pregnant no more!

   Pregnant Lady had her baby yesterday! I am happy for two reasons: 1) there's a new cute lil' girl in the world now! and 2) more importantly, I don't have to be creeped out at my work place any more!

   Yes, I like babies. Who doesn't? I guess I'd rather gaze upon one than have one in my possession, however. But from afar, they're awesome! Unless they're screaming in a restaurant, then they're not awesome.

   It's just the whole idea of pregnancy that makes me queasy. I watched her for three days, not because I was stalking her or something but because I had to fill in for our secretary, which meant I was a mere two doors down from Pregnant Lady's office.

   Sometimes I would hear Pregnant Lady sigh. This wasn't just a normal I'm-tired-of-sitting-here kind of sigh, either. This sigh spoke to me and I knew at once what was being expressed: Pregnant Lady was in pain. Upon hearing the sigh, I would immediately imagine what was going on and then my mind would get all graphic and I would try to stop picturing myself in her shoes with this thing dwelling inside my uterus and then my face would scrunch up and then I could taste my lunch again and it was just terrible! For three days I endured that suffering, you can only imagine my happiness upon hearing Pregnant Lady was not longer pregnant! I think she realized she should probably get it out for her coworkers' sakes, I couldn't have been the only one feeling so...violated.

   I used to think being pregnant and getting married (yes in that order, that's how they do it here in the big MT) would be all sorts of fun. I would just pop a little pink-cheeked cutie out and my Man and I would go skipping off into the distance, holding hands and pinching our kid's cheeks. I mean, if 1/3 of my graduating class could do it, why couldn't I? They just looked so darn cute on their 18th birthdays holding a newborn!

   Ok, now I'm just being sarcastic because I have realized that would SUCK! And not just a little, but a lot.

   Now I feel like I'm offending people. If you are a young mother and are raising your kid well, then you are amazing! I'm not trying to spin this toward premarital sex and young marriages, don't wanna go there!

   Basically, just the thought of spending nine months of your life as a giant child-growing appliance is pretty much the weirdest thing ever. Think about it, every day there is this little nugget inside of you and it's just chilling there, going wherever you go, doing whatever you do. You can't ever be alone! I can only imagine how those one sea creatures feel when those little pests latch onto them. Not that a baby is a pest.

   So now that you have that image cultivated so nicely, it gets better (or worse, depends if you're an optimist). Now you start to get fat. Suddenly you start craving the weirdest things and you tell yourself: "it's ok! I'm pregnant! This is natural!". But then you eat a box of Chicken-In-A-Biscuit's and some cottage cheese with ketchup. I don't find that natural. So not only are you fat, but you are gross. And your breath smells really bad from the previous combination.

   I could go on and on about the horrific images I conjure up and their colorful descriptions, but I have a feeling I should just keep those to myself. But in the end, I am happy for Ex-Pregnant Lady and her new addition! I hope everyone stays happy and healthy, the only two things worth wishing onto someone.

NOT being mormon vs. living in utah

   When I moved to Montana from Salt Lake City, Utah at the ripe age of ten, I had no idea what stereotypical middle school chitter-chatter awaited me. It seemed like all the little fifth graders had taken a class about Utah's populous of LDS Mormons; they knew statistics, ratios, even stuff about the Salt Lake City Temple that I didn't have a clue about. I grew accustomed to the typical conversation:

   "Where did you move from?" -- seemingly innocent and non-biased ten year old

   "Salt Lake City" -- innocent self

   "You Mormon?"

   It came to the point where I would answer the question about my forthcoming with: "Salt Lake City, and I'm NOT Mormon!!" My mom quickly put an end to that, however, explaining that it made me sound judgemental...wait a second...

   As the years progressed and my peers were no longer interested in my previous homeland, the rhythm of the conversation was lost somewhere in the back of my pre-teen brain, assumed never to be spoken again.

   It wasn't until attending college and moving away to a new town with new people that I realized the torturous concept of where-are-you-from's had slid back into the spotlight of conversation. Distraught, I desperately tried to remember how to explain to my fellow college-goers about moving from Utah to Montana when it hit me...these aren't ten year olds! These are eighteen and twenty and thirty-seven year olds! So I quit wracking my brain, knowing that mature people didn't ask such presumptuous and irritating questions.

   The day came to introduce myself to my first acquaintance of my college experience: my freshman orientation roommate. We chatted about the weather, about hair, about the off-colored sticky substance stuck to her bed's metal frame...and then came the moment of maturity: asking about each other's lives.

   "So, where are you from?" -- my awesome new friend/roommate I immediately called my mom to tell about

   "Well, I moved to ____ when I was ten" -- self, feeling mature

   "Where did you live before that?"

   "...Utah"

   "That's cool....you Mormon?"

   Unfortunately, I was very wrong. If this had been the only instance of the direction of such conversations, it wouldn't have been a big deal. However, I have discovered that nearly every person I meet and allow discussion to bend toward inferring about each other's hometowns ends up with that same damn question. Sometimes I'll reply "Utah" and they'll just kind of look at me with wide eyes and nod, as if they "understand" that I'm Mormon. That always gets me, though, because their reaction is similar to the time I told my mom I wanted to go on birth control...like it's some taboo subject, a word that should go unsaid or only muttered under your breath like he-who-must-not-be-named...(nerd alert!)

   Other times, the person I am conversing with won't even skip a beat. Something like this: "Where were you born?" "Utah" "So you're Mormon?"

   Really, people?

   The only good thing that has become of this seemingly endless cycle in my life is that I now know how to handle the situation when meeting someone else who also hails from Utah. Our conversations go something like so:

   "So where are you from?" -- experienced and wise self

   "...Utah" -- person from Utah

   Then I just open my eyes wide and nod, I totally understand.

my room

   There comes a time in every self-proclaimed tidy person's life when the idea of physically exerting yourself on a daily basis simply to unclutter a living space becomes unimportant. I actually don't know that to be true, but based on my own experience of the matter, I'm comfortable saying it.

   I never understood how my mom managed to brainwash me into making my bed every morning. When living at home, I didn't think twice about my daily ritual of tucking under the sheet and lining up my quilt "just so". I think the drugs she must have slipped into my oatmeal have finally worn off because now I wake up, go about my morning at a faster pace than intended due to the quadruple snoozing of my alarm/cell phone, and completely forget about the messiness of the object I just spent the last seven hours drooling in. It's okay, I tell myself, I'll make it when I get home from work!

   Well seven and a half hours go by and I return, mainly only just to grab a handful of Craisins (I bought a jumbo-sized bag from Costco) or smell my load of laundry in the washer before running it through the third rinse cycle in the past four days. Rarely do I get the courage to venture into my messy disaster of a room, knowing that I have once again procrastinated and defiled the promise I made to myself that morning when dashing to work, late again.

   Today, though, was a different story. At work I repeatedly reminded myself that Today Was The Day! I visualized myself getting off work, prancing to my car, racing through abnormally fast-paced midday traffic, throwing myself out of the driver's seat and propelling myself through my front door without missing a beat in order to maintain my current state of dedication toward the much needed organization of my living chamber. It became a sort of chant: "must clean room, must clean room". I noticed I began bobbing my head to my internal beat a little too noticeably when Pregnant Lady looked at me funny. (More on her later).

   I was proud of myself for sticking to my master plan, but as the last step loomed closer I began taking a little more time...because THIS was my future:

   Okay, so it doesn't look too horrible I guess. But walking into that every day for the past two weeks was becoming slightly overwhelming. On a good note, I found my favorite belt due to taking this picture! Maybe I should do that more often.

   Another reason I don't want to clean my room is because I fear this:

   Which is why I did not, indeed, clean my room today.