Officially an iPad owner

It was bound to happen. Technology finally caught up to me, the last female Luddite.

Actually, I have the most amazing and thoughtful spouse. After seeing me struggle and cuss out my six year old MacBook, J secretly ordered me the iPad 2. It arrived today and he took great delight in my shock and awe response. Although truth be known, I was a bit intimidated at having to learn a whole new system. J is über patient and sat through my questions (some of them repeated several times) without batting an eye.

And here I am now, posting for you beautiful people! Think of how much more productive I will be! (ALthough I can stream movies via Netflix on this sucker, so maybe not so productive in the beginning...)

thanks for nothing

Friday was my last day in the office before commencing maternity leave. I'd been working from home the last two months, but by no means had I vanished from office life. I still dialed into conference calls, edited documents, chaired meetings and gossiped.

So I was rather perplexed when, at 4 p.m., I realized I hadn't received any kind of parting sentiments from my boss or my staff. My boss is not the most emotional or thoughtful person. I accept this. However, we have worked together for 10 years and I was about to leave for six months to give birth to twins. Couldn't he call to say, I dunno, good luck with that?

And my team couldn't buy a little card from the company gift shop and sign it?

I thought about this as I rode down the elevator. Admittedly, I am not social butterfly, but I show up when duty calls. I buy cards for staff milestones, attend lame office parties for their birthdays, give regularly to the X-mas fund for needy families. Am I actually the department pariah and just never knew it?

That night I received an email from my boss (in response to an email I sent to the department saying thanks and catch you later). It read: "Good luck and please keep us posted."

He responded to an email I sent, he didn't even send his own message! I was floored. J thinks I shouldn't bother telling anyone at work when the babies are born. I have mixed feelings - there are some people I would definitely want to share our good news with - but the level of indifference from my supervisor and my staff has given me pause.

Faithful readers, please sound off. (And you can mail me a congratulations card, if you really want).

and now, a few words about my ass

So the thing is, I have hemorrhoids.

Shhhhh. Stop laughing. You've probably had them at one time in your life.

The issue is, I cannot go to the pharmacy and purchase medication to treat said hemorrhoids. It's a pride kind of thing. You see, a few years ago, while pregnant with Bubba, I developed the same condition. I realized pretty quickly I needed some kind of treatment vs hoping everything would just vanish. So I drove, fearless, to the local CVS and picked out an extra large box of Prep H, ready to do butt battle. Stood in line with my head held high, not worried what anyone thought.

Except, right before it was my turn to have my items scanned, there was a shift change.

The overweight Latina cashier, who I figured would be sensitive to my plight, was replaced by a young, extremely good looking guy. Toned, too. I looked around, starting to panic, but no other lines were open.

Shit!!! It was now my turn to pay. "How are you?" the stud asked brightly. "Okay. Good," I said, my eyes focused on my feet as I placed the box of Preparation H and some chewing gum on the counter. He seemed to pause for a second - maybe to hold the box up so the rest of the shoppers could see it? - and finally rang it up. "You have a nice day," he instructed.

I ducked out of there as beads of sweat were starting to form on my upper lip. Just my effing luck. Admitting to a hot guy that my ass has issues.

So now, I cannot risk the chance of the same situation and humiliation occuring again. I called my mom this week and asked her to bring a box of Prep H to my house, covered in a brown bag. "What the hell is wrong with you that you can't go to the store?" she demanded. Followed by, "You know, if you don't get them under control, they will grow and explode. Then you will have REAL problems."

Occasionally I see photos in magazines of pregnant celebrities, and am forced tothink about their ass. They are probably suffering from the same ailment that I have. Who buys their stuff for them? I can't see Natalie Portman or Jessica Alba standing in line at Walgreens with a tube of rectal cream in their hand.

So we will commence treatment tonight and hopefully this will all pass, as they say.

Or my mother will have a lot of 'splaining to do about her repeated trips to the pharmacy.

all I need is love

Faithful readers will recall that Bubba has adjusted extremely well to preschool. True, he only goes twice a week for three hours a day, but that's about all his mama could handle. When he's away at school, I look out the window in my bedroom/home office and wonder how much fun he's having without me.

Clearly a lot. Ever since he started school, I've become That Downer Lady. I go to pick him up and he looks at me with disdain, even, dare I say, repulsion. I am not the mommy he calls for in the morning or that he jumps up to hug, but That Lady who is taking him away from his friends and locking him in the car, against his will. I look around the room and all the other three year olds run gleefully into their parents' arms, shrieking and yelling, "MOMMY! MOMMY!," as if they've been apart for ten years.

WTH?

I appreciate and value Bubba's independence but I could use a little PDA. While he's ignoring me, I fantasize that the next time I pick him up, he will throw down his truck, race across the room and fling himself (gently, of course) onto my midsection. I will carry him outside while he smothers me with kisses and clings fervently to my neck, softly declaring, "Woman, you are the only one for me."

Then reality sinks in. I walk into his classroom, squat down awkwardly, whisper, "Magnus, time to go," and try to get him to hold my hand. The first day of school he burst into tears when I did this. The second day he shook his head vigorously and clenched his fists. The third day he screamed, "Nooooooo!" so loudly that I suspect the other parents thought I was not his guardian but some fat lady who was trying to kidnap him.

Today he just sighed but he did slip his little mitt into mine, then turned to say good-bye to his teacher. A huge wave of relief washed over me. We walked out to the car laughing and having a merry old time. Just like the other families! I was enthralled.

Then it happened. As soon as I opened the door for him to climb into his car seat, something snapped. He stopped and then let out a series of wails that could be heard in Texas.

Well, I can always dream.

our first b-day party with food allergies

Over the weekend we attended a birthday party for one of Magnus's preschool friends. (Side note: he's been in school only three and half weeks and we've fielded two b-day invitations already. Is this normal?)

As mentioned previously, Bubba is highly allergic to peanuts and has a moderate egg allergy, so I had a small pit in my (large) stomach as we arrived, knowing we would have to monitor pretty much everything he put in his mouth. Importantly (and sadly), we needed him to steer clear of the birthday cake, since we couldn't confirm that there was no cross-contamination with peanut products. See how this sucks?

Bubba handled it pretty well, I must say. When it came time to cut the cake, we pulled him aside and delicately explained that the cake would give him a stomach ache. He frowned and his mouth started to curve down. It occurred to me in that moment that I should have baked and brought him something that was safe to eat - hadn't I read that in every freaking food allergy blog, after all? For a second I thought I might tear up, as no parent wants their kid to feel left out. Thankfully one of Bubba's friends came up and they took off for the slide, so a full meltdown (him and I) was averted.

I decided, after much reflection when Bubba was diagnosed, that I would take his food allergies in stride. How he deals with it when he's older is going to hinge primarily on how J and I deal with it. Yet I can't seem to shake this lingering sadness. We are fortunate that Bubba is a healthy child; we can prevent a bad reaction from happening by being cautious and empowering him to do the same. But I wish with every cell in my body that he didn't have these allergies and could enjoy food freely, the way everyone else does.

My friend Kim gave me some much needed perspective today. Her six year old son wears glasses, the only kid in his class to do so. "Everyone is different," she explained to him after he complained that no one else had eye problems. "Some kids are thin. Some have freckles. Some have red hair. You have glasses. Not everyone is the same. That's what makes everyone special."

She's right, of course. Hopefully I can take her cue and encourage Bubba when he feels alienated. You are meant to stand out, I will tell him.

And goddamnit, why am I craving toffee-covered peanuts right now??

what to make of polygamy

Last week, before I started working from home, I was having a conversation with a colleague who was irate about a TV show that features a polygamous family. "It's disgusting, they should all be thrown in jail," she declared. "It's immoral to have more than one spouse!"

I considered this while waddling to the bathroom for my 67th pee break. I personally don't know any polygamous families. I know I probably wouldn't be very good in a polygamous relationship - too many birthdays to remember, plus I'm ultra competitive and would spend a lot of time trying to outshine the other wives. But is polygamy a threat to our society? I really don't know.

People like to hold up traditional marriage as the ultimate social model, and while I happen to be very happily married, I know that the institution is not faring well in terms of success. Mucho divorces, or people not marrying at all. So what if some guy takes four wives and breeds a ton of kids? What do I care, as long as he's not hurting them or me? Who is to say that this lifestyle is dangerous and undermining America?

Faithful readers, married or otherwise, please sound off.

28 weeks

We are 28 weeks pregnant today. It feels more like 28 years.

Cut and Paste, as they are affectionately known, have entered into a pact to see who can kick the ever loving crap out of me. Initially they reserved their antics for the morning. I'd be sitting at my desk and feel a little twinge on one side, then a little twinge on the other side. Those were the good days. Now they roll, squirm and punch like two fly-weights embroiled in a death match. In the evenings, after we put Bubba to bed, I sit on the sofa and we watch in fascination and horror as my stomach bulges and the skin twists, kind of like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist" before the priests exorcised the demon.

I know I shouldn't complain. The babies are on track in terms of size and weight, no serious health issues, and it took us almost a year and half to conceive them. I should be grateful and shut the hell up.

But whining feels so good.