It’s A Three-Ring Circus Around Here

(And I don’t need no Bearded Lady jokes, thankyouverymuch.)

After my last mini-post (sorry about the picture debacle – my bad.  The photo showed up in one browser window but not another and I’m just not even close to being smart enough to figure out why or what to do to fix it. Trust me, he’s cute) the lovely Lady in Waiting commented that I have lots of exciting stuff going on.

And boy, is that an understatement!

In addition to growing these two little tiny things (who need better names, it would seem…) inside me, and being thrilled about my sister’s baby, and trying to avoid having a nervous breakdown because of all the work I have to do, and being worried about not discussing my hoped-for maternity leave with my boss yet, we are also smack in the middle of selling our condo and trying to buy a house.

Good lord in heaven, woman, what is wrong with you??

I know, I know.

We were going to sell in the fall, but when we decided to do IVF we postponed until spring. And then WHAM! it was spring and holy crap we’re pregnant and if we’re going to do this, it better be now. Before I’m too big or we have two tiny babies and everything is just a mad-cap dash of crying and poopy diapers and breastfeeding woes and all the other good stuff…

So we put our place on the market and have only had one open house, and I think we have close to ten people wanting to make offers.  Which is pretty cool.

But of course that means we now have a couple of months to find a house we can afford, which in the Bay Area is no easy task.

I had to do another IVIG infusion on Tuesday, the day of the brokers’ tour when 30-40 people would be traipsing through the place.  I cried the entire way down to the medical office, calling BeBop and sobbing into the phone that I was SOOO stressed out and I just couldn’t take much more.

Well, the only good thing about those damn infusions is that it forced me to sit on my ass for over three hours, tied to the reclining chair with IV tubes, and do nothing but read, listen to my iPod or chat with the other ladies there.  So although I loathe these things, I have to admit in the end it was a pretty good stress reliever.

So one more open house this weekend, and we take offers next week.  Only a few days of me running around like a crazy woman every morning before work, frantically cleaning and dusting and making sure the shower drain isn’t clogged with my hair* and that the dog’s slobbery toys are hidden and the plants look fresh and the wood surfaces dusted and the place is just glowing with an all-over BUY  ME vibe. I complain to  share with BeBop incessantly about how tired I am, how it’s hard for me to just get my fat ass up and out of the door in the morning without all of this extra pressure and how "I’m growing our TWO babies inside of me so YOU CAN DO IT YOURSELF" which, really, there’s no good response to so he has to pick up any slack.

OY.

In other news, did you know that if you literally get no exercise other than opening pickle jars** and waxing your own face nightly, you pretty much lose all muscle tone, coordination AND aerobic ability?  I did not know this. Until today, when I decided to go to the pool for a swim.

Do you remember the The Great Swimming Debacle of 2006?  For some reason, I momentarily forgot the humiliation that comes with getting into a bathing suit in public and decided to swim some laps.  ‘Some’ meaning about three because Sweet Jesus, I am in terrible shape.  Just the sheer exertion of putting on said bathing suit and turtle-like goggles made me tired. Which is why after about four minutes of swimming I was done.

But I’m hoping to build up to, say, ten laps and fifteen minutes because, really, this is just too pathetic.  Even for me.

On the little sister new baby front, it seems all is going pretty well and my sister got to go home yesterday, which was great.  She said she’s not too sore from the c-section, which is also good. When I spoke to her soon after the birth, she said, "You know, Mom’s not too great in a crisis situation…"

I did know this.

Despite being trained as a nurse, she’s really not that comfortable in a medical environment,  but maybe it’s just when family members are involved. My sister said once they decided on doing surgery, they were rushing around getting her ready and my brother-in-law had gone home to walk their dogs, not expecting the c-section.

My sister said she was trying to get my Mom to call him and tell him to haul ass back to the hospital STAT, and my Mom was sort of dawdling around, all the while they were shaving her pubes (my sister’s, not my Mom’s, which would have been really weird!) and rolling her gurney down the hall towards surgery.  In the end, her husband did get there, just in time.

In a startling development, it seems my Mom is actually being fairly helpful.  I guess she’s going to cook and maybe even clean for my sister, but I’ll have to see that to believe it.

In true Watson’s Mom fashion, she’s been rubbing sacred ash from an Indian Guru on the baby’s forehead, which I’m sure will go over REAL well with the pediatrician who must wonder what in the HELL that grey chalky substance on the kid’s head is?!? 

See what I have to look forward to?

*Not to sound all annoying and complainey, but it does seem a TAD unfair that while I would LOVE some of my facial hair to fall out on its own accord, it seems like someone glued it into the follicles with cement, while the hair in my head is falling out by the fistful each morning so that the bottom of my shower looks like a bear skin rug.  GA-ROS.

**Can I just mention that my pickle craving is gone?  GONE I tell you.  Almost the second I got to thirteen weeks, that was IT for the pickles.  Before this, the sheer mention of a dill pickle would cause my mouth to fill with saliva, like some kind of freakish pregnant Pavlov experiment subject.  I mean, literally, when I thought of eating a pickle, I would start to drool uncontrollably.  And now? Pickle shmickle.  And I have about seventeen jars of unopened pickles to prove it.

Can someone please get this woman to STOP feeding me pickles for dinner?  Really. 

It’s getting redonkuluos.