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Pregnancy 1 vs. Pregnancy 2

Before I get into this, I need to point out that I KNOW every pregnancy is different. I’d be naive to think that I would have a pregnancy as easy as Violet’s the second time around. But nothing/no one prepared me for just how different they could actually be.

I’ve been pregnant for almost 5 years 8 months now, and I’m finally just getting around to writing about the experience of this pregnancy as compared to my first. See third section below (lack of motivation) and you’ll know why.

On gaining weight
My first pregnancy, I felt like a goddess. I didn’t just wear a bikini to the beach, I documented/flaunted it! I also took pictures every month to record the growing bump and my pregnancy style. Overall, I felt really comfortable and beautiful in my own skin. I wore heels up until 38 weeks and even strangers would comment on how well I was carrying the baby. I’m telling you, that pregnancy glow is real and I had it.

beach screenshot


fashion screenshot


This pregnancy, I’m feeling like an overweight sloth that can’t eat enough cheeseburgers or oatmeal creme pies to save her life. While my baby bump isn’t bigger, everything else is, including my boobs. Just yesterday, after moving all day, I was so spent I didn’t even want to loosen my own bra which I had convinced myself was restricting my breathing, so I asked my husband to help. He gingerly replied (knowing I would be furious), “It’s on the last rung…” We can talk about how they’re not called rungs later. But seriously?! I’m already wearing nursing bras that fit me AFTER Violet and I still have two months to go. SEND HELP, please. The weird thing is, I haven’t gained more weight than with Violet, it’s just…spreading out differently.

On cravings
Part of why I’m probably feeling like an overweight sloth is because my last pregnancy caused me to crave fresh fruit and Chicago-style hotdogs. That’s basically it. I ate salads, cottage cheese and pineapple, and organic, nitrate-free hotdogs every day. I was SO CAREFUL with what went into my body. And fast food? Ew, don’t even come near me with it.

With this pregnancy, I’m craving meat. RED MEAT to be exact. Fast food. And salt. Here’s an example of what a typical breakfast will look like for me. I’ll swing by Dunkin’s after dropping Vi off at daycare, grab a sandwich and two orders of hash browns and sometimes a french cruller and be on my way. Or if I’m making breakfast at home, I’ll toast an everything bagel, add microwaved salami (I’m not about to mess around with listeria) and chive cream cheese. GIVE ME SALT OR GIVE ME DEATH. Or probably both if I continue eating the way I’m eating.

On getting shit done
I was incredibly motivated in pregnancy 1 to have a perfectly clean/organized home to bring the baby back to. Dan was in grad school and I still somehow managed to make sure we went to all the right classes, had a pristine nursery and were fully prepared for this baby—all while in the throws of starting a business and working full time.

This time around…well…like I mentioned before, we just bought a house and are moving from a 2bed/2bath condo to a quad level house with so much space that I just want to lay down on the beautiful flooring we just installed (with Violet’s help) and keep sinking right into it. Not only can I not decide where anything will go in the new house, but I have to stare at the most hideous wallpaper in the world while I do it. I’m pretty sure the previous owners superglued this wallpaper to the wall because no amount of elbow grease, downy, vinegar or wallpaper stripper—and believe me, dan’s aunts/cousins have tried—have been able to get it off!


Like I said…it’s a bit of a fixer upper. <—Frozen reference anyone?

We bought the house because of the space, location and future resale potential, but right now all I see is a floral nightmare, spiders and $$$ flying out the old windows that need to be replaced. To clarify, I’m not regretting the purchase by any means. But I am regretting the timing of taking on a renovation while trying to bring baby #2 into the world. I’m also regretting Dan and I not being millionaires who can hire people to do everything for us.

On being a basket case
With Vi’s pregnancy, I was emotional, yes. My hormones were raging, but overall I felt like I was pretty good at managing my output. I only cried a few times over food and commercials and was mostly nice to Dan. I was confident in my ability to get the baby out and was constantly pinning birth mantras like, “Your body is not a lemon,” and “Every contraction brings you closer to meeting your baby.” I even listened to hypno-birthing CDs because I wanted to be calm in the delivery room (ha!). I knew that I was going to have the natural hospital birth that I so desperately wanted. So confident that I hadn’t even watched a c-section video because I wasn’t going to have one.

This time around? Get. outta. my. way. I’m either crying because someone (usually my doula) sent me an article with babies in it or she’s making me deal with my emotions surrounding having a VBAC (which range from empowered to terrified). I’m angry because things are taking too long to get done—at the condo, at the new house, at my full-time job, with the cider business we’re still trying to get off the ground. Or I’m just disappointed because my favorite taco place KEEPS PUTTING CILANTRO ON MY FISH TACOS and I asked for ice cream and got SORBET. They’re not the same. Not even close. I also don’t have time for people who act like idiots or experts on subject matters they know nothing about. This includes people who think Trump would make a good president.

I could go on and on about what else is different about this pregnancy, but these are the main things I’ve noticed. If you’ve gone through more than one pregnancy, what was the difference between each one? And would you do it again knowing that you could either have your dream pregnancy (like I did with Vi’s) or you could be riddled with hives and morning sickness like I was with this one?

Obviously, Vi was worth the intense labor and resulting c-section. And I know Artie will be worth whatever happens, too. But as I sit here with swollen feet (after being out in the heat for, like, 2 seconds), I have to keep reminding myself that I did this on purpose! Pictures like this definitely help me remember why. :)Screen Shot 2016-07-25 at 12.14.06 PM


Date Night Diaries

Well, it’s been six weeks since Vi arrived and until Wednesday, Dan and I had yet to spend more than an hour alone. So when I received a text from my mother-in-law stating that she would love nothing more than to come over and watch Baby Vi so Dan and I could have a date night, we immediately jumped at the offer.

But then we had to decide what to DO on date night?! See a movie? Eat dinner? BOTH?! We had to factor in that I would have to pump 2 or 3 hours into whatever we did, so being stuck in a theater wouldn’t have been ideal.

So here’s what we decided on.

We started the night at an Italian restaurant where wine was half off. After being sober for 9 months and breastfeeding since Vi got here, I have no alcohol tolerance. So I had my one delicious glass of sauvignon blanc along with some gnocchi bolognese and Dan has his old standby of creamy carbonara. Although it was nice to get out of the house like we used to before we had Vi, I couldn’t help texting the MIL one hour into the date night just to “see how things were going…” They were FINE, of course.

Then we walked to the liquor store to research hard cider brands since we’re in the process of starting our own hard cider company. $40 of alcohol I wasn’t going to drink later, we headed a couple of blocks to…

WALGREENS! This was the most fun part of the entire night…the part where we got couple’s flu shots because we’re responsible parents.

After filling our bodies with toxins that will hopefully keep us and our young offspring from getting sick this winter, we went home and watched 12 years a slave on HBO Go.

So basically the night went like this:





It was perfect. And it was over in four hours, just in time for us to feed Vi again and snuggle her to sleep!

Survival of the cutest

violet_43Baby Violet Beverly Peat has arrived! Actually, she’s been here for over 5 weeks now, and I thought I would have so much time to blog about how awesome she is, but it’s been the exact opposite. On September 16, 2014 we welcomed this tiny perfect human into the world at 7 lbs 15 oz and 20.75 in long. And since then, my days have flown by. I don’t know how it happens, but all of a sudden I’ll look up from a boring episode of Gilmore Girls and Dan will be strolling through the door after a full day of work and I’m still in my pajamas!

But it’s not just the time warp that’s surprising to me. I can honestly say that nothing is like I thought it would be. Labor hurt more than I thought I could humanly stand. The unplanned c-section wasn’t as bad as all the horror stories I had heard. And I love little Vi more than I ever thought possible.

I’m also realizing that everything I’ve read/researched on how to not screw up your kid means nothing. Because the reality of it is that you will do anything in your power to make sure they’re happy and healthy, even if that means going against everything you just read in your fancy french parenting book.

I always saw myself as the mom who would breastfeed her kids for at least a year. I would have no shame about breastfeeding in public and my child would never get sick and be the smartest kid in daycare because of my amazing milk. And then it took almost 5 days for my milk to come in and I had to supplement with donor milk. Yes. A stranger’s milk kept my baby alive for the first few days. That was a blow to my mom-ego to say the least. Oh, and it cost $20 per oz. OUCH.

On top of that, breastfeeding is HARD. I thought, “You put the baby on your breast and everything would just work itself out. I mean, it’s nature, right? Babies know how to feed otherwise how would they survive?” WRONG. I could write a whole post dedicated just to breastfeeding and I probably will eventually, but for now I can say that we’ll be lucky if we make it six months! I’ve yet to feed in public because usually one (or both) of us cries until I can get her latched and I haven’t figured out a way to put her on the boob without taking my entire shirt off just for both of us to get comfy. That would be an awkward thing to attempt while eating a sandwich at Jimmy John’s.

We WERE NOT going to be the parents who shoved a pacifier in their kid’s mouth every time he or she cried. I thought, “Those parents must just not know how to soothe their kids.” Plus, I hate when you see a 4 yr old walking around with a paci in their mouth. What a condescending person without kids I used to be. The first time I realized that a pacifier would get Vi to stop crying and I didn’t have to give her my boob to suck on, I never looked back. Pacifiers, to me, are right up there on the invention list with that thing that turns your vegetables into noodles. GENIUS.

My husband and I agreed that Vi would sleep in her pack ‘n play in our room until I went back to work and then we’d transfer her to her crib. We WOULD NOT, under any circumstances, let her sleep in bed with us, because we wanted to be those parents who still had a sex life and whose child didn’t sleep with them until the age of 7. And then on our first night home I woke up to see Vi sleeping curled up on Dan’s chest. And even though it’s not ideal, she’s ended up in bed with us every night since then. We’re such suckers. But we’re well rested suckers.

Of course we’ll let her cry it out. She needs to learn how to self-soothe so she can be independent, and blah blah blah. And then I actually heard her cry and my heart broke. How can I fix it? Do you need food? A clean diaper? A hug? All I want to do is hold her all day anyway. Why would I let her just lay there and cry when picking her up will make both of us feel better?

Does wittle vi pie want a paci? Does she need a dipey change? Yes, we call diapers, dipeys. On top of the stupid made up words that I can’t get myself to stop saying, without even realizing it, my voice goes up a few octaves when I talk to her and I end up sounding like someone off of Blues Clues (or whatever obnoxious show toddlers like to watch these days).

So there you have it. I’m the exact opposite of the parent that I thought I would be but you know what? Vi slept 6 CONSECUTIVE HOURS LAST NIGHT. SIX. And she just woke up from a 2.5 hour nap which allowed me to write this post! So Dan and I must not be doing a horrible job. :)

What’s in a name?

So now that we know we’re having a girl (YAY!!), it’s time to buckle down and choose a name. But not just any name. The PERFECT name. When we broke it down, here are the requirements that the name had to fit.

The perfect name:

1) Will not allow her to be tortured in kindergarten like I was. I can’t even tell you the nickname that my cousin Adriano made up for me because it was THAT horrifying. Luckily, he moved off of my bus route and the name didn’t stick for very long, but I’m still traumatized from it. Here’s a hint, it rhymes with Leah Pee-ah. While Dan, on the other hand, has been privy to nicknames like Danno, Danny Ray, Dan the Man, or just his whole name, DanPeat. Lucky guy.

2) Will be spelled correctly. As in, the way it’s been spelled for centuries. It will have character, but not because it has an extra ee at the end of it or unnecessary consonants.

3) Will not be overused. It will be unique, but not made up. There will be no Nevaeh (heaven spelled backwards) Peats running around. And we won’t already know seven little girls under the age of three with the same name. Right off the bat, this excluded some of my favorite names, like:

Olive or Olivia

4) Will be able to grow with our daughter. It will be cute when she’s tiny. Appropriate when she’s in the working world as an adult, and even cuter when she’s a little old lady.

5) Will mean something to us. It will contain a family (first or middle name) and when you look it up in the baby name books, the meaning of it won’t be lame. Leah means weary…I mean, it fits, but come on!

Five requirements? That doesn’t seem like a lot. But when you think about the fact that the little acrobat in my stomach has to live with the name FOREVER, the pressure starts to feel insurmountable! It has to fit ALL FIVE requirements AND we have to agree on it? Impossible.

My grandma’s advice was this. “Don’t worry about it so much. Just pick something you know she’ll love.”

Uhhumm…easier said than done, Beverly! How will we know what she’s going to like before we even meet her?!

So with all of that said, here are the names we’re considering.

Eliza Beverly Peat
Nicknames for Eliza – Ellie, Eli, Liza and Lizzie
Meaning: Short for Elizabeth, which means “From God.” We’re not religious, so the meaning doesn’t strike a chord with us. But for some reason we both just love the name. It’s traditional, yet not too common. There are some great Eliza’s throughout history (Eliza Doolittle!). And as stated above, Beverly is my grandma’s name.

Violet Elaine Peat
Nicknames for Violet – Vi, Lettie, Viv, Viola
Meaning: Pretty self explanatory – it means Violet, like the flower/color.
I love flower/plant names, but all the others I threw out were immediately shot down. Marigold, nickname Goldie, Dan said was a hippie name. Same with Willow. Elaine is my mother’s middle name. I also have an African Violet from my grandma Bev that’s one of the only plants I’ve been able to keep alive for more than a year. In fact, it’s kicking ass and taking names with how much it’s bloomed in the last few months (since we found out we were pregnant). Is that a sign?! I’m thinking, yes!

Cecilia TBD Peat
Nicknames for Cecilia – CeCe, Sis
Meaning: Cecilia was the patron saint of music, so I already liked the history behind the name. Then I found out that it’s derived from a latin word that means blind. I’m just going to choose to ignore that one…
I. Love. This. Name. Dan’s not on board even though it’s a family name because he already has a cousin named Cecilia. To that, I say, “Who cares?” She’s a teenager already and they won’t even be close in age! I don’t know any baby CeCes and neither does he. It’s his grandma’s name on his mom’s side and there will probably be more Cecilias to follow because she was a great lady! This name ticks all of the boxes except meaning, but I just can’t get him to say yes.

Matilda TBD Peat
Nicknames: Mattie, Millie, Tillie, Tilda – they’re all so cute!
Meaning: Powerful or mighty in battle
This has been one of my favorite girl names since I read the Roald Dahl book, Matilda, when I was around 7 or 8. In the book, she’s a genius little girl with a terrible home life who escapes it all by reading. She can also move things with her eyes! It’s a fantastic book, like all of Roald Dahl’s books, and I’ve always pictured myself with a little Matilda. When I pointed out that you couldn’t come up with a terrible nickname for it, my friend Dianna jokingly said, “What if they call her Tildo the Dildo on the playground?” SIGH. Now every time I bring up the name Matilda, Dan says, “You mean, Tildo?” And I know where he’s going with it, so I just don’t continue the conversation. It doesn’t make me like the name any less, because I don’t know that many people besides Dianna would think of that nickname, but Dan won’t agree to it.

Other names that Dan REALLY likes and I’m considering:
Margaret (one of my cousin’s names) – Means pearl, love the nicknames Maggie/Mags
Juliette (Romantic name that I originally loved, but I don’t want her to have to deal with “Romeo! Romeo! Let me be your Romeo from super uncreative guys who can’t think of a better way to approach our daughter! Losers.) – Means youthful, love the nicknames Jules/Juju

So really, out of my top four names, Dan is only on board with two. What do you guys think? We’ve been calling her Violet to see if we like how it feels. We’re both loving it right now, which is a huge victory in itself, but that could change a month down the road. Our families love it, too, and we get texts all the time from our moms about Baby Vi. But we’re not 100% decided yet. So I’m taking it to the internet to help us decide (although we’ll just pick what we want anyway). :)

What do you think of our (my) favorite names? And what are some of your favorites?

You know you’re pregnant when

I stole this idea from my “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” app, which I should definitely delete. I just can’t bring myself to do it though. Every day there’s a new tip, like “Don’t scratch your unbearably itchy skin or you’ll get stretch marks!” Or, “How to tell your DH (which I found out stands for Dear Husband) that you don’t feel like having sex tonight.” I thought you were just supposed to pretend to be asleep by the time he got out of the shower…or you know…actually BE asleep because this baby is draining every ounce of energy from you. Plus, if I delete my app, where else am I going to find out that our baby is the size of an onion this week? I love seeing those fruit/veggie based milestones every Thursday. Anyway, here’s the list!

You know you’re pregnant when:

You’ve only seen the first 30 minutes of every Walking Dead and True Detective episode this past season, because who can stay up all the way until 10pm.

You go into Walgreens for a toothbrush, leave with $75 worth of stretch mark lotions, acne cream (which doesn’t work on pregnant skin, by the way) and snacks…and forget the toothbrush.

You’ve decided that even after you have this baby it’s maternity pants for LIFE. Who needs zippers and buttons anyway? I’ve lived without them for the last month and miss them about as much as I miss being able to properly digest food. Wait, I do miss that. A lot.

You’re convinced that every gas bubble or general weird feeling in your stomach is actually the baby moving, even though science clearly states that it’s physically impossible for you to feel the baby this early.

You eat a Chicago hot dog every day for lunch for a week, and you’d have kept eating them for another week if your husband had purchased two packages of hot dogs. TWO!! Never buy a pregnant lady just one of anything, amateur.

You expect a high-five every time you have a normal bowel movement or you don’t throw up when someone cooks raw meat or eats red onions around you. Seriously, can the entire world just agree that red onions are off limits until around the beginning of September?

When your husband lists off the 79 things that he did today (most of them chores you’ve been avoiding) and then asks what YOU did today, you pull out the, “I grew a baby” TRUMP CARD without any feelings of guilt or remorse. That’ll shut him up quickly, or just seriously irritate him.

You cry the first time your pants no longer fit. Or because the never-ending project that is your DIY backsplash isn’t finished yet. Or because you can’t find the scarf you want to wear. Or because that stupid Zillow commercial came on where the woman walks into her newly-purchased house with her daughter and finds her army husband who was fighting overseas waiting in the empty living room to surprise his family. Gets me EVERY time. Or because your order was wrong and all you wanted in life was a happy home, a healthy baby, a stimulating career and a burrito without cilantro in it, DAMN IT!

There are so many more I’d like to add to this list and maybe I will a this pregnancy progresses, but it’s 9:45pm, which is way past my 9:30 bedtime. If you’re pregnant or have been pregnant or you just know people who are pregnant, I’d love to hear your own, “You know you’re pregnant when(s)”.


Well, by now, you’ve probably heard the news either from Facebook/Instagram, or from Dan who’s been telling everyone who looks at him, that we’re having a baby! Since the secret’s finally out, I thought I’d tell you all about the fateful day I found out that Baby Peat was no longer just a glimmer in his/her hopeful parents’ eyes.

This is me at 8 weeks. Can you say bloated? Made it really hard to hide things.8_Weeks

Dan and I had been trying since July of last year to get knocked up (with no success). After six months of this, it starts to really wear on your psyche. You can read all about that here. So I caved and went to this magical midwife who told me that if I followed her directions exactly, I would get pregnant. Her professional medical advice, which I probably could have found online, was simply, “Take your temperature every day before you get out of bed. Chart it, and when you notice a spike, have sex every other day for a week. Most people I tell to do this get pregnant within the first month.”

I replied spastically with, “I’m not most people. I have a tipped uterus! It’s going to be way harder for me than everyone else to get pregnant.

She let me know how NOT special I was and that having a tipped uterus is like being right or left handed and has nothing to do with one’s ability to get pregnant. Which I needed to hear. I think it broke the mental block that I had that said, “This is a futile effort. Abandon ship.”

So anyway, she was totally right on my unspecial-ness. Only I didn’t know it just yet.

December 27. Took a pregnancy test. Negative.
December 29. Took a pregnancy test. Is that a super faint line? I’m pretty sure I’m imagining it all and that it’s negative again. SAD FACE.
December 31. Drank a ton of alcohol on New Years because I knew I wasn’t pregnant.
January 2. Convinced I’m not pregnant, I went to the walk-in clinic for a UTI. I had been having the urge to pee every 5 seconds, only it wasn’t excruciatingly painful like UTIs usually are, but I thought, “Better to be safe than sorry.” Plus, I’m not one to sit on a symptom and let it get worse. Dan walked around for six weeks on a broken ankle before he finally got it checked out. If I get a paper cut, I usually think I need stitches. They basically know me by name at the walk-in clinic now, which I used to think was impressive, until I realized that it’s probably more depressing than anything.

While talking to the P.A. and telling her my symptoms, she asked if I could be pregnant. I replied pretty morosely that we’d been trying, but that I just took a test (or seven) the week before and they were all negative, so there was only a very small (minuscule actually) possibility that I was, indeed, pregnant. She decided to test anyway and as soon as she left the room, I started to panic.

A) This is NOT how I want to find out I’m pregnant—at the walk-in clinic while Dan’s not with me.

B) I know it’s going to be negative and I’ll have gotten my hopes up for nothing.

I’m alone now, so I put my phone away, closed my eyes and started trying to breathe in and out deeply to calm myself. Instead of helping, I got even more panicky because the doctor had been coughing incessantly and I was convinced I was inhaling all of her gross germs. Since I had just gotten over mono, the thought of having a cough so deep it sounded like it was coming from her tailbone scared the crap out of me.

She came back in, smiling and holding a hazardous waste bag. You know, the kind they put dirty needles in, and said, “Well, you do have a very mild UTI, but you also have something else! Congratulations!”

I looked down to see a pregnancy test with two lines. One pink, one blue. Let me just say, I. WAS. SHOCKED. Just that day I told my coworker, who was six months pregnant at the time, that I had a new, positive outlook for 2014 and that I was going to be more relaxed and try to enjoy the process of getting pregnant. This was going to be the year of the “laid-back Leah” (who was I kidding?) and if I got pregnant, YAY! If not, I would be able to handle it.

She then told me my estimated due date, which at the time was my brother-in-law’s birthday, September 1st. It’s since been moved to September 11. And answered the million questions that I had, including, “How should I tell my husband? I want to do something fun!”

After finding out, I went to the grocery store down the street to buy a ton of healthy food that would eventually go bad in our fridge. And as I was walking around the grocery store in a daze, smiling to myself, I came 1 inch from running into a crusty old lady with my cart. She proceeded to yell, “Watch it!” in a gruff, smoker’s voice, but instead of being upset, or mad or matching her mean crusty face with my own, I just laughed, apologized and kept smiling because there was no way this crabby person with stringy hair was going to ruin my high!

I then headed to Walgreens to pick up my scrip and figure out a fun way to tell Dan. Here’s what I did:

I purchased a greeting card with mini baby items hanging from a clothespin on the front. The inside read: “Things are about to get a lot more fun. And cuter. Congratulations!” And then I signed it with, “YOU MADE ME PREGNANT,” which is an inside joke of ours from the show Boardwalk Empire. It’s how the drugged-up hooker tells the former FBI agent that he knocked her up. And as soon as that episode aired, I knew that’s how I would also tell my loving husband.

When I got home, Dan was studying, so I filled out the card and handed him the hazardous waste bag with the positive test in it. He laughed but was also a little perplexed and decided that we couldn’t tell our moms until I peed on another stick and that was positive, too. He didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up and I didn’t either so I went along with it, even though I knew the test was right.

The second test turned positive in about 3 seconds. It was such a happy feeling. The best, actually. So I excitedly threw the pee-stick at Dan and we called our moms.

My mom? DIDN’T ANSWER. She was taking a nap! Geeze!! What a horrible time to be sleeping.

Dan’s mom? Laughed hysterically for about 10 minutes, she was so happy.

My mom finally called me back and one of the first things she said after, “Congratulations!” was “I want the baby to call me GLAMMA.”

This is the happiest thing I could ever announce on this blog. I’m excited to keep posting as I get fatter and this baby becomes even more of a reality.

P.S. I made one resolution this year and it was to get pregnant. And on January 2, I accomplished it. I’d say that’s pretty badass, and probably the only time in my entire life that I’ve actually completed a resolution. Maybe the key is to only make one from now on.

Let me break this down for you mono y mono

sorry-sick-day-due-get-well-ecard-someecardsThis mono thing has been great. I’ve had SO MUCH TIME to just sit and think. To contemplate the really important things in life. I figured out which came first. It was the chicken. I also figured out how to build a time machine, but then I was too tired to execute it so that got scrapped. What else have I done this week? I stared at the back of my eyelids A LOT, online shopped, watched rom coms and an entire two seasons of Call the Midwife, although there are some holes where I fell asleep and didn’t bother to go back and finish the episode. Have you guys seen Safe Haven? *spoiler alert* Her friend is a ghost THE WHOLE TIME. Who’da thunk it? I’ve also sat up quite a few times. And then laid back down. Really thrilling stuff over at the Peat residence.

I thought that having an entire week off of work would be amazing and I’d be so productive, but I’ve got all the time in the world and none of the energy to accomplish ANYTHING. Even writing this blog post is kind of exhausting. I’ve had no appetite for the last week (hello, skinny jeans!). Guess I don’t have to worry about doing that detox to lose 5 lbs in January. I’m down at least that since getting sick! Highly recommend the mono diet.

All kidding aside, there are actually some great perks to having mono, like:

Your husband doing the grocery shopping and basically all errand running.

Dan hates shopping, including for groceries. But because I can’t get off the couch, he’s forced to go! And he even brought me home some English Muffins that I forgot to put on the list because he knows I love those nooks and crannies.

Throwing yourself a daily pity party.

What other disease have you heard of where you get to throw yourself a party every day? Pretty cool, right? It’s like having a birthday for a week straight but without the friends because you’ve been quarantined.

Time to blog!

Although nothing’s happened in the past week for me to write about. That’s a catch 22 if I ever saw one.

Catching up on my daytime TV.

Just kidding. Daytime TV is the WORST. Thank God Netflix exists.

Noticing every imperfection in my home.

If you stare at the ceiling long enough, you’ll start to see the exact spot where the contractor decided to phone it in.

The unnecessary praise.

Anything you accomplish while having mono is basically a miracle. You brushed your hair today? You’re a champ! You put dishes in the dishwasher? I love you! Next time I want a compliment, I’m just going to say, “Hey, I did this when I had mono” and everyone will automatically like it!

I’m also missing out on a ton of super fun stuff while being sick though. Like a video shoot at work with my favorite talent who’s in town, a friend’s bday celebrations, homemade meatballs that are only made ONCE A YEAR, and my Christmas surprise.

The Christmas surprise, you ask? Well, Dan told me that he had a Michiana Gala to go to for work and he NEEDED me to go schmooze with him because we’re a team. Partners. He just couldn’t go without me. I had a reason to dress up. I felt special. I felt necessary. But I also felt like collapsing. So instead, I started crying. At that point, Dan couldn’t let the ruse go on any longer and he admitted that The Michigan “Gala” was completely made up and we actually had tickets to see Jersey Boys (MY CHRISTMAS PRESENT!). So while I was relieved that I wasn’t letting Dan down during his important work event, I felt like a loaf for not only making him tell me his surprise but for actually not even being able to enjoy it. Luckily, the guy at the box office took pity on me when I called and said “I can’t get out of bed to see the show” and he let us change the tickets to Sunday. I don’t care if I’m spitting up blood (I’m not, ew). WE’RE GOING.

And with all of this faux and real complaining, I’ll leave you with the super sweet thing that Dan said to me when he got home yesterday.

Dan: You look way more…enthusiastic…today!

Me: Enthusiastic?

Dan: Well, you’re standing up.








Is that a grizzly bear or a girl?

Have I ever told you about what a terrible sleeper I am? I don’t mean terrible as in I don’t get any sleep. I have no problem sleeping. It’s actually a great talent of mine. What I mean by terrible is that I’m an embarrassing, loud sleeper. Also, not cute. And as soon as I start to fall asleep my mouth hangs open and the snoring begins. It’s a mix of something between a grizzly bear and a pug with a cold.

My sleep habits are so bad that I actually live in fear of falling asleep in public places. No one wants to see a girl sleeping on a train with her mouth hanging open. No one wants to sit next to someone on a plane while they snore louder than the jet engines, including me.

When I fall asleep, I fall asleep hard. Good luck trying to wake me up without me being mean to you.

I’m not actually sure how many embarrassing pictures exist of me sleeping, but I know there’s a lot.

There’s the one where I fell asleep on my laptop while reading…what is that, Yahoo News? and talking on the phone. 72_505545605877_2686_n

The one on the train. The one (or more) on the plane. The one where my friends put food on my face when we were teenagers because I fell asleep first. The one where I fell asleep in a sushi restaurant and the chef thought it was so funny, he came out to take a picture with me. The one where I fell asleep with my kindle ON MY FACE while engulfed in a book, which resulted in a smashed nose and triple chin. I made Dan delete that one because it’s probably the most embarrassing picture I’ve ever seen of myself. Yes, worse than the sushi pass out.

Etc. Etc. Etc.

There are so many bad pictures of me sleeping out in the world (many of them I’m 100% sober) that one day I might just assume a different identity so as not to have to deal with them ever again.

My husband on the other hand, falls asleep like this.

Is he actually smiling? NOT FAIR. He doesn’t snore. And he usually looks just as handsome upon waking up as when he fell copy

I knew I was gong to marry him when I asked him if my snoring bothered him one time and he lovingly replied, “It’s rhythmic. It puts me to sleep.” He was lying. But it was a much better reply than wanting to smother me with a pillow or sleeping in the other room like boyfriends past.

Teenagers make it look so easy

aca22e34cab4648f23a354fb6f025b01Dan and I are trying to have a baby. There. I feel SO much better now that it’s out in the open, even though I’m sure Dan probably told you already because he’s overly excited and over-confident in his, erm, abilities.

But what I haven’t been open about, except to a few select people, is the havoc that “trying” is wreaking on my mental state. I’m not one to do anything half-assed. I’m one of those super annoying over-achievers who likes to get things perfectly right (except when it comes to cleaning). So when I didn’t get pregnant two weeks after going off of the pill I was extremely disappointed, especially because of my husband’s blind confidence.

When I was a few days late, he said, “You’re pregnant. I know because I have super sperm.” And I actually believed him. So when I took a pregnancy test and got my period four hours later, I actually felt a little bit of anger toward Dan and his super sperm. Why would you build me up like that, super sperm, only to let me down?! Totally misdirected, I know.

You hear all these stories about people who missed one pill and got pregnant. Or as my mom likes to say, “The women in our family only have to look at a penis and they get pregnant.” I envy those people and their supple uteruses. Those success stories are in abundance and instead of making me think, “This is so easy!” It’s making me think, “What if it’s easy for everyone I know, except me?!”

Something a lot of people don’t throw out in general conversation or offer up willingly is the stress that comes along with trying. But if you just ask, stories come out in full force and they’re not the ones you see on Facebook.

I realized that I started hearing the same things over and over:

“I tried for 14 months and the same month I stopped “trying” I got pregnant.”

“I tried for 4 months and as soon as I stopped obsessing about it and just had fun with it, I got pregnant.”

“I tracked everything meticulously on my app and as soon as I gave up, I got pregnant.”

The combination of these stories had me so convinced that my meticulous planning and tracking was actually stopping me from getting pregnant, that I deleted my ovulation app! The fact that I did this while drunk at an MSU game with Dan cheering me on has turned into a sober reminder that this is something I can’t actually control, no matter how much I want to.

I’ve never been told by a doctor, “You’re fine, you can get pregnant. Your body will do what it was designed to.” I’ve also never been told that it can’t. And it’s the NOT KNOWING that’s messing with my mental state, to the point where trying to have a baby went from being fun to feeling like a competition, which I’m losing according to the internet.

ADMISSION: We’ve been trying for 3 months TOTAL and I’ve taken at least 6 pregnancy tests, maybe more if I’m being really honest here. My excuse usually is, “I just want to make sure I can drink at [insert any event ever].” But each time I see one line instead of two a horcrux gets destroyed (Harry Potter reference).

Is it too early to get my eggs and Dan’s sperm tested? JK, that wasn’t a serious question. Unless you think it’s not too early, then it’s a serious question.

He and I actually got into an argument about it recently because he said, “You’ve got to stop taking pregnancy tests and worrying so much! This is supposed to be a happy thing!” And I replied with something along the lines of, “You’re not the one whose body actually has to get pregnant. You just get to have all the sex and none of the stress! LUCKY YOU.”

Basically, trying to get pregnant has had me feeling like this a lot of the time.


But then I decided to start focusing on my health and happiness and in the last week it’s been working. I signed up for a tap class which I’m starting next week. I got a yoga chair for work that forces me to sit up straight. I can’t believe how much changing your posture helps change your outlook! I started a writing a group with a friend, which she named, “The writer’s circle for jerks” because she’s funnier than I am, and I made the dentist appointment that I’ve been avoiding for the last two years.


Plus, if I really sit down and think about it, without worrying over what’s beyond my control, I realize that it’s actually LUCKY ME. Because whether this journey that we just started on turns out to be a short, long, happy or sad one, at least I’ve got the person I want to go on it with. I just need to remember that more often…and I’ve really got to stop pinning baby stuff…but it’s all just SO CUTE!

From whitewalls to stonewalls

When I’m mad at my husband over something big or small, he shuts down. Or rather, he won’t shut up. But not about the issue at hand. He’ll talk about everything EXCEPT the issue that actually needs to be talked out.

Here’s an example: When our friends were in town a few weekends ago, his buddy who is a car guy convinced my husband he needed to spend hundred of dollars RIGHT NOW on new tires for his 1970 cadillac. In all reality, he probably does need new tires, so we don’t get stranded at our favorite karaoke bar again. But he doesn’t need them all at once. And not immediately. I tell him exactly this and convince him not to buy the tires before I go to bed.

And he either misunderstood or didn’t care because I got this text today.

“I have bad news. I ordered $1100 worth of tires today. No presents for Dan Peat for a year.”

This infuriated me for two reasons.

1) Our 1-year anniversary is coming up and he just sucked all the joy right out of me giving him the awesome present I had planned on. Now it will not only pale in comparison to the whitewall tires that he bought HIMSELF, but it also will look like an unnecessary expense, because he explicitly said, “No presents for Dan Peat for a year.” TOO BAD. YOU’RE GETTING A PRESENT. AND YOU WILL LIKE IT.

2) We share finances, but we don’t usually okay purchases with each other first. If I go shopping and I spend $200, I’ll let him know as a courtesy, but I don’t ask how much I can spend before I spend it. I just know not to go overboard and spend an unreasonable amount of money without having a discussion first. To me, this was going overboard. This was something that deserved a “Heads up, honey.”

So I replied, “We should have discussed it first.” And he seemed SHOCKED! In his eyes, we had. And I was mad for no reason! So instead of talking to me about the situation, I started getting what I call “change-the-subject-so-she’ll-forget-she’s-mad” texts, including:

“Would I look good with a bald head?”

The answer is no. And my statement remains. We should have discussed it.

“Man, short hair really shows off my weird ears.” (Hmm, self-deprecation. Good tactic, but it’s not going to distract me. On a sidenote: They’re not weird. They’re just really small and cute.)

Then he starts going on a diatribe about how much our condo fees are each month and what we pay in taxes a year. And how much we would have to rent it out for to make money on it. All of this when we haven’t even lived in our condo for a year and we’re not planning on renting it out for at least another 5. Thanks for planning ahead, I guess?

And all the while I’m just getting more annoyed because he still hasn’t said, “You’re right. We should have talked about this before, and I mean really talked about it when I wasn’t drunk.” Or “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was making this big purchase and that I took the sheer happiness out of you giving me heartfelt gifts by saying I didn’t want any for the next year.”

He’ll bring up the weather. What he had for lunch today (which was a five dollar foot long if you’re wondering), ask me a follow up to something I mentioned months ago to show that he was listening way back then and that he’s still interested in the outcome, but he won’t talk about the freaking tires. Or the fact that he was wrong. Or the fact that I’m mad at him. He hates arguing and will do just about anything to avoid it, except for not doing the thing that caused it.

The way I see it, I now have two options to end this fight that he probably doesn’t even realize we’re still in. I can:

A) Force him to talk about it with me when we both get home. Which will be like pulling teeth as he looks around the room and finds things to randomly comment on instead of talking about the tires. “Your plants look thirsty! I’ll water them!” “Is your owl on the wall a little crooked? I should fix that for you!” Thanks, Mr. Suddenly-so-helpful.


B) Buy myself a Kate Spade bag that I’ve been eyeing.

If you see me walking around St. Joe with the cutest bag ever and a huge smile on my face because it was 75% off in the Ebay sale going on today, then you’ll know which one I chose.

P.S. Can you help me pick out my retail-iation? I can’t decide! They’re all too cute.

The Tenley Bag


Alissa Bag

The Alissa Bag

Screen shot 2013-07-10 at 5.14.47 PM

The Southport Ave Bag

What about you? How do you resolve issues, big or small? Do you talk it out? Avoid it altogether? Or scream at each other like the Italian couple in the gelato commercial?