Tuesday, September 30, 2008

The things I miss the most.

There's one thing (well probably lots of things) you truly can't appreciate until you're actually pregnant. Namely, how many of your favorite things are about to get put on the no-no list.

And it's not like the no-no list you put yourself on when you're dieting. The one where you say, no, you can't have that chocolate cake. Or that double fudge latte. Or that hot dog dripping with cheese. Because those? Are negotiable.

If that "no, I couldn't" becomes "well, maybe just one," you're not hurting anyone but yourself. Well, yourself and your waistline.

But when you're pregnant? Those no-nos become You Damn Well Better Nots. Because you are hurting someone else. Someone too small to fight back. And let's face it, my child is going to have enough to deal with without help from any potentially toxic substances that I ingest.

So, on to my list of the things I miss the most.

Drugs. Not the illegal variety. But all the ones I routinely rely on to keep my snot-filled, creaky body functioning. Right now, just about all I can have is Tylenol and Benadryl. And if you ask my three-day old headache, it'll tell you Tylenol isn't worth the trouble it takes to swallow it.

Caffeine. All caffeine, but coffee in particular. I've been drinking coffee since I was five (ask my mom if you don't believe me), so doing without is an unusual kind of torture. Sure, they say you can have one cup a day, but when you're dealing with an addiction as strong as mine, that's just enough to crank up the cravings to a screaming pitch. Not fun.

Lunchmeat. I looove deli meats. I eat it on sandwiches, cut up in salads, even just rolled up for a quick little snack. It's one of the 5 essential food groups in my house. Or it was. Now, if I want a piece of turkey, I've got to nuke the heck out of it first. Can you say ewww?

Wine. Alcohol as a whole is a no no, but the only adult beverage I really miss is wine. I like everything about wine. I enjoy shopping for it - reading all the little descriptors at the store to see what sounds tasty. I love the hollow popping sound the bottle makes when the cork comes out. And of course, drinking it. There's just something so relaxing about curling up with a nice glass of wine after a long, hard day. Grape juice in a wine glass? Not the same thing.

But, I have to admit - there's one huge plus to being pregnant. Well, there are a lot of them, but one I'm loving the most right now. Are you ready for it?

It's elastic waistbands. This is one time in your life when there's absolutely no shame in wearing nice, comfy pants. All the time. They even make special lycra bands you can use to hold your jeans up when you can't button them anymore. Get that? It's okay not to button your jeans.

It's paradise. Really it is.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Who, Me? A Mommy?

It was 6:25 a.m. on a Saturday. It was, in other words, many hours before I intended to leave my cozy nest of a bed. In fact, I’d been determinedly ignoring my hungry, howling cats for an hour, but when the dog stuck his cold nose in my face and sneezed, I gave up. I stumbled out of bed and stomped down the stairs, snarling “I really hate you guys right now. Hate, HATE, HATE you, you hear me?”

And that’s when it struck me.

Oh my God, I’m going to be a mommy.

What kind of mommy tells her children she hates them?

Holy crap, I’m going to be a Bad Mommy.

In theory, I’d already known I was pregnant for several weeks. But since no one knew but my husband, pregnancy seemed more like a never-ending case of the flu than the beginning of a life-changing event.

But as I sobbed my heart out at the kitchen table, reality set in. Soon, I’d be wholly responsible for another little person—and my every action would have an impact on their life. Every cross word, black-hearted glare and snide remark could be the one that sends them to therapy in their adult years.

I resolved to be a nicer person after that. A better person. One who could conceivably be viewed as capable of raising a child—hopefully one without too big of a risk of becoming a serial killer.

It’s several weeks later now, and things are still a little touch and go. I haven’t cussed at my pets lately. But I have snarled at my husband more than once or twice. I’m starting to feel excited now, even overjoyed. And although I haven’t met my baby yet, I already love her (or him) with a ferocity that surprises me.

But those moments of panic? They still sneak up on me. I’ll be minding my own business, flipping channels on the TV, when with a suddenness that stops my heart, I remember—I’m going to be a mommy. Who the heck thought that was a good idea?

Monday, September 15, 2008


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About Me

So, who is this Amber Page, anyway?

That’s a darn good question, folks. And one I have a different answer to every day. The real answer is, I’m not quite sure. But I’m figuring it out, and if you read along on this blog, you’ll probably know the answer before I do.

Here’s what I do know. I’m a copywriter—an advertising writer—by trade, and a plain old writer writer by, I don’t know, compulsion? It’s just part of who I am. I’m from Motown, but I saw the Badness coming several years ago and got the heck out while I still could. These days, I live in Southern Indiana, and I like it here way more than I ever imagined I could.

I’m married, as you’ve probably figured out. And I just had my first baby. Plus,  I’m mom to a whole menagerie of pets who never fail to keep life interesting.

Why should I spend some of my precious time reading this blog?

Well, unless you’re related to me, I guess you don’t have to. But I hope you will. I make no promises, but I’ll do my darnedest to be entertaining—and way less whiny than I am in real life. I can assure you that you’ll get a totally unglossified (I think I just made up a new word!) account of the realities of new motherhood and the trials and tribulations that go along with it. And hopefully a chuckle or two. Isn’t that reason enough?