My love affair with GAP

Ah, nothing fills me with more Valentine's Day love than scoring a super dealio at Gap.com. And not just Gap, but Old Navy, too—double awesomeness.

I only have a few store credit cards: Best Buy, Kohl's (you know, so I can soon buy 30 pairs of second-rate Rock and Republic jeans), Macy's (only for Clinique make-up), Express (I sooooooo don’t shop there anymore since I quit moonlighting as a go-go dancer) and wonderful, always-has-what-I-need-at-the-right-price Gap.

I know, I ride high atop the bland and yuppie "we sell every plain shirt in 17 different colors" bandwagon, and well I really don't care. Because when you have a child that grows out of pants in 17 minutes and a burgeoning belly that has to be conservatively and professionally dressed for work five days a week, you go with what's easy and affordable. And that's my little Gappy.

And it's not only Gap, but Old Navy... and Banana Republic and Piper Lime... and that Athleta store I've never bought anything from. It's this great five-for-one'r when you are ordering online! I just add a pair of $10 clearance pants for Mac from Old Navy into my shopping bag, and then click a tab over and find a pair of $40 half-panel black dress pants in long from Gap on sale for moi, and BOOM—I get free shipping for my combined "over $50" order AND I can use coupon codes for each site PLUS my rewards dollars because I spend a mortgage payment with them each month.

I like my kid in mini-adult clothes. So these plain, slightly darker washed jeans are perfect.

 Kidding, I do not spend that much. But I do spend enough to get some pretty sweet discounts occasionally. And, I've been upgraded to Gap Silver. Which means a limo picks me up and takes me shopping to the Gap at Easton on select Saturdays. And I'm able to turn water into wine.

Again, I jest.

OH, and I also got this one-piece maternity bathing suit that my cutie-pie pregnant friend down the street recommended. Since I surely will be a beached whale this summer. I think the side shirring will help hide the protrusion.

We'll see if I can squeeze into this at 7-9 months this summer.

All-in-all, my bill should have been $120...but with the discounts I only paid $70. That's $50 for Target this weekend, baby!

So really, why am I so truly, madly, deeply in love with Gap? (And not like I was with Savage Garden circa 1997.) It's because little boy clothes and maternity clothes typically suck, and Gap actually gives me some decent options at prices I can stand to spend on stuff that barely will be worn.

...more on maternity clothing shopping  in my next post.

Blog of a wimpy mom

By now, most of you know that I am not a big fan of pregnancy. Let me rephrase that—While we are super duper excited (with vanilla and a cherry on top) to add another kiddo to the party pack, I do not enjoy how the presence of a human being in my uterus makes me feel for 9+ months.

I just don't.

For the past few weeks, I have been miserable. And Brian can attest, because it's likely I'm making him quite miserable, too. My energy has been zapped. Nausea in the morning. Headaches all afternoon. In bed by 8pm. Back pain. Sciatic never pain. Constant metallic taste in the back of my throat. I mean, seriously, try concentrating at work when it feels like you just downed 13 pennies.

Sounds like a Tosh.0 video challenge.

About six weeks ago, I felt like an invisible person was sticking the middle of my back with his little invisible hot poker. It really, really hurt. So I went to the hospital for a really fun ultrasound of my innards. I couldn't eat or drink for eight hours prior, and that in itself is a dreadful feat for a typically pigging-out preggo lady. But when I got to the waiting room, they didn't have my paperwork from my doctor, so I had to wait an extra hour and a half. Oh yeah, this hormonal girl 'bout went crazy up in Riverside Methodist Hospital. I think my eyes turned red. Red, I tell you. And they bled scarlet tears of hunger and fury.

And so... the testing found nothing. "It's just your hormones, honey!" said the doctor. Oh trust me, Captain Obvious, I'm blaming everything on those hellacious hormones right now, don't you worry.

Including eating. Ain't no eating like a preggo mom eating and this preggo mom eating can't stop. This kid is already eating me out of house and home and car and Target. I just spent $9 at Einstein's. At 3:30 in the afternoon. I got a bagel sandwich, milk and chips. This is in addition to the following already consumed today: Cereal, cottage cheese, a granola bar, a pack of instant oatmeal, almonds, a cheese stick, a banana, carrots, a tuna sandwich on wheat, pretzels, a cookie and some chocolate Teddy Grahams. Let's see if I can pack in about 1,000 more calories before the day is over. You know, the baby needs it.

Honestly, I don't think raising a kid is tough. But growing one? It's a nightmare. And yes, I know there are so many women out there who love being pregnant—they relish the time and wouldn't mind doing it 10 times over if they could. They enjoy it...they actually love it. And I'm dumbfounded.

And jealous. Maybe they just have easier pregnancies? Or maybe mine are just worse than your average bear's?

Nope and nope. You see, I do actually realize the simple truth of the matter—I'm a yellow-bellied baby-carrier. And I just need to tough it out for seven more months. (tear - clear this time)

Electric youth

Back when I was a pre-teen, I used to despise wedding and baby showers. Not because I disliked holy matrimony or slobbery babies, but because I was dragged to a an adult event during non-school, supposed-to-be-fun, me-time—Like when watching Saved by the Bell. Hanging out with old people was definitely the last priority on my self-centered pre-pubescent to-do list, and I always had to put on a lacy, flowery dress for the occasion.

Think Fashion Bug. We're talking late 80's here, folks. Forever 21 had yet to make dresses cool.

And then there was the weird food. "Appetizer" was not part of my general vocabulary at the time, and I definitely didn't see anything around that resembled Friday's loaded potato skins. Did they forget that my mom RSVP'ed for one child? ...Or, wait, I don't think people RSVP'ed back then. You just showed up. Or you didn't. They just made enough food for the entire neighborhood.

Diaper cake at my Cousin Jenny's baby shower - How did I not think this was adorable at age 12?

And then there were the nauseating adult-themed games. Like I'm supposed to know the average contents of a 30-year-old woman's purse? Ewe, I'd rather not know. They carry, like, period stuff around.

At one baby shower, I was crowned winner of a game I didn't even know I was playing. We all had to look at the bottom of our plates, and if there was a rubber ducky sticker, we won. Well, I won, and I was given a rose-scented Crabtree & Evelyn gift pack with lotion and little mauve soaps. The grandma scent definitely would never get me to hand-holding level on the playground. Couldn't they have at least sprung for a little vile of Debbie Gibson's signature spritz? Throw me a bone here, ladies!

Fast forward 20 plus years, and I get so excited for baby and wedding showers that I could just pee my pants. In front of people. Getting that free pass to stuff your face with amazing hors d'oeuvres and fancy drinks, watch someone open gifts you surely will have to comment on ("Oh, those big packs of diaper/burp cloths are fantastic, you will wash at least 30 of those a week!" or "I saw that glass bowl at Crate & Barrel, it is to DIE for!") and play games you know you can win (fo shizzle, this lady can recall what every candy bar looks like melted in a diaper).

Unlike my sis-in-law, I did not have "Shake Weight" on my wedding registry.

And personally, as a boring mom, I love the excuse to get dressed up on a random Saturday afternoon and have photos taken with friends or family. These are my prime hours, baby—noon to 4pm. I have the most energy, and I can play the speedy version of catch-up-on-the-past-six-months-that-I-haven't-seen-you with the best of 'em. While downing a glass of wine, three chocolate cupcakes and a heaping helping of spinach dip. And hummus. And queso.

Awe - With our Grandma Alma at Aunt JJ's wedding shower.

"Who wants to write down the gifts?" Oh, me, me, me, me, me! Yesssss...Front row view, and I get to touch every new item. ...If I lick one, do I get to keep it for myself?

You'd think I was medicated. But really, I'm just high on adult me-time.