Today I had back to back appointments — first with Isa, my physical therapist and then with totally in-demand midwife extraordinaire, Sylvie Blaustein. Both of whom recommended more sex if I am really hoping to get this baby to come early. Okay, Mike? Close your eyes and imagine the Urban Outfitters catalog or whatever you gotta do, buddy- but we need to get some prostaglandins up in here.
But YO- I was having a GRUMPY day, all. Do you ever have a day where everything annoys? The first email I sent today was to my friend Deirdre just announcing that I hate the phrase “There’s the rub” and anytime “rub” is used as a noun. Not only did she not find this type of email from me random or strange but she completely agreed.
Later in the day, even memories of completely irrelevant pop cultural detritus were annoying me. I was hoofing my way over to the midwife when the jingle for Bagel Bites Pizza Bagels came into my head. For those of you who don’t remember it went, “Pizza in the mornin’, pizza in the evenin’, pizza at supper time… when pizza’s on a bagel, you can eat pizza anytime!” The message being that “now you can feel good about giving your kids pizza!” – WTF??? Why can’t I have pizza anytime without it being on a bagel? And what time do they assume I want pizza anyway? This is America- we can all have ANY food at ANY time, be it bagel-based or not. It’s not like a bagel is some ultra portable pizza conveyance.
And what of these claims about feeling good about giving them pizza because it’s on a bagel? A bagel is not any healthier than the dough that pizza is typically comprised of – in fact IT IS IDENTICAL TO IT. Ugh! Maddening!
The other one? Oh I was just remembering that hideous show ‘Blossom’ and how totally annoying it was that her older brother Tony was constantly bringing up his rebel/ junkie past. Like can we get through ONE episode of this lousy show without him bringing up rehab or making a joke about jail? No. We can’t. That guy sucked so hard.
After all that mental anguish and a too long wait in the Dante’s Inferno-like waiting room of the midwives’ office (I’m all about being green but it is about 85+ in there. More than the fetus and I can handle at this point), I needed to hit up Bouchon Bakery. My mom treated me to some macarons because, why not, I am already pure sumo, what’s another few pounds?
Soon I will go home and preen myself as best I can before Mike gets home from fencing. Perhaps I will rub hot dogs and Lucky Charms on myself so that he is attracted to my scent…