Yes, it’s true. Lest you had doubted my pregnant state it was confirmed to me last weekend. The weekend I have been anticipating for months. The Friday I was to spend 24 blissful hours completely by myself. Well, more like 18 hours but hey, solitude is solitude. And not like I was counting anyway, right? OK, truth be told it would’ve actually been only 17.5 hours.

The camping trip was my mother-in-law’s idea during Easter dinner. That same woman who hates camping and hasn’t done it in 20 years. But she was looking for a family bonding activity and figured this would be a great one.

As many of you know, I am an outdoor aficionado but camping at 36 weeks pregnant is not my idea of fun. Aside from the uncomfortable sleeping conditions (which I could overlook), my bigger issue was my potty breaks. These days, I do my sleep-walking-pee trek to the bathroom every 1.5 hours. This is not an exaggeration. It’s no wonder I’m always exhausted. And doing that to the outhouse in the middle of the night is a living nightmare.

But I was fully supportive of everyone else going. In fact, I became pretty dang obsessed with it. A whole night to myself? I haven’t had that in years. And so I plotted my little retreat: I’d rent some of the best chick flicks out there and would finally archive my stacks of Haddie pics into a photo album, something I’ve been dying to do prior to Junior’s arrival.

Welp, there’ve been some hiccups this week as my MIL has threatened to cancel over some relatively minor issues that have arisen. But then came The Granddaddy today. After weeks of record-breaking 90- and 100-degree temps, it rained. Rained. ON MY RETREAT DAY. After many prayers, the conditions cleared but not before my MIL called the whole thing off. She claimed she called up to the campground and rain was in the forecast.

“That’s ridiculous!” I desperately exclaimed. “It’s totally cleared and it’ll be beautiful tomorrow.” But she already had the support of the other fair-weather family members. Those same people I used to like. “You guys can come over for a BBQ tonight,” she offered. I must have responded as pissy as I felt when I said thanks but no thanks. I knew I was being irrational but my disappointment was palpable. Any thoughts of a break before having the baby were over.

But then to have Jamie call up a couple of hours later to inform me he and Haddie were sleeping over at his parent’s house. That’s ridiculous!” I exclaimed for the second time that day. “It defeats the point of my entire retreat if I’m overcome by guilt on the matter.”

And so they went over for a BBQ but only Jamie returned home later. Against my wishes, he claimed he “accidentally” forgot Hadley over there. Hmph. Yes, I was being irrational. But they didn’t have to be so nice about it. After all, IF I AM TO FEEL SORRY FOR MYSELF, IT’LL BE ON MY OWN SELFISH TERMS. Don’t throw the guilt factor into it.

In the end, it turned out just fine. I finished my album, slept in until a whopping 7 a.m. and we worked on Junior’s room for much of the day. Oh, and Jamie let me go on a Super Target shopping spree. Anything to appease the pregnant lady’s meltdowns. Hormones? What hormones?

P.S. All sympathy mail can be sent to Hunkyhubby@survivingthehormones.com

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Now, I can’t be sure but does carrying around her Princess Mirror so she can can constantly check herself out in her new church dress count as just a little bit vain?….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

We were laying in bed a few weeks ago discussing Haddie’s activities that day when I bragged to Jamie how prolific she’s becoming with the human language.

Me: “You know, when we were singing the alphabet today, she strung together a few letters L-M-N-O and delightedly sounded out ‘ELMO!’”

Jamie: “Wow, that’s really impressive! At this rate, she’ll be on Oprah by the time she’s 3! Hey Hadley, what letter does ‘Supercalifradjulistic’ start with?”

Hadley [proudly]: “M!”

Jamie: “Well, maybe at least the Maury Pauvich Show….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

One of the things I truly love about Colorado is the countless open space areas that have been converted into beautiful parkways. When not in the mountains, much of our spare time is spent exploring these little cuts of nature right in our own backyard. Not to be dismayed by our 99-degree temps, Haddie and I have been going for early-morning walks along these parkways before the temps heat up.

Yesterday, we went for a trek along one of our favorites. Not only is much of it shaded but there’s a great playground and duck pond along the way. Really, the only drawback is the pond hosts the most stuck-up ducks I’ve ever seen. What? My stale bread isn’t nearly as good as that pond scum you consume every day?

So we’re sitting there watching the snobby ducks when I saw a runner in the distance. As the runner came closer, it was like one of those slow-motion Baywatch sequences. The one where the ocean breeze (fans from the set) are blowing while the runner’s breasts are bouncing away. You know, every man’s secret fantasy.

Unless, that is, the person with the bouncing breasts is a man. Yep, this runner was shirtless and had veritable breasts. And not the Mr. Olympia kind, either. I turned my head away in disdain but Hadley remained undaunted. I would even say she was mesmerized.

At the exact moment he passed us, little Hadley chose to give her commentary of the situation with a piercing screech, “NAAAAAAAAAAKED!”

It stopped Mr. Baywatch in his tracks. He threw her a disgusted “I would charge you with sexual harassment if you weren’t a pipsqueak” kind of look and continued on his way.

He was lucky. If he thought “Naked” was offensive, wait ‘til I teach her how to scream “INDECENT EXPOSURE!” next time around…

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

When Hunky Hubby follows his regular routine of kissing you good-bye but instead of his normal three magical words, “I LOVE YOU!” he instead says three new ones: “Don’t kill Hadley!”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Welp, we’re on the homestretch…stretch of relentless 90+-degree days, that is. I don’t need to expound upon how I feel about this. But do you know what? After feeling so dog sick with various ailments throughout my third trimester, I will gladly take my life as an overheated, swollen Beluga! At least now I’m functional and Haddie and I have been on some fun, final adventures together before Junior’s arrival.

I have also been given a new survival mechanism to get through my final month of pregnancy and those brutal first months with a newborn: a vacation! And I have Hunky Hubby to thank for it. Even though I poke fun and tease him a lot, he’s definitely top-notch in the romance/thoughtfulness department. One of his most recent transactions in the Bank of Looooove was booking a B&B for Mother’s Day. A couple of weeks ago, he surprised me with a week-long cruise in February. Without children. He says it’s for our anniversary. I say it’s A Will to Live.

He found this GREAT site, www.skyauction.com, which auctions off vacations at unbelievable prices. The only problem was after he bid on and won a cruise to Mexico and Belize (destinations we already visited on a cruise last year), we found a more optimal cruise to Puerto Rico, St. Thomas, Antigua and the Bahamas. I decided that a trip to the latter destinations would give me even more motivation to live than Mexico, so I made it my personal mission to stalk the poor folks at Skyauction. They got either a loving daily phone call or email for two weeks until they finally relented and credited our account (“JUST MAKE THE WOMAN STOP CALLING US, PLEASE!”) Now all that was left was to bid on and win the trip we really wanted.

When it comes to online auctions, Jamie is The Man. I don’t think he’s ever lost an auction on eBay and has it down to an exact science when to swoop in and yank the rug from underneath all the other bidders. The only problem was he would be in a meeting when our auction expired, leaving My Will to Live entirely up to me.

The night prior to the big auction, he sat me down and wrote out everything I needed, at the exact moment I needed to do it. Anticipation swelled within me as I felt the pressure. I had stalked for two weeks and it would all come down to those final moments. Would I crack? Would I blow the whole thing?

I needed some reassurance. At the end of his Auction Essay, I reminded Jamie, “You remember those days when you used to write me sweet love notes?” I figured that surely a note saying how much he loved and cared for me would help subside some of the pressure. “Of course I do,” he reassuringly said, and proceeded to etch something for me on paper.

Touched, I looked down and read his message of loooove:

“You better win!”

Gee. Just what I was looking for. At least he could have been grammatically correct about the whole thing.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Jamie gets a fair amount of fabulous swag from work. The other day, he came home with some cool outdoor-wear for which he only paid a nominal fee. He even thought of me during his little shopping spree.

“Look Amber, I got you this new black fleece.”
“No, I couldn’t possibly. I stole your other one that looks just like it.”

“Yeah, but I got you this year’s design.”

“All the more reason I can’t accept it. I’ll just keep the one from last year. You take the new one.”

“But I bought it for you!”

“I can’t accept it.”

“Look Woman, why would I want this piece-of-crap fleece when I’ve got my own top-of-the-line Polartec 300 Series water-resistant jacket?”

Gee. When you put it that way….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Before I got married, I vowed when I had kids I’d never be the kind of lame person who spent my weekends working on my house and yard. I would, instead, head to the hills whilst hiking and biking to my little married heart’s content.

Guess what? Reality bites. Work is all we’ve done lately as we prepare for Junior’s arrival next month. Landscaping has been eating up the majority of our time the past couple of months. I have vowed that if we ever build a house again, I will ensure we have ample provisions to pay good money for someone else to do it. After all, that’s my mantra when it comes to sewing; why not yardwork as well?

Our biggest project last weekend was painting Junior’s room. I previously had great aspirations for his abode–cool wall hangings, borders and cooler-than-cool chalkboard paint for him to scribble above his bed. Guess what? Reality bites. In the end, we just slapped down a coat of paint and called it good. Perhaps if we wax ambitious in the next few weeks we’ll drag ourselves back in there. But it’s not like he really cares what his nursery looks like, right?

As part of our painting process, we moved all the furniture out of Junior’s room, including a couple of twin beds. We placed one in Haddie’s room beside her crib while we painted. When it came time for her nap, she was thrilled to see a “big-girl bed” in her room. And then I got a “brilliant idea” (mind you, brilliance is relative when exhausted and overworked): I would choose this month of all months to transition her to a real bed from her crib.

It started great! We snuggled up in the bed , kissed bye-bye and I walked out. She started to get up to explore her room but I reminded her one of the privileges of sleeping in a big-girl bed is actually staying in it. And she did. A half hour later, I peeked in on her and she was curled up in a little ball. I was so touched by how she was growing up that I dragged Jamie with paint-stained hands into her room to see. “Touching,” Mr. Monotone warily stated.

We continued painting but before long we heard her cries again. “She’ll just go back down. It’s way too early,” I prophesied. And it was. But the different denominator this time was she was not sequestered in her jail….errr…crib. Mr. Monotone cast me an “I told you so glance” and suddenly my stupidity struck me: why the crap would I want to set the world’s worst sleeper loose? Ever since her suicide attempt a couple of months ago when she launched out of her crib in rebellion over Binky’s “disappearance,” the only thing we have going for us is she’s resolved that life is better on the Inside than the Outside. Prison breaks only result in pain and suffering.

And so I stuck her back in her crib. And she slept through the night. At least I think she did. All I know is she wasn’t knocking on my door or disassembling her bedroom. At the rate we’re going, she’ll probably get parole in six months. Or would that be years?….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog