Notice the gray cardigan. 
First thought that came to mind: Lop-sided.Last night, I planned on going to see Friday the 13th, and I teased Joshua, who absolutely hates horror movies, that he was going to have to take me. After he sent me a beautiful bouquet of roses yesterday, I started feeling a little guilty about forcing him to see a movie he clearly had no interest in seeing. I’ve been trying to think more like a parent recently, so I decided to get on this website called Kids-In-Mind Movie Reviews to find out how awful this Friday the 13th movie might be. For those that have not visited this website, it provides literally everything that is in any movie, down to the number of swear words, sex scenes, and in terms of Friday the 13th, the number of graphic beheadings. It includes almost every major movie released in the past ten (10) years or so with new releases added each week. So, I looked up Friday the 13th. I won’t tell you everything that was in the movie review itself, but I will tell you that the words “thrust” and “bare-breasted” appeared numerous times….and that was before I even got to the “Violence & Gore” section. This fine film also features fifty-nine (59) F-words! Fifty-Nine! That is just disgusting! Even though my unborn child probably has yet to develop ears, his or her mother decided that we would not be worth risking the possibility that he or she would hear that level of profanity. So, the overbearing and overprotective parenting begins while Pistachio is still in the womb.
Instead of watching the vulgar and potentially pornographic blood bath, we elected to see Confessions of a Shopaholic, a peppy and delightful PG-rated chick flick that I absolutely loved. Joshua was equally unenthused and preferred to remain at the Farm to feed his cows and play computer games. After the beautiful flowers, he effectively earned a pass. Emily, Lindsay, and I headed off for an early movie, and after a quick dinner at Quizno’s, we went the Sapulpa Cinema 8. We loaded up on Hot Tamales and Twizzlers, and then we went to the arcade at the movie theater and played air hockey until, to be honest, we got a little sweaty. During our sweaty air hockey tournament, I started reflecting on our little outing: Three twenty-something girls seeing a 6:45 PM PG movie at a tiny theater in Sapulpa and playing air hockey with reckless abandon on a dirty table covered in greasy fingerprints in an arcade where half of the games are out-of order. I have to admit I loved our awkward and completely random Friday night, and it got me thinking about all of the fabulously awkward and ridiculously uncool things I’ve done since I learned of my oh-so-delicate condition.
- First, I literally have not worn my jeans since I discovered my pregnancy. Instead, I’ve elected to wear some variation of yoga or work pants. I have this complex that the button on my jeans is putting undue pressure on my unborn child’s head. I don’t want our child to come out of womb with “Gap Jeans” emblazoned on its forehead. I feel the same way when I see little babies wearing headbands. That headband could literally be squeezing that child’s brain cells, but its mother thinks (wrongly) that it looks cute so she is willing to take a risk. Well, not me. Pistachio Almond Allison will not be squished by a metal button, and if Pistachio happens to be a girl, she can wear a little pink bow rather than a gaudy polka-dot headband. She will thank me later. My pants, however, are not the trendiest items in my wardrobe. Last weekend, I went to the movie with my buddy, Lisa, in black velour pants, Coach tennis shoes, and my Celine Dion t-shirt. She did not say a word about it, but frankly, I was a little embarrassed for her to be seen with me.
- I wear an oversized, neutral-colored cardigan sweater with almost everything. T-Shirts, dress blouses, tank tops…all are equally complimented by the infamous pregnant lady, gray cardigan. Occasionally, I dress the cardigan up with some oversized matching gray pearls. Other times, I simply embrace the fact that I look like a chubby school marm.
- I eat some variation of a turkey sandwich almost every day. It is a healthy option that does not seem to inspire Pistachio Almond to do water aerobics in my stomach. The people at Subway in the Bristow know me. They practically begin to make the Turkey on Wheat when I walk through the door.
- I eat an inordinate amount of green beans, my very favorite vegetable since I was a little girl. In fact, I have a pot of fresh green beans cooking on my stove as I write this little blog entry. Our unborn child must also be a fan of Hormel and Green Giant.
- I also shuffle to the bathroom several times a night and fight the urge to sleep in my desk chair around 2 PM every day.
- I took a foot stool to my office so I could secretly prop my feet up under my desk while I meet with clients. A friend told me that a little old lady she used to work with had a foot stool like mine under her desk. She probably had orthopedic shoes and a chain for her glasses too. I don’t judge.
This morning, I went to Wal-Mart in Bristow sans make-up in my oversized sweat shirt and yoga pants. I pulled my disheveled bed-head hair into a pony tail without even brushing it. I may or may not have worn a bra. Joshua and I went to grab some groceries for our stay-at-home Valentine’s Day dinner tonight, but I was distracted by the music department. I found a new two disc Celine Dion greatest hits CD, and I was truly overwhelmed. The clerk at Wal-Mart even overcharged me for the CD, but I didn’t care because Celine is worth an extra four dollars. We drove home listening to Celine and Andrea Bocelli at almost full volume, and I may have squeezed out a tiny tear. My feeling is that these little incidents represent only the beginning of what will hopefully be a long road of silly and awkward behavior as a new parent. I take comfort in knowing that it will probably be at least twelve or thirteen more years before Pistachio (with eyes rolling) truly realizes what a weirdo I am.
