extended

Yesterday I got eyelash extensions. I know, I know, it's totally ridiculous and frivolous and who the hell do I think I am? But I've been addicted to mascara for ages and despite buying just about every one on the market (drug store and department store brands included) I've never found one that truly delivered on all of its promises. I've also considered Latisse, but I honestly have no clue how to ask a doctor for a prescription without feeling like a drug addict. Yes, I realize it's eyelash medicine and not some kind of pain killer but still, the potential to be an eyelash drug addict is there and I'm embarrassed. Don't judge me.

Back in October a Groupon popped up for eyelash extensions and the price was right so I jumped on it. My expectations were low and I figured I would either end up with no noticeable difference (I call it Mascara Let Down Syndrom) or they would be so obviously fake I would be one short step away from feather eyelash extensions. Well color me pleasantly surprised, I love them!

And now onto the uncomfortably close pictures of my eyes!

Before:




And extended!




I told the eyelash tech that I wanted them to look like I was wearing the world's best mascara and not be too obviously fake and I feel like that's exactly what I got. When I got home jparks knew something about my face was different but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

The actual application was not painful but it was a tiny bit uncomfortable. Mine was an hour and forty-five minutes of having my eyes closed, with my lower lashes gently taped under an aloe pad so they don't get in the way. It's a slow process because they are individually gluing one eyelash at a time to your real lashes. When she was done my eyes were bright red but it went away after about 20 minutes. She also glued my eye shut in one spot, which sounds way worse than it really was. It was just that a lower lash had gotten loose and stuck to a top lash, no biggie. Since this was my first time having it done I'm going back in two weeks to get a fill, where they'll replace any loose lashes or fill in any clumps. If I weren't going to do fill visits they would last anywhere from 60 to 90 days, which is the normal lifespan of your natural eyelashes.

So yes, it's expensive and does require upkeep, but for me it's worth it, especially considering the Groupon made the whole thing more than half off. I don't have to wear mascara now but it is an option if I really want them to have oomph. They are also a tad darker than my natural lashes which darkens my lash line, kind of causing a lined effect replacing the need for an additional eyeliner. The tech told me the less I mess with them the longer they'll last which is perfect since lately I rarely have more than ten minutes to get ready.

Yay for eyelashes!

Things I've learned thanks to running

• If a running trail can easily fit six runners across it will only accomodate one mom with a jogging stroller, talking on her cell phone while walking her dog 
• People that wear those five finger shoes are smug. The looks they give us regular shoe wearing people totally say "Ugh, you are so unevolved with your toes all smooshed together in one compartment." 
• Austin is hilly. What the hell? How have I never noticed these monster hills before? 
• Running up hills is hard.
• Running down hills is hard too. I nearly faceplanted down one the other day because I had more forward momentum than my legs could keep up with.
• Running on the treadmill is the work of Satan. Why can I run 3 miles outside but barely a half mile on the treadmill? Also, why does that half a mile take me 25 minutes on the treadmill when I can do 3 miles in 32 minutes outside? I suck at math but those numbers don't add up. 
• After running (outside or on the treadmill) I get red faced. I'm not taking a little flushed either. I'm full out cranberry red, looking like any second I'm going to pass out. Angry red face is gonna get'ya! 
• When faced with a race starting line, I have no idea how to position myself. Too close to the front and I'm in the way of the serious runners. Too far back and people are in my way and I have to bob and weave. Where is the sweet spot? Does the sweet spot even exist? 
• No matter how much I whine about it, I really like running. 

the clouds are parting

Well hello. 

I'm here, alive and mostly well. My hair is falling out in large post partum clumps and I'm still eating like a crazed fool who has never encountered a cookie before and therefore must eat all of them before they disappear. I'm still having trouble getting up in the morning to workout thanks to Pippa's new trick of 4:30am wakes up that require me and my boobs. But the crazy feels like it's becoming less of an issue and is now just a small cloud of gloom trailing behind me instead of a storm that's flooding me. 

I'm finding that things like this really help:

Truman would really like it if everyday he could go knock on the neighbors' doors and get candy. 

Pippa would like to wear a fleecy pumpkin outfit everyday because that shit is warm.

vee-log!

There's this meme going around right now where people talk so you can judge their accents. At first I was all "oh hell no" but then I watched a couple and was shocked by how wrong these people are. People that I know and love, but wrong! I decided it was my job to correct them.  

Things I've learned watching this: I do this thing with my bottom lip that is weird. I tend to look up a lot. I don't have the patience to record this more than once. 

Welcome to my underwater fish den:

Untitled from regan parks on Vimeo.

Tech types: I can't upload this to youtube because the site doesn't support this type of file. Anyone want to convert it for me?

and so it goes

Lately I've been feeling kind of like this:

Mouth open, eyes glazed, covered in food

It seems I am experiencing some sort of funk and I'm dealing with it by cramming whatever food is within arm's reach right into my mouth and crying. Basically I cry because I feel out of control and after doing that for a bit I am so upset that I end up cramming food in without thought. This mindless eating makes me feel even more fat and out of control which leads to more tears. It is lovely at my house.

I've found that working out helps keep me in check so I've been throwing myself at any physical activity that crosses my path including boot camps, bar method classes, and running. The problem is that the only time I have for these is 5:45am and this week I've managed to sleep through my alarm every damn day. So when I wake not only am I frazzled because I've got to get Truman dressed and out the door at lightening speed, but I'm also pissed at myself for missing my chance to control the crazy for the day. And when I'm pissed at myself I ease the pain by devouring almost a whole box of these:

That would be a mallomar heated so the chocolate melts and then sprinkled with sea salt. I've never loved and hated something so much all at the same time. 

I'm not mentioning this to get people worried about me, in fact I'm mentioning it so people know I'm fine. There's been a few times recently where I've mentioned crying uncontrollably (over a water cooler that Truman broke! The way I cried you would have thought he robbed a bank) and I think I might have worried people a bit. Really, I'm doing okay. Once we move Pippa out of our room I'll feel comfortable setting the alarm clock far enough away that I won't be able to sleep through it and I'll start working out with more regularity. I honestly think that's going to be the key to this. Sweat the fat off and curb the mindless emotional eating. I'm going to reclaim myself one carrot stick at a time. 

status: incomplete

We closed on our new house on March 18th, which was the same day we hired the interior designer to help us pick furniture and paint colors. That means we've been here six months and five days which might lead you to believe we are all settled into the house, happy with all our new furniture. Hell, I assumed we would be settled after two months. I mean, how long can it possibly take to get a house furnished? I thought at the very latest we would be wrapping everything up a few weeks before Pippa was born.

God, I was stupid.

This whole process has been one thing going wrong after another, leading to everything taking longer than anyone planned. The most recent errors include the window coverings installer realizing that only two of the four panels ordered arrived with my curtains. But damn those two look good.

Also, these windows are supposed to have roman shades on them but when he unpacked the boxes he couldn't find the hardware needed to hang them. Turns out the hardware was never ordered. Oh naked windows, some day you'll be dressed. Maybe in ten years.

Same to you, other set of naked windows, maybe you'll be dressed before that house behind us sells.

A few of the rooms are almost done, one of them being our bedroom. The only thing missing is our dresser, which has arrived damaged twice. Twice! I can't wait to get this corner done and the dvr off the damn floor.

Today the plumber came to install a couple of faucets and because nothing can go right, he installed one of the new faucets over the wrong sink in the kitchen. By the time I came home he was mostly done with the install and dripping with sweat. I almost didn't say anything because I felt so bad about it. Sorry plumber guy, you're not as close to being done as you thought.

Honestly I don't know why I'm so anxious to get the house done because once everything is in place this is just going to happen to it.

Somewhere under the clothes is a beautiful chair from Design Within Reach. I was able to sit in it for about 10 minutes before all the clothes migrated to it. We fail at living like adults.

here's what 8 minutes gets you

I've given myself eight minutes to crank out something that possibly resembles a blog post, but honestly with that limited time it'll probably look like words spewed out by a drunk hen pecking at seeds scattered on the keyboard. Wheee! Let's go!

Last night Pippa didn't sleep which means my day looked like this:

That would be three kinds of coffee products in my car. Not pictured is the iced coffee I made at home and sucked down before I even walked out the door. The first person to suggest that my caffeine intake is possibly why she didn't sleep gets to come over and bounce her at 3am. Thank god for small miracles, but it seems my body filters the caffeine out of my breastmilk. Or maybe it's just greedy and wants to keep it all for itself. Either way, I fully abuse this and drink more coffee than any one person ever should.

I feel like I've won the lottery thanks to this letter that arrived this weekend!

Free Pre-paid cremation! I love bargains so how can I pass this by? Now to hit up Target's home decorating aisle to find a vase that can double as a urn.

I'm on Weight Watchers because while I'm mostly back to Pre-Pippa weight, I'm not to Pre-Truman weight and holy mother my body is just different and I would like to wear some of the stuff in my closet again. I'd been really good about following the program for a week and a half or so and then BAM, I went off the rails. I needed brownies so I decided to make salted caramel brownies last night thinking I could eat one and be happy but they ended up being a big pan of disappointment.

To make up for this I bought a brownie at Central Market today. I'm pretty sure I put too many expectations onto that brownie. It couldn't carry the weight of the world and totally let me down.


Finally jparks saved the day and walked to a local restarant and bought me a piece of flourless chocolate cake. It was delicious. And now it's time to get back on the diet wagon. The next time I feel tempted to eat a bunch of crap, I'll just remind myself what jparks said about me "Baby, you have birthing hips."

Yes Pippa your look is correct, your father is an idiot.

alive and well

Crap, time really flies when you have a newborn and a toddler and family in town. But as of this morning, we have ditched the family (kidding Mom, we loved having you) and we're starting life as a family of four. So far it's going well, jparks came home from work early to take a nap and after sleeping for a bit declared that he's still so tired he's going to throw up. I called him the weakest link, Truman took note of this and refused to eat dinner for jparks, instead demanding Pirate's Booty for his meal, which the weakest link allowed. Score one for Truman!

Besides the name calling and Pirate's Booty eating we've done many things including celebrating Truman's second birthday with a swim party and a crapton of cupcakes.

I am in shock that my baby is now two and even more in shock that he's not the baby anymore. Waah, my little boy! Related: Stupid post partum hormones. When the hell do they even back out?

I've shared this just about everywhere already but I'm absolutely in love so I'm going to share them here too. When Pippa was a week old we had a newborn/family photo session and I can't even believe how amazing the pictures came out considering I did no prep for them. The morning we were set to have them taken I realized I had no outfits picked out for anyone and five minutes before the photographer was set to arrive I was wearing no makeup. And somehow all of that mess led to this. She must have some freaking amazing photoshop actions to make me look that rested.

And now it's my bedtime but remind me to tell you about the hangnail that almost put me in the hospital. Yeah, because that's not embarrassing at all.

Pippa Wren

As everyone surely knows by now, I've finally had a baby. Last Thursday I checked into the hospital at 8am, started Pitocin at 9am, and at 1:08pm I had a new tiny human with dark hair and jparks' nose.



I won't go into it more than this, but I do want to say that labor was so much easier (although not easy) this time and I'm already feeling more human than I did at a week post partnum with Truman.

Looky, I even discharged early from the hospital:


So now we're a family of four and everyone is adjusting much better than expected. This means that so far Truman hasn't chucked a toy train at Pippa's head, although I've probably just jinxed myself and should go buy an infant helmet tomorrow.

the waiting game

Still pregnant. The new end date is Thursday, meaning I'll be heading to the hospital for an induction if Oprah doesn't make her apparence before then. Maybe she's waiting for someone to announce her the way her namesake was announced at the beginning of each show? I never watched Oprah so can anyone fill me in on how that part of the show went so I can properly set it up? Was it something fun like Ellen's dancing? Does she need the promise of a few of her favorite things in the delivery room? Where is Gayle, is she busy, can she come cut the cord?

Unrelated to my being pregnant, doesn't this toy pig have some massive balls?

I mean, it's obscene! And of course this is one of Truman's favorite toys.

I carried a watermelon

I'm 38 weeks now and according to one website Little Oprah is the size of a watermelon and according to another she is the size of a leek. To me those are vastly different and I can tell you which one I would rather have ripping its way out of me. (hint: it's not the watermelon)




Go ahead and judge me for those shorts if you want. We've had 29 days of 100+ degree weather here in Austin so you're all lucky I'm wearing anything at this point. Speaking of those shorts, I just went to the bathroom and noticed they are splitting at the seam that runs right down the middle of my ass. Thank god I've been wearing them out and about all damn day. Also, my ass needs to stop growing.

Stupidly I was awake for most of last night (no really, I only slept for two hours) because I thought I was in labor. Trust me, I wasn't but thanks to some late night Google searching I was certain my water was going to break at any moment. So I laid, uncomfortably, in bed just waiting for the downpour that never came. You would think based on this behavior I've never birthed a baby before.

Little Oprah Parks

So, about the name. (again. Yes, I know I need to find a new topic.) I really appreciate all your comments and emails about the name that is not Oprah but is kind of like that. What I wasn't expecting was that so many people would say they need to know the name before they could give an honest opinion. I should have seen that coming because it totally makes sense that you would need to know the name/celebrity before you could decide if I'm crazy or not, but still color me surprised.

I've taken a week to think about it and I was certain we weren't going to use the name. I could spill the name beans and we could all openly laugh at me but then jparks announced that he's not ready to let go of Oprah. He has quickly changed from Team "You're Kidding About That Name, Right?" to Team "That's The Only Name In The History Of Names That I Like." I'm still on the fence, leaning more towards the no camp, but the thing is if I tell y'all and you say I'm crazy, Little Oprah is fucked for life, and then we use the name anyway, well, I'll have to leave the internet forever.

I'm not trying to be overly dramatic (it just comes naturally when you're this pregnant) but I just know that I wouldn't be able to look anyone in the eye if you say how awful the name is and then we can't find a suitable replacement. So for now I'm keeping the name under wraps. After the baby is here either we'll use that name or I'll finally tell y'all. Either way, after all this navel gazing I'm sure you won't care anymore.

the trouble with names

We're now a month out from my due date and it seems jparks and I are no closer to picking a name for this kid than we were nine months ago. Technically we are right on track with our naming history as Truman was two days old before he had a name but this time we really wanted to do better. Sadly, we are failing at this endeavor.

Here's the thing: there's a name I really love but I'm torn about using it because it has become very visible and is now associated with a celebrity. And so I'm asking y'all for advice.

Let's pretend the name I love is Bella. (It's not) Would y'all think I'm some nutty Twilight fan (which I suppose I am as I've read all the books and went to a screening of all the movies back to back but that's beside the point) or would you think that I just really like the name Bella? I mean Bella was a legitimate name option for parents before Twilight ever came into existence. It wasn't just an emotionless Kristen Steward fawning over an inappropriately old sparkly vampire; it was a cute name for little girls.

What if we took it a step farther and I said the name I love is Oprah (again, I swear it is not). There is definitely an attachment of the name Oprah to the media proprietor Oprah Winfrey. Like I even needed to say that. Hell, her name didn't exist until she came around because her parents created it by reversing Harpo. But what if I really loved it? What if I could remove the tv personality from the name and see Oprah as the perfect name for my kid? Again, would you think I'm some nutjob that secretly has Oprah's face tattooed on her back?

So what say you dear internet friends? Am I dooming a kid if I use a name that is currently associated with a celebrity? Will everyone think jparks and I spend our spare time stalking said celebrity? Or can people remove the celebrity from the name and accept that we're not crazy? Is it really back to the drawing board for us? Not that we really ever left the drawing board in the first place.

(For the record, even if you say you can all remove the celebrity from the name, it's not certain we'll go with that name. Jparks doesn't love it yet which is how he feels about almost all the names I like.)

but I won't do that

I sort of hate all of y'all for not shaking me really hard when I mentioned I was going to have renovations done on the house while continuing to try to live in it. And while parenting a toddler. And creating another child with my own body. Friends, it is your job to talk me out of stupid decisions. Like if I announced I was going to name New Baby "Strawberry Pie Parks" because that's been what I most want to eat, I fully expect you to say "What the hell lady? Try again!" (Please note, this is not what I expect if I say we've already filled out her birth certificate using the name Strawberry Pie Parks. In that case make fun of me all you want but only silently or behind my back.)

Anyway, here we are 5 days into the estimated 5 week remodel and I'm about to lose my damn mind. Let me take you on a tour so you can also feel my pain.

Here's the master bathroom:

I like to think of the walls as a giant game of Tetris now. Also, you know what's fun? Playing "Shit, I forgot to move my toothbrush off the counter this morning, where did the painters hide it?"


Who doesn't love having a shop vac covered in drywall dust just hanging out in their living room all the time?


or random disassembled ceiling fans hanging out in a corner


Truman views the paper on the floor not as something we need to keep down for protection, but as something to shred and rip apart and sometimes draw on. The dog views it as a convenient place to pee.


While all of this work is enough to send me directly into a mental ward, there have been some nice moments about it. Like the other day when I needed a jar opened and couldn't get it on my own; I had a house full of men to assist me. I did not have to do without my jelly sandwich.

Or today when the whole painting crew broke out into song. What song? My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion. It was truly an awesome moment. They've been really great about asking before they turn on music and I always tell them to go ahead. They spend their day painting to the Spanish radio station and today was no different. I usually zone the music out so I thought for sure I was wrong with I heard that opening flute part, but after a few seconds I knew not only was the station playing Celine but the whole crew was singing along with her. I was in my room really trying hard not to laugh at them. Some of the guys on the crew barely speak English but they knew all the words to the Titanic theme. How is that even possible? Why would the Spanish station play her? Why were the guys so proudly singing along with it? Next week can I expect a rendition of Meat Loaf's "I Would Do Anything For Love" because that might just make all the dust worth it.

I am dumb dumb dumb

Oh lord, it has been a day.

At one point my living room looked like this:


Then I got a wild hair up my ass and made this happen:


I do not recommend renovations to your home when you're 33 weeks pregnant.

To decompress after some bad news about the master bathroom that sent me into a blind rage I watered my lawn:


I never thought I would be a person that enjoys using a decorative sprinkler to water the lawn but enjoy it I did! Now if my grass could just stop dying a slow death I would be really happy.

thanks to all the pumping, I have the arm strength of a lonely 15 year old boy

I will pay someone $100 to come over here and blow up a kiddie pool for me. No really, come on over, bring your lungs, and blow your heart out. I can't promise that you won't pass out from exhaustion but I can promise that if you do, I'll be sure to put a cool rag on your head until you wake up. I don't have smelling salts, but I do have fancy sea salt that I can wave under your nose while you're unconscious.

The stupid blow up pool now sadly lives on my back patio because a few weeks ago I realized that sitting outside while Tru plays causes me to become very hot. Like so hot that I use the hose like a gun and repeatedly shoot myself in the head.

And while hose gun does help keep me coolish, I thought I could do better. I'm not normally a pool type person so I didn't want anything huge or even close to semi-permanent, so I decided to go the blow up kiddie pool route. I figured we had an air pump so how hard could it be to inflate a kiddie pool?

hahahahahaha. I am so fucking stupid.

Here's the pool I bought:

I pictured lying in it, using the slide as a pillow with the little water spout sprinkling cool water on my swollen, disgusting ankles. Ah, relaxing.

Well, here we are after a week of kiddie pool ownership and this is what we have:

Turns out that damn pool has one of those bite valve things that you have to clamp down on while you blow* to get it to inflate. And the hand pump is pretty hard to use with one of those bite valve things. So every time I take Tru out back to play, I sit on the patio and pump pump pump. And then I pump pump pump some damn more. This has gone on for days and that's what the pool still looks like. By the time I get it fully inflated the summer will be over and I will have birthed this damn baby and no longer need a kiddie pool to stay cool.

So what do you say, care to come over with your lungs and blow up my pool? When you're done I might even give you a turn in it. Maybe. At the very least I'll let you use my hose gun on your head for a minute.

*come on, this is just dirty.

Trying not to burn my bridge yet

It seems the pregnancy insomnia has hit me hard and I'm so damn tired. Also it appears that no matter how little I drink before bed or how late I stay up, I wake up at 5:56am to pee. So yes, my nights have become a wonderful mixture of staying up until ungodly late hours, then getting up to pee a short time later and having to fight my way back to sleep. Basically I am a real peach during the day.

Speaking of being a peach during my waking hours, did you know we've lived in our house for two and a half months and we still have no mirrors in our bathrooms and no covers on our windows. This adds to the real peachyness I have going on. I just want a mirror! Do you know how challenging life without a mirror over your sink is? I can only imagine what my hair looks like. Thank god I have wonderful friends that don't comment on what is surely a rat's nest when they see me.

To combat the crankiness I've been self medicating with this:

Which you can imagine has done wonders for my weight. Is it bad to be 32 weeks pregnant and dreaming of the diet you are going to start once you squeeze out the kid? Because I am. Weighing pieces of food! I can't wait! And tracking calories! Why does this sound so exciting?

(also, you guys go to Target and get a box of that Reese's mix right now. It's so good and no bake! Please get fat with me!)

hen pecked

On Friday I, like the rest of the world, had a bad day. I'm not sure if Friday the 13ths are actually automatically bad days or if we, as a species, all buy into the idea that Friday the 13ths are out to get us and we manifest bad days just to fulfill that. Anyway, I had a bad day on Friday which I'm certain originated from having to sleep on the couch on Thursday night. Here, I made you an illustration of that:


I slept on the couch because jparks has a whole new slew of allergies and decided to combat them by taking a couple of Bendadryl which besides knocking him out, makes him forget how to share a bed. Seriously, he was at a damn angle when I got in there and no matter how many times I tried to rotate him, he would not budge. This meant that I either had to sleep on the couch or endure a night of getting henpecked by his feet. I love my husband but his toenails are awful talons of skin shredding death. I have heard rave reviews of how comfortable the couch is so I decided to take my chances on it. Bad idea.

I spent all of Friday cranky and tired and just generally ready to kill anyone that so much as looked at me wrong. Saturday wasn't much of an improvement and by that point I figured I should just write off the whole weekend. I mean, how could Sunday possibly turn out to be good when the other two days had been crap? Especially since we had roller derby tickets but no baby sitter.

Well, it turns out that Sunday managed to save the whole weekend. We went for crepes in the afternoon and somehow I avoided eating myself sick on them. This is probably because I skipped the nutella crepe and opted for a lemon juice crepe which was ten times more amazing that I expected. After crepes we walked over to the Austin Convention Center because we figured since we had roller derby tickets we might as well try to go, no babysitter be damned. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? Truman wrestles his way out of our arms and ends up on the track causing a multi-girl pile up? Eh, he's done worse.

Turns out we were about an hour early for the roller derby but there just happened to be a car show going on at the Convention Center and double bonus, someone walking by us gave us two free tickets. So into the car show we went and holy hell, that was like the best thing ever in Truman's eyes. He was able to run the length of the convention center and climb through as many cars as he could reach and push all the buttons that his heart desired. Jparks enjoyed himself too and walked away from the show talking about the Porsche sedan he seems to think he's going to be purchasing at some point in time.

After the car show we walked over to the roller derby where we were permitted to enjoy about 30 minutes of derby bouts before Truman declared himself over it. But really that 30 minutes was 29 more than we were expecting to be permitted.

So crepes, cars, and roller derby saved the weekend that was doomed to suck thanks to Friday the 13th. Now if those three things could band together to do something about jparks chicken feet that would make all right in the world.

a smattering of nothing

Today I told jparks "I'm getting sick and yes I want sympathy and no I don't care that I have no sympathy for you when you're sick." I'm a nice wife like that. Basically I'm just setting you up for what I'm calling a blog post but what's really a bunch of random crap spewed onto a computer screen. Enjoy!

I bought a Tassimo this week. I never thought I would be a single serve coffee machine person but after one use I'm in love. I'm fairly certain this little thing will save my ass once New Baby arrives.
Also, now that we have the Tassimo I think we have every way to make coffee ever invented. Regular brew coffeepot? Check. Toddy cold brew system? Check. French press? Check. The lesson in this? We are coffee sluts.

Yesterday I had a bad day that involved Truman screaming and kicking at me while I was unable to do anything to make the situation better because a huge pregnant stomach was getting in my way. It was honestly so bad that I had to call jparks and ask him to come home from work. Once here, he loaded us into the car and we headed to Sonic for treats. A lemon berry creamslush was exactly what I needed to not lose my mind and tater tots for Truman seemed to fix what was ailing him. What can I say, we are apparently a family of emotional eaters. If you make us upset please be prepared to hand over a bowl of ice cream.

Speaking of big pregnant stomachs, it's officially hard to get to my shoes. I don't remember this from last time which is leading me to believe that Truman was more of a small round ball of a stomach while New Baby is all stretched out causing me to expand more upwards as well as out. Listen up New Baby, rule #1 in the Parks family is that no one gets between me and my shoes. Learn it, live it.

By calling this child New Baby I am not trying to play coy and hide her name from you, we just really don't have any names that seem like the one yet. Our goal is to get to the hospital with at least one solid contentor, which will put us ahead of when I checked in to the hospital to deliver Truman. He was Baby Boy Parks for almost 2 days and this time I would like to not drive the birth certificate woman crazy by forcing her to visit my room twelve times. Right now that goal is not looking promising.

I've been trying to spend money since we moved into this house and yet it is proving impossible. The interior designer I hired still hasn't presented me any furniture options and the ergonomist seems to be trying to avoid coming out for a consult on jparks' desk. Someone please take my money and give me goods and services for it. All I want is a damn mirror in my bathroom and maybe a place to hang my towel after I shower. A coffetable would be nice too. Why is this taking so long?

And of course, my luck is that the interior designer will read my site the second after I hit publish and send me an email full of suggestions like this:


Wow, you really don't have to spend much time clicking around on Skymall's site before you find some really hideous things.

One last order of business. It has come to my attention that not everyone has a correct feed to my site. A few months back jparks took down my old site and created a new one without allowing me time to put up a redirect notice. Chances are you aren't reading this through Google Reader since the old feed no longer works. It'll take two seconds to update your feed and just think, some day I might finally get to stop cluttering up your Twitter stream with tweets that say "Hey look, a new post!" What a glorious day that'll be!

and then jparks died of embarrassment

me: What's the male version of an OB? Like a balls doctor?
jparks: I don't know.
me: Proctologist? Is that it?
jparks: God no, that's the other end! Don't make me an appointment with a proctologist! They stick their finger up your butt!

I ended up having to call his mom to find out the answer because there was no way in hell I was Googling "balls doctor." Who the hell knows what kind of weird fetish stuff that search would have returned.

best friends forever. Or at least for a day.

Oh friends, I know I'm not the first person in the history of the world to feel this way but pregnancy is kicking my ass. Last week I went in for my normal OB appointment and surprise! The high blood pressure had finally hit which meant I got to drag out my best friend from my other pregnancy.


Me and that blood pressure cuff have been tight for the past week and I've watched my numbers shoot up and down and laughed over how there is seriously no consistency with my blood pressure. Dinner of fried foods? Low numbers in the morning. Dinner of baby carrots? Numbers so high that Cuffy's screen gives me a message that reads "How are you not dead?" I don't know Cuffy, I guess it takes more than some high blood pressure to knock me down. Just ask John Besh, I'm unstoppable!

I was told last Monday to take it easy and try to rest before my follow up appointment today. Naturally I took that to mean "take a weekend trip to New Orleans for a wedding" because nothing is as relaxing and restful as an 8.5 hour car trip with Truman and jparks. We arrived in NOLA on Wednesday and jparks and I promptly had such a blow out that I had a nose bleed by the end of it. Did you know that you could get so mad that your nose would bleed because I had no clue this was a possibility. Being married to jparks has really taught me so many things.

We drove back to Austin yesterday and I had my followup appointment today where I was introduced to my new best friends, the pee jug and porta toilet. Cuffy, you've been replaced for at least the next 24 hours. It seems that finding a very tiny, almost nonexistent, amount of protein in my urine combined with the high blood pressure has earned me a 24 hour urine collection for testing and pee jug and porta toilets are my tools for this task.

The best part is that pee jug gets to live in my fridge!

Who doesn't want a jug of pee stocked right next to their spray can of pancake batter? No one, that's who!

Anyway. Wish me luck collecting my pee for the next 24 hours and then let's all hope my tests come back fine and my blood pressure evens out a little bit so I can avoid bed rest for the remainder of this pregnancy.

I'm still here despite John Besh's efforts

This past weekend I was in New Orleans and John Besh tried to kill me. No really, he did. Obviously he didn't succeed as I'm here typing this and not a ghost haunting jparks (that's my plan if I die first, to haunt him so he can't sleep to make up for the fact that he coughs all damn night. Also haunting him should keep the sluts from taking hold and keep my kids safe from having a crappy stepmom) but Mr. Besh did succeed at putting me into a short term coma for most of Saturday. Seriously, I was passed out cold for about 19 of that day's 24 hours.

It started before Besh came into my day when I accidentally overslept and missed breakfast along with the first panels of the day. By the time I managed to get myself up and moving it was time to head over to Domenica for the kitchen tour. Once our group arrived that wiley bastard greeted us with bellinis and limoncello and then showed us his meat.



He's pretty proud of his meat, as he should be, it all looked incredible. Also incredible was the limoncello which he makes in house in a process that appeared to be a thousand times simpler than I would expect. Also, the one sip I took of the limoncello was so awesome that I'm ready to make the drive back to NOLA as soon as I pop out this kid. Damn you Besh!

After a quick tour through the bar and kitchen we were taken to a private dining room for a cooking demo and that's when Besh set his sights on my demise. First he had a charcuterie board delivered to each table.



Then the food demo started and the plates of food being deposited in front of us didn't stop.



Missing from that picture is the bowl of red beans and rice with pork roast. Also a chocolate cookie.

At the time I was upset that I wasn't able to choke down all that food but now I see that leaving food on my plate is the only reason I'm not dead. About 30 minutes after eating I felt like keeping my eyes open wasn't an option and I started debating if it would be rude to ditch the group to head back to the hotel. I managed to force myself to stay awake long enough to get my copy of My New Orleans signed and possibly tell John Besh that I was pregnant and drinking, even though that was not true. I'm not sure what I was thinking, maybe that I was making a joke that made no sense and made me sound like a lush once it crossed my lips? Yup, that's got to be it. I love making a good first impression! But whatever, he had already poisoned me by that point so I'm sure he expected me to make no sense. Hell, I was just confirming that his plan was on track. Death to the short girl that had never done him wrong!

After that I headed back to my hotel room where I promptly passed out. I had the foresight to set an alarm so I would be awake in time for dinner and the closing night cocktail parties but that sadly didn't work. Yes the alarm went off, but I somehow managed to bury my phone under a mound of pillows to muffle it, all while remaining asleep. When I finally woke up hours later I noticed that not only had I missed the parties but I had also apparently answered a phone call from jparks that I had no recollection of. I managed to stay awake long enough to watch the best SNL digital short, SHOTS!, and then passed back out. I stayed asleep until the next morning when my alarm went off again alerting me that I needed to pack my stuff up and vacate the hotel room before checkout so housekeeping wouldn't have to call security to have my lifeless body removed.

I have no idea what Besh slipped me but holy hell, it nearly killed me. Good thing I did all that pot in high school to prepare my system for surprise drug attacks. You'll have to try harder next time Besh. Plus now I know to make jparks sample anything that comes from your kitchen before I take a bite. Be warned Beshie, I'm on guard now! Bring it!