WTF?

Chumby and I went to see my dad the other day. My stepmom is out of town, so I thought I'd check in and see how he is doing. He's doing really well. His cancer isn't in remission, but the doctors believe the tumor is dead. So, now he's living with cancer and has to get periodic maintenance chemo. He looks pretty good though and he's walking without a cane. Which is kind of amazing and surprising, since a year ago we were all (doctors included) pretty sure he was going to die.

The problem with my dad feeling better? He's back to his weirdly awkward, zero boundaries self. Every time I see him, he asks me some weirdly inappropriate or awkward question. He had asked previously if he could be in the delivery room when Chumbercules was born. (No). He asked if Chumby could have his last name. (No). He asked if Sean Connery/Brown Sugar/Cthulhu could have his first, middle AND last name. (No). I have two brothers. My dad already got to name his kids. And we aren't and never have been close, so I don't really get it. But the best? The best was the other day.

He asked me if I'm planning on getting my tubes tied. Let me say that again. He asked me if I'm planning on getting my tubes tied. Like, he opened his mouth and asked that question, thinking it was a completely appropriate and not weird question to ask someone. I was a bit taken aback and said, "What?! No!" And he said, "I've heard it doesn't hurt." Which lead me to ask if all his experience having a uterus taught him that. Then he asked if Mr. Adventure was going to get snipped. I told him I'm not interested in having an in-depth conversation about my contraceptive choices with him. If he brings it up again, I'm just going to tell him that my future plans solely involve using abortion as a contraceptive afterthought.

Seriously? WTF? I think that was on Tuesday or Wednesday. I'm still traumatized. I wish I had a therapist, just so I could talk about this. Mr. Adventure called me after work to see how my visit went (and to find out what weird fucked up thing my dad asked me/said to me. Because it's enough of a regular occurrence that it has become A Thing). Even he was surprised. I can't remember, though, if he was always like this or maybe it's the brain tumor? I don't know. I think our next visit will be after my stepmom gets back. She tends to let him know when he's being inappropriate and just fucking weird.

At 36 weeks pregnant, Sean Connery is the size of a honey dew melon or a breadbox. So, buy yourself a breadbox and shove a honey dew inside it, forget that it is there, then in a few months, wonder what the smell is in your kitchen! Or you can buy a honey dew, cut it up, bring it to a barbecue where no one will eat any of it, then leave it for the host to deal with. They also make excellent house warming gifts.

The same as last time, I can't sleep anymore because I'm peeing every ten minutes, then can't get back to sleep afterward. I saw the midwife yesterday to do my Group B strep test. I'll get the results next week.

According to my favorite pregnancy website, the baby is getting cuter. And I have been relieved of the ability to breathe. I mostly just announce that there is baby in my lungs and people look at me weird. But they do that anyway. All the time. Because I'm related to my dad. Probably.

We saw the Book of Mormon musical the other weekend. It was even more hilarious than I thought it would be. I wish I had lots of money, because I would have seen it three more times at least.

And I have heart burn.

Chumby is doing well in day care. The Little Miss is getting ready to start second grade. And she's super excited to have another little brother.

And I still have heart burn.

I feel like I'm running out of time. It was brought to my attention recently that I could have a baby as early as next week. So I should probably get a car seat or something, right?

And that's about it. Happy weekending!

Brown sugar

Pregnant Chicken tells me that, at 34 weeks pregnant, Brown Sugar is the size of a five pounds bag of sugar. Delicious.

Speaking of Pregnant Chicken, there are a couple pretty amaze balls giveaways sponsored by her and BabyList. I thought about using BabyList to set up a registry for Brown Sugar, then I realized that I don't really need shit for a second baby, and our house is only 1500 square feet. 1350 square feet of it seems to be devoted to baby shit, 100 square feet for the dogs and the other 50 for the mister and I).

The most amazing giveaway is the $4000, everything fancy for your baby plus a year of 7th generation diapers. If you think that your baby deserves nice, fancy things that you would never spend money on because you're poor and can't afford to live anywhere better than Idaho, this is the perfect opportunity for your new bundle to get a taste for the finer things before he is bitch-slapped into reality and forced to realize that the neighborhood his parents decided to buy a house in is probably one of the worst in town for schools. (But he's not even born yet. Why is he worrying about schools? You never should have entered that giveaway from BabyList! Pretentious little fuck.)

There's also the Body After Baby giveaway. I've been thinking about tight lacing to get my ribs back where they belong, but maybe shape wear could do the trick? And if it's free, why not try it?

And there's also a Babyganics and Target giveaway. I've never used the Babyganics products because, as mentioned above, I'm not fancy. Any more. I used to be fancy, though. I would drink $14 cocktails made with elderflower liqueur and squid ink and eat Basque tapas at the fancy Basque tapas bar that was right next to my house and go to fancy and ridiculous art parties at the underground gallery and venue that was two doors down from me and up the creepy stairs.

Anyway, enough about me in my twenties. Back when I was cool. I was also really drunk. And all those $14 fancy cocktails could have gone into an IRA or something grown up and fancy. Instead, all my paychecks from my first real environmental job went to booze, books and music. I WAS LIVING THE AMERICAN DREAM.

Okay. Now that's really enough.

This is Mr. Adventure's first week of work, and Chumby's first week of not being at home with him. Things are going great with the mom from my mom's group, though. Chumb doesn't really care when Mr. A drops him off and he cries when I make him leave. I think he wants to live with them. They have all the cool toys, so I totally don't blame him. They also have a really nice yard and lots of windows in their house. I want to live with them, too. But, today is his last day going there. I'm taking tomorrow off and next week he starts Day Care and I start working Tuesday through Saturday so we can save a couple bucks on childcare expenses.

And my best friend from college is flying in this weekend with her husband! I'm assuming it's mainly so she can make fun of me for being so fat.

I have an appointment with the midwife today. I'm meeting her partner for the first time, just in case she is the one who is on call when I deliver. I think it's so that way I know who she is, but when you're balls deep in labor, you kind of don't give a shit who comes in the room. At least, I didn't. I didn't even open my eyes when my midwife came in. I heard her voice and she got there just in time to put on gloves and catch Hamburglar as he came flying out, like Slimer from Ghostbusters flying through a wall. But less green. And more solid.

Brown Sugar is the size of a butternut squash or something. You should probably just eat some butternut squash soup. Anything more than that and you'll end up with heartburn anyway.

According to that weird pregnancy website I found, the tip for this week is, "If you are facing trouble sleeping, try drinking a warm cup of milk and eat a banana. This will soothe you and even rock you to sleep. Try it out as it may work for you!"

I want a giant banana to rock me to sleep.

I think that's about it. I need a nap. I've been at work by 5:15 every morning this week. And I'm all fat with baby in my lungs, so it's hard to sleep. Boo hoo hoo, poor me, etc, etc.