. With Elizabeth, I popped extra doses of folic acid and memorized “What to Expect” chapters. Peeing on the stick was exciting! When it was positive, Kevin and I hugged and jumped up and down before calling everyone we knew.

Umm…this time was a little different.

I pulled a left-over prego stick out of the bathroom closet because I’m weird and every few months like to play the “Maybe I’m pregnant?” game and pee on sticks. (It’s always negative and I can be sort of sad and relieved for a minute and go buy more pads. Don’t judge.) I started my bath water, stripped my clothes off, and peed on the stick…then stared in horror as the HAHA YOU’RE SCREWED line appeared almost instantly.

Kevin (and Elizabeth) walked in on me a few minutes later and found Mommy naked and slumped on the floor holding a used pee stick. Kevin said, “What are you doing?” then whispered, “Are you pregnant?” over E’s head.

My face crumpled and I cried in despair while Kevin excitedly hugged me and Elizabeth poked me saying, “Mommy, you’re naked.”

(Ah. Memories for the baby book.)

Kevin is thrilled. (Who is this happy guy and what happened to my moody husband?) Elizabeth is excited to share her bedroom with the baby. (That will change the first night home from the hospital.)

As for me…well, none of this feels real. I have zero pregnancy symptoms. I have no clue when my last period was and can only guess at a general due date. I’m on a strong anti-depressant for cripes sake! This is NOT the perfect time in my life for contentedly rubbing my belly and dreaming of a happy family of four! This is just…absurd.

But with God there are no accidents. He has promised to “work all things together for good” and that He knows “the plans I have made for you…plans to prosper you and not harm you.” I’m also taking this as a clear sign that my marriage is meant to survive (dare I even say thrive?). He knows what He’s doing.

I am grieving for the 20 pounds I lost this summer…and the small jeans I just bought…the morning sickness that’s going to hit any day now…the Couch to 5K program in the trash…the sheer exhaustion of the first trimester…and LABOR.

Gah!

I can’t wrap my mind around this.

Uhhhh....WTF?!?!

Hiatus over.

(Yes, I know I keep deleting and resurrecting my blog over and over again. So what? It's my blog.)

I killed my old blog. Past posts have been deleted, and I'm moving forward.

New chapter. Clean slate. Fresh start...

I'M PREGNANT.

*ETA:  Hold me.  I'm frightened.