Putting things into perspective

So after I wrote my jealousy post on Friday, I went out for some much-needed retail therapy that ended up useless. (You know you're beyond being helped when all you can figure out to buy is double-sided scotch tape and it makes you feel a blend of frustrated and accomplished.)

I eventually gave up aimlessly wandering the aisles of Target and came back home to work on the book. I was buoyed by some good writing I got done (much more so than the scotch tape I bought), and I thought I was doing better overall when J called around 6 on his way home from work. The conversation was pretty much as follows:

J: "Hey Sugar Bug."

Me: "Hi, Love."

J: "I'm on my way home, how's everything been?"

Me (in a dejected tone): "It's been okay. . ."

J: "Why? What happened?"

Me (wanting to talk about it later): "I don't know. . ."

J: "Yeah you do. Out with it."

Me: "Well. . ."

And this is the point where I broke down and started to cry, which even surprised me. What the hell was wrong with me? I felt like such an idiot! I didn't know if it was all these pregnancy hormones or the fact that not only was I feeling this way, but I was actually admitting such a petty, stupid thing out loud, but I devolved into a blubbering mess. J was more than concerned because he had no idea what was going on, but I told him I'd tell him in person when he got home, then I said bye, trudged to our bedroom, and had a good 10-minute sob-fest alone in bed.

And as trivial as it all rationally felt, it was the best emotional cleansing. Sometimes a good cry has that effect. Did I still feel like crap after the sob-fest? Yeah, but not as much. And when J got home, he saw me sitting there all puffy and red-faced and gave me a big hug, which made me feel even better. Then I admitted everything to him about the jealousy and what this blogger had done and instead of making me feel like a piffling idiot, he smiled (later telling me he was relieved it wasn't something more More Serious) and told me he understood where I was coming from. Then we discussed professional jealousy and he said it sounded like I needed some Coldstone's ice cream, which we went and got after I touched up my tear-stricken makeup. Like I said, I don't know what I'd do without this man.

I feel much better now that I've had the weekend to sort things out. I guess I was just missing a healthy dose of perspective on Friday. Sometimes we need to reach out -- no matter how hard it is or how prideful we are -- and let those closest to us validate our feelings but also tell it like it is. Does that mean I shouldn't feel jealous sometimes? That it's wrong? Of course not. I'm only human. Sure, I could pretend to be all positive and confident 100-percent of the time, but that would be the biggest load of bullshit ever because I'm convinced no one is this way, even the people that pretend to be (and who generally annoy me since it's obviously an act.)

On a happier note, my sister threw a big baby shower for me on Saturday afternoon and it was wonderful. All my close friends and family were there (well, a few people out of state were missing, but I knew they would've come if they could have). It was perfect -- with good food, good conversation and good people. The theme was Parisian Bébé (obviously) with lots of cute little Eiffel Tower napkins and plates and other decor. As evidenced by this picture of pure glee, I had the best time and couldn't have asked for a better party:

Jealousy rears its ugly head

Sometimes it's so hard for me not to be consumed by jealousy.

Most of the time I'm not jealous at all. In fact, most of the time I'm genuinely happy when things work out for people close to me or for people I tangentially know through these interwebs. I like seeing people's lives work out for the best. Sure, it's a little hard to stomach when I hear someone's just married into a seven-figure relationship, bought a manor in an exclusive gated community (and they're my age) or become an overnight celebrity off some YouTube video or blog post. But most of the time, I'm pleased with other people's progress. Much of the time I even look up to these people, and want to be "just like them," which is awesome because then I have Real Life rolemodels, and not just ones on television shows or in the pages of People Magazine.

But last night, as I was casually browsing Twitter -- something I haven't done in the last six months -- I decided to check in with a handful of bloggers I used to follow and converse with through blogger comments and the like. So I clicked on each name like a fool, happy to see where they were now and how much they'd done in the last year or so. Some had Baby #2, others moved to bigger and better jobs, some had bought houses.

Everything was roses and sunshine until I clicked on a certain blogger's name and noticed she'd changed her profile. Drastically. Like her resume had undergone some huge, made-for-TV makeover and now she was living in a completely different echelon of life, all thanks to some fateful things that happened to her within the last six months or so. The stars, it seemed, had more than aligned for her. And what was the first thing I felt? Complete and utter jealousy. So much jealousy, in fact, that in the middle of the night, while J slept next to me, the recent events in her life kept gnawing at my brain like a teething puppy, and so I took my smartphone to the bathroom and sat there on the toilet at 2am, googling her and and trying to figure out how this had all happened.

Why did I do this? Because what happened to her is EXACTLY what I've wanted for the past five years. (The details of which shall go unwritten since I don't want to disclose her identity.) I needed to wrap my brain around the fact that this type of thing did happen to normal people like her (and well, not me. . .yet). I know I should be happy for her even though I don't know her in "real life," but it's so hard to be happy for someone who now has what you've always wanted. Did she earn it? Of course she did. I'm not saying everything fell into her lap without (probably) a lot of hard work, but I can't help but think that she got what she got thanks to hitting a sweet spot on a current trend and cashing in. Her timing, most likely not planned, was flawless. Maybe that's just my jealousy talking.

I try to "rise above it" and "be an adult" and all those other things you hear when you're man (or woman) enough to admit that yes, something someone has or has recently experienced (like the stars aligning perfectly) makes you see green, but it's hard. How am I supposed to "rise above" something that I wish for every. single. day. of my life?

I woke up feeling totally blah today, thanks to fumes of my online discovery still fresh in my mind. I'll probably feel this way for the rest of the day. I don't know if even retail therapy can help. I wish I hadn't checked in with people's profiles last night because what did I expect? Someone was bound to have become a huge success during the last year. All the bloggers I followed were bright, inspirational women -- this one included. Her good news should come as no surprise to anyone, including me. My mother always taught me not to compare myself, but sometimes it's so hard not to. In situations like this it feels like the natural thing to do, even though rationally I know it isn't.

How do you rise above jealousy?

Always late but worth the wait

Wow. Has it really been three months since I last blogged? This is both highly unacceptable and highly unbelievable. Where has the time gone? The last three months have gone by so fast, and so much has happened since my last post. . .

First off, I turned 30 in April (insert giddy exclamation marks here). Overall the experience was a little underwhelming. I guess I assumed that turning 30 meant undergoing some giant epiphany about life and the future and all those "adult" things you see in movies. But let's be honest, I pretty much have life figured out so there were no new lessons learned. All I found out is that Swiss fondue really is my favorite dinner food (nom nom) and I can't get enough of fresh fruit tarts (another double nom). My parents surprised me with a nice Canon Rebel camera as a birthday present since I've been wanting one to take more professional-quality pics once the bébé arrives, and J bought me a little gold feather "freebird" necklace from Nordstroms that I've wanted. I was a little worried (read: ready to punch him in the face) that J wouldn't be spending my birthday with me since he had a trial set that week and had been staying up late every night leading up to April preparing his case, but luckily the case settled the week before my 30th so all was copacetic in our household. Thirtieth birthdays, after all, only come once in a lifetime.

Know what else comes once in a lifetime? (Well, once if you're lucky?) Five-year wedding anniversaries. . . which is what J and I will be celebrating on July 20th!! I can't believe it's already been five years since we tied the knot, but I guess you know you're in love when five years feels like five days. We don't have anything planned at the moment (although let's face it, a trip to Italy would be divine -- and also completely unrealistic), but we'll probably spend it picnicking in Napa for the day, maybe eat at a nice restaurant that night. I really have no clue and for the first time that I can remember, it doesn't bother me. Who am I? It's funny: The older I get, all I care about is just spending quality time with him. We don't need to do anything extravagant for me to be happy. Some of my favorite times with J are holding hands in the car on our way somewhere, or lying on a blanket together in a park. Sometimes it all feels too perfect, like I'll wake up one day without him and find out it never happened. But then I wonder why can't some love stories be nearly perfect? For right now it is and it has been and I hope it stays that way till we're into our 90s. For now just looking over at him reading before we fall asleep is all it takes to make me smile:

Aside from home remodeling, the past few months I've been busy writing and am happy to report that I've just hit about 100 pages into my newest book idea. I don't know whether it's all these extra hormones flying off me or maybe bébé is my new muse, but I feel a rush of creativity and I suddenly have the daily motivation to do something about it. Strange, right? When I'm not writing I want to be drawing or painting or doing something creative. It's a wonderful feeling, and I'm so appreciative that I have the freedom to do as much or as little as I want of all of this on an everyday basis. No excuses.

In other news, bébé is set to arrive in five and a half weeks! My hunt for Peter Rabbit-themed decor has petered out like a deflated fart over the last few months, so I decided to go with a French Garden theme for the nursery and it's coming along well. We put her crib together a couple weeks ago and bought her a little bassinet to sleep in by our bed after she's born. J also hung a crystal chandelier for me in the center of the nursery, giving the room a very French feel, and he was hard at work yesterday stripping a cute little French cabinet I found at a consignment store recently. The cabinet is an ugly walnut color now (think Grandma furniture on steroids), but we plan to antique it and give it a very Restoration Hardware feel. It'll go perfectly next to her crib. :D Once I'm done with the nursery I'll post pics.

And finally, (in case you're wondering what I look now) here's my burgeoning bump: 

So far this pregnancy has been beyond smooth in the sailing department. I've had no sickness, I'm not that exhausted, I have yet to waddle and so far I've gained just under 20 pounds. Pregnancy, it seems, really agrees with me.

Of Target and yellow rompers

Okay, so I know it's way too early to be baby clothes shopping, especially for clothes that'll probably fit her months after birth, but during our massive kitchen remodel this weekend (I'll post pics later) I popped over to Target to pick up some drawer pulls and ended up wandering by the baby clothes section (how does that always happen?). Of course I couldn't just walk by. Something about that section now has a magnetic pull on me and before I know it I'm wandering the jungle of onesie and dress racks, purring at all the adorable little footie pajamas and cardigans that look like they're made for tiny little garden gnomes.

Such was the case this weekend, and when I spotted this I knew I had to have it:


How adorable is this romper?!? When I brought it home to a paint-covered J who was knee-deep priming our kitchen cabinets, he thought it was too cute as well. So there it is: baby girl's first clothing purchase. My question is how is possible for people to be so small? Secondly, how does it take only nine months for a human this size to form? I'm fascinated.

What we did Easter weekend

While all of you lovelies were out painting eggs, catching bunny rabbits and eating noodle salad, J and I worked our tails off building a new 60-foot fence in our backyard. More out of necessity than choice. During the last storm we had here a few weeks ago, our rotting backyard fence (which was ugly anyway, seriously, the thing looked like it had been implanted from a Favela) blew down, allowing us to stare right into our neighbor's backyard. No privacy whatsoever (I felt so naked and exposed).

Unfortunately with the rains and J's work schedule, we had to wait till Easter weekend to build a brand new fence, but then we hadn't anticipated that most friends (read: men) that could have helped J would be out of town for the holiday. Sooo, it pretty much came down to J moving hundreds of pounds of wood by himself into a cart at Lowe's, moving the wood from cart to rented truck, from rented truck to our front yard, and from our front yard to our back yard. All as I watched and tried to give him moral support. Then he dug out eight 3-foot deep fence post holes across our fence line with a one-man manual auger (this part did not look fun), and poured gravel and concrete into each hole to set the posts. All just on Friday. Saturday and Sunday were spent putting up the backbone of the fence and nailing cedar planks, one by one, down the length of the fence with a hammer (no, we don't own a nail gun). Well, 145 planks and about 1,000 galvanized nails later, our fence was finished.

Measuring/setting fence posts

Putting up planks (ignore our neighbor's ugly in-law unit just over the fence line)

Lola, aka "The Supervisor"

J taking a little break

Finished fence! (above and below)

Oh yes, and on Saturday night we started putting up glass mosaic backsplash in our kitchen (we're currently in the middle of a kitchen remodel as well). A couple months ago J demo-ed the yucky ceramic tile countertops that were in the kitchen when we bought the house and installed granite countertops, but hadn't gotten around to doing backsplash till this weekend. I have to say, I LOVE how it's turning out!:


This next weekend will be completely devoted to the kitchen remodel. Those ugly honey walnut cabinets need to go, stat. We're planning to paint them white and install nice brushed nickel knobs and pulls on all the cabinet doors and drawers. Can't. Wait.

Anyway, back to the fence, the whole time J worked he didn't complain once, even though it was back-breaking and I could tell how bone tired he was. At one point he sawed through part of his finger skin, but kept on going, even though there was blood and I kept telling him he should really put a bandaid on. I feel so lucky to be married to such a great man who can work with both his brain and his hands and slog through even the hardest work without complaining because he knows it's what needs to be done for our family. To me that's the definition of a real man. So yesterday I stopped by a novelty store and bought this trophy for him, just as a funny little way of showing him how much I appreciate him. When I gave it to him last night over dinner he laughed and gave me a big hug, but I meant it. He really is the best husband ever.

It's a...

GIRL!

Here's a picture of her from the ultrasound we had done yesterday. For some reason she stuck her foot up in her face as the doc took the picture. I say she's got "ballerina" written all over her.

There's something in my bed...

"Don't mind me, I'm just cuddling with my Snoogle," I told J a few days ago after we arrived home from BuyBuyBaby with my newest purchase in hand. After unwrapping the thing, it was love at first hug. The Snoogle is one of those total body pregnancy pillow things that looks more like a prop from a Gwar concert than an actual pillow:


Scary, right? But desperate times call for desperate measures. At this point I'm no no longer supposed to "lie on my back," since doing so supposedly cuts off nutrients and other things to Peanut by compressing my "vena cava" (whatever that is), according to my maternity book/bible Your Pregnancy: Week-by-Week. So, in order to avoid waking up on my back in the middle of the night and freaking out over visuals that Peanut is somehow suffocating in my tummy, one little unformed hand on its throat with the other unformed hand helplessly clutching out into the murky depths of my womb for help, I opted to rely on a Snoogle to do all the propping up for me.

The pillow comes with no directions, just a few pictures on the packaging that show you just how versatile it is:


And the first night was bliss. I assumed you were supposed to loop that curly-q end between your knees with your back snuggled in against the pillow, which I did and it was fabulous. I woke up feeling great, and not minding so much that I spent the entire night sleeping on my side. Then night two rolled around.

Sure, the thing was a little awkward to use at first since the hooked end more wants to poke you in the butt than it does want to stay between your legs, but the worst is turning on to your other side to bear hug the thing. This entails you un-entwining your legs from the massive hook between them, which promptly begins poking at your crotch as you try to flip over to face the Snoogle. After a few nights of this I finally understood what it must feel like to wrestle with a jellyfish, albeit under a down comforter and while I'm wearing flannel chihuahua print pajama pants (both not conducive to easy-flipping-over action).

Like a once-exciting fling who now bored me, the Snoogle seemed to have outlived its welcome in my bed. I had just started taking to propping myself up against J when I did some research online yesterday and realized that I was approaching the Snoogle all wrong -- I had been using it upside down the entire time. No wonder it never felt right; I had been outsmarted by a tube of polyester. When I realized how to use the pillow right I couldn't help but think of the opening scene of 2001: A Space Odyssey, but instead of throwing a bone high into the air in slow motion, the Snoogle would be hurled up in its place.

Anyway, hopefully now I'll get a proper night's sleep, since the old back is starting to hurt the and the bump is beginning to show as I'm about to hit the halfway point in this pregnancy!

First baby purchase

Sorry to bore you with all-things-baby, but I've got to highlight these moments in our lives so that we don't forget! This weekend J and I went to BuyBuyBaby to buy ourselves a stroller for Peanut. No jogging prams (hello? do I look like I jog?) or bugaboo designer strollers, just something simple and small that would be easy to manage in claustrophobic Trader Joe's aisles and to fold up fast for airplane rides.

After five minutes it was clear which one I'd fallen in love with: the Graco FastAction Fold Travel Stroller. J was on the fence about it for a few minutes, since he thought the bigger strollers had more to offer, but I LOATHE big strollers. All that bulky plastic seems so unnecessary. So we brought the thing home and I took pictures (naturally) while J put it together. It was surreal watching him click the wheels on and inspect the infant seat; I don't know whether it's the hormones or what but I almost cried from all the sentimentality. He's going to be such a great father.

What I'm looking forward to this month

1.) Mad Men finally returns


Um, has this show been off the air long enough for you all yet? Personally I've been dying -- the past 525 days of it being off air has resulted in me rewatching old episodes multiple times, along with Matt Weiner commentary, to sate my MM fix. I'm very curious to see where Season 5 will go...will Don and Megan actually marry? Will the season fast forward and start a year or two into their marriage? How will Pete be as a real father? Will Betty and Henry finally get a divorce, and if so, will she continue to try and get back into Don's good graces? Will Greg die in Vietnam and leave Joan free to carry on her dalliances with Roger? Would she even want to with Jane still in the picture and a baby on the way? Will Sally blossom into the flower child we all know she's going to be?

So many questions, so little answers in AMC's many teaser trailers. At least the premiere will be a two-hour event. March 25th: You can't come soon enough.

2.) Neiman Marcus opensNot like I'm in that echelon of people that can casually shop at Neiman's like it ain't no thang (yet), but Neiman's is opening in my town and I can't wait. Construction on the building wrapped up a while ago and it looks all retro and lovely as usual, with avocado-green glass panels and the store's classic signature logo pinned nice and high on the side. The day it opens, Neiman's is holding a VIP gala indoors with live music, champagne, decadent foods and other fun things that wealthy people commonly partake in. Unfortch tickets to this gala cost somewhere around $250 per person, and well, with remodeling underway and a baby in our future, $500 on a black-tie night in a high-end department store doesn't seem to be in the cards for J and I. Luckily Neiman's understand this and is hosting a big outdoor party the next evening with live music for the commoners.

3.) We find out what Peanut is!


March 27th is the big day for the gender ultrasound. Boy? Girl? At this point I don't really care. Prior to getting pregnant all I wanted was a little girl to dress up and take shopping with me and teach how to be a lady. Now that I'm with bébé, though, my desire to only have a girl has dissipated. I can still dress a little boy up very cutely (I'm thinking Janie and Jack preppy here) and have just as much fun with it. Plus it's not like this is going to be our one and only kid. Other babies will be in our future, so we'll have many opportunities to roll those dice.

The most unproductive Sunday ever (relatively speaking)

So normally J and I don't make solid plans for our weekend afternoons, choosing instead to reserve planning for Friday and Saturday nights, which usually consist of either dining out or attending dinner parties (clearly, this is an indicator that I hate cooking). Those couples that plan all those fun Saturday and Sunday afternoon activities like mini bike trips or drives out to the nearest beach or fascinating hikes in any of the Bay Area's many locales? Yeah, so not us. Not because we don't want to do these things, but because neither of us is proactive enough to actually plan anything. (Ugh, so lazy, I swear in my other life I was a cat.) Once in a while we'll go on a picnic with my Totally-Amazing-Decked-Out-Picnic-Basket-complete-with-wine-glasses-and-gingham-handled-flatware, but more often than not our weekend days are unscripted. Shopping the clearance racks at Burberry in SF? Might as well look on a whim. A croissant and cappuccino at La Boulange? Why not. A stop at Trader Joe's is usually in order, and who knows, things can always get a little crazy if we find ourselves wandering the paint section at Home Depot.

Normally this method of madness bodes well for us, but it also leaves room to improvise, which can be detrimental if either one of us is undergoing a current obsession. Such was the case this past Sunday.

I have become OBSESSED with the Game of Thrones book series. As in I've got my face in one of the books almost every waking second, sometimes even in the car, and if I'm not reading them, then I'm thinking or talking about them constantly. I begged J to start reading the first book, just so we could discuss, and right when he started it, he too became obsessed. So in spite of our best intentions (he had reams of legal work to do and it would have been nice for him to finish installing our tile backsplash in the kitchen), here's how our past Sunday rolled out:

• J wakes up before me, reaches for Games of Thrones, reads until I wake up.
• I wake up.
• We talk in bed for an hour or so.
• We move to the couch and continue reading, he on book one, me on book two (A Clash of Kings). Hours go by. We periodically graze on restaurant leftovers for sustenance.
• I decide it's more comfortable to read in bed, so I convince J to continue reading in bed with me. Another three hours go by.
• J claims he can't lie down any longer, so he moves back out to the living room couch with book. I follow him.
• Evening: I finish book two as J nears the end of book one. We head to Target since I obviously need to buy book three so I can continue reading that night. After purchasing book three and two blue raspberry Slurpees, we return home and continue reading, he on book two and me on book three. End scene.

The next morning I realized our Sunday was a bit ridiculous. We have SO much to finish around the house before the baby's born, but instead we succumbed to levels of college behavior that left us nothing to show for ourselves at the end of the day. Obvi this can't happen once Peanut is born, but I've got to admit, I felt a little guilty indulging in my obsession to such a degree. Do my depths of laziness know no bounds? Or do we need to get these kind of days in before they become a thing of the past?