>sexy single livin’ ezmy

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Andrew has gone away for a week and a half. I am sitting in bed with a stack of Premium Plus crackers, a jar of peanut butter, and a butter knife, eating away and watching 30Rock. I have definitely gotten more than a blob or two of peanut butter on one of Andrew’s old shirts. I’ve never looked sexier. Ha.

>on a scale of 1 to 10…

>At some point in every first pregnancy, I assume, the woman in question begins to wonder:

‘On a scale of 1 to 10, how painful will this labour thing be?’

At almost 20 weeks pregnant, I find myself comparing the pain of anything that happens to me to labour. For example, I stubbed my toe against our bedpost the other day while picking up laundry. It hurt like hell but all I could think about was ‘I wonder how this pain compares to labour?’ Which makes about as much sense as comparing Amy Winehouse and Anne Hathaway on a style scale. But pregnant Ezmy doesn’t shy away from the nonsense thoughts, as we well know.

All this wondering about pain could prompt someone to ask other women who have kids about their experiences. I mean, who better to tell you, right? But this means opening yourself up to one of two types of answers, neither of which is very satisfying. First, there are the Super Frightening answers – the ‘Oh god, I was in labour for 50 hours before they finally decided to perform a C-section because the kid wasn’t coming out’, the ‘Oh yeah, the labour was so fast that the baby was born in the bathroom and came out not breathing and the paramedics revived her at the last minute’, the ‘The baby tore through my uterus and both of us nearly died’, and the general ‘I thought I was going to die from the pain’ stories. All of which are enough to make you think ‘Huh, I wonder if the kid can just, you know, stay in there….”

Second, and in some ways far worse, is the Beautiful Experience type of answer. Which, unsurprisingly, often comes from those same women who insist that pregnancy is a beautiful journey (interesting, yes. But beautiful? No.). You know the ones – ‘Oh I was so caught up in the magic of the moment, I barely felt the pain’, or ‘Well, my labour lasted about 45 minutes…I guess it was painful’, and my personal favourite, ‘I don’t know what these other women are complaining about – I don’t remember labour being that bad.’ Really? Really? You pushed out an 8lb watermelon and you don’t remember it being that bad? All I can say is pfft.

What the variety of answers means of course is that no one’s experience will help me. Neither will comparing the pain of stubbed toes, paper cuts, and foot cramps to the pain of labour on some irrelevant pain scale. There is nothing I can do to prepare myself for this, just like there is nothing I can do to prepare myself for my life post-pregnancy.

How infuriating.

>haiti needs you.

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I don’t often post things asking for money and such but I think it’s important to put this out there. The earthquake in Haiti is shaping up to be one of, if not the worst natural disaster to hit the Western Hemisphere. Time to whip out your pocket-books, my blogger friends, and help the poor people of this country out. And I do mean poor – on a good day in Haiti, roughly 80% of the population lives below the poverty line…yeesh.

I chose Doctors without Borders. Here’s the link: http://www.msf.ca.

>egad, it’s January 10th

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What if I can’t find the stroller I want in time for Ewan’s arrival? And what if he doesn’t like the colour red (his likely room colour)?

This is what I woke up at 5:00am this morning to worry about. Seriously. As if I can do anything about these issues at that time. More to the point, as if these even are issues to worry about at 5:00am or any other time for that matter. Of course I will find the stroller I need and of course the kid won’t give two hoots about the room colour. Sensible words that were lost on me in the wee hours of today. When I had moved on from worrying about these things, I started in on the ‘What if we can’t find someone to marry us?’ worry and the ‘Oh man, I better get LD to book a block of hotel rooms’ worry. Around about 7:00, while LD lay peacefully sleeping next to me, I headed into the worry to end all worries – money. How the HELL are we going to afford all of this? By the time LD was awake at the sensible Sunday morning hour of 10:00am, I had worked myself into a right tizzy and was frantically trying to figure out how I was going to get my drivers license renewed this week (way past due because of the strike and now I’m worrying I won’t have a license in time to drive Ewan to the hospital when he gets some rare disease I’ve never heard of…), while at the same time wondering if Ewan has spina bifida (a regular worry for me…don’t ask me why) and if people are going to like the food at the wedding.

Ha.

Mornings like these are becoming increasingly common…this is troubling. I don’t know what I would do without Andrew. He’s the one who calmly assures me that Ewan’s organs are likely all where they should be and that he will in fact be born with a head. He is also the one who reminds me that as long as we keep plugging away at it, the wedding will get planned and the house will get moved into. Sensible man.

I wish my new prenatal yoga dvds would arrive…I’m desperately in need of a good new stretch. And a nap…

>ezmy the copy-typist

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Sigh.

So I’ve been working for a patent firm since just before xmas. I was hired as a copy-typist but have been working at the reception desk for the last two weeks so that the other receptionist could take some vacation time. Reception is one of the most boring jobs a person can have, but there are some perks. For one thing, you get to meet the cute Canada Post guys (and some of the morning ones are cute with a capital C). Reception is also the place where the food and supplies stop first, so you can pull out your favourite tea or the coolest pens before anyone else nabs them. You get to answer interesting phone calls and, if you’re very lucky, hang up on rude people. But most importantly for me is the fact that reception is the place where everybody stops by. And generally speaking, the people you work with are nice to you (in part because they feel sorry for you, and in part because you have control over the distribution of valuable things like white-out pens and batteries). In the last two weeks, I’ve been having a pretty good time up there at front desk. Sure I’ve been bored as all get out, but I’ve met some really nifty people and have managed to fit in with a good lunch crowd (an absolutely essential part of working in a boring office job – good lunch people make all the difference).

Yesterday was the big moving day. After some confusion as to where my new desk would go, I finally packed up my Burts Bees lip balm and hand lotion, my favourite pen, a pack of post-its, and about 10 pairs of shoes and made my way to the copy-typing section of the office. I was really excited about this. I know I’m only going to be in this job until May/June but I like what it entails – proofreading!! I love proofreading. Not my own work, mind you, because by the time I reach proofreading stage, I want to kill myself and burn everything I’ve ever written (not in that order, obviously). But proofreading other people’s work? Love it!! And this stuff is even cooler than most things I’ve done because it’s a lot of chemical formulas and spiffy diagrams that require a precision and attention to detail I find intoxicating. So I was excited.

And then quickly disappointed. Not by the job – the job is everything I thought it would be and more. No, I was quickly disappointed by the work environment. The incredibly toxic, oppressively quiet work environment. Without getting into too many specifics, I’ve wandered into an office bees nest that’s been building for some time – my arrival adding considerable fodder. People aren’t speaking to each other for various reasons, no one in this neck of the woods likes new people, and everyone appears to be suspicious that you’re after their job. I’m hoping to set some minds at ease when I announce that I’m pregnant soon but I don’t know if that will make things better (yaya she’s leaving so she can’t get promoted ahead of me) or worse (so she’s new and I’m going to waste my day training her only to have her leave in what four months?). SIGH. Andrew has advised me to just be cheerful and keep on working and he is, of course, right. That’s exactly what I will do. But…..well, I just like to have a fun time at work and this is not going to be fun. Boo. Plus I want to be comfortable asking questions…and in this kind of environment, it feels like every question is a reason to hate me more (incompetent newgirl) or throw me off (well, I don’t know…better ask so-and-so even though I’m the lead on this project and do in fact know but don’t want to tell you blah blah blah).

Argh.

>2010 is the year of ezmy

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So here we are. 2010. This is the year I have a baby, get married, and move into a condo with LD. It is also going to mark the first anniversary of my 29th birthday. Big times ahead. I can remember sitting around my mum’s dining-room table with my sister and brother when the announcement came on about the 2010 Winter Olympics and we all sat and chatted about where we thought we’d be. Of course the over-arching theme of this discussion was “And Ezmy will be 3o!! Hahahaha!!” (hardy har har) but other things came up too. We all thought we’d totally be in the financial position to afford going to the Olympics for one thing. HAHAHAHA. None of us factored in kids or marriage really – all of us will be married by the end of this year, and two of us will have children. I think at the time I figured I’d be living in some far off land like Luxembourg or Spain or France – I certainly never would have guessed O-town. Just makes me chuckle to think about. I’m pleased with how things have turned out (although I must admit I’m excited about us moving someday…I love you, Canada, but I need to stretch my legs).

Anyway, so it’s 2010. Usually I start the new year with a bunch of resolutions in my head. Things like ‘cut back on the booze’ or ‘stop smoking at parties’ or ‘stop dating losers’ or ‘start treating yoga like food’. Not so much this year. The first three are taken care of by the very existence of Ewan and Andrew, and the fourth is a no-brainer now. I NEED yoga like I need water. Pregnancy without yoga is just not possible, I’ve decided. My only resolution this year is to go with the flow. We have so much going on, with the baby and the wedding and the move and Andrew travelling, and blah diddy blah blah that the only sensible way to approach the year is with the following mantra: ‘Whatever, it’ll all work out’. I’m not too worried about things. The wedding will totally work out, as long as I tackle a different wedding task each weekend before the baby gets here. My goal is to have the whole party planned by June so that I won’t have to worry about wedding stuff while trying to figure out how to not accidentally kill the child. I’ve never been happier that I have five bridesmaids – delegate, delegate, delegate. The move will be fine because we’re tossing everything we own anyways and the house doesn’t need much work except for paint which can wait. And the kid, well the kid will just work I figure. I mean, heaps of people have kids everyday and it works, so whatever. My biggest concern at present is that I will accidentally leave him somewhere but if I have a baby like me (I cried for the first three years of life), I’ll have no trouble remembering him.

So that’s it. Go with the flow. This is the most excited I’ve been about a year ever. I’m nervous and excited and a little nauseous…wait, the nausea is because I need to eat. Ok, off to make some sort of healthy treat for Ewan. Olives and pasta with chard, tomato, parmasean, and some fish oil supplements? Tasty times.