If the Buckeyes played in the Super Bowl, I’d watch it

Super Bowl Sunday… Day 26 of the husband being off. I spent the morning cleaning my house, the afternoon at a first birthday party, and the evening not watching the Super Bowl. Since the husband has been off work, there is some futility in putting forth the effort to clean the house. My morning routine rarely falters. I get up around 7:00 a.m. and spend the next three hours trying to get more than what is humanly possible done and make it to work by 10:00 a.m. This never works out. Years of working nights and being ultra-productive in the daylight hours has ruined any possible chance of evening productivity. That and I feel naked without a Bass pale ale in my hand past a certain hour. (Which varies; some days I get off work at 3:00 p.m., some days I am done around 5:00 p.m.). Except for Fridays when I work from 10:00 a.m. until 10:00 p.m. I call this my cash cow day.
My husband sleeps in on the weekends. But I swear that man has a “the wife is mopping right now” radar. Without fail, every time I start to mop the kitchen marks the exact time he decides to wake up and meander downstairs for his coffee. This happened this morning at 11:37. Really? The fucking vacuum makes noise. Not the mop! This also applies to cleaning our bathroom. The very same day I choose to spit shine the toilet and sink is the day he decides to shave his head. I am not sure if he does the front of his head over the toilet and the back of his head over the sink, but either way both are desecrated.
And if that wasn’t fun enough, after cleaning the house it was time to go to one of my best friends birthday party for her one year old. Oh my! I have not voluntarily been around that many babies in a long time. Don’t get me wrong- I like my friend and her kid. I like the other kids(babies) that were there. That is just a chapter in my life that has happily passed.
I never really liked babies. They scare me. I don’t mind when they have control of their heads and all but I prefer the talking kind. When I found out I was pregnant I was petrified. I had been on the Depo provera shot for seven years when I found out I was expecting. Four and 1/2 months expecting. Two things here: 1. Missing nearly half of my pregnancy was arguably one of the best things that have ever happened to me. 2. I should have known.
I had gained a little bit of weight, but I run so I was in shape. I had been kind of tired so I was not running as much. I attributed the weight gain to lack of running. I remember beer not tasting good (WTF??) That should have been the clincher. I kept telling people I was losing my “mojo”.(Thank God!) And then there was Old Navy.
My mom and my sister both got breast reductions. After my sister had a baby, she tried to no avail to breastfeed her firstborn. Her double-d’s had graduated to k’s (K!!!!!) while pregnant and cut off my nephew’s circulation in his leg when she would try to feed him. Not I. Gravity failed me. I wear a size 11 shoe and sport an A cup. In fact, the best bra I ever bought was an “almost A”. Or was it barely B? I don’t (like to) remember. What the fuck is that? An A-minus? At any rate, I had bought a tank top from Old Navy that made me look like I had cleavage. I was so excited I went back and bought one in every single color; and even a few of the striped variety. Yup. Two weeks later I found out I was pregnant. Baby came; boobs left. Bye bye cleavage.
My sister loved being pregnant. She swore her nails were beautiful, her hair grew faster, and she felt vibrant. My sister lies. I hated every minute of being pregnant. I hated being tired, I hated trying to shave my legs, and I hated the fact that everything I chose to eat posed an issue of some sort. I especially hated the fact that my husband did not want to have sex with me. I figured he was near expert since this was his third child. He knew the routine; you can’t hurt the baby through intercourse. I still took the time to outline my “What to expect” books and show him that it was perfectly okay to have sex while pregnant. It took me all of the remainder of the ten months to realize he did not think he was going to hurt the baby. He just did not like me fat.
The birthday went well. My friend’s one year old is gorgeous and the food tasted great. The husband chastised me for wanting to pick up a six pack on the way.
“But it’s Sunday!” I tried to rationalize.
And, oh, how things have changed. Came home, did not watch the Super Bowl, and will try to pretend I am asleep so we don’t hurt the baby.

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