Monday, May 09, 2005

Please Don't Expect a Gift...

I have to say, I hate birthdays. And not just my own. I hate other people's, because it means trying to come up with another gift idea. I'm one of those people who really stresses myself out over coming up with the perfect gift. The one that the person will open and weep for hours over while saying "how did you know? How did you know?"

Of course, I have yet to reach this impossible goal. I have gotten a few "wow, that's a great gift" and so the pressure only mounts with each new holiday and birthday. Sigh.

When Sweetie Pie and I got married, I loved being registered. And the fam said how much they loved us being registered, because it meant that they could buy us all of our crap for birthdays, Christmas, even President's Day and Arbor Day if they were inclined to buy us gifts to celebrate those. So why can't everyone just be obligated to maintain a registry at all times. It wouldn't have to be china and flatware and other stuff that you only think you need when you get married (and subsequently don't use most of the stuff, like Sweetie Pie's "got to have" milkshake maker (apparently a blender wasn't sufficient. Total uses of said milkshake maker: 1) or my breadmaker (total uses: 2. Five pounds of bread mix still waiting to be used in pantry though, because of course I bought an industrial size box at Sam's Club) I'm talking like whatever it is you want. A digital camera. A pony. Brad Pitt. Whatever you'd want, you'd just put it on there.

And hopefully your family and friends would love you enough to actually buy that for you. And then everyone would be happy.

I mention all of this because yesterday was Mother's Day. Half of the time, I bail out on the whole thing by sending my mother flowers, because I can't think of something to buy, and then it's too late for me to ship to Canada, and boom, there it is mom, some crappy overpriced flowers that are going to die three days later. Thanks for enduring labor for me and for loving me despite being treated like crap during my teenage years!

This year, luckily with the pregnancy, I was able to come up with a good present. Found a frame that said "cutest baby" on it, made copies of the baby boy's sonogram picture and boom! Great mother's day present. But now, my father's b-day is coming up, and then three weeks later is Father's Day. This all for a man who is impossible to buy for. Sigh...

When I was telling Sweetie Pie about my anxiety over finding two gifts for him, he snarkily replied "why don't you use your old standby of giving him a picture of us." Now this made me mad.

One, because it sounds obnoxious. Two, because even though I do admit to giving people pictures of us in the past, it was all for a good reason. We'd gotten engaged. We'd gotten married. And then, there was the time where we did something else that made it ok to give people pictures of ourselves.

Plus, this was only used as a gift for immediate family. It's not like I gave the mailman a frame with our picture in it for Christmas! Actually, considering we didn't give him anything, he might have actually liked the frame. He could have just tossed the picture really.

If any of you faithful readers have crazy sex fantasies about me, the following is about to put it all to an end. My mid-section now makes me resemble a middle-aged white man. I'm talking Jim Belushi or Jason Alexander.

I know... sexy.

I don't know what happened. I mean, I do know WHAT happened, I got pregnant, but I don't know how my gut just expanded in the last couple of weeks. Three weeks ago, I was fine. Not fine when I was naked, but dressed, I didn't even look pregnant, dependent on proper clothing of course. A bikini would not have served the purpose, obviously. The point is that now, my belly button is giving up on being an innie, it's so shallow that it won't even hold lint anymore and if I only open one side of our bathroom door, I can barely fit sideways. In two weeks, I'm thinking I'll need to open the second door to go to the bathroom. Scary, scary notion.

Here is a scary thought... I know that people say that the brain shrinks during pregnancy. I know that it makes me forget things (like this morning, where I may have called a potential client the wrong name during my entire 40 mn conversation with him, but I'm so forgetful, that I don't even remember if I did call him the wrong name) but does it also make you like bizarre things?

I don't know if I mentioned this, but Sweetie Pie and I are currently renovating our house to put it on sale to buy a larger house. Sweetie Pie no longer wants to share an office with me, afraid that he will some day strangle me with my keyboard's cord (since I type way too loud apparently) and with the amount of crap a baby needs, we're just out of room for three people, two dogs and two cats. Anyway, we were looking at houses online yesterday for fun. And then there it was. The craziest MF house I've ever seen. It's a log cabin... In Texas... On 2 acres of land... And it's HUGE! With wood panelling in every room... And it has a basketball court... And a tennis court... And we laughed at it...

And then I fell in love with it.

It was in our price range. It was funny and didn't make sense and to me, it was me as a house. Random, doesn't make sense and yet endearing. All the things that I strive to be.

And now I want it. Surely, there isn't going to be another pregnant woman who happens to stumble onto it during the next two months while our house sells and snatches it from me.

The fact that no one else will ever want this house does kind of scare me, because let's face it, property value wise, not sure it's the best investment. But love doesn't have to make sense does it? After all, I'm a Canadian ex-vegetarian democrat who thinks Hummers are the devil and married to a Republican Texan hunter who dreams of 3/4 ton trucks. And that's worked out great.

So why can't my log cabin?

Love,

Catwoman.

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