When I was very small, I learned to equate having children with a funless existence. As a kid, I played with Barbies, not dolls. Barbie was grown up. She was pretty and fun. She had a boyfriend and a job and an endless assortment of outfits. Dolls were annoying and needed to be fed, burped, and carted around everywhere. They had diapers and bottles and stupid facial expressions.

I heard comments like "She looks amazing...for having three kids" and "THEY can spend two weeks at the beach. THEY don't have two kids in swimming lessons." It didn't take long for my small brain to compute that kids = the end of the funs.

I have always been deathly afraid of getting pregnant and giving birth. The whole thing seemed barbaric, disgusting and awful and was something I didn't want to be part of. Since high school I've been trumpeting about the benefits of not having children.

Over the past couple of years, as people started to really pressure us about starting a family I've been afraid of more than just the discomfort of pregnancy and the goriness of childbirth. I'm scared of being a bad mother. Of not being responsible or mature enough to look after someone other than myself. Of not being able to provide a good life for a child. I'm afraid that I'm lacking a compassion gene, that I have zero mothering instinct.

When we started talking about growing our family, we were both "pretty sure" it was a good time. Biologically it makes sense, financially we're OK, we're young enough that we'll be young parents, we're old enough that we've had a chance to do some traveling and partying and all that. There were lots of reasons why it's a good time, and far fewer reasons why it's not.

I know Peter will be a terrific dad. He's so patient, level headed and encouraging. I tend to be a little more, how should I put this...shrieky. Shrieky and impatient and sometimes downright mean. I hate whining and I can't deal with laziness. I lose patience when I have to explain something more than once or twice. I can just hear a little voice asking "why? why? why?" over and over again and can picture myself completely losing it.

"It's different when it's your own baby," everyone says. "You'll get the hang of it." What if I don't? What if I can't?

What if I can't stand the pain of giving birth?

What if I don't like the baby?

What if the baby hates me?

I'm afraid for our baby's health. Every time I feel the tiniest twinge, I freak out. What was that? Before we heard the heartbeat I was scared there was something wrong with the baby because I hadn't had any symptoms. I had a positive pregnancy test and positive bloodwork to confirm I was pregnant. No ultrasound. No morning sickness. No weird cravings. I wasn't showing. I was convinced the baby had disappeared. I heard horrible stories about blighted ovum and missed miscarriages and all these other tragic, awful things that can go wrong.

I read in a well-known and well-respected book on pregnancy that women who experience a lot of morning sickness should be happy because "it's believed that morning sickness means you're far less likely to miscarry!" Well, that's pretty reassuring for those of us who aren't sick, isn't it? I was almost sure it had happened to us, until we heard that swisha-swisha-swisha sound. It was almost a surprise to hear that things were OK.

I'm still terrified every day that something is going to go wrong. I'm scared to use plastic food containers or touch ATM receipts or eat fruit that's not organic.

If I don't do something that completely messes up the child physically or intellectually I'm scared I'll mess it up emotionally.

Contrary to how this post might sound, the other 99% of me is thrilled and excited, but there's a little sliver that's frightened all the time.

I just read this post at A Cup of Jo and had to talk about some words that annoy me, since there are many.

The editor of New York Magazine, Kurt Anderson, drafted up a list of words that irritate the living bejesus out of him to the point where he asked his staff to not use them while he was with the magazine. I would love to make a list of words that people shouldn't use around me while I'm on Earth.

It would include, but not be limited to, the following:

Babe
Baby Bump
Blogosphere
Bump Watch
Darling
Fashionista
Foodies
Gastropub
LOL
Low Hanging Fruit
Luv
Nuptials
Quipped
Rawk
Rawr
'Rents
Sexy (DOES ANYONE ELSE FIND SEXY TO BE THE UNSEXIEST WORD EVER? I can't even say it with a straight face, I don't think I've said 'sexy' more than three times in my entire life)
Smorgasboard
Stellar
Totes (as in 'totally')
Uvula
Webinar
Yummers

What words would you like to ban if you could?

**EDITED because I missed one of the most obvious words I hate: BUTT. Haaaaaate.

On Sunday, we decided to go see Bridesmaids. It was OK that we made this decision at 6:15 and the movie started at 6:30 because we live a five-minute drive from the theatre, which still leaves you with a solid 10 minutes to get parked, get snacks, find seats, and skip the pre-previews. Easy peasy, right?

We got our tickets and went to find seats, and the plan was Peter would run back out and buy snacks while I held our seats. The theatre was pretty close to full, but we were able to find two seats together at the end of one of the rows near the front but not in the crane-your-necks section. There were two empty seats at the end of the row, then there was a coat thrown across the two seats next to it, and then people. So presumably the two seats next to us were saved. No big deal. So I took one of the free seats and Peter went out to get our food.

The previews started and I turned off my phone, took off my coat, got all comfy and such. This included unbuttoning my jeans. Truth. I'm 15 weeks pregnant, and by the end of the day that shit gets uncomfortable. It's not like squishy fat you can tuck and compress out of the way. It's a rock-hard ute. There is a difference. Be prepared for more of these TMI anecdotes over the next, ohhh, five and a half months.

To pass the time, I started playing Word Mole on my Blackberry. If you have a Blackberry, you need to get Word Mole. This game is my lifesaver every time I have to wait - the doctor's office, the DMV, or avoiding watching previews for Cowboys vs. Aliens or whatever the hell they tried to get us geared up for on Sunday.

Suddenly, I was snapped out of my Word Mole reverie by a raging case of bitchvoice next to me. "Ummmm, we had saved those three seats," I heard. I looked up and there's a cluster of bimbos, arms laden down with popcorn and pops, standing in the aisle next to me.

I just blinked at them (not unlike a mole.) "What? You had three seats?"

"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuhhhh," as if "yeah" is a three-syllable word, reported Chief Bimbo.

"Oh, sorry," I muttered. "It looked like only two..." I hustled to get everything together: coat, bag, Blackberry, Blackberry case, and stood up. My unbuttoned pants gapped and threatened to fall. Stay up, stay up, stay up, I silently willed my pants as I pushed past the rocket scientists and hurried down to the next available seats.

In the second row.

In the crane-your-neck section.

Saddest face.

As I sat there with my head tilted backward at a 30 degree angle attempting to see the screen, I got madder and madder. Who saves three seats but only covers two? Who is that stupid? If there's three or more of you, one stays behind and saves the seats. It's seat saving 101. I felt like going back and telling them off. What kind of hillbilly doesn't know the rules of saving seats?

All through the movie I was pissed off. "I hate them," I hissed at Peter several times. "I'm going to throw something at them."

At the end of the movie I was finally going to make my move. "Hope they enjoyed their awesome seats," I growled. "I'm going back to tell them off."

"Fasten your pants up and let's go," he told me.

This is what it's come to. No more movie theatre fights. I'm just a fat girl who gets bullied at the movies and can't even fasten her pants.

"Fine, whatever. But I'm going to blog about this," I promised.

Remember how I gave up alcohol for Lent? And then I got all bitchy and indignant because lots of people jumped to the conclusion I was pregnant, and was all, CAN'T A PERSON JUST GET OFF THE BOOZE FOR A FEW WEEKS?

Um...they were right. On March 8, Pete and I found out we're expecting and I am SO happy to finally be able to talk about it!

We heard our little monkey's heartbeat on Tuesday for the first time and in an instant, what has felt like a beer belly and a bit of sleepiness over the past three months finally hit home: there's a tiny, living, growing person in there.

We'll be parents in November. By Christmas, we'll be a family of three (well, four, if you count Rory.) November 10 is my due date, but I'm secretly kinda hoping for an 11-11-11 baby. Oh, and I'm convinced it's a boy.

In terms of a pregnancy update, I don't have much to report. I've been feeling great. The first trimester brought lots of sleepiness, and mood swings aplenty, but none of the ickyness I've heard of from other moms-to-be. There was no morning sickness, no crazy food cravings. I gained two pounds between my 10-week and 14-week appointments, but I'm still (more or less) wearing my normal clothes. When I wake up in the morning, I look pretty normal. By midday I look like I've swallowed a grapefruit whole.

As of today, I'm 15 weeks pregnant, and according to thebump.com I have 175 days to go and baby is the size of a navel orange. This both excites and panics me. It seems like a long way away. It's not. There's so much to do. As of now, we own four pairs of socks and one doorknob hanger for the baby. We know nothing about having a baby or caring for a little person. We've never changed a diaper or fed a baby. We'll just have to figure it out.

I have been ostriching hardcore about giving birth and just concentrating instead on all the lovely drugs I'll get. I don't want to hear about tearing and stitches and 48-hour labours. I've been reading pregnancy books, but it still feels like I'm reading them on someone else's behalf. "Oh, this sounds hideous. It's too bad ALL THOSE GIRLS have to go through it." Denial FTW.

So, that's my big news. Be prepared for bump pictures, if/when I start looking pregnant and not like I've been on a donut binge, as well as regular updates and insights into the wonderful world of being a mom-to-be.

So far, in a nutshell: it's not that bad. I feel like a slightly healthier and more rested version of myself. I like being pregnant, but I do miss my eggs benedict and sushi and the occasional turkey deli sandwich.

Best of all is how much we love this little person already, and we haven't even met yet.

Things I currently need:

[+] a pedicure. Summer is coming and these dogs are barkin'. I'm not putting sandals on until my feet are waaay more presentable.
[+] a good self-tanner. Fish-belly blue is not an attractive skin tone, but tights season is winding down pretty quickly, so I need to do something about my sorry lack of pigmentation.
[+] a trip to the gym (commencing in t-15 minutes). I've been good about going lately, but I've also been good at gorging myself lately, and one tends to cancel the other out.
[+] a haircut. Horse tail is the look I'm sporting right now.
[+] a good night's sleep. Like 12 hours' worth.
[+] a dentist visit. I'm putting this off until I can commit to flossing every day for one month so I don't get yelled at this time.
[+] an entire day spent cleaning the house. The other day I noticed dust on the dining room light fixture and got super skeeved out. The house needs a good, serious scrubbing.

And some things it would be nice to have:

[+] a sushi dinner. I can has sweet potato roll? And green dragon?
[+] a movie date. We tried to see Bridesmaids last night but it was sold out - damn you, cheapskate Tuesday night moviegoers!
[+] a bubble bath. I can count on one hand the number of baths I've taken in the jacuzzi in almost a year. Sad.
[+] new sunglasses. I'd settle for just finding my lost aviators.

With a long weekend coming up, I'm going to see how many of these things I can cross off both lists. What are you needing and wanting these days?

At the beginning of May, our company kicked off a temporary period of working from home. Our old office lease ran out at the end of April and we've outgrown that space so the decision was made not to renew. While we look for a new space that suits our needs (ample parking, lots of desk space for the team, kitchen area, meeting room, doesn't cost $297598235 a month, etc.) we're working remotely, using Skype, email and phone to keep in touch. Luckily the business we're in allows us to work from anywhere, so we're as busy as ever and clients aren't seeing a disruption in their service.

When I found out we were going to be working from home for a bit, I was pumped. I like my coworkers. We're a good team and we get along well. However, the commute was a bit dodgy for me. It involved 20-30 minutes each way through a gross industrial park and then parking in what can best be described as the armpit of the ghetto and running to and from the office multiple times per day to move my car and avoid being ticketed by the world's meanest meter maids.

I had delusions of grandeur about working from home. How I'd keep getting up at 6:00 to head to the gym first thing. How I'd use all my breaks to do things like unload the dishwasher and do laundry. My house would be spotless. I'd walk the dog every day at noon. I'd prepare nutritious and filling meals for breakfast and lunch and I'd have a tasty and balanced supper ready when Peter gets home every night. And under no circumstances would I stay in my yoga pants all day long just because I'm at home - I'd get dressed just like I would for the office every single day including jewelry and makeup.

Two weeks later: reality check!

Healthy breakfasts and lunches: I have been eating better breakfasts and lunches. I have time to actually prepare breakfast, sit down, and eat it now. Lunch is usually something more substantial than a microwaved bowl of soup, too. The problem: THERE IS AN ENDLESS SUPPLY OF FOOD THAT NEVER RUNS OUT IN BETWEEN MEALS NEVER NEVER. I no longer am limited to whatever snacks I can fit into my little lunch bag. Ohhh no. I can eat all day long if I want to. Yesterday my morning snack was three peanut butter cookies. THREE! Not good.

Supper is ready for Peter when he gets home: This hasn't happened once. I'm sorry. Yesterday I had french fries in the oven when he came home. That's the closest I've come. Oops...

The house is cleaner: This might actually be true. I'm more likely to throw on a load of laundry or empty the dishwasher during the day, and stuff doesn't build up as much. However, I seem to be using 100 dishes per day with all the eating, so the dishwasher needs to be run a lot more often.

Walking the dog every day at noon: This has happened TWICE. Not my fault. We're currently experiencing 40 days and 40 nights of downpour. Yesterday and today are the first days it hasn't been pissing rain in weeks.

Continuing the habit of going to the gym in the morning: Success! Most mornings I still go to the gym between 6:30 and 7:30 and if I don't make it then, I now have the option to go at lunchtime. The lunchtime crowd is completely different from the morning crew. In the morning, I'm the only person there who's not getting an old age pension. At noon there are all sorts of tattooed and scary skids skulking around and all the TVs are tuned to The Price is Right.

Wearing real clothes every day. And makeup. Fail. Right now I'm wearing yoga pants, an Adidas hoodie and a ponytail. (Granted, I just walked the dog). I do have makeup on, and I did shower today, so at least I don't look like a complete hobo. Yesterday, on the other hand, I could have doubled as a Derelicte model. Here's the thing: I'm not even leaving the house and no one's coming here. I can write copy or manage a project just as well in leggings as I can in real pants. No one's going to see me. Although every time we do a Skype call I'm afraid my coworkers can see me looking like a bedraggled street urchin through my webcam. Just call before you come over and no one's the wiser. Why would I waste the makeup if no one's going to see me anyway? The dog doesn't care if I look good.

Overall though, I love this working from home stint. I get an extra hour a day where I'm not commuting or running from crackheads. I don't have to lock the dog in the laundry room for 9 straight hours (here comes the SPCA, right?) In terms of productivity it's working well too. It's easier to get into the groove of a project and plow through work with fewer distractions. Plus we're all in constant communication anyway so it's not like working alone. I can listen to my music sans headphones, go outside for a fresh air break as needed, and don't have to share a washroom with anybody.

I may be shack-wacky in two more weeks' time but for now this working from home business suits me juuuust fine.

1. If you could watch only one movie for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Love Actually. I watch it a few times a year - always at Christmas and then again when I don't know what else to watch.

2. Let’s say someone wrote a screenplay about you; what actor/actress would you choose to play you and why?
Sienna Miller. Not because I think we look alike or because she's a great actress but because if I want someone portraying me I want them to be hot.

3. What’s the first movie you remember seeing in theaters?
It was a Care Bears movie that played in the afternoon. I don't really "remember" much of it - the first one I can actually recall going to is (unfortunately) The Flintstones.

4. Did you ever make out at the back of a movie theater in middle school/high school?
Yeeeeeeees, once. Whatever, it was Lost in Space, who's really paying attention to Gretchen Weiners in a space suit?

5. Are you a Netflix-er, Blockbuster-er or a Redbox-er? (Or none of the above?)
Netflix!

6. Name one actor/actress who you would give anything to have a dinner date with.
I can't think of anybody. I think most actors and actresses would be terribly boring in real life.

7. What’s the worst movie you’ve ever seen?
Rules of Engagement. Seeing Dawson Leery pretending to be badass and doing coke and going to naked parties = not believable.

8. Do you sneak snacks into the theater when you go?
No. I get a kids pack every time. Can't sneak the good stuff. I have snuck alcohol.

9. Movie theater popcorn: love or hate it?
Liiiiiike it. Sometimes it's amazing and other times when it's stale it's the biggest disappointment.

10. What is the all-time best Disney movie in your opinion?
I think they're all great. I like singing the Lion King and Little Mermaid songs the best, but I also like the super dark and creepy old ones like Snow White and Sleeping Beauty.

Thanks Roots and Rings!

Occasions When I Don't Enjoy Hearing Music:

[+] When I'm walking through a mall or a store. I HATE when there's music playing. I hate how everybody walks in time to the music. And how you can look around at everybody and imagine it's a music video. I hate when the music is loud, especially...if I wanted to go to the Dome I'd go to the Dome, not American Eagle.

[+] When it's time to get busy. I hate the concept of PUTTING ON A PLAYLIST before doin' it. Music doesn't get me in the mood, it makes me laugh. Not hot. Lighting candles is almost as bad, but not quite.

[+] When I'm on hold. I would rather enjoy silence, or better yet, get to listen in on other people's conversations. Now that would make being on hold a lot more interesting than listening to cheeseballs such as Shania Twain and Michael Bolton wailing.

[+] When it's being sung or played at me. I'm all for live music, don't get me wrong. But ladies, you know what I'm talking about. You've had a potential suitor, you've gone to his dorm room or apartment, and he's pulled out a guitar and then attempted to sing at you in some strange quest to woo you and win you over through song. You've picked up your bag and exited without looking back and never spoken to him again because it was too insanely awkward. Right...right? I'm not the only bitch...right??

[+] In an elevator. What's worse than being crammed into a small area, hurtling through space, smelling Axe to the left of you and BO to the right, being forced to listen to Muzak? You can't turn it off. You can't go anywhere. All senses are assaulted. Just horrible.

[+] At the doctor's office. You're waiting for a diagnosis, the doctor is running late, and all you can do is sit there and wait, not touch the magazines because they have God knows what diseases and bodily fluids all over them, and meanwhile Nickelback is on a continuous loop = my own personal hell.

Confession: every Friday morning when I wake up and go downstairs I sing Rebecca Black to the dog. "Seven AM, waking up in the morning. Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs." He stares at me. Sometimes he barks at me, which I interpret as "I loooove your singing, especially THIS PARTICULAR SONG!" so I sing louder and louder as his barks get sharper and more agitated. We're pretty much best friends.

Speaking of Rory, here he is now. Eight months old and as handsome as ever:



This weekend is my parents' birthday. Same birthday, yep. It makes it very easy to remember but financially sucky as it's always nicer when birthday gifts are spread out over the course of the year. Four out of five people in my immediate family have their birthdays within a four-week span.

I'll be heading to New Brunswick No Funswick after work to celebrate birthdays with my family, a shopping trip with my sister tomorrow, and who knows what other fun and frivolity. On Sunday Peter and I are heading to New Glasgow so I can meet my little niece Madelyn for the first time. She's five days old today. I'm a bit scared to hold her. I'm also hoping to get to see "Something Borrowed" this weekend and might attempt baking brown bread.

What are you up to this weekend?

Happy Friday!

Instead of waxing poetic about all the awesomeness that was New York this past weekend, I am going to tell you about the one big disappointment of the trip: White Castle.

First of all let's rewind back about, ohhh, six or seven years. I decided to rent a movie and drink a jumbo jug of the cheapest wine I could get my underpaid paws on. With jug in hand, I headed to the video store, and apparently already under the influence of something or other I selected Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. What prompted me to get this movie I'll never know. Growing up in Le Grand Blanc Nord we don't have White Castle and I had never been to one but was curious to see what the fuss was about.

Back at the ranch I proceeded to get shittered while watching this cinematic abomination, AND I LOVED IT. I laughed until I cried. I thought it was the funniest movie I had ever seen. And while I was not high, at least not without a prescription, I wanted some of those little White Castle burgers. They looked adorable. I'd never seen tiny burgers before. And the lengths Harold and Kumar went to to get White Castle? I figured it had to be good.

Fast forward to last week when Peter and I were making our list of must-do things for New York. Sadly, a lot of them revolved around food, i.e. Magnolia Bakery, authentic New York City-style pizza (which we never ended up having, sad trombone) and yes, WHITE CASTLE. There are apparently three locations in the city so we marked down the one on 8th Avenue. We went on Saturday after walking around the city for hours and we were famished and so ready to devour some of those succulent little burgers to see just how delicious they would be.

This was one of the dirtiest eating establishments I've been in, but never mind that - the food was absolutely awful. The food was disgusting. It was so bad that PETER, who can eat two double quarter pounders AND large fries AND not die, didn't finish his meal despite being starving. It was like sweaty buns with a slice of ham on them. They didn't look good, smell good, or taste good. So not worth the trek.

I don't know what Harold and Kumar were thinking. Granted, they were high in the movie, as I suspect most of the customers and staff were when we showed up there on Saturday afternoon judging from the CRACK DEAL we saw and overheard. Maybe this is an everyday thing in some places but I have never seen crack, let alone crack being purchased loudly in the middle of a fast-food restaurant at one-thirty in the afternoon. I thought those sorts of things were supposed to be kind of quiet? Back alleys and the cover of darkness and whatnot? Maybe we didn't appreciate the food because there weren't enough drugs in our systems. Or maybe it just sucks.