Part 2: The Valentine's Day Gift From Hell

Welcome back, Bloggies! For the first time in my history as a blogger, this will be a "Part 2" to my story from yesterday.  So please feel free to refresh your memory on Part 1, then come back for the dramatic conclusion of "The Valentine's Day Gift From Hell."

We left off with me in a huge state of disappointment after receiving a cactus and 24-pack of Dr. Pepper for Valentine's Day...

I leave Ex's room that Valentine's Day morning, needing to talk to someone. Anyone. The build-up that I have self-imposed on this mystery present has backfired worse than a high school kid's hooptie, and I need to share my grief with someone. 

I get on the elevator with my newly acquired cactus in my hand and Dr. Pepper at my feet. As the elevator rises to my floor, I try desperately to see the silver lining in this whole situation. Yes, I have been given a crap gift, but at least I now have 24-days worth of tasty Dr. Pepper to enjoy, right? It could be worse.

When I arrive in my room, my roommate, Erin, is getting ready for class. Naturally, she’s dying ot see what w "the sweater gift" turned out to be. (I may or may not have told everyone I know that my present is going to be "amazing".)  After I relay the story, Erin is very understanding and even manages to stop laughing after only three minutes.

We decide the best thing to do is move forward with our plan for Valentine's Day as though none of this has happened. Or at least try to pretend it hasn't happened, because the prickly green thing on my bookshelf is an ever-present reminder.

You see, back in January, Erin and I decided to go all out for our boyfriends' Valentine's Day gift this year. First, we would each create and paint a special box and fill it with 365 notes, one for each day of the year. Each note would contain a memory of our time together with our significant other. Something like "I love it when you carry my books" or "I love when you GIVE ME A DECENT GIFT FOR VALENTINE'S DAY".  Then we would give the box to our boyfriends while dressed up in questionable Victoria's Secret lingerie.

(And by Victoria’s Secret, I totally mean JC Penney.)

(Also, just to clarify, we would each give these gifts to our boyfriends separately, not at the same time.  We weren't that kinky.)

Unfortunately, after this particular morning, I'm feeling less than thrilled about the impending evening. Erin insists that I need to suck it up and move on. I can hardly be romantic if all I'm thinking about is how much Ex has disappointed me today.  Besides, this is my chance to show him what a real gift from the heart looks like. He can watch and learn.

Around 5:00, Erin leaves to go pick up her boyfriend for dinner. Ex's shift at the grocery store doesn't end until 9:00, so I now have four hours to kill. I do not spend them looking at the cactus.

When 8:00 rolls around, I perform some last minute preparations in my room to get ready for Ex's arrival. Candles lit (and totally illegal in the dorms, but so is a hot plate and I use that sucker every day), soft music playing, JC Penney lingerie on, lipstick applied, sexy position on the bed achieved. I’m ready.

And then the phone rings. I immediately recognize the number as Ex's cell and take the call.


"Hellllloo there.  Are you on your way to the dorm?" I ask in an attempted sexy voice.

"Uh...yeah."

My spine stiffens at the unfamiliar edge in Ex's voice, and I brace myself for what is coming.  In hindsight, there is no way I could have guessed.

"What's wrong, Ex?" I ask.  (In truth, I kind of want to ask if he's been fired for stealing floral arrangements, but I bite my tongue.)

"Well," he says. "You won't believe this." But I already know what it is. He's met someone. He's breaking up with me again for some Tri Delta that passed him in a cute top and spank-me heels.

"What?" I plead. "Just tell me, please," I'm trying so hard to remain calm.

"Um, you'll never believe what I just broke," he replies.  

Truth be told, I don't have a clue. A cactus planter?  My heart?

"I really don't know, Ex. What? Your teeth?” I respond, throwing out the most ridiculous thing I can think of. I don't have time for these stupid games. But then there is silence on the line. Followed by more silence.

"Actually, uh, yeah. My teeth," he breathes into the phone. "I think I need to go to the hospital."

Now I’m pissed. "Oh, HA HA, so hilarious!" I shout. "Ex, you've done this to me so many times, and it's so not funny! You didn't break your freaking teeth. Just hurry up and get here, you're ruining my present to you," I whine. I fiddle with the red ribbon strap on my lacy corset and check my butt for dimples in the mirror. There are several.

"No Kim," he whines. "I'm dead serious. I broke my two front teeth almost completely out. That's why I'm coming home early. I had to fill out a bunch of workman's comp forms and now I need to see a dentist or something."  

I am floored. How is this possibly happening?  Who breaks out their teeth on Valentine's Day? Furthermore, how?

"Ex, seriously. If this is a joke..." I take a moment and gather myself. He's done this before. There was that one time he called at 2:30 in the morning to ask me to bail him out of jail on a DUI. I had actually gotten into my clothes and was on my way to the car before he admitted it was a joke. Not to mention all the times he called to say he'd been in a car accident "just to see how sad I’d be.”

"Okay, fine, you broke out your teeth," I say.  "How? You work in the salad bar at a grocery store. Since when are cucumbers and ranch dressing fraught with danger?"

Silence.

"Um, well," he starts. "I wasn't in the salad bar when it happened," he says softly. "I was somewhere else."

"Where?  Where "somewhere else' were you?" I demand.

"I was in the Seafood Department."

(What?)

"You were in the Seafood department," I repeat, steadying my voice. "Why?  Seafood is on the total opposite end of the store. Why were you over there and how did seafood break your teeth out?"  

I'm becoming more and more convinced this is a joke and Ex is on his way over with a diamond ring. It will be the most elaborate proposal in history. People will laugh. They will cry. They will marvel at the intricate work that went into this charade. Stolen cactus, Dr. Pepper, broken teeth...proposal! I wonder how long my parents have been in on it.

"I was at the salad bar re-filling the veggies," Ex begins. "But the Seafood department guy was bored, and so was I. No one is buying groceries on Valentine's Day." 

(But some people steal cactus for Valentine's Day.)

I stand and listen in complete silence, still waiting for the punch line, my fingers tracing the word "ring" on the floral bedspread in front of me.

"So I go over to see John in seafood," he continues. "And we're talking. And then one of us came up with the idea to, um, to, uh..."  For Christ’s sake.

"To WHAT, Ex?  You did what?" He's worse than Ross on Friends getting his sentences out.

"We started playing...hockey."

"Hockey,” I repeat. “You were playing hockey. HOCKEY WITH WHAT?"

"A...frozen fish.  And some brooms."

Now I know he's telling the truth. There is no way ANYONE on this planet could fabricate something so ridiculous for a surprise engagement. Even him. I start to feel faint. I walk to the mirror and look at myself, dolled up in lingerie, waiting for the love of my life to come over so I can seduce him. I look ridiculous.

"Let me get this straight,” I say. “You put a frozen fish on the floor of the seafood department and played hockey with it?  Didn't customers see you?"  I ask, now kind of desperate to hear the rest of this story.

"Oh, no. We were in the back room. Nobody could see us.  I'm not that stupid."

I let that one go without comment.

"Okay," I say.  "What happened then?"

"Well, we had a pretty good game going," I can actually hear him smiling at the memory.  "And then the fish kind of got stuck between John's side and mine.  We both dove for it.  The seafood section is really cold and wet - and I slipped. When I went down, my two front teeth caught on one of the metal seafood prep tables, and now they're broken really bad."

I am officially rendered speechless.  My boyfriend has gone above and beyond the levels of stupidity to completely ruin my faith in men for all eternity. He couldn't just go to work, finish his shift and come home with a 2 carat sparkler, could he? Oh no. He had to go to work, get bored, and play like Wayne Gretzky on a floor covered in NEMO GUTS and break out his most important molars.  Now my sexy outfit and adorable present aren't even going to matter. Can you even kiss a man without two front teeth?

I glance at the clock and see that it's nearly 8:30. All of the urgent care medical places are closed, and certainly no dentist will be open at this hour. My motherly instinct has officially kicked in. (It’s not the last time I will need it while dating Ex, either.)

"All right, Ex,” I say, my voice calm. “Just come straight here and we'll figure out what to do. Are you in pain?" I ask.

"Yeah," he replies weakly. "It hurts more every second.  I've got to get some pain meds or something."

"Well," I say slowly. "Make sure you have your insurance card for if we go to the hospital, okay?” 

"I need insurance?" For the love of Pete.

"Just get here.”

Four minutes later, I’ve changed out of my polyester Penney’s get-up and there is knock at my door. Ex has already called back twice to make me promise not to laugh when I see him.  I have assured him that the last thing on earth I am in the mood to do is laugh. 

As soon as he crosses the threshold to my room, I tell him to open his mouth so I can see the damage first hand. I'm also still holding onto a small shred of hope that the whole thing is a hoax. It isn't. As he opens his mouth, I notice that the teeth are not completely broken out, but at least 50% of one tooth is gone, and about a third of the other.  He definitely needs medical attention. And possibly mental...for another time.

"All right then," I say decidedly. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" he asks, incredulous.

"Obviously the ER, Ex. You're still bleeding, and I can tell you're in pain."

"Well...what's that?" He motions to the corset on the bed. 

"It was part of your present," I sigh. "As was that," I point toward the box of memories.  "But that doesn't matter right now. Erin and her boyfriend will be here in an hour to "use" the room and we're supposed to be long gone by then. Obviously we aren't going to do what I had planned, so we'll go to the ER instead."

Ex looks at me with weepy eyes. "I'm really sorry," he whispers. "I love you for taking care of me."

I shake my head. "I know you are, Ex. I know you are. But we can't do anything about it now. I would say I hope you learned a lesson, but what would it be?  Don't play fish games when you're on the clock? I would've thought you'd known that by now."

I motion for him to head out the door and he goes begrudgingly. As I lock the door behind me, I can't help but wonder if anyone else is having a night like this. My guess is no.

Within 40 minutes, Ex has been taken into the ER and is being examined. I survey the patients in the waiting room with me. Some have bad colds, one guy has a sliced hand from a romantic Valentine’s meal gone bad. I can't imagine that any of them are here because their boyfriend is a lousy fish hockey player.

When Ex reappears, he is armed with a prescription for pain meds and instructions to see a dentist first thing in the morning.  My instructions are to get him whatever he needs and make sure he's comfortable for the rest of the night.

Just what I want to do.

In an effort to apologize, Ex takes me to Chili's for dinner, though he's unable to eat anything and I therefore feel guilty eating. Needless to say, I don't use my lingerie and the memory box isn't nearly as well received as I had hoped. Mostly because Ex is falling asleep from the pain meds.

Truthfully, that wasn't the only Valentine's Day with Ex where everything went to hell in a hand basket, but it was definitely the worst. Recalling it now, I still can't believe it happened. I'm sure neither can he. There are so many more adventures, holidays and non, that you wouldn't believe Ex got me into.  But they're all true and at least it makes for interesting memories.

As I said earlier, this whole blog entry started because I wanted to compare the  "worst Valentine’s gift ever" stories.

I win, people. I sooooooo win.

 XOXO,

The Valentine's Day Gift From Hell

I'm tired of writing about infertility and my pregnancy. I'm sure you're tired of hearing about it. So, instead, let's focus on the upcoming holiday. You know, the one where Cupid is shooting arrows at people and blah blah blah. 

Does Valentine's Day make you feel nauseated? I have a cure. Laughter. And I promise I can make you laugh by sharing the WORST VALENTINE'S DAY I EVER HAD.

Seriously, I've had some rough ones over the years, but this one I'm about to tell you about takes the cake (or heart-shaped cookie). I had a boyfriend before Hubs who was a hot mess. We dated for close to 8 years and it was known throughout the land that he was the worst gift giver ever. But that year. That one year, he truly outdid himself. Want to hear the story? You will laugh, I promise you.

Here goes:

During my sophomore year of college, Ex and I were in our 2nd year of dating bliss together. Or something like that. We had shared two years of birthdays, two Christmases, two Valentine's Days, and I never missed one occasion. He missed all but one.

In fairness, on one of my birthday's he did show up with a card and say, "All right! Let's go find you a gift!" But that doesn't count, kids. Everyone knows this.

So...it's February of 2001. I'm living in the same dorm as the Ex. He's on the 4th floor, I'm on the 9th. We see each other whenever he feels like it and I basically spend most of my time holed up in my room looking at photographs of us, hoping the phone will ring. One day, I meet Ex in his room so we can walk to class together. 

(Just walking, no hand holding, please. People can see us.)

I arrive in Ex's room, and he's still getting dressed. He asks me to please grab a sweater for him. I willingly oblige. The sweaters are piled on a shelf at the top of his closet. Just as I reach to select one, he says, "Oh wait!  Please, don't look behind my sweaters. Your Valentine's Day gift is up there!"

I almost die. Like, Rachel Zoe die. Because friends, we are still 9 DAYS from Valentine's Day. Yet he already has a gift? Granted, I've had mine finished since January 1, but for my boyfriend to ALREADY have my gift ready to go? This was going to be good. I try to hide my excitement, and outwardly pretended like I don't really care.  Inside, though, my brain is hosting a block party. I may or may not have written "Mrs. Ex Boyfriend" 4,000 times in my journal that night.

Ex and I eventually depart for class, but all I can think is: WHAT IS BEHIND THOSE SWEATERS?

The next 9 days are filled with these gift predictions:

•  Sweaters can't hold a lot of stuff, really.  It's got to be earrings. I'll take CZ if he says he loves me after I open them.

•  It's a diamond ring.  OH MY GOD, WE'RE GETTING ENGAGED. But he has no money. We're in college and living on ramen noodles and vodka.  Maybe his Dad lent him the money!!!  I love my future father-in-law!!! 

• Maybe it's a pair of those Abercrombie jeans he knows I can't afford but want so badly.  But he told me I need to lose a few pounds, so...no.

•   Maybe it's super tacky lingerie and crotchless panties. This is the most likely option.

Finally, February 14th arrives. Knowing I won't be able to wait until evening, I run down to Ex's room at 8:30 and demand my present. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CANIHAVEIT CANIHAVEIT? Ex agrees and tells me to close my eyes and sit in his desk chair. Breathlessly I sit down and hold out my hands, eyes pinched shut.

I hear a thud. Then a rustling. Wait, is that a plastic sack?  Like a grocery sack? What the hell kind of gift comes in a grocery sack? Another thump, a shuffle. He coughs. OH my GOD, is he nervous???  Does this mean what I think it means? Because really, in the past three weeks things have been SO good with him.  He's told me he loved me twice without me asking. He's given me a kiss on the cheek between classes, and Thursday night at the bar he didn't hit on ONE girl.

This has got to mean something.

Suddenly an object with a decent amount of weight lands in my hands.  This something is too big to be a ring box, too small to be a pair of jeans.

"Aaaand, open!" Ex says with great enthusiasm.

I slowly open my eyes, not sure what I'm about to see.  I look into my hands - and immediately want to shut my eyes again.

No. This cannot be. This cannot be my gift.

"Well?  Do you love it?" he asks with genuine excitement.

"It's. I mean, it's a cactus, Ex," I say, my voice flat as a pancake.  "A cactus." I want to run away to Africa and never come home.

"Right!" he exclaims with gusto. "You know how I have my cactus collection here in my room?  I thought it'd be neat for you to start one in your room! And look, it's in a planter already! And it has the little plastic "Happy Valentine's Day" thing on it. It's ready to go and you don't have to water it much, so it'll be hard to kill."  

Ex would not be hard to kill. Or at least hospitalize. Ex rubs his hands together and is looking at me, expecting me to say something about the gift.

My mind instantly flashes back to our first Christmas together. I bought Ex a brand new watch that was way out of my price range. I had wrapped it with such care, anticipating the moment he would see it and be beside himself with happiness. On Christmas, he opened it and shrugged, then said, "Hmm. Do I need a watch?"  Thinking about this now, I kind of want to say, "Do I need a sharp, prickly plant that only grows in the DESERT?"

Slowly I turn the planter around in my hand and give it a hard look. The cactus itself isn't horrible looking.  In fact, it's relatively cute.  And I do sort of enjoy Ex's succulent collection in his dorm.  

But it's a cactus. Who gives their girlfriend of two years a CACTUS ON EFFING VALENTINE'S DAY? I realize I have in fact told Ex multiple times that I don't care for roses, but this is hardly what I meant. And then a thought crosses my mind so quickly, I can't quite grab it. A weird sensation comes over me, like I'm missing something that is glaringly obvious. I try to conjure the thought again, but it disappears into the back corner of my brain, like a dream that dissolves the moment you wake up.

"And wait!" Ex exclaims. "One more thing!" He is back over in the closet, rummaging on the floor. Thank God, maybe this is all a joke.

"I got you this, too!"  Ex plops a giant 24-pack of Dr. Pepper at my feet.

"I know how much you love Dr. Pepper, so I got you some,"  He looks like he is expecting a kiss. I sort of want to puke.

Bu then I look into his eyes and realize how excited he is, and I begin to feel bad. Pathetically I pick at the fuzzies on my sweater.  I mean, so it's a cactus. So what? No, he isn't the smoothest gift giver on campus. So he made a present boo-boo.  At least he finally bought me a Valentine's Day gift that...and then it happens again. The thought that floated through my mind ten seconds ago has managed to squirm it's way through again, coming through loud and clear.

Ex works at a grocery store. I heard a plastic grocery sack earlier when he was bringing me the gift. Ex has repeatedly bragged that his favorite thing to do is steal plants from his store's floral department because no one is working that section. In fact, it's a point of pride for him that nearly every cactus on his dorm shelf was "free niney-nine."

Which means he stole my gift. I'm not stupid.  My tacky, ridiculous, ugly CACTUS of a gift was SHOPLIFTED by my boyfriend.  He might have paid for the Dr. Pepper, which cost approximately $4.00.

I heave a huge sigh, and remember that it's supposed to be the thought that counts.  Except I don't believe any thought went into this gift. I've never shown any desire to own a cactus. Ever. And Ex loves Dr. Pepper as much as I do. This is a gift for him, not me. Never mind that upstairs in my dorm, Ex's Valentine's Day surprise is waiting. A hand-made painted box with 365 handwritten notes in it. 365 handwritten memories of our two years together. A box filled with memories for Ex to take out and read every morning for a year, just so he knows how much I love him.

And I get a fecking stolen, grocery store cactus.

My gift only cost $8.50 - but it took 18 hours to finish.  I decide then and there that tonight, after Ex gets off work, I'm going to give him my gift. I will lead by example. After tonight he will know what a TRUE gift from the heart is. He has to work until 9:00, and I'm too upset to argue. I kiss him and act grateful, and tell him that his gift is still to come.  Perhaps this Valentine's Day can still be saved.

Or not.

To be continued....

I'm pregnant...now what?

I spent a great many years wondering what it would be like to join the Pregnant Girls Club. I imagined the first time I saw a plus sign on that stupid pee stick. I envisioned telling our family and later, making some sort of cute announcement on social media or at least a card sharing our news with close friends. But that was really as far as I ever got. As an infertile, you never want to get too far down the road of a pregnancy fantasy, because you live in reality...a reality where a pregnancy may never happen. I never wanted to imagine what symptoms I'd encounter, or how hard being pregnant would be. I just wanted the pregnancy, and I'd deal with the rest as it came.

Well, the rest has officially arrived. 

(Before I continue, I want to say, I realize this started out as an infertility blog and is now sort of morphing into more of a pregnancy blog. I didn't plan for that to happen, and I want to be cognizant of my Twitter and bloggy friends who are still struggling with getting pregnant. So if I ever come off whiney (as I'm afraid I will in this blog), please feel free to skip reading the post. I won't be offended, I promise.

On the flip side, once you join the Pregnant Girls Club (and I so have never ending hope that you will), you may want to come back and read these posts, because I promise they will be relevant.)

So...here is my list of things I never thought about when I was struggling to get pregnant, but which are front and center now. Oy.

1. Pardon me while I sleep

Oh my heavens, the tiredness. And I thought being an infertile was exhausting. I basically wake up, take a shower, and then fall asleep with a curling iron in my hair. The other day at work, I almost fell asleep mid sentence in a conversation with a co-worker. I'm a lucky ducky in that I work from home a lot and can catch a quick cat nap one or twice during the day. How do 8-5 peeps do it? Good God.

2. Feed Me

At 8 weeks in, I'm starting to wonder just how much weight I'm going to gain because HOLY CRAP I'M HUNGRY. I'm not being vain, I'm seriously concerned here. All I want is crackers and cheese and mozzarella sticks. When does that "healthy intuition" start to kick in?

3. The fear

As an infertile, I lived in a constant state of mind-numbing fear. What if the IVF didn't work? What if it did? How are we going to come to grips with the fact that we can't get pregnant if it comes to that? I spent so much time worrying about not getting pregnant, that it never occurred to me that it might actually happen.

Basically I've traded one set of fears for a whole new set.

Front and center is, am I doing everything right? I mean, yesterday I forgot to take my progesterone insert. Could that cause something really bad? I basically sit awake and night and wait for the other shoe to drop and find out this isn't really happening after all. 

4. Do's and Dont's

Here's one thing I miss about infertility: the certainty of what you could and couldn't do. Caffeine? No. Booze? Forget it. Do you want IVF to work, Kim? Then you darn well better do these things and not do these things. Concrete, solid instructions.

With pregnancy, research is like jello. It moves around constantly depending on who you speak to. Some docs tell you sushi once a month is fine. Others tell you sushi will cause your baby to come out looking like a deranged octopus. My friend's doctor told her she can eat deli meat. My "What to Expect When You're Expecting" book says no way. Some articles say caffeine is awful. Other say it's fine. 

Infertile Kim is used to being told very clearly what she should or shouldn't do. Those days are long gone.

5. We accept credit cards

You all know know full well how much infertility costs. Well, that doesn't go away when you finally get pregnant. Doc visits, more blood work, prescriptions...it still goes on and on. Granted, more of it is covered by insurance (thank sweet baby Jesus), but it's still a constant depletion of funds. Don't get me wrong, we are happy to be paying for the baby to grow healthy rather than continuing to pay for the hope we can get one to grow. But it's still a shock.

6. That support you needed all along? It finally shows up.

Once we got pregnant and told those close family and friends who knew about our infertility struggle, I couldn't believe how supportive everyone suddenly got. People who wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole all of a sudden were so very concerned with how I was doing, how I'm feeling, etc. Those that couldn't sit still for 10 minutes to hear about my uterine biopsy were constantly asking what's going on. WHERE WERE YOU FOR THE LAST 4 YEARS? The reality is, dealing with a pregnant person is much less risky than dealing with an infertile. Infertile's are volatile, moody, and in a constant state of flux. For pregnant women, we're still all those things, but your friend can always just throw out "OMG, you're having a baby!" if things get weird. You can't do that with an infertile. Blurg.

7. What in the holy feck is happening in there?

I'm lucky that I'm still relatively symptom free. Yes, I'm super tired and want to eat anything that begins with ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXY or Z, but I don't really feel pregnant. But still, occasionally I feel something and I'm all, "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" Apparently this will get much worse before it gets better. And there's no way to prepare for it. For example, I'll just be sitting there having lunch with a co-worker, talking about budgets for the year, and BAM, it feels like something lit my vagina on fire for 15 seconds or so. Try smiling through that one.

Or there will be a random cramp in my stomach that makes me go, "Oh damn, ow!" It makes for an interesting conversation with that co-worker since she has no idea I'm pregnant. My go-to excuse lately as been, "Gas. I get a little gas from time to time. Gas." (Yes, that was a Ghost reference.)

8. Can we just TELL already?

Here's the irony. You wait for 4 years to get pregnant, then it finally happens...and you can't tell anyone. It's torture. I want to shout it from the rooftops and write about it in a blog (heh heh). I just want everyone to know so they can stop speculating about why Kim is such a frickin' roller coaster of emotions lately. Does she need a Xanax?

In the meantime, I'm not showing, but I also don't look so amazing. I feel bloated and my boobs hurt (hello, progesterone), but I can't explain that to anyone because they just say, "yeah, that's called PMS. Get over it." 

Fun times.

I totally understand that I sound like the biggest party pooper in the world. My infertiles out there who aren't pregnant yet are like, "Get your shit together, Kim! You're pregnant. I would DIE to be pregnant." 

I totally get it. I was in the same boat a few weeks ago. I swore to any God who was listening that I would never complain about anything if I could just get pregnant. I made all sorts of promises that I basically broke the minute that stick said "pregnant". The truth is, there's just no way of knowing how it feels until it happens.

I am so immensely happy, while at the same time terrified and pissed off and nervous and tired and energized. On any given day, my mood swings are as predictable as a slot machine. 

****

To all my infertiles that are still praying for the day their pee stick shows good news, keep hanging in there. I haven't forgotten what it's like. I'm still there with you, hoping with you, and virtually holding your hand. Don't give up.

XOXO,

The Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award

Well color me honored, I got nominated for a major award!!

(Okay, it may not be a major award, but I love "A Christmas Story," so I had to work that in.)

Little miss Kaeleigh over at the Unpregnant Chicken  has honored me with the "Sisterhood of the World" Bloggers award. This bloggie award honors unique voices of women bloggers around the world, and really, we could use more of those. I love blogging about the trials and tribulations of becoming knocked up and I'm always so happy when I hear that people a) read my shiz and b) think it's funny or informative. I appreciate anyone recognizing my attempts to be humorous, so Kaeleigh, thank you so much for the award and if I misspelled your name, it's because cut/paste didn't work properly.

So, here's how this whole thing goes:

• Thank the blogger who nominated you, linking back to their site. - DONE!
• Put the award logo on your blog. - DONE!
• Answer the ten questions the nominator has set you. - See below!
• Make up ten new questions for your nominees to answer. Nominate ten people. - Oh God, this is gonna be tough.

Here are the 10 questions that Kaeleigh thoughtfully asked. Hopefully they will give you a chance to get to know me even better than you thought you did before!

1. What is your favorite book or movie and why?

This is seriously impossible. My fave movie of all time is "Gone With the Wind" but I may or may not have watched "The Devil Wears Prada" 638 times. Just this year alone. Right now, my fave book is "Sharp Objects" from Gillian Flynn. But man, I sure did love "Yes Please" by Amy Poehler. This is what happens when you're in book club...you read a lot and love everything.

2. What did you want to be when you grew up?

Don't laugh, but I wanted to be someone who pumped gas into other people's cars. I love the smell of gasoline. And if that didn't work out, I wanted to iron clothes for people.

So...basically a maid.

3. Where would you travel if money was no object?

The more appropriate question is where wouldn't I travel? Ha. No, seriously, I want to go to Italy like nobody's business. I'm an interior designer by education and some of the most exquisite buildings in the world are in Italy. Or Europe in general.

4. What do you miss most about childhood?

I miss simplicity. Never worrying about if my cable bill was overdue or why I can't get pregnant after 9,000 tries. I miss waking up and my biggest worry being whether I would have peanut butter and jelly or bologna for lunch.

5. If you could have any fictional character for a pet who would it be?

DUH. I want the pig from "Babe." He can sing and talk!

6. Do you have any gross habits that you try to hide?

You guys, I am quite possibly the gassiest woman on the planet.

7. Coffee,hot chocolate or tea?

Tea all day.

8. What is your favorite thing about blogging?

I get to frame my reality. If I think the world is unfair, I get to make it unfair. if I think I'm amazing, I can be amazing. I am 100% uninhibited (part of that comes from being somewhat anonymous) and able to tell my truth from my point of view. And there are no deadlines. :-)

9. What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done?

IVF is up there. I never thought I would have gone that far to be a mom, but it's amazing what you find that you can and will do to fulfill a dream you've had for over 30 years.

10. Do you have any hobbies?

I'm a major book reader and i write freelance for a few local magazines. I am also a nail polish addict. Like...it's a problem. And blogging. That's a hobby, right? THE MOST AWESOME HOBBY OF ALL!

Now the hard part. I have to nominate 10 other people. Here we go:

Screw You Stork

Life as an Infertile

The Purple Guru

Infertility Goddess

Okay, that's only 4 and I know that's pathetic. I'm sorry -almost all the bloggers I wanted to pick have already been picked! I'm such an under achiever...sorry guys. So, you four that I chose, here are your 10 questions.

1. Who is your blog idol?

2. What song do you sing loudest in the shower?

3. What's your favorite curse word to yell at your ovaries?

4. You get to meet one of your favorite fictional characters. Who is it?

5. What do you think about when you need to smile?

6. If you could switch careers and be awesome at something other than what you currently do, what would it be?

7. What's your go-to "I didn't have time to do my hair" style?

8. Taylor Swift or Katy Perry? YOU HAVE TO PICK ONE. If you want to.

9. Would you rather legally change your last name to Hitler or never eat chocolate again?

10. On a scale of 1-10, how much do you love Benedict Cumberbatch? (If it's below 5, I don't know if we can be friends.)

Love you all!

XOXO,