I loved all of your comments yesterday on the horribleness of the names out there in this world.  (Horribleness is totally a word.  I proved this by using it in a sentence.)  I’m not sure what’s worse, the names or the parents that gave their children the names. 

Being back to work this week hasn’t been bad.  It’s hasn’t been fabulous, but it’s been okay.  Does that make sense?  Since I’ll be working from home two days a week, this is my last day in the office.  My last day being away from Babboo all day.  All praise to my boss who is letting me try this whole working from home thing out.  And all praise to all of you for showing your support to me during this week.  It really has helped.

I have some free time during my days now that I’m pumping at work.  Mostly there just isn’t anything to do while I’m locked in a gross shower room producing sweet, sweet tit juice for Babboo.  

I have decided to use this time to catch up on my personal phone calls.  Yesterday I called my parents house to talk to my Mom about my first day back at work.  But she wasn’t at home, so I talked to my Dad for a bit. 

When my Dad and I talk on the phone, we usually talk about computer stuff.  I’m the only one in the family that even sort of knows what the heck he is ever talking about when it comes to this topic. 

Dad: Blah, blah, blah, something about computers and digital cameras.

Isabel: Wow, that’s interesting.  Our new camera blah, blah, blah.

Dad: It sounds like you’re sitting next to a printer. 

Isabel: Oh, that’s just my breast pump.  I’m pumping at work.

Dad: Well, I’d better go.  Talk to you later. 

And this is when he hung up faster than you can say, totally uncomfortable with this topic.

At least I wasn’t going to the bathroom, pumping, and talking on the phone all at the same time.

So, have any of you been busted for doing something inappropriate while on the phone?

You know what’s awesome?  When you’re walking to work and a very nice looking man smiles at you on the street. This very thing happend to me this morning.  After he smiled I thought to myself, he totally made my day and he doesn’t even know it.  What a nice man.

That’s not the awesome part.

The awesome part is when you finally get into work and you realize that he’s a coworker.  Who’s office is like 3 down from mine.

Meaning I should totally know who he is. 

And he wasn’t be nice, he was being snubbed by me.

———-

I had lunch with some girlfriends last Friday.  Sort of an “Isabel’s Last Day as a SAHM” thing.  We had quiche and fresh fruit.  And then we ate an entire batch of rice crispie treats. 

We sat around and talked for hours.  Eventually the conversation turned to one of my favorite topics, “I know a person who’s name is….”

You know how this works, you say something like, I went to school with a girl named Moonbeam Sunshine.  Then they next person is all, well I dated a guy named Michael Jackson.  I seriously love this game. 

I always win.

I swear that the lady who works at the animal feed store my Dad goes to is named Gay.  Which is only sort of awesome.  The most awesome part is that she married Mr. Gay.  And then took his name.  Making her GAY GAY. 

Hee-hee.

I like to think of her as Super Gay. 

So can anyone top Gay Gay?

Why do my comments and my sidebar never work?

Does it have something to do with my timestamp??? I seriously have made no changes to the template. I am at a loss.

Help!

When I was first pregnant with Babboo I received an e-mail from Aly, one of my closest friends from back home.  She told me she had a miscarriage that weekend.  I hadn’t even known she was pregnant. 

Aly’s revelation made me go through my own fair share of emotions.  Yes, I was sad for her and her husband.  But I was also a little upset at her also.  I just felt like she didn’t have the right to grieve like I had with my own miscarriages.  She had only known she was pregnant for one day.  It wasn’t like my miscarriages where I had been 9 weeks along, both time.  I held this against her.  Which wasn’t fair.  I knew it wasn’t fair, and yet I had those feelings.  I called her the day after I got her e-mail to see how she was feeling. 

I didn’t tell her about my own miscarriages.  Or that I was currently pregnant.  It was still too early for me to tell people.  And I never really had told people about my miscarriages.  (My best friends still don’t know.  Heck. I didn’t tell my Mom about the second one until after my D&C.)  I guess this was how I dealt with it.

Which probably wasn’t the best way, but it was the only way I knew how.

When I was about 20 weeks pregnant and finally telling people, I called Aly to tell her I was pregnant.  I was extra nervous about telling her.  I didn’t want to upset her.  I was really brave, and I even told her about my own miscarriages.  She was very supportive, but I could sense hurt in her voice.  Not hurt she wasn’t pregnant and I was.  Hurt that I hadn’t told her about them when she was going through her own miscarriage. 

Aly and I had a good talk about it that day and I tried to explain why I hadn’t told people about my miscarriages.  I tried to make her understand how I didn’t want all of my friends, who had kids, to feel sorry for me.  I didn’t want them to hug me and tell me it would all be okay.  That wasn’t the kind of thing I needed to hear.  At the time I was going through all of my crap, I didn’t know things were going to be okay.  I wasn’t sure that The King and I would ever get our “take home baby”. 

Aly was so happy that I was pregnant.  She was very supportive during the entire pregnancy.  She was the first person to call my when we got home from the hospital after Babboo was born.  She called me on my birthday and Mother’s Day.  I knew she was happy for us.  I never felt like she held any ill feelings towards me.  She is clearly a bigger person that I am. 

I felt like I knew what she must have been going through.  I remember the feelings I had had when people would tell me they were pregnant.  I knew what it felt like to go through two miscarriages while my sister in law was pregnant with twins.  I knew what it was like to go to baby shower after baby shower.  I knew all too well.  But Aly seemed to be different.  She was stronger.

Every time I hear from Aly, since that fateful phone call, I expect her to tell me she’s pregnant.  I answer the phone with excitement, thinking this time she’s calling to tell me she’s pregnant.  But she never is.  I end up stumbling through the call, not wanting to rub it in that I have a baby.  I try not to gush about how much I love him, or what an amazing thing being a mother is.  I try to remember how I felt when I was going through that myself.  I try to be the person to Aly that I wish everyone had been to me. 

Aly called me on Friday night.  As always, I was anxious to have her tell me she was pregnant.  She didn’t.  She wasn’t.  Again, I stumbled through the phone call.  I didn’t ask her how things were going with the whole “getting pregnant” thing, even though I was desperate to ask.  I figured she would tell me if she was pregnant.  I didn’t need to ask.  I tried to not gush over my baby.  I didn’t bring up the fact that I was going back to work and how I was dreading it. 

Instead we talked about her recent trip to San Francisco.  We compared vacations.  She told me about her husband’s new job.  I told her how things were going on our new house.  I felt like the conversation was contrived. 

After I hung up the phone, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.  Thinking about how hard it must be for her.  I tried to remember how many months it had been since her miscarriage.  About how many months she had been hoping that maybe this month would be the month.  I thought about how many pregnancy tests she must have taken and gotten that big slap in the face when it was negative.  It made me think about my own struggles with the same thing. 

My heart ached for her all weekend.  And I felt sorry for myself all over again.

Aly called me again last night.  She wanted to see how The King’s first Father’s Day had gone.  She said they had gone to her parent’s house to celebrate the day with her Dad.  Then she told me that it was also a special day for her husband.

Because he’s going to be a Daddy!

Aly is 9 weeks pregnant. 

This is when all hell broke loose and I began to tell her how much she’s going to love being a mother.  I held my own baby in my arms and gushed over him.  I told her that there was nothing like A Mother’s Love.  I told her that people would tell her that and she would just roll her eyes because, DUH, of course.  I told her that in 8 months she would be calling me and telling me that I was so right about that. 

I went on for 15 minutes before I realized I was filling her full of advice and wisdom.  The exact thing that all pregnant women hate to hear.  So I just told her congratulations, again, hung up the phone and finished snuggling Babboo. 

Today is my first day back at work.  I’ve been here three hours, and I’ve only called once to check on him.  I haven’t cried since I left this morning