Chhhhhanges

We spent my 40Th birthday in Hooters. I felt like Gloria Steinem would come in any second and rip the chicken wings and beer out of my hand. M was suppose to take me to a nice place. But then she started crying about her new job offer (more about that another time). There was midtown traffic, and crowds so we ran into a Hooters.

We started chatting with the lovely waitress (who is attending Columbia U) that M is pregnant. She got very excited and said if we needed a babysitter she was in. She gave us our first baby gifts ever.

Tomorrow morning we head for another u/s...then off to the Berhshires for more birthday celebration.

While she slept

M went to the ob/gyn on Friday. The doctor said everything looked "great." Wheeew. She will be 18 weeks on Monday. On Fridays she alternates between seeing the peri at Mt. Sinai and the East side ob/gyn. I try to make most of the appointments.

We are still waiting to hear if she will have a job with her company. I believe she will learn the news later this week. As long as the babies are okay- we will be okay.

While M. napped this afternoon, I walked over to see the 2007 Times Square Dog Day Masquerade. The winner was the dog dressed like the Naked Cowboy. While I was walking home, I thought- what the hell would I do in the suburbs while she napped? Go to Target? What the hell am I going to do in the burbs? I imagine we will busy with baby duties.....I hope.

Mommy on the unemployment line

WOW. M (the hopeful birth mother) might be losing her job. As in a corporate managerial job. As in **she makes double my salary job**. This big freaking corporation is reorganizing, or just plain screwing its employees. She would be canned, oooops, I mean downsized around Christmas. M. would get severence pay from Janauary-May. She could still have health insurance for the babies into the Spring. Damn, I guess we ain't moving and buying a house anytime soon. My suburban nightmares are now replaced with terrors of having to push the babies near Rockfeller Center and asking for money (I see people doing that sometimes). It could work.

Questions

It hit me this afternoon at 1:23 p.m. We might be having children. There might be 2 small humans in the apartment this winter. This is big. No, this huge. I telephoned M at work to tell her what I just realized. She told me she couldn't talk (not sure why she picks up the phone-if she cannot speak).

Should I paint their room (which is now an office)? How are we going to fit them into this apartment? Can I swear anymore? Is my sitting in cross- town traffic melt-down no longer appropriate? Should I quit therapy to save money for like college, or diapers? Don't I need a few more weeks in therapy-just to perfect myself (joke).....? Am I going to be a good mother? What the hell do we call ourselves? Isn't the baby's first words going to be "da-da anyway?" Do I try another ivf cycle next year? Do we have the money? Why am I ending every sentence with a question mark. That is annoying.

Morning rant

Why the HELL am I sitting here trying to put together AGAIN my F_____n IKEA dresser? Why does this piece of shit thing fall apart every month? Why am I a 39.9 year old woman hammering a dresser (with a marble crufix- I purchased in Ireland). Shouldn't I own furniture at this age that does not resemble my college dorm???

Am I going to hell for using a cross to hammer a dresser? M. is not here. She left to go buy maternity clothes today. If she were here, she would patiently get out a hammer from the tool box.

Reason 103(a)(2) to hate NYC: My partner having to leave the vicinity to purchase affordable clothes.

Reason 103(c) to love NYC: Amy's Bread.

The kids are alright

The Boy

What a hottie.

The kids are alright

The Girl

I think if you click on the photo it will appear bigger. After all, she is only like 6.5 inches.

Smithereens

Scored Annie Lennox tickets. I wonder if the kids- in utero- will be able to hear her? Hopefully, they will be around in November.

Anyway, Annie rocks. She is one deep, pissed off white lady. AND is still hot at 52. Damn, I gotta give up the vices.