the future me

I had some trouble deleting my yahoo email account when I changed my name and wanted a new address to reflect it. I forgot that I never actually deleted that email. I checked it today and found 606 messages, all of which were spam, except one. How I managed to spot it in my spam-deleting frenzy, I don't know, but I'm so glad.

Remember when I told you all about futureme.org? Where you can go write yourself an email to be sent sometime in the future?

Here is my email to myself from one year ago (May 2, 2006):

Dear FutureMe,

This is crazy! I can't believe this thing exists! And for free! I really hope you are still with Micah. I hope you haven't gotten headstrong and obnoxious. Do NOT get tired of this man, because he is the best thing that has ever happened to you. Are you married yet? Children? I hope you're pregnant by now. Maybe not. Are you living in a house?

At this writing you are temping at GE and it's REALLY BORING. You feel like your mind is slowly leaking out of your brain, which is why you started a blog. It will help you keep busy and be a creative outlet. So, a year later, does anyone know about your blog other than your friends?

You've been with Micah for almost three months. The sex is great, the love is fantastic, and the way he looks at you and the things he says to you make you melt. Are you still melting? Does he still say these things? If not, he should. Remind him. But I don't think he'll need reminding.

What are you friends up to? Shelly & Erika are moving into their house in a couple weeks! Jacky & Kim just moved in together. Mandy & Noel are going strong. What are Anna and Heidi up to? School, probably - such dedication. Your cats are adorable and get cuter with age. Is Tata fat yet? She seriously looks like she might get fat.

Speaking of fat, are you still? Of course you are. It's only been a year. That's not really enough time to get skinny. But you know what? Micah loves you just the way you are, and hopefully you love yourself more than you did a year ago.

This is the coolest thing! I'm going to tell all my friends about it!

Take care of yourself, Me
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First of all, can I just tell you how fast this year has gone? When I wrote that note to myself, I imagined what life might be like in a year but never thought it would come so quickly. So much has happened, obviously. I pretty much knew right away that I wanted to marry Micah and have kids with him. I just knew. And a year later? I am in the best relationship ever. Not that it doesn't have its moments - I mean come on, no couple is perfect. But I am in love with him, a concept that I truly "get" now, and I shit you not the man has only increased his sweet adorations and proclamations of my awesomeness. It's almost embarassing, except it's so fucking beautiful and wonderful that I am learning to love it. And I do mean Learning. I wasn't one of those kids whose parents fawn over their beauty, and though I knew my previous boyfriends were attracted to me, they didn't fall all over themselves trying to let me know. Though I will never be absolutely proud of my body the way it is right now, I am learning to love myself. Fuck, this has gotten cheesy.

I warned myself not to get tired of Micah because I was deathly afraid that for some reason it would happen. I definitely got tired of my last boyfriend. I have a constant need for change and excitement, and if you had asked me if I was going to marry my last boyfriend three months into dating him, I probably would have said yes. So this whole deal with staying enthralled with someone...well, I just wasn't sure I could. Thankfully, I was wrong. Not only am I not tired of Micah, I am more in love with him than ever, including those first few heady, endorphin-fueled, cannot-focus-on-anything-else months.

The headstrong and obnoxious bit? Not really sure where that came from, but I know I have a tendency to dominate in my relationships. SHOCKER, right? I do so love to have my way. That sounds terrible, but it's true. That control can lead to lots of problems if I don't keep it in check. That said, I will not apologize for suggesting Micah wear something different if I think it's not appropriate for the occasion. And you know what? The man is looking a lot more fashionable since moving in with me. That's never a bad thing, control issues be damned.

Me Back Then sure knew pregnancy was right around the corner! Lord. It makes me sound so...domestically inclined? Old-fashioned? Baby-hungry? And I'm not any of those things, really, I just knew I had found the right person to start my future with. I have always wanted to be a young mother, and again with the honesty, I was quite relieved to finally see the double lines on the pregnancy test. I think I've mentioned it before, but "they" say after a year of trying (yes, we were passive-aggressively trying) without conception, you might want to consult a doctor. I did not want to consult a doctor. I read plenty of blogs by women who have gone through hell and back to have a child, and of course I wanted no part of that.

Sadly, we are not living in a house. In fact, we are moving to a smaller (cheaper) apartment this summer. One with central air, on the first floor, pet friendly, with a fenced yard. I haven't found this hypothetical apartment yet, but I'm not too worried. We could probably afford to buy a really shitty, cheap house, but the rehab involved is something we just aren't interested in right now. I think having a newborn baby will be enough drama. With an all-around handy guy like Micah cohabitating with me, I know we will probably end up in that situation in the future - cheap house, fix it up, love it, sell it eventually for a lot more than we paid.

Tata, my tranny cat, got a little plump. I'm wondering why I thought to mention that in the note to myself, but perhaps she was on the skinny side at the time. Actually, she's lost weight lately because I switched from your average grocery store cat food to a fancy, expensive kind you can only get at the pet store. Why? I've heard over and over that the cheap stuff is like feeding your pets junk food. When you feed them something better, they (supposedly) shit less with less stinky shits, don't shed as much, and don't eat as much. It's hard to tell if it's actually working because I haven't been graphing their eating schedules or anything. And since I can't go near the litter box until this babe falls out, I have no idea if they are shitting less and less stinkily. I don't intend to ask Micah. He's disgusted enough as it is. Another reason for the switch was that I put the puppy on the good stuff right away, and considering those cats have been around for years, I felt kind of horrible about treating him like a king and them like slaves (though that's exactly how they all treat ME).

Which brings me to the last paragraph of that note to myself. I have got to get skinnier. Got to. I think it's especially important once I have a child, someone that depends on me to be healthy and there. I want to run around, not gasp my way up stairs, and generally feel like I'm in a body under 30 before my body becomes post-30 and still no healthier. I've heard Weight W*tchers is like a miracle, so I might try that. I'm also hoping the hype about breastfeeding and chasing a toddler causing weightloss is true.

But the magnificent thing is that Micah loves me exactly how I am and so do my friends. I can be who I want to be and won't be lonelier for it. This has been a long time coming, and while it's so easy to sit here and do nothing about it, that ain't gonna fly if I want to see my grandchildren one day.

Life is good. I'm always tired and I can't have cocktails, but life is good. I think I'll go write myself another one for next year. Then, in a year, I can look back on how motherfucking EASY my life was pre-baby, and chastise the hell out of myself for complaining about a boring job that pays me way too much to do nothing. But yeah, life is good. Did I mention I have a 4.0? First time eva, baby.

the Ox and the Secretary

Micah is the Ox (his Chinese zodiac sign). I am the Secretary. When there are heavy things to be carried, I call in the Ox. When there are phone calls to be made, such as questioning a bill or ordering pizza, he calls in the Secretary. It's a beautiful arrangement. We avoid the tasks we despise, handle the tasks we are good at, and never have much to bitch about.

Do you have any arrangements like this with your Other?

stuff on my mutt

You know Stuff on My Cat? Let there be Stuff on My Mutt!

I'm totally loving this. I remember a few months ago the creator of SoMC asked his readers if they would like a dog version of his site, and he got an overwhelming response. From what I could tell, half the people shat their pants with excitement and the other half thought putting stuff on a dog was way too easy. We all know cats are squirmy and spastic and dogs are much more likely to be obedient and sit there quietly if there are treats held near their noses. But I think that's bullshit. I don't care how well-behaved your dog is, this is not an easy feat.

I must think of something to contribute to this site. Especially since it's not nearly as popular as the cat site and I have a better chance of it being posted in this century.

Here are some of my favorites. Oh, and this and this and this. Cracks my shit UP, y'all. Enjoy!

(And have you seen this site? With gems like this?)

the bitchies

Ho. My. God. It feels like I've had PMS for four months straight. Sometimes the tears come easily, and sometimes it's the Madness. For some reason, I'm finding it very easy to be bitchier to people I know. Strangers, too. I find myself sticking up for myself more if I feel slighted. Like the other day when the other receptionist decided to take her lunch at 11:00 and told me about it right after I'd decided to take MY lunch at 11:00. Usually I go at 12:00 and she goes at 1:00. But see, I'm pregnant. Don't hungry pregnant women win every time? They should. Anyway, she didn't get back until 12:15, and with each second that passed past 12:00, I grew pissier and pissier. When she finally arrived she said "I actually didn't leave until 11:15," and instead of my usual "it's no big deal!" I said "oh. I didn't know that," and you better believe I had a tone. I wouldn't have minded so much, but just the day before she told me she was going to lunch with the one other woman in the building who is responsible for the phones. They didn't return for an hour and a half! By then I was about to start chewing on the edge of my desk. How rude.

But I must admit that this sense of entitlement I feel about being pregnant isn't really how I feel. In fact, I sort of despise the fact that everyone knows I'm pregnant. People will tell you that you'll never experience such kindness and concern in your life. What they really mean is that you'll never experience such nosiness and what is known around the blogosphere as "assvice." My niece's mother keeps signing me up for all kinds of preggo-related shit and constantly asks me how I'm feeling. I don't want to be called "mama" yet. I don't want to be told how everything is going to change once the baby gets here because NO SHIT. I can't tell you how many times I've been asked about the sex of the baby. I have half a mind to not fucking tell ANYONE once we've found out. I'm thinking about keeping the name a secret too (not that we've decided yet) because shouldn't there be SOME element of surprise? If for no other reason than it's totally fun to torture people with info like that? Then again, I've seen my friend Steph (due the end of May) fend off all kinds of baby name suggestions while she was cornered at her shower. She and I have very similar personalities, especially when it comes to our hatred of unwanted advice. It's an Aries thing. So on the one hand, if I tell everyone what we've picked I won't have to hear all the suggestions. On the other hand, I don't have to see any looks of disagreement about the cuteness of the name we've chosen. What's a preggo to do? And please let's not mention that a few months ago I was asking for baby name suggestions. Oh, I just mentioned it? Crap.

Next time I get pregnant, I might just keep it a secret until I can't anymore. Because I really can't stand people all up in my business. And I can pretty much guarantee the first person to touch my belly will fucking regret it. See? Bitchies. I scoff at concern and gestures of kindness. No excuse, yet the biggest and bestest excuse ever.

Something to be happy about: I just found out that my (online) school will give you financial aid for anything over six credit hours. So far all of my classes have been five, so I've had to take two classes at once in order to get the loans. It's not a big deal because managing two classes is pretty easy. But now I only have 300 and 400 level classes left, and while I'm excited about that, it means they'll be more work. And more work plus a newborn baby...well, I'm not too keen on that. So to sum up, I will only be taking one class at a time after the baby arrives, at least until I have the new Mom thing sorted out, and I can still get the precious loans. (I'm trying to squelch my growing worry about taking harder classes during the crazy, sleepless, haggard newborn days. I have no delusions. I know it's going to suck.)

This was the most boring post ever. I would love for you to suggest something for me to write about.

week 16: inflation and cessation

Yes. I finally feel like maybe there is something in my gut. My fundus, dude, it's getting harder. Or bigger. Or both. Eww. Sqwik. All I know is that if I manipulate my abdomen in certain ways, I can totally feel my uterus. I had an ultrasound on Friday, and can I just tell you? The thing is like ten times bigger than it was a month ago!

What I really want to talk about is not smoking. You see, I truly enjoyed smoking cigarettes. I loved having a reason at work to go outside and take a break at 10:00 and 3:00. I loved the feeling of rolling down the windows in the car with the music loud and a cig in hand. I loved the way it went with a beer, a tangy cocktail, or a nice cuppa coffee. I loved the deeply-smoked after dinner smoke, and I loved a second one if the meal was particularly satisfying. I loved the first cig of the day on the way to work, and I loved the last cig before bed. I loved the occasional cigarette in bed, you know when.

I always knew it would be really hard for me to quit. I told myself I would smoke until I got pregnant, thinking surely it must be a million times easier when you have such a strong motivation to quit. Pretty sad that I couldn't be my own reason. But since nearly all of the people who read this also smoke, I'm sure you understand. It's just that good. And legal.

I am very surprised at how easy it was for me to quit. I had a sneaking suspicion that I was pregnant for about a week before I actually peed on the stick. I didn't quit when I suspected, in fact, I cherished those cigarettes like never before. I knew once I knew that I couldn't keep doing it. And once I knew, like a champ, I fucking quit. Just like that. Easy as pie.

Every once in awhile I stole a drag off of Micah's cigarette, right up until a few weeks ago, but it only happened every few days, and usually only after a meal. For some reason, this is the cigarette craving I cannot elude. After every meal, without fail, I feel...squirmy. Unsatisfied. Like I'm missing something and I don't know what it is, except I do know what it is. I miss my fucking cigarette. All of them, actually, but especially that one.

It worries me. It worries me that after two months of not smoking the smell of someone else smoking still makes me want to smoke. I am already salivating at the thought of having a cigarette with my first post-partum cocktail. That does not bode well for my future as a non-smoker. You know what? Being a non-smoker is fucking weird. Being a pregnant non-smoker is just about the most alienating combination of things for me. I can't think of a more awkward way to live.

Within the past week I have developed what I'm pretty sure is the famous I Just Quit Smoking Cough. It's a deep, rough cough that sometimes produces an interesting blob but mostly it just sounds like a smokers cough. I've been told this is my body trying to expel the ten years of tar I've loaded up in there. While I must admit on some level it's quite satisfying, both the not smoking and the subsequent coughing, the fact is that I would still be smoking if I didn't get pregnant and every little nook and nerve in my body knows it.

I plan to attempt breastfeeding, which means I still won't be able to smoke post-partum. If I get a breast pump, which I probably will, I could pump ahead of time if I know I'm going out for drinks and maybe a few smokes. I just think it's sad that I'm already thinking of ways to get my cigs in without harming the babe. It doesn't bode well. I really hope that by the time I give birth the thought of smoking repulses me enough to never touch one again.

Or maybe just when I'm having a drink. COME ON. That shit is the best.
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p.s. Happy Birthday to my blog!