I Made a Boo-boo

I am not really a superstitious person. I am obviously not afraid of black cats ...

(Isn't my cat handsome??)

... I don't mind spilling salt, and if I have to walk under a ladder, I do so with impunity.  


However, there is one little suspicious thing my mom always said that I have found to be SO true.  She has always warned me that you should never start sentences with "It has been forever since ... " or "I have never ... " if you don't want the latter half of the sentence to happen, like, IMMEDIATELY.  


She has warned me against jinxing myself time and again, yet I still do stupid things like say, "Wow, it has been a year since I have been pulled over for speeding" (which is followed by a ticket within the week) or "I can't believe I don't have any stretch marks yet!" (which precipitated the map of New York city that now adorns my stomach).


Connected to the "saying things out loud" jinx is the preparation jinx: If you decide not to take an umbrella with you, it will rain; if you bring your jacket, it will be boiling hot. So yesterday I totally shot myself in the foot. You may or may not know that I still have 4-ish weeks of pregnancy and my doctors just broke the news that my daughter already weighs seven pounds. Yeah. Bloody fantastic. So she can come early and be a normal size or come on (or after) her due date and weigh like 28 pounds. I am hoping for the former.

(look at her -- just growing away in there, and LAUGHING at me.  LAUGHING!  I guarantee it.)

Too bad I just jinxed myself into having a large, late baby. Yeah, as of yesterday, this is what my desk at work looks like:

Those are detailed lesson plans, along with sing-in sheets, handouts (in the order they will be used) and more information than a sub would ever need, for both of my classes, for the next four weeks of class.  

I have four weeks of teaching left and four weeks of pregnancy left, and the possibility that I could go into labor early forced my anxious brain into preparing these packets. But now? The baby will OBVIOUSLY not come early if I am all prepared and covered at work. If there had been a possibility that I would have to take my laptop to type up lesson plans and e-mail them to a sub while in labor, I am sure the baby would come early. She would just LOVE that. I mean, she is my child.  


Damn my organizational skills! I never thought they would betray me! Perhaps there's still a chance ... the all-spicy-food diet starts in two weeks!


P.S.  But is this perhaps worse? A few hours ago, I actually said -- OUT LOUD -- "You know, every pregnant woman has warned me about ___________ (←something people generally don't like to read about). Isn't it awesome that I don't have them?" Oh, baby Jebus. 


P.P.S.  The first person to comment and correctly fill in the blank wins a gold star.


P.P.P.S.  Okay, so maybe not a literal gold star, but like when people say, "Gold star for you!"


P.P.P.P.S.  I changed my mind again. You want a gold star, you got it. Shoot me an e-mail with your address to veronicamarcetti {at} gmail {dot} com and I will mail you a gold star.


P.P.P.P.P.S.  If you earn it.

The End of the Movie is like the Cream Filling in the Oreo

I was watching The Sound of Music the other day and wondering why I don't watch it like every week.  That movie is fantastic.  I also think I didn't take full advantage of it when I was young.  I'm guessing that it was too long for three kids with no attention spans, so we stuck to Disney most of the time.


ANYWAY, as I have gotten older, I have learned that a lot of parents stop the movie while everything is still happy and cut out out the scary running-from-the-Nazis ending.  My parents didn't, because it's the ENDING.  Watching a movie and not getting to see the end is infuriating. Plus, I always liked the music at the end of movies, so I totally would have been on to my mom if she just shut the TV off and claimed that was the end.  All those other kids must be totally gullible and stupid.  


I guess I just don't get it.  I mean, every single Disney movie I ever watched was traumatizing.  Someone SHOT Bambi's mother?!?!?!!  Ursula is going to eat the whole boat and Ariel and Eric will never get to live happily ever after???!?!?!!?  How will the Prince EVER get past that fire and dragon to save Aurora??!?!?!!!???  Same difference.  Pretty much every kid's movie has some sort of sadness and/or scariness so parents can use it as a teaching moment.  I can explain that sometimes there are bad people who want to do bad things to good people.


But, there are some things I can't really explain, so if I COULD skip a scene, I would skip the oldest girl in the orchard with her boyfriend singing "Sixteen going on Seventeen."  I can explain Nazis, but I do NOT want to risk them internalizing that stupid "I'll take care of you" line from that dumbass boyfriend who later becomes a Nazi and then sells them out at the end and almost gets them killed.


I mean, obviously I don't want my little girl(s) to think that a man will take care of them and then have them look forward to that instead of looking forward to taking care of themselves, and I don't want my little boy(s) to think they are Neanderthals. 


You might be thinking that ONE movie is not going to set my child(ren)'s psyche(s) in stone.  Well, I have read enough about serial killers to know that you never know what is going on in their little brains.  I can't take the risk!  


Also, I probably won't beat them with a rubber hose and encourage them to dress up in clown make-up and teach them how to bury things without leaving a trace.  It's better to be safe than sorry when it comes to raising a non-serial killer.

In all Honesty, My Money is on Scenario #3

I have come to the startling conclusion that the child in my womb .... is NOT my child.


I know, I know.  This sounds highly impossible, but stay with me here.


I have been suspecting this for some time now, ESPECIALLY after I realized that the baby detested tomatoes and garlic and would not allow me to eat either.  Ummm ... that is like 50% of my diet.  And any Italian baby would NEVER reject tomatoes or garlic in the womb.  This is highly suspicious, people.  


The baby now also hates lettuce, which I guess could come from Jeremy's wackadoo "I hate vegetables" genes, but I found this suspicious as well.


Finally, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place the other day when I realized ... you will NEVER believe this ... the baby is REFUSING SUGAR. Yes, refined, delicious, fantastic sugar.  She punished me for TWELVE HOURS after eating a cookie and then for another TWELVE HOURS for eating two sour gummi worms (Yes, I knew the sugar is what made me sick the first day and then I repeated the experiment the second day with sour gummi worms because I had to be absolutely sure.  You would too if you loved sugar as much as I do.)


Like I said -- this is the last straw.  This is not my baby that I have been nourishing and sheltering all these long months.  Many of you are probably thinking at this point, "Veronica, how could it NOT be your baby?  Does science work like that?"


Well guess what, folks:  Not everything can be explained by science.  


Here is what I worked out so far.  After some serious consideration, I have narrowed it down to three possible scenarios.


SCENARIO #1:  This is Jeremy and someone else's baby and he is just using me as a free incubator.


Okay, so science is involved in this one.  Without getting into too many details here, I might have someone else's eggs inside me right now.  The big question is, why would Jeremy go to all the trouble when I have eggs of my own?  


Simple.  Jeremy was not impressed with what I had to offer his children genetically, so he found someone more likely than I to give him the super-children he desires.  I always wondered why he claimed to want to have children with me, what with my cavities, history of acne, allergies, "large frame," terrible vision, unstoppable clumsiness, lack of athleticism, anxiety, and teeth that could only be repaired by braces.  


It all makes sense -- he wanted a baby more like him, with 20/20 vision, no cavities, no allergies, He-Man muscle tone, and 2% body fat.

OR

SCENARIO #2:  I have two words for you: ALIEN BABY.


It wouldn't be very hard.  You've seen it a million times in movies, and perhaps even in real life.  I am sleeping soundly (which I do), an alien sneaks in and pops a baby alien inside me.


And it would make SOO much sense, because Jeremy has been onto those aliens all along.  When people say ridiculous things like "It was just a weather balloon" or "Area 51 doesn't exist," Jeremy is right there to defend the existence of his alien friends.  It seems to me that perhaps they are rewarding him for his loyalty with a little alien baby to raise and love.

OR

SCENARIO #3:  Ghost baby.


Okay, I know some people just stopped reading, but I have a great explanation for this one, and I PROMISE you, it is TOTALLY possible. Totes.  


Our landlord SWEARS that this house is haunted (she was nice enough to tell us before we moved in though, in case we were scaredy cats who couldn't handle a little ghost action).  However, we have never witnessed any supernatural behavior, even though we have been totally open to it and have even encouraged it from time to time.  


The ghost just didn't seem to want to meet us, and at first I thought it was because it didn't like us, but NOW I think it is probably because it was lulling us into a false sense of security so it could ENTER MY BODY AND BE REBORN.  This is like the world's smartest ghost.  It's the best idea I can think of if you are stuck in the "in-between" and can't move on.  Instead of moving on, you could go back to earth and start over!  Genius!!


Okay, I need your votes, and I need them pronto, because I need to start investigating and weighing my options.  Comment away people. (Getting comments is the only thing that helps me sleep at night. For realsies.)

Welcome to Lansing, Bret Michaels

I happened to pass a billboard the other day that announced Bret Michaels will be appearing at the rum-dum summer musical festival in Lansing called Common Ground.  I reacted by almost peeing, laughing so hard it made me choke, swerving a little, and imagining how Mr. Bret Michaels got himself into this situation.  I'm pretty sure it went down like this:


(I will refer to Bret Michaels as "BM," not only to save time, but because I love that his initials are the same as "Bowel Movement."  It makes me giggle every time I think about it.  My mom totally called our poop "Bowel Movements" until my little brother learned more colorful synonyms.  


Haha.  Bowel Movement.


I will refer to Bret Michael's manager as "BM's M" (tee hee.  There it is again. BM.  Like his poop has a manager.)


Okay, here's how it DEFINITELY happened:


BM's M:  Bret, dude, I've got some great news for you.


BM:  Finally!  Lay it on me, broseph.


BM's M:  Okay, I booked you a gig at the Common Ground Music Festival in Lansing.


BM:  ...


BM's M:  And they will pay you CASH MONEY for it.


BM:  Where the hell is Lansing?


BM's M:  Michigan.  It's actually the capitol of Michigan.


BM:  Michigan?  Show me on a map.


BM's M:  Well, I can't right now, since we're on the phone, but it's the one that looks like a mitten.


BM:  ... (Scratching hair plugs) Just e-mail me a map ASAP.  Tell me about the venue.


BM's M:  Umm ... there are a few ice cream vendors, a beer vendor, and a stage in the middle of a grass lot with a bunch of folding chairs.  Sounds great, right?


BM:  Are you fucking me??  I was in POISON!  (singing) "Nothing ... but a good time ..."


BM's M:  I'm aware of your hits.


BM:  So is this like one step down from a county fair or something?


BM's M:  Maybe more like one-and-a-half steps, but I think this will be to your benefit.  I mean, I think it might be best to ... get back to basics.  As far as stages are concerned.  I mean, think about what happened at the Tony's.


BM:  I just KNEW you were going to throw that in my face again!   


BM's M:  This stage will be nice and empty and nothing will drop from the ceiling because it is outside in the mosquito-filled night air!  Perfect!


BM:  Well ... what is there to do in Lansing while I'm there?


BM's M:  I've been doing some research.  We could visit the capitol building.


BM:  ...


BM's M:  We could go to the Michigan Historical Museum.  They have a great deal of information on mining in Michigan.


BM:  ...


BM's M:  They also have a TWO-STORY McDonald's.  Fancy, right?


BM:  A two-story McDonald's you say?  


BM's M:  Totally, dude.


BM:  That sounds like some Vegas shit.  I bet it is a happening location, right?


BM's M:  ... Er, yes, I heard it is rockin'


BM:  Okay, I'll do it.  WAIT.  Does the museum have information on copper mining in Michigan?


BM's M:  Of course.


BM:  Okay, sign the papers.


BM's M:  Excellent.  Your check for $200 is in the mail.

Choose Your Own Adventure. But Not Really. But Kind of ...

So, I was in the Burger King drive-thru (SHUT UP, healthy pregnant ladies!!!!) because it turns out the baby prefers fast food to anything healthy, and I had me a little "moment."


I was waiting patiently for my food and to scratch off the "Edward" to see if I won a prize, and I heard the guy behind shout his order at the top of his lungs (probably not necessary) in a mean, bark-y voice.  I very clearly heard him shout "I need three whoppers, two small fries, and two small cokes!!" and the drive-thru girl respond, "Okay, three whoppers, two small fries, and two small cokes?  Is this correct?"  What does this filthy hick shout back at her?  Not "Thanks for dealing with my rude, really fast order!" but, "Are you serious?!?!?  That is NOT what I said at all!!!  Can you give me what I actually ordered the first time, which is one whopper, one large fry, and two large cokes?!?!  Or is that too much to ask?  How hard is it to actually do your job??  JESUS!!"


Okay, it turns out I get the rage pretty easily, especially when it comes to rude strangers.  Whether they are cutting me off, being rude to people in the service industry, or getting in my way so I can't get to gettin', rude strangers really get my blood boiling.  So I did the only natural thing:  I shouted out my window, "Her job isn't that hard if you don't change your order and scream at her!!!!!!"


Then I threw open my car door, ran back to his car, karate chopped him in the neck to disable him, and grabbed his windpipe.  I forced him to apologize to the drive-thru girl and then apologize to me for existing, then got back in my car, got my chicken sandwich, and drove away.


Well, not really, but that was my one and only dream in that moment.


What really happened is after I screamed out the window and realized that I had shouted at two dirty, rude hillbillies and I was trapped behind another car and couldn't drive off and escape if they decided to kill me, I got a TAD nervous.  A dozen scenarios flashed through my mind involving them whipping out their Confederate flags and shotguns and running toward my car letting loose war whoops. 


But after a minute, I realized ... there was no reaction from them at all.  That means they either ignored me or didn't hear me.  And here comes the big dilemma:  Even though I had just realized how foolish it was for me to shout out the window and risk death or maiming, I REALLY thought I should yell AGAIN, because if they didn't hear me, then how would they ever learn?


Just then I was handed my delicious fast food, and my decision was made for me -- drive off into the sunset and just assume they didn't react because they were busy doing some soul-searching and realizing they should change their ways and apologize to every person they had ever wronged.  


Why did I share this story?  I have no idea.  But I have a  few possible morals you could glean from it, like a Choose Your Own Adventure book (how much did you love those?):


1.  If you are a horrible person who is rude to strangers and thinks of no one but yourself, there are people out there like ME, who want nothing more than to hold your head under water.  Keep that in mind.


2.  It is seriously not that hard to be polite to strangers, and especially people who have to deal with people all day, like servers and fast food workers.  Not hard at all.


3.  Maybe you shouldn't yell at people out of your car window when you are trapped and can't drive away.  Because I bet there are people who would hurt or kill you, even if you are eight months pregnant.


4.  Or maybe you should ALWAYS yell admonishments out your car window.  Especially at people who clearly don't know how to drive, because maybe they just never KNEW they were doing it all wrong, and in that case you are giving them an important life lesson, and they would probably thank you and send you a muffin basket if they had your address.  


Well, now I'm confused.  And maybe you are too.  But just take comfort in the knowledge that I DID get my food and devoured it and then felt fantastic at work because of the amazing magical power that crappy food provides me when I am oh-so-pregnant. 

In Your FACE, 4th of July!

Hey suckers.  What did you all do this 4th of July weekend?  Probably something lameballs like sit in lawn chairs and eat someone else's BBQ that may or may not have made you puke later in the evening (sorry, Brandon), right?  Ha ha ha .. so ordinary.


I am guessing you did NOT do what I did: attend a toga party thrown by YOUR PARENTS.  Boom.  I bet you all feel pretty silly now.


Because I got to dress like THIS (in a bedsheet from my childhood):

And my husband and sister rocked out some wicked cool sheets for their togas and enjoyed multiple free drinks (while I enjoyed multiple free shirley temples):

I got to share a romantic dance with my husband (while he desperately arched his spine and pretended that my massive preggo belly was NOT an issue while slow dancing):

Oh, and did I mention there were PRIESTS there? (identity obscured because I don't want to go to hell):

I also got to witness my parents being schmoopy:

And my dad acting like a whackadoo:

So, all in all ... I WIN!!  But I hope your weekend was lovely nonetheless (I'm not heartless).

Attack of the Night Farts

Even though I am always exhausted lately, I have had some trouble sleeping at night because, you know, my body totally hates me and love to see me suffer. (Oh wait -- you probably already know I suffer from insomnia, right?) Because I can't get to sleep until after 1 AM lately, I lay in my bed with my sleeping husband on the left and my sleeping dog on the floor on the right. It's so sad to watch others sleep when you are wide awake. But last night? I faced a deadly DEADLY situation. One that almost took the life of my unborn child.


It was the night farts.


I mean, when I am awake for like five hours after my husband falls asleep, I expect I might encounter a fart or two. Everyone farts in their sleep. EVERYone. If you are reading this and thinking you are exempt, you are a fool about farting. I have done extensive research and am basically a PhD in night farting, so ... trust me.


Okay, so I smelled a Jeremy night fart. No big. I rolled over and thought to myself, Man, I really love this guy if I am cheerfully able to ignore a stinky fart. WAIT, this makes me a GOOD WIFE. No, a GREAT wife. Oh my god, I am the world's best wife.  Well done, Veronica.  Well-freakin'-DONE!


Now, it WAS a fart, so it was a little stinky, but I was holding my own. That is ... until the a new smell wafted over my face. DOG fart. Now that is not a lovely smell.  I sat up, terrified.

Then, as they both continued wafting, wafting, wafting toward me, I realized what was happening. What happens when the fart of an average man combines with that of a canine?  That's right. They combined into one über-fart

Immediately, I covered my nose to keep out the smell. AHHH! Too hard to breathe with my lovely child pressing my lungs into tiny three-inch pockets of air. I sat, wondering what to do, until I realized what I was doing -- allowing the über-fart to ENTER MY BODY, meaning it would travel down the umbilical cord to my tiny, innocent baby!!!! NOOOOOOOOOO!

I covered my mouth as well before I realized that meant NO breathing at all. That is also not beneficial for a baby in utereo (or so I've heard).  

I began frantically trying to scramble toward the end of the bed to escape, but my massive child hanging off the front of my body makes it highly impossible to "scramble" anymore. Or dash. Or do anything quickly. Especially get out of bed. I began clawing at the foot of the bed, trying to use handfuls of comforter to pull my way to freedom.

Five minutes later I was still struggling like a turtle on its back, so I gave up, collapsed on the foot of the bed and cried a little about my baby swimming around in fart-laced amniotic fluid.  

It was a sad night: the night of the attack of the night farts, the night I realized my child is in constant danger that I hadn't planned for or previously worried about.

And if the baby comes out smelling like fart? The world knows who to blame (hint: NOT ME).