One more day up in the canyon...

So begins another day of being a SAHM (that's "stay-at-home-mom" for those of y'all not down with babycenter.com lingo). No, I know I'm not technically a mom yet, but I'm supposed to be resting and letting the little beast grow. It's odd, staying home. I'm not complaining--don't get me wrong--but it's a pretty huge adjustment, and it was a long week dealing with the aloneness (is that a word?) of not working. I do, however, think that so far I'm doing a damn good job, although once I'm actually a mom and all, my ratings may very well slip. But, I made dinner every night last week, and I'm not talking Easy Mac or ordering Dominoes. Real dinner. Mom dinner. Like a souffle. And pork chops. Yowzas.

It makes me feel good for Jed to be able to come home, after 12 or so hours, and eat something decent, as opposed to the usual frozen curry or half-assed pasta. That being said, it IS still really hard to stay here, with little or no human interaction, all day. Here's how it goes:

6:30 wake up, take out monsters, feed aforementioned monsters. Coffee, breakfast, etc. Clean kitchen.
8:30 pass out on couch with Smeleanor and Frankenstein, who have harassed the shit out of me and Jed for the past 2 hours. Sleep through Regis and Kelly.
10-12 Clean. Really clean. Sanitize bathrooms, vaccumm, mop kitchen. Do one large project like organize drawers or do bathtub. Lock dogs out.
12 Eat. Mmm..
1-3 Meander around aimlessly. Lay out in sun, write thank you notes, check out babycenter.com, call Jed in tears for some asinine reason.
3-3:45 Walk dogs. This is a major feat. Major. Picture a nine-month pregnant lady, wrestling with two puppies, one of whom loves to eat poop, the other with an affinity for getting his mouth stuck on his harness every two minutes.
4 OPRAH and a snack. Rest.
5 Start watching Charmed, then plan dinner.
6 Cook
7 Eat, clean up. Wait for Jed. Pray stinkin' salespeople don't have any post-six deals. Stress out about being lonely. Wait some more.

Yeah, that's it...everyday, until Jed gets home. Then the dogs, who have been relatively well-behaved all day, decide to go absolutely stark raving mad. Like Renfield outta "Dracula" mad. I still maintain that getting a second dog was a good idea, and one that will pay off in the end, but sometimes it's just...a lot to take. And the noise--you'd think that we're killing the poor thing. He makes these horrible howls, apparently that's just part of being a beagle. Oh, and on top of everything, he's teething. Super duper.

I think the majority of my boredom isn't so much from the routine, which I don't mind. I really don't even hate cleaning...the house looks good, and it's comfortable. Plus I'm in nesting mode, so it works out well, given that I can't seem to get the baseboards clean enough and if there's one item in the laundry basket, I have to force myself not to start the washer.

What bothers me is the lack of interaction with another human, and I don't think the baby's gonna cut it. Who woulda thought that I'd miss being at the Y? And I don't, miss the crappy-I-hate-this-job part of the Y, but I do miss having a real conversation. I'm definitely going to try to find some kind of mommy group or something, which Jed keeps reminding me of (I think he thinks I'm going to go postal)--but it has to be relatively cool group. I can't handle play dates where we knit or talk about what a nice spring we're having. You know what I mean? I guess I don't really feel part of the "moms club" yet, just sorta out of place. I feel like a little kid dressed up in 'grown-up' clothes with a pillow stuffed under my shirt. Seriously. Me--a mom? So we're really going to go to the hospital in two weeks, as a couple, and then...they're going to let us take a baby home? Say huh? Um...can we hang out in the maternity ward for a few weeks, just until we get the hang of it? Can my mom just move in to the guest bedroom so that whenever the Captain crys for no reason, or projectile vomits, or has gas, or freaks me out in any way...I can just holla up for her help? Seriously, I'd like a childcare expert to just follow me around all day and make sure that the bean is in good form. Ack.

Mais non, they are really going to give us a little blob of a human and say, "Here, he's yours. Now take him home and feed him and love him and teach him and try not to screw him up. You are officially responsible for his well-being, safety, and mental health for at least the next 18 years (hah), and it is your job to make sure he turns into a functioning and productive member of society, as opposed to Buffalo Bill. Good luck."