irrelevant nausea

My tummy hurts, I'm nauseated and dizzy. Dizzyness is just part of my personality lately.

This has caused my work to be a buzz of how I am either really scared of needles or pregnant - neither topic actually discussed in my presence and both false.

So the fact that today I'm focused on: 1) Remaining upright and not sleeping underneath my desk and, 2) Not vomiting didn't help.

On Mondays, I have to sit at the front desk to give the receptionist time for lunch. This usually requires rejecting cries for free legal advice, calling of campus police when the crazies show up and looking generally knowledgeable, friendly and helpful.

Today I hunched over the keyboard transferring calls while sipping Sprite and nibbling on table crackers.

Co-worker: "Sarah, are you feeling OK?"
Me: "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."
Co-worker: "Oh I see you are eating crackers and drinking Sprite. How long have you been married?"
Me: "Irrelevant and unrelated."

Excuse me, I have to go vomit up my Sprite.

random friday: life changes and joe mauer's thighs

I got a haircut yesterday with my new favorite stylist Amy. We talked about what our husbands did for jobs. How we met them. When we got married. What it's like for her to have her son attending preschool for the first time and if it's wise to buy him a backpack. (I voted yes and choose this one.)

Then we talked about who my ob/gyn was, mostly the "gyn" part for me. She told me to switch clinics to the one a floor down from my current doctor. We talked about The Business of Being Born documentary and how she was in labor naturally for 50 hours. FIFTY with no drugs!

We talked about the cost of daycare. Budgeting and living with no cable. Plus what good kid shows are on PBS and instant Netflix.

As I left to pay, I thought "wow, really?" Five years ago my conversations with my hairdresser were about things like what I wanted to be when I grew up and how I thought I could live in a crappy apartment in NYC as long as on weekends I could visit Central Park.

I wouldn't change my current life for anything. But wow.

In other news:
- Running has been hard. For the first mile, my legs always feel stiff and heavy. And it's really really hot. I've run a few times on the treadmill and realized how much easier that is and how unprepared I'd feel if I didn't train outside - an activity I used to thoroughly hate.

- The six-day heat advisory ends tonight! Hallelujah!  Correction: The heat advisory was extended ANOTHER day through late Saturday. We're supposed to expect "even more oppressively humid day." I'm mad but I am not sure at who. We'll be in Minnesota next week where the high is only supposed to be 72. Possibly even chilly!

- This weekend we have a friend visiting from Minnesota. I love having an excuse to explore and try new restaurants.

- Turns out, the Yankees baseball team works out at our gym when they are in town. So do the Twins. What?! I'm totally skipping work one day to lift weights with Joe Mauer and his massive thighs.

- Links for you to check out because that's what my Friday blog posts are for:

• Life lessons on a chalkboard
• Luckily I have changed my running route otherwise I would have most definitely ran past this.
• Insanely beautiful new high school. This is what happens when your taxpayers are rich.
• If you haven't seen it already, watch this kitten video.
• And of course, a yummy recipe.

Have a wonderful and fabulous weekend!

kitten anxiety

This kitten needs a home.

A friend of a friend found this itty bitty guy in a drain near her house. And then sent pictures that were very hard to resist. So for the last 24 hours we've been filled with kitten anxiety.

In general, I struggle to make decisions - haunted by the "but what ifs." We think we may have a route to get reduced costs with getting kitten fixed and vaccinated which was initially our biggest concern. But the next problem is this ball of grumpiness:

Pica loves me. And this love is fairly exclusive. In Pica's ideal world, she'd always be safely two inches from my face without anyone to compete with like a husband or a dog. But Pica did adjust to her new brother, Mac.

The two siblings chase each other in circles around the couch. Mac frequently grooms Pica's ears. When they first met, Pica spent most of her time underneath the bed. Now, they've been known to share a bed, couch and even a lap.

Then there is the problem of our 900 square foot apartment that doesn't even have a bedroom door. So with the two of us, three pets and maybe a baby someday, it seems rather naive to think we'd all have enough space to ourselves. And maybe we don't even want another cat and just are getting baby fever. 

But, then there is the possibility that kitten would make Pica motherly and keep her company when we leave her for the weekend. Or she might get territorial and rip its face off. 

Cats are pretty low maintenance but do I really want two cats trying to drink out of my water glass, sleep on top of my face, dirty the litter box and fur up the couch?

But it is SO ADORABLE.

ice in the underwear

On one of our recent road trips I was reading blogs on Shea's iPhone. And several posts about what life is like after giving birth - the physical part - made me have to put my head between my knees. On more than one occasion.

I am not seeking these blogs out. They are finding me at every turn. Haunting me.

I have spent the last few weeks asking everyone I know who has had a child if this horror is really true. My mom rolled her eyes (OK, it was on the phone but I guarantee she was doing it) and told me "that's ridiculous." Mother-in-law says I'll just love my baby so much that I won't care. My friend Kristin says it's just like a bad period. I also think they are all lying.

But these blogs, yikes. There are tales of wearing ice packs in your underwear. One girl took notes on her iPhone each time she went to the bathroom. Blood. Tearing. Pain. Fear. I can't tell you more. My breakfast is now in my throat, and I am crossing my legs with alarming strength.

Then there are the picture of stomachs that look like cottage cheese. And in all honestly, I am quite fond of my tummy. I don't mind having to workout to lose weight but if the texture of my skin resembles curdled milk...ACK.  My mom says this is also silly. I was born in November and she was back to her starting weight of 110, and then five pounds lighter by spring. With no trace of a stretch mark. Thank God we share genes.

We're not even talking about babies really. Which is why I emailed Shea this morning to tell him I'd like to wait to have kids until they develop a way to have children pain and gross free. But also naturally because despite all this information, I am still determined to give birth naturally. Because if you couldn't already tell, I am crazy.

dark-haired midget children

Shea: "Well, I think I'd like to be 27 before we had a baby."
Sarah: "ummm...what?"
Shea: "OMG! Am I 26 right now?"
Sarah: "Yes, yes you are."

We've been talking about babies. And their timing. And whether we want one of those. Basically because it's a requirement that after you get married you start having baby fever - the kind of fever that two Tylenol does not cure, and you still have to go to school.

Somedays I really want one mostly so that I can buy it clothes, and little blankets with ducks on them. Plus it'll be neat to see what happens when our genes merge though our kids are most likely going to be dark-haired midgets. It's like one big science experiment! And then I get to name it, which I've been doing for decades with stuffed animals and dolls as fill-ins. Peter the rabbit, Shaggy the dog, the Bad Gorilla (he never did well in fake school) and Brownie the brown bear. With this trend, we'll probably be introducing our kids as Short the boy and Pigtails the girl.

There are other days when I am fine waiting. First, because I cannot imagine a baby coming out of there. But mostly because sometimes I really enjoy my time with Shea. It's not really the happy hours or vacations. It's more just being able to come home, make dinner, have a glass of wine and watch back-to-back episodes of whatever TV show we're going through. I like getting up at 5:30 am to run and going to bed at 9 p.m. without interruptions.

I worry about no sleep. About the fact that I do not really like little babies. Except when they are on Etsy with their teeny tiny arms folded underneath their head with a cute knitted hat. Those ones are cute. But when they are spitting up on my shoulder, which is possibly the worst smell ever, I do not like them. I worry about miscarriages and SIDS. I worry that when we start trying (dear family members: we are NOT trying so back your truck right on up.), it will take forever. And then I will have to be on fertility drugs. And then I will have EIGHT babies. Or maybe we'll try, and it will never happen. Then I will have to do a lot of research on how to adopt children from Haiti without being jailed for kidnapping.

Also, I have a tilted uterus.