Silly Mom Thoughts

On Friday, January 30th, The Early Show on CBS interviewed Kate Gosselin of Jon & Kate + 8. At the beginning of the interview, one of her daughters (Alexis) can be seen pushing her brother and otherwise acting naughty. In response, Kate politely asked the interviewer to hold on for a second while she leaned over, took hold of Alexis’ shoulder, and sternly told her to stop misbehaving. (To see the video of this interview, click here .)

There is some controversy surrounding Kate Gosselin’s little parenting tactic. Many will argue that Kate grabbing her daughter’s shoulder was too harsh and therefore bad parenting. They also look down on Maggie Rodriguez’s response to the action, where she applauded Kate Gosselin for her seemingly effective shoulder grab. (I say “seemingly effective” because at the end of the interview, Kate scolds Alexis again and gives her the mother of all “Mommy death looks.”)

Was Kate too harsh on Alexis during the interview? Personally, I don’t think so. Now, I’m not for abusing your kids at all, but if you watch how Kate grabs her shoulder, it isn’t with a death grip, but strong enough to make a point. She doesn’t hold on and squeeze her daughter, she lets go with a warning to behave. By all appearances, Alexis deserved the discipline she received. She was tormenting her brother and simply being a stinker. Maybe to some people this wouldn’t warrant such a response from Kate, but there’s something else to consider in this situation: We have no idea what Alexis was doing or saying before the interview. For all we know, she was a holy terror all morning long and this was simply the last straw for Kate.

As for Maggie Rodriguez’s response to Kate grabbing her daughter’s shoulder? What else was she supposed to say? Even if she disagreed with the action, she can’t say so during a live interview! It is my personal opinion that Maggie Rodriguez did an excellent job of pulling off an otherwise distracting and difficult interview.

Although I think Kate Gosselin can be a bit of a you-kn0w-what, especially to Jon, I find her to be extremely inspirational. On days when I feel as though I cannot handle my two children, I think of Kate chasing after eight children. Whose life is more crazy? Uhm, hers. I can guarantee I would be a bit bitchy too, if I were in her shoes.

I seriously need to zip my lip sometimes.

I have this uncanny ability to blurt out the most idiotic and sometimes inappropriate things. It is never because I am trying to offend the person I’m talking to, it’s just that I don’t pick the correct wording and the meaning gets all jumbled. Or, in some instances, I speak before I thoroughly survey the situation. Which is what happened yesterday at the grocery store.

I pulled up in line behind a couple and their two young kids. A little boy was in the back of the cart, just a little tuft of hair on his head, and a little girl sat in the front, with the same amount of hair. In my twin reverie, I glanced at them briefly, took in the hair situation, and immediately assumed twins. Eager to make conversation with someone who has twins and share with them my news (I know, super duper nerdy of me, but I’m excited, what can I say?), I leaned toward the mother and asked, “Are your babies twins?”

Now, in my defense, I had only briefly glanced at the little girl in the front, but could clearly see the little boy in the back. The mother was blocking my view of the girl. She turned to me, and said, “Oh no, my son there is eight months old, and my daughter is three. She has cancer and lost all her hair.”

Way. To. Go. Lindsay. Jeez!

The woman chuckled, probably in attempt to make me feel better for saying such an idiotic thing. You’d think at this point, my mouth would have shut up, but no. I had to rectify the situation.

“Oh, I see now. I’m sorry. Your daughter and my son are the same age!”

The lady nodded at me courteously, and went on her way. I felt horrible. I mean, obviously I’m going to take a closer survey of the situation before blurting anything like that out again, but still, I can’t take back what I had said. My only hope is that the mother didn’t think anything of it. Or, that she went home and explained it to her husband and they had a little laugh about my ignorance and big mouth. It really would make me feel better if I knew I made them laugh.

See, I’m fairly new to this whole “interacting with strangers” thing. For a very long time as a child and teenager, I was painfully shy. Somewhere between high school and now, I have started to feel more comfortable talking to anyone and everyone and striking up conversations in random places, like the checkout line. Usually, it leads to some interesting conversations. Sometimes, like in this situation, I half consider going back to my zipped-lip ways.

Who am I kidding? Once you go blab, you never go back.

At least I’ll know better next time.

I know I saw the ultrasound yesterday. Even without the grainy picture they gave me, the image of those two little sacs carrying my two little babies is clearly etched in my mind. I saw one baby very clearly, and got a brief glimpse of the other one. Are there really two? Am I seriously going to have twins ?

It seems far too good to be true. In some weird place in my mind, I keep thinking there must be some mistake. There’s no way one person could be so lucky. A beautiful boy, a gorgeous girl, and now twins? What did I do to deserve such a blessing?

This thinking leads me also to thinking about how easily it could all be taken away from me. I shouldn’t think like that, I know, but that’s just how I work. Any negative thought that enters my mind, I think,  “You’d better knock that off, Lindsay, or something bad is going to happen.” Paranoid? Maybe. But when you feel as blessed as I do, you don’t want to take any chances on worthless, negative thoughts.

I am a firm believer that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. He knew how badly I have always wanted twins, and I’m sure He knew what my elated reaction would be when I found out. He gave me my wonderfully lovable, but still trying Bug as practice for twins to come. He gave me Bean, in all her sweet sassiness for more practice. I’m not scared of twins. Sure, they’ll be lots of work and I’m sure I’ll have a few more gray hairs by the time they reach Kindergarten, but they’re babies. They’re miracles. How anyone could ever think their life was over simply for the fact that they’re having multiples is beyond me.

Turk and I started talking about having children long before we made our wedding vows. He always said he wanted two or three kids, I said I wanted four. He was worried about four kids financially. I said, time and time again, “It’s okay, we’ll have two kids  and our last one will be twins. I’ll get my four.” I was joking, of course, but wow how true that statement became! I was honestly prepared for only three. Three was my max, I realized after parenting for the past 3.5 years. Apparently God thinks otherwise and I won’t argue with his decision.

Now, I worry for two babies. I worry that by my next ultrasound one or both of them will have vanished. I worry that it is all too good to be true. But then, I think that maybe, just maybe, it’s all in how you look at things. Instead of seeing twins as a curse, I see it as an enormous blessing. Maybe it all depends upon your frame of mind.

Today’s post could have been a sad one. (Warning: This will include TMI.) Last night before bed, I went to the bathroom and wiped. There was a little bit of pink on the toilet paper.

No big deal, I told myself. It’s not red, it’s not very much, it’s nothing to worry about.

Of course, I sill found myself obsessing about it. About thirty minutes later, I went to the bathroom to check again and this time there was more blood. Still not bright red, and not enough to soak a pad or anything, but enough to make me worry. And worry I did. I crawled into bed, certain that I was going to wake up in the middle of the night gushing blood.

I didn’t cry until I turned to Turk and asked him to say a prayer for our baby and for me, to which he responded, “I have already said three, and I will say many many more.”

I had restless dreams, but still in my dreams I was pregnant. I woke up around 2am, went to the bathroom and to my relief, found nothing on the toilet paper. Still unable to sleep, I logged on to the writer’s forum and begged for prayers for my tiny tot and me. When I woke up in the morning, there were twelve messages of prayers and good thoughts waiting for me, even more trickled in as the morning progressed. Just knowing people were thinking of me made me feel like everything was going to be okay. I also texted and emailed a few people to ask for prayers, and they were on it like God Warriors.

Let me tell you, you all must have some serious connections with The Man Upstairs, because you’re prayers worked even better than expected.

I sat in agony in the waiting room for an hour until they called me back. I prepared myself for the worst. Though I hadn’t had any new spotting, brown stuff kept coming out. (I know, brown is okay, but when you’re pregnant, nothing that comes out of your body before the baby does seems okay.) Finally, they called me back. The doctor, a wonderfully friendly man who jokingly informed me, “I have to break it to you, Lindsay, but my kids are the cutest ever,” also explained that half of healthy pregnancies experience some sort of spotting. He said that at almost seven weeks (which I am), the placenta attaches itself to further prepare for baby, and sometimes that causes spotting. He explained that if I didn’t have cramping (which I did a little, but it’s tough to tell bad cramping from normal hey, my uterus is making room for baby cramping) and the spotting stopped and wasn’t bright red, then everything would be just fine.

Sitting on the crinkly paper, nervously shifting my weight back and forth, I kept praying in my head, Please, just let me have an ultrasound, please!

To my relief, his next sentence was, “It would really make the most sense to take a peek at the baby with a vaginal ultrasound if that is okay with you.”

Okay with me? Are you kidding dude?! You just made my day!

I smiled and said, “I would honestly appreciate that very very much.”

He wheeled the nifty ultrasound machine into the room where I was buck naked from the waist down sitting on one of those puppy pee accident mats. I rested back onto the pillow while the doctor put a condom on the wand. The irony never passes me, when I see the condom-protected ultrasound wand.

He sticks the sucker up there while I watch the screen next to me.

Wait a minute, I just saw two sacs. No way.

He maneuvers the wand around a bit and looks at me.

“Lindsay, do you see what I see?”

“Um, I see two. Are there two?!”

“There are definitely two babies in there!”

“Yesssssssss! Oh my gosh, I am so excited.”

My guess is that is not the customary response to finding out your child count is about to double, because the doctor and nurse both looked at me in shock.

The twins at 7 weeks (the two dark circles are the sacs)

I was beaming the entire time while the doctor got a picture of one of the babies and measured for size. A perfect seven weeks, a day ahead of where they should be.

The doctor promised me he would email me a picture, since the resolution is much better than the printed pictures. I thanked him and left, exhilarated. I called, texted, emailed, bulletin-boarded, Facebooked, and MySpaced everyone and their mother with the good news. Of course, I have received nothing but excited and happy encouragement, which I very much appreciate.

It wasn’t until a few hours after the reality began to sink in, that I realized I hadn’t seen a heartbeat. At seven weeks, I thought for sure the heartbeat would be prominent.

Just as he had promised, the doctor emailed me the ultrasound picture. I emailed him back, first thanking him for the picture, but also to ask if he remembered seeing the heartbeat because I was a tad worried about it. He wrote back that he did see a faint heartbeat on the one baby, but he didn’t really try to look at the other one. He told me that it wouldn’t really be prominent until next week.

So now, I sit here blogging, feeling crampy, but fairly certain that with two babies in my belly (like Bug predicted ) this is a normal thing. Thank you for letting me share my super fun news!

I will be the first to admit, I am a 100% bona fide super whiney whiner. It’s a character flaw, I realize, and an annoying one at that. Honestly, nobody wants to hear me whine! I have decided, after much mental debate, that I’m going to try really hard to not whine, at least where my pregnancy is concerned. Because really, I shouldn’t be whining about being pregnant. First, I wanted to be pregnant, and this is such a blessing. Second, there are women who would do practically anything to be in my situation. Women who have lost their babies or have never been able to experience being pregnant. I don’t have any right to complain about something that I want so badly.

But, I can’t go cold turkey.

I have been so nauseated the past few days! I am not normally a puker, and have never thrown up in my previous pregnancies, but I think this may be the pregnancy that does me in. I can’t stand looking at food, the smell that wafts out of the fridge in the morning (and yes, it’s all fresh food, nothing moldy or gross) makes me want to toss my cookies. I can’t lie down until I feel better because I have two kids who need to be taken care of. And my kids? Well Bean has been an even whinier whiner than me this week. She doesn’t want to be picked up, but freaks out when I put her down. Poor baby is miserable getting a molar and battling a nasty cold, but I’m worn out here! To make matters worse, she isn’t napping well and Bug isn’t napping at all. Aaaaaah!

When the nausea subsides for a few moments, I jump in the shower or take care of whatever needs to be done, but within an hour, I’m knocked back on my ass again. Am I through the first trimester yet??

Okay, whew. I’m done. No more whining. Fair warning, though: If you ask me how I’m feeling, I’ll be honest. *wink*

It could be much worse, right? I mean, I could be bent over the toilet all day long. At least I can keep down the food I eat, and at least I have a wonderful hubby who takes charge of the kids when he gets home. Yes, it could be much worse.

What do you think of, when you think of a truly sexy man?

Rock hard abs?

Chiseled thighs?

Arms that could scoop you up in one fell swoop?

If so, my guess is that you aren’t a mother to small children. Sure, muscles and definition are great, but a complete waste if they aren’t being used for important things, like lugging loads of laundry up the stairs or carrying children around piggy-back.

Last night was one of those, “Damn, you are the sexiest man alive” moments between Turk and me. He came home from work, we sat down and had a nice dinner, all the while I was still in my pajamas. My slovenly attire didn’t really occur to me until he asked, “Did you guys go anywhere today?” I looked down at my worn sweatpants stained with paint from a project last summer and my sweatshirt caked with Bean’s snot. “Nope, we didn’t go anywhere.”

After dinner, I asked Turk if he would mind if I took a shower and he told me he didn’t.

Sexy points for Turk: 1

In preparing for the shower, I decided that I hadn’t soaked in a bath in quite a while and that sure sounded nice. Fully aware that the kids would absolutely flip their lids seeing a bubble bath being drawn that they weren’t going to take part in, I decided to take the risk. I cleaned out all the toys, wiped it down with a Clorox cleaner wipe, grabbed our shower radio, and filled up the tub. Sure enough, the kids absolutely freaked out.

Before I locked the bathroom door and turned up the music, I smiled at Turk. He was gathering up the kids for a rousing game of “run from Daddy who is making insanely loud monkey noises.”

Sexy points for Turk: 2

My bath wasn’t exactly the most relaxing, what with all the commotion in the background of the kids squealing with joy and Turk’s monkey call of “Oooh-oooh-aaaaaaaaah!” in the hallway. But, the kids were happy and I was in a nice, warm, kid-free bathtub (well kid-free, aside from the one I’m toting around for the next eight months).

Later that night, he did the dishes.

Sexy points for Turk: 198,002

Seriously, could this man get any sexier?

Now tell me, which man would you rather have: Hairless model man that looks (and probably acts) more like a chick than a guy, or cute, blue-eyed Turk who is such a man, he’s not afraid to be a good Dad and husband?

I rest my case.

Inauguration Day has come and gone, leaving Americans with a “Now what?” feeling. We crave change, we want to see our economy turn around, and we want something to happen with the war in Iraq. Something that doesn’t entail a second 9/11 or put our troops in jeopardy. Of course, all of this will take time, as President Obama has pointed out a number of times.

I am rooting for President Obama. I want him to succeed because I want the naysayers hushed. However, I do not envy him in his current situation.

I Don’t Envy President Obama

As the first black president, he has become somewhat of an icon for an entire race. That would make me immensely uncomfortable. If I were President Obama, I would like to say to my admirers, “Woah, hold up. I am just another guy, people.” Though I am proud that our country has moved past race and finally elected someone who wasn’t an old white guy, I don’t think it’s okay to put President Obama on a pedestal. I don’t envy President Obama because, as is the case for any president, every small move he makes, every word he utters will be put under scrutiny. But, I would venture a guess that he will be scrutinized even more by some, especially those who did not support him in the first place. He has a lot going for him in his presidency, but a lot going against him such as his age and lack of experience. I am truly rooting for President Obama to kick this country’s ass into gear, I’m simply hoping he can fulfill all of his promises.

I Don’t Envy First Lady Michelle Obama

Watching those tabloid TV shows last night on all of the coverage of Inauguration Day, it is clear that Michelle Obama will have to deal with some things that former First Ladies didn’t. She is an icon for women, she’s an icon for African-American women, she’s a fashion icon, and she’s a mother, not to mention the wife of the president. That’s a whole lot for one person to have to carry on their shoulders. I can only imagine being in the public spotlight like that. Think about it. For the most part, no one had ever heard of Michelle Obama before this whole presidential thing came about. Suddenly, she’s one of the most popular women in America. That would absolutely trip me out. God forbid I ever be in Michelle Obama’s shoes. My guess is that the paparazzi wouldn’t take kindly to me going out with no makeup, in stained jeans and a baseball hat to the grocery store. Phew, that would be a lot of pressure.

Plus, the wifely part of me wonders how much having a husband/president puts a strain on a marriage. Heck, my husband is an accountant and that creates enough stress on our marriage when he has to work long hours. I can’t imagine the toll a marriage takes when we’re talking being married to the President of the United States!

I Don’t Envy Sasha and Malia Obama

Nope, not one bit. They didn’t ask for this popularity. They didn’t ask to be thrown into the sites of millions of people around the globe. I hope that the girls can grow up with as much of a “normal” childhood as possible, but seeing them on stage with the Jonas Brothers at the Children’s Inaugural Ball tells me there will be very few normal things they’ll experience in their childhood. I gather, though, from interviews with the Obamas that Michelle Obama is very much the Mother Bear type and will do everything in her power to shield Sasha and Malia Obama from the negative influences of TV and the media. I honestly hope so. It made me smile, every time I saw Malia Obama with her digital camera constantly poised at the ready to take pictures. There was such an innocence in that to me. Forget the fact that there will be hundreds of professional pictures taken of the momentous occasion, Malia wanted her own documentary of the day. I hope she doesn’t lose that.

(On a side note: How cute are those names?! Love them. And the girls are so cute too, of course.)

At any rate, I don’t envy the Obamas. I wish them the best of luck, and hope that everyone, regardless if they voted for Obama or not, backs up the president. (Well, at least unless he really effs up. *Wink*) My only true worry is for their safety. There are some serious sickos out there, and I worry for the well-being of the Obama family, particularly President Obama himself. I wonder if I’ll ever find myself not cringing every time he steps out into public. I am simply thankful, as I’m sure the Obama family is, that we have such solid security measures in place for our president and his family.

I have to say, it is refreshing having a young dude in the White House. Not to mention the fact that he seems to have a fairly good humor about himself. Perfect example of this was Jamie Foxx’s dead-on impression of Barack Obama at the Lincoln Memorial celebration on January 18th. What began as a serious statement, turned into Jamie Foxx quoting Obama, in his own unique way of speaking. Obama, his wife, and the Bidens were all laughing, a good sign to me that we don’t have a bunch of lame-os in the White House.

Pretty ballsy of Jamie Foxx, but oh-so-funny. Thank goodness we have a president who can take a joke.

At any rate, I’m looking forward to what the future brings. We needed someone new in the White House. Now, I’m not bashing Bush, because honestly, anybody who was in the White House for 9/11 would have a difficult time coming back from such an atrocity. But, I’m hoping with a new outlook and a new leader of our country, we’ll see things changing… for the better.

Living in my own little world between Toddler-dom and Preschool-ville, I tend to forget that these precious little tantrum-throwing, independence-asserting, non-listening cherubs will eventually turn into tantrum-throwing, independence-asserting, non-listening teenagers. I realized today that I need to cherish these times, especially since now I am at least stronger and bigger than them. At least now, I can doll out punishments like, “You lost your toy firetruck for the rest of the day” or “No fruit snacks until you eat some dinner” resulting in almost immediate compliance to my demands.

Eventually, I will have teenagers who won’t care so much about having things taken away, including a treat after dinner. Eventually, I’m going to have to get a lot more creative with punishments.

A friend of mine has a thirteen year old son. Though I don’t know him personally, I will bet that he never ever refuses to listen to his mother and constantly follows the rules (right, Cyndee?). Today, however, this tween man/boy slipped up. Though his mother is quite vigilant about seat belts in the car at all times, today, the thought initially slipped her mind as they pulled out of the school parking lot. Realizing she had neglected to ask him to put on his seat belt, she glanced back to tell him to do so. It was at that precise moment, she saw the police lights in her rear view mirror.

Busted… and slapped with a $135 ticket for not having her son in a seat belt.

She offered to put him up for sale to cover the cost of the ticket, but I think we can figure out some better punishments for his seat belt neglect. Here are a few of my suggestions:

1. Booster seat. Strap him in like a preschooler for a week and I’ll bet he won’t forget that seat belt ever again. Better yet, make sure it’s nice and pink, with pretty flowers or hearts on it.
2. Give him a big huge smoochy kiss every single time his friends are around (especially girls).
3. Make him work off the ticket by serving Mom breakfast in bed every single Sunday, and cleaning up afterward too.
4. Have him wash the car every weekend, but on Friday be sure to do some donuts in a nearby mud hole to get it really caked with dirt.
5. Give him a car writing pen (like they use for decorating newlywed’s cars) and have him write “I will remember my seatbelt” over and over until the whole car is covered in his writing. Then, make him wash it off and wax it.
6. Before driving anywhere with him in the car, go through the traditional preflight spiel, explaining how the seat belts work and pointing to the nearest exits.

These are just a few suggestions for dealing with a seat belt rule breaker. Sorry for your ticket, Cyndee, but I hope this gave you a laugh!

Awww, my little baby resembles more of an amphibious creature than my own offspring. Isn’t that just darling? Thankfully, it is much cuter than this Bullfrog Tadpole:

Well, at least a little cuter, anyway.

Six weeks of pregnancy is a magical week for me. The week I suddenly feel really freaking pregnant but still look like I simply ate too many Ho Hos. I knew it was coming. I mean, I have been pregnant twice in the past four years, it’s all pretty fresh in my memory. Still, I hoped this time I would get lucky and not have to experience the dreaded morning sickness. Alas, I am not so fortunate. I have felt a little blech a few times the past couple of weeks, but nothing that I couldn’t handle. Today, one day before I hit the 6 week pregnancy mark, I started to feel really yucky.

Morning sickness, for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing it, is a very odd concept. Obviously, it doesn’t feel good to be nauseous, which makes you loathe the way you feel. At the same time, morning sickness usually means a normally progressing pregnancy, which is a reassuring thought in the early days of pregnancy.

As far as how it physically feels, that’s pretty strange too. For me, and I’m sure many would agree, the nauseous feeling of morning sickness makes you feel like you have nothing in your stomach, even if you just ate an hour before. So, your natural instinct is to put food in your stomach, anything that is appealing (which is usually pretty bland stuff like crackers). The crappy thing, is that once you put food in your stomach to alleviate the nausea, it makes you feel even more nauseous for a while. Then, God willing, your morning sickness will subside for an hour, maybe two, and the whole cycle starts up over again. It’s quite exhausting.

I have a tendency to loathe morning sickness when I’m experiencing it, but then freak out if it subsides for days on end and worry about miscarriage. Pregnancy seriously messes with your head, I tell ya.

Friday was my first prenatal checkup, the usual rundown of paperwork, medical history, blah, blah, blah. I always love it when they get to the question, “Do twins run in your family?” because I get to say (with a big stupid grin on my face), “As a matter of fact, my mom and dad are both fraternal twins, as well as my mom’s brother and sister.” I just like seeing their reaction to this little tidbit of information.

I told the OB nurse that I was concerned about my heart rate. Resting, I have a 105+BPM heart rate and it’s more than a little annoying. I will be sitting on the couch, doing absolutely nothing, and feel as though I had run a mile and sat down. It’s nuts. Anyway, she checked my pulse to make sure I was still getting enough oxygen, and I was, and then ordered up some extra blood work to check thyroid and anemia as possibilities for the increased heart rate.

When I was sitting in the blood draw chair, chatting with the Phlebotomist, the OB nurse came in holding my pregnancy test in her hand. My heart sunk, thinking she was going to tell me it was actually negative. I remembered that there was one other pee cup in the little metal cupboard and I wondered to myself if she got them mixed up.

She waved it at me, smiling, and said, “You are definitely pregnant!” and went on to tell me that if my heart rate became uncomfortable or made me anxious or short of breath, to come in as soon as possible. After the OB nurse left, the Phlebotomist looked at me, concerned. I explained to her my high heart rate issue.

“You have a boy and girl already?” she asked.

“Yep, and I have never experienced this before,” I explained.

“You know, that could very well mean twins, right?” she grinned.

“Uh huh!”

So, naturally, her next question is if twins run in my family, and naturally, I get that cheesy grin on my face again and explain my genetic history of twins. It’s a hoot watching people’s reactions, you gotta believe me.

How cool would that be?! Twins? I mean, crazy, yes. Blogging would probably be my only connection to the world for quite a while, but still, very cool. I have been told my entire life that I’m destined to have twins. It resulted in an amazing “you’d better not have sex” talk from my parents.

“Lindsay, do what you want, but if you get pregnant, you’re probably going to have twins!”

That was solid enough of an excuse to keep it in my pants for much, much longer than my female counterparts. But now, I’m cool with having twins, let’s do this!

Fortunately, I won’t have to wait long to find out. My next appointment is February 13th and they said I will be getting an ultrasound then. If it’s not twins, that is entirely okay. But if it is, Turk and I are so ready.

I learned today that car shopping while pregnant is actually much better than car shopping while un-pregnant. (And yes, I just made up that word.) For instance, we found one car that we liked and was exactly what we were looking for, right down to the color and super sleek interior. While we paced around the outside of the car, peering in the windows, I thought to myself that if the price was right, and it drove well, this was going to be the one.

A funny thing happened when the car salesman came back with the keys and opened up the car. I stepped in (no, we’re not to the funny part yet), and not one second later was overcome with the smell of… dog. Big, wet, nasty dog.

Car shopping while pregnant benefit #1: Super-human sense of smell

I glanced around the car, and sure enough, there were paw marks gouged on the doors and pieces of pet hair here and there. We walked away and I asked Turk if he thought the car reeked worse than the pound and he said he didn’t smell a thing. Pregnancy sense of smell is officially my new best friend. Dogs aren’t.

Next, we perused around another dealer and found the van. This was it, the one we had been looking a whole twenty minutes for. (Okay, we don’t usually jump into things so quickly, but we knew this was a great deal and was exactly what we were looking for, so we went for it.) I opened up the car, took a big whiff expecting dog, cigarettes, something awful. It smelled new. Pregnancy sniff test: Passed.

We test drove it, I fell in love, and we decided to go for it. This part, the negotiating, is by far my least favorite of the car shopping experience. Turk is excellent at it. Me? Not so much.

“So Lindsay, this car is listed for $15,900 but that was really too good of a price, we’re going to bump it up to $17,000, okay?”

“Uh, okay. I guess that makes sense.”

Alright, that’s a little exaggerated, but I can’t haggle to save my life.

So, Turk’s sitting there, going back and forth with the car salesman over numbers, and I’m sitting next to him secretly wishing for the Southwest Airlines announcer’s voice to boom, “Wanna get away?”

Then it occurred to me: I’m pregnant, I haven’t eaten practically all day, and I have had a lot of water.

“You got this,” I said, patting Turk on the leg. “I don’t feel very good, I’m going to the bathroom.”

Car shopping while pregnant benefit #2: Morning sickness, frequent urination, etc. all cause to excuse yourself from the bartering. 

I felt guilty, especially since I didn’t really have to pee and I wasn’t feeling that bad. But, it was for the best. If I would’ve stayed, I would have agreed to a lower amount. Turk was better off to fend for himself.

As it turned out, he did pretty well. He talked them down a little on the price, and up a little on the value of our trade-in. At the end of the day and after a whole lot of paperwork (where I think I may have signed away my unborn child’s life), we drove away in a fancy-pantsy new van.

Yes, folks, I am now a van driving Mama! Please, don’t be too jealous. I promise, I won’t let my cool-ness go to my head.

And now, after a day of car shopping and avoiding high pressure situations, I am wiped. ‘Night all!