Maternity Madness

Well, I haven't written in awhile and for that I apologize. I've been busy being pregnant, amongst other things.

If you read this blog at all, you know that I very much enjoy swimming (and not just because of the weird people I see at the pool). Well this whole pregnancy thing has started to present a problem for my bathing suit, leading me to visit a local maternity store. Little did I know that I'd be entering a creepy club (kind of like the wedding industry!) where I'm told that if I don't have the proper maternity apparel and products, my pregnancy is likely to be a huge embarrassment.

Up to this point, the only maternity shopping I'd done was in the four racks of maternity clothes at Old Navy, where I was left to fend for myself, something I now very much appreciate.

Anyway, off I went to the real maternity store with my mother. The moment we entered, the salespeople stalked. They wanted to give me a lesson on how to buy maternity clothes, (You buy your normal size. Thank heavens I had professional guidance on that one.) and inform me that there's a pillow with straps in the dressing room that I can wear to give myself 3 more months of tummy. Really, I can't dis the pillow thing, it was awesome but kinda lumpy.

So I found my bathing suit and tried it on (with lumpy pillow). All was good and I headed to the checkout, blissfully unaware of what I was about to encounter.

The lady at the register was abnormally happy. I can only assume this is a result of having to deal with hormonal pregnant women all day who need to be handled with caution. I handed her my bathing suit, ignorantly assuming my single item purchase would be quick and easy. Not so, friends.

First, checkout lady asked me, in a much too happy tone, if I was covered on panties. Uhhhh. This question surprised me to say the least. Do I need maternity panties? Aren't my regular panties good enough? Why is this lady asking about my panties?? I gave her a blank stare for a few seconds, but that didn't dampen her happy demeanor. Finally, I mumbled something about being ok and we moved on.

Next, she asked if I had some cream they're peddling that's sure to prevent stretch marks and itching. I said no, and she said I should really start now to get the full benefit. We talked about this for way too long before she finally accepted that I wasn't going to buy any.

Next, she wanted all my personal information. I refused to give my phone number first, which sent her into a detailed explanation about how beneficial it is to register with them. Unfortunately, I fell for the $400 worth of coupons they offered and conceded in giving my address, but rest assured, they did not need my phone number!

Finally, after ten minutes of maternity talk and sales pitches, my swimsuit was rung up and purchased and the whole ordeal was over. Needless to say, I'm going to try to avoid maternity stores from now on. I'm confident that the selection of maternity clothes at Old Navy and Gap (devoid of maternity panties and pregnancy pillows) will do the job for the time being.

Pool Fun: Back from the Grave

Back when the oldies at my mom's pool died or moved on to an old folks' home, I thought my days of pool entertainment were over. Luckily, I joined this pool near my work and though it started out slow, it now provides all the mystery, intrigue, and colorful characters I could ask for.

First, there's Hot Tub Playboy. He sits in the hot tub every day waiting for his women to show up. Hot Tub Playboy has two main women: Cell Phone Girl and The Quiet One. Cell Phone Girl periodically gets out of the hot tub to yell into her phone for 10 minutes. The Quiet One is, as one would expect, pretty quiet, but one time I saw Hot Tub Playboy pinch her butt.

Then there's Over-achieving High School Girl and her parents, Passive and Aggressive. She showed up in the fall with her Passive father who was attempting to teach her how to swim without creating small tidal waves by way of loving encouragement and plenty of joking around. She's gotten kind of better and joined the school swim team. Enter Aggressive mother. Aggressive mother, it seems, has been trained as a drill sergeant and can often be found holding a clipboard and yelling things like, "You're slowing down!" and, "10 laps left! Hurry up!!" I fear Over-achieving High School Girl takes after her mother as she now meticulously times her laps and yells at her father to keep careful track of them. I can hear her stop watch beeping beneath the water.

And finally there's snorkel guy, who was apparently never taught how to take breaths while swimming so he swims with a snorkel, never lifting his head out of the water. He could likely swim for years straight using this technique.

I'm thankful for all these characters, bringing my joy me with their weirdness and flirting. Without them I'd just be swimming back and forth, thinking only of my next lap. Instead I get to witness tiny pieces of their lives and entertain myself by giving them mildly insulting nicknames. I wonder what they nickname me.

I'm Still Here

Wow, I haven't written since November 11th. That was a long time ago and given the subject of my last post you may be assuming that I've been busy hibernating, but in actuality quite the opposite is true. I haven't stopped doing stuff for a month now. It seems pointless to post photos on here since I'm fairly certain that everyone who reads this blog is also a friend of mine on Facebook, but I'm doing it anyway. So here's my month in photos.

I decorated my house

I made a ton of Christmas cookies 

I made a wreath

It snowed

I got a new computer

I went to the zoo

Ok, it's true there are some pictures of my actual Christmas, but they're still on my camera waiting patiently to be transferred onto the computer. Maybe they'll surface someday.

Hibernation

I'm feeling very impatient with our weather right now. Currently, it's 67 degrees on November 11th. This should not be.

The problem is, weeks ago when it actually got cold and I had to wear a coat, my brain went into winter mode. Now the weather wants me back into summer mode and I can't do it. Once I'm in winter mode, there's no going back.

It's at this time of year that I get excited about winter—the possibility of snow, the Christmas music, and most of all the guilt-free anti-socialness. But when it's 67 degrees out, it's not so guilt free.

The great thing about cold weather is it's an excuse to not have to talk to people. Don't get me wrong, I generally like people. But I also like to have excuses to be alone. Maybe it's too cold to go to the store, so I just scrounge up some mac & cheese for dinner. Or maybe the roads are too dangerous to go out for lunch so I'll just stay at my desk and watch Hulu.

This may be unhealthy but just like the bears, I like to hibernate. Except when it's 67 degrees outside, hibernation just makes you a jerk.

New-Fangled Computers

What I'm about to tell you will unfortunately reveal the full extent of my dorkiness. But I'm going to tell you anyway, because it's really important.

Sometimes, on Saturday nights from 9-11pm, Scott and I watch Svengoolie. Only when we're not doing something cool, like bowling. What is Svengoolie, you ask? Svengoolie is this guy on Channel 26 the U who has been around probably since before I was alive, dressed up like a vampire. What he does is show old, sort of scary movies and kind of talks about them. Sometimes he sings dumb songs about them. Sometimes he does weird little skits about them. And always, at the end of the show, people throw rubber chickens at him. Also, he's from Berwyn.

I know, this sounds ridiculous. And it is. But I like the movies he shows. Oldies like The Tingler, House on Haunted Hill, and Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein. And sometimes if you're lucky, they show a newer movie with swear words that are dubbed by Svengoolie himself. It's pure joy.

But the best part about watching Svengoolie is this commercial they show every time. It's for an exclusive Svengoolie t-shirt. The whole thing is ridiculous, but the best part is the old lady who shows up about 30 seconds in. I laugh till I cry every time.

Of Old Ladies and Bare Butts

In an effort to get into better shape, I joined a gym where I swim every day after work. Swimming is pure joy for me, but apparently nobody else my age feels this way. Once again, I'm swimming with old people.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind swimming with old people. Most of the things I enjoy doing involve more old people than young people. And I understand that the pool provides the perfect exercise for their fragile bones.

A quality that I really admire in old people is their confidence. Gone are their self-conscious younger years. This is their time to do what they want, who cares what anyone else thinks? I can't wait till I'm old.

But this no-nonsense attitude makes for some ... special moments in the locker room. As a result of their old person freedom, they're not so concerned about covering up when changing in and out of their bathing suits.

Now, a young person can make the bathing suit change pretty quick, before too many people come wandering by. But old ladies, they take their sweet time. They need to sit down. They need to very carefully put on each article of clothing. And they'll probably want to chat, which is detrimental to the quick change.

One time, I walked by the hallway in the locker room that houses the little bathing suit dryer. Lo and behold, I got an eyeful of old lady bare butt. This woman literally stripped down at the dryer and threw her suit in. It takes at least a minute to get ones suit dry. One minute. That's a long time when you're baring your butt for the world to see. Thank heavens she at least had the decency to cover up her front with a small gym towel.

Not quite as extreme, but still funny, one day I was attempting to make my quick change after a swim when an old lady came and sat on the bench next to me, preparing for her long change. I went about my business, trying to get finished as fast as possible when the old lady complimented me on the lovely pink color of my bra. I had mixed feelings. I appreciated bonding with this old lady over pink things. I just kind of wished the pink thing wasn't my bra.

Toilet Coverer

Last weekend, while on a little getaway with friends, an interesting and disturbing topic came up. It all started when I yelled at the boys to put the seat down after they used the facilities. We (the girls) needed to explain to them the painful consequences of a toilet left wide-open. Namely, that we will fall in.

This lead to a long and strange analysis of why girls don't check the toilet seat before sitting down and the conclusion (by the boys) that girls should be taught, from a young age, to check the toilet seat.

Clearly, that is ridiculous, but it did get me wondering why I don't check. Certainly there have been times when I have noticed the seat up. But there have been plenty of other times when I was oblivious and fell right in. Or worse, when the entire toilet cover was down, making for an awkward surprise.

Incidentally, I married a man who's very dedicated to putting both the toilet seat and cover down. I thought this was overkill. I mean really, who puts the cover down every time they go to the bathroom?

For the first couple months of our marriage I rolled my eyes at his excessive toilet covering. In an act of wifely defiance I refused to ever put the cover down. Then one day I dropped my tooth brush in the toilet. Now I'm a coverer.