I have Mondays off. This sounds fantastic, but you have to factor in that it means that I work 4 ten hour days at my job. Tuesday-Friday, I am owned by the preschool. But actually…. it is pretty fantastic.
When I started this schedule about two years ago, I was so excited to have a day where I could stay in my pajamas, drink expensive coffee drinks, and work on some projects. Most of those projects turned out, surprisingly, to be watching re-runs of Dawson’s Creek and Bones and imagining a scene where I could get David Boreanaz and Joshua Jackson to fight over me because of my stunning Joey-like intellect and dry-Temperance-like sense of humor. Only David Boreanaz would have to do a lot of looking really serious and then smiling the little crooked half smile while saying really sweet things, and Joshua Jackson wouldn’t be allowed to talk at all. It would be a good fight.
As we approach Advent Baby, however, these projects have turned to be much more domestic and, dare I say, productive. Today, for example, I need to do the following things:
-Doctor’s appt at 130
-Order Wings for Spicy Wing Night and go pick them up. I am having four girls over tonight, including myself, in the hopes that the spicy food will scare Skirty out of her hiding place. Although I am not sure I really want my water breaking in front of my girlfriends. I mean, we’re close, but amniotic fluid close? That’s true friendship. (And for those of you worried about Mitch, he has opted to come home, change clothes, shower, and then meet his mom for some thrift shopping. Because thrift shopping with your Mom is a much, much, much better idea than being in the range of fire when you get five girls together and four of them are drinking and one of them is your 9 month pregnant wife. And I’m totally serious about this.)
-Put Away Laundry, to free up clothes baskets to put the new dirty laundry in. I don’t know why I bother with this, since my husband is incapable of putting his clothes in a hamper. I wonder if this stems from some childhood memory of taking off his underwear, placing it delicately in the hamper, and then suddenly THE FLOOR OPENED UP AND SWALLOWED HIM, CHEWED HIM UP, AND SPIT HIM BACK OUT. It must be, because otherwise, I think that after five years of me crabbing at him he would have figured it out. I’ve kind of stopped crabbing at him now, for fear that it may bring back terrible memories of the FLOOR MONSTER. Freudian therapy may be needed.
-Wash dishes, so that my friends have something to eat off of tonight, because I’ve heard that some people don’t actually like to just throw food in the air and take bites at it, which is my preferred method of eating anything. Especially wings. It makes it like a Russian Roulette– who will end up with hot sauce in their nose? In their eye? Randomly, in their belly button?
-Vacuum, because my mother-in-law is coming over tonight and I haven’t vacuumed since last time she was here and I told her not to do it because I would. I’ve been told that it’s very important for daughters-in-law to make believe as though we are taking just as good care of their husbands as their mother-in-laws would be. Have any of you met my mother-in-law? She’s like a force of nature. She came over to my apartment last week and suddenly I had SHELVES, and the baby’s things were put away NEATLY. And also the freezer had FOOD in it that was HANDMADE. In addition, the kitchen floor was sticky no longer, and instead replaced with something shiny and smelled nice. The bathtub was restored to it’s original color of freshly-killed salmon, rather than two-week-old rotting salmon. The only way I can keep up appearances like I am actually taking care of Mitch rather than letting him fend for himself in an apartment that may or may not cause syphilis just by walking in bare feet is to suspend the curtain of disbelief and actually one hundred percent MAKE BELIEVE.
-Check the bathroom to make sure that it is GIRL clean, not Frat-Boy clean, which is generally how Mitch and I like it. I say that we ‘like’ it that way because that is the way that we KEEP it, and if we didn’t LIKE it that way, I assume that one of us would take the initiative to fix it. The force is strong with this one.
-Take some things back to Target that I don’t want anymore, and also buy some things that I want. I need a lot of picture frames suddenly. And also a shower caddy, because every time my husband showers he knocks down my collection of shampoo bottles, and it makes me sit straight up in bed and curse. And if the bottles bouncing around in there doesn’t wake up the baby, I’m certain that my cursing will. I’ve been planning for months to blame it on him being such a giant that he knocks things over, but I know that he will just throw right back at me that WHO IN GOD’S NAME NEEDS TWENTY BOTTLES OF SHAMPOO, and then I will try to explain to him that a girl has to switch shampoos every few days or we get BUILD UP, and I don’t really know what that is, but it makes me imagine taking candle wax and pouring it over my head. And then Mitch will pull out THIS one: “Well, YOU don’t need to worry about that because you are BEAUTIFUL and your hair is always PERFECT.” I am embarrassed to admit how many times he has won an argument with this statement. It has also saved us probably a million dollars in cosmetics.
-Buy two birthday presents, because both our brothers have February birthdays. My mother-in-law does, too, but I decided that this year I am giving her a granddaughter, which is, after all, the gift that keeps on giving. Something tells me that our brothers would rather have something made out of plastic. Or cash.
-Figure out a side dish for tonight. I was going to make corn bread and sweet potato fries, but then I remembered that at some point in the last few weeks one of us made a colossal spill in our oven, and neither of us have cleaned it out yet so the oven smokes up something terrible when we use it. For the first time in what seems like ten years, I was actually able to use ‘I’m Pregnant!’ as an excuse, and for once, it was valid. My husband, however, got to use the ‘I Haven’t Cleaned The Oven Yet, Someday I’ll Get to It’ Excuse, which somehow still worked. I’ve noticed with him that giving him a honey-do list implies, to me, that he will do it, but to him is more like a vague and random suggestion of how he could possibly use that free two hours he has every morning before he goes to work, if he feels like it and there are no new episodes of Modern Marvels on Hulu. They should change the name “Honey-Do” to “YOU DO THIS OR I SWEAR, NO SEX FOR FOUR YEARS” and I’ll bet that husbands the world over would suddenly find themselves to be quite the handy-man with all kinds of free time they never realized they had before.
-Clean the kitchen at least a little bit so that no one will be afraid of catching a disease while eating here. Everyone who has eaten in my kitchen has gone on to live normal, healthy lives, except for a few people who I think may have all ready been a little chemically unbalanced when they got here. I promise that my lack of maintenance in that area of the house had nothing to do with it, nor did my terrible cooking, which I keep forcing the people close to me to choke down, as if I keep forgetting that I am married to a freaking chef. If we got rid of the kitchen all together and replaced it with a wall panel that dispensed coffee, peanut butter, and fruit, I would probably not even notice.
You can see how, after making this list, I am so exhausted. Exhausted from the crippling sensation of HOW WILL I DO ALL OF THIS and overly pervasive thoughts of calling in sick to my life.
Lots of people get that nice sense of accomplishment after they spend a day doing things. Not this one. When I start doing things and then the whole day goes by, when I get into bed and look back at my day and see all the things I did, I want to weep, mourning all the beautiful relaxation time that I have wasted GETTING THINGS DONE. This is not one of my most attractive qualities.
Our due date is Saturday. It’s my goal that by Monday Skirty will have AT LEAST learned how to fold her own clothes and wash herself, otherwise my mother-in-law had better just move in.