I WISH My Husband Had A Foot Fetish

The day may come in the not so distant future that I may regret writing a blog entry with that title; but right now at this very moment in time I seriously wish my husband had a foot fetish. I wish he was so obsessed with my feet that all he wanted to do night and day is caress and rub on them. I would be 110% behind that kind of abnormal behavior.

Without question my current stage of pregnancy is to blame for me having such a thought let alone voicing it publicly. But it's so true it's scary. I cannot stand stereotypes and have an equal disdain for cliches, but as my husband CJ, reminded me they exist for a reason as most stereotypes and cliches are based in some form of reality. Well, my current reality is that my dogs are barkin' and I can't reach down comfortably and massage my own feet any more.

After a long OR short day of "whatever"- chores, running errands, doctor appointments, performing etc...by evening I'm in pain and by bedtime I can't get comfortable enough to fall asleep without some sort of relief. I'm following everyone's advice (dr.'s, midwives, friends, my mother's) and I keep my bad boys elevated as much as possible but still that only helps but so much. 

Not my actual feet, wrong color duh! But similar swelling as shown by the left foot.

Yes, the edema has about 85% to do with it, the other 15% is that I'm carrying about 40-45 extra pounds around- hello! at 35 weeks I am officially 8 months pregnant. From what I've been hearing that amount of weight gain isn't too shabby- but that doesn't make my ankles or feet feel better about the situation.

Yeah, I know- this image is REALLY adorable or REALLY disturbing.

Which brings me back to my original point- if my husband were obsessed with my "little piggies" I'd be one happy camper and I wouldn't have to saddle up to him as I have every night this week to ask him to rub my feet. "Just 5 minutes Honey," I plead. Although I'm desperately praying he's not timing it like those little pop up Asian stands in the mall and he gets so lost in whatever we're watching on TV and he loses track of time resulting in my gettingto 10 maybe 15 minutes of pure bliss. 

I'm seriously so uncomfortable at this point even if he were into sucking toes and that could somehow bring me relief I'd take it. Is it right? Who am I to judge at this point? 'Cause right now it's about whatever makes Mama feel better.

Postscript- The conversation I had with CJ this morning after I wrote this blog.

Me: I couldn't sleep last night so I wrote a new blog about 4am.

CJ: What about?

Me: Me wishing you had a foot fetish.

CJ: Why would you write about that?

Me: Because if you did then you'd want to rub my feet all day long.

CJ: Yeah, with my "winky"! 

Me: Horrified look on my face.

CJ: Don't you know what a foot fetish is?!

Me: I guess not. I just thought it meant you wanted to touch my feet all the time for your pleasure.

CJ: Yeah, WITH my "winky!"

Me (disappointed) : Well, then that would be that much fun.

CJ: Who knows, maybe I'm wrong I don't know that much about odd fetishes, but I'm pretty sure my "winky" would HAVE to be involved at some point.

Sleep?! What the F*@k Is That?

A few nights ago (really more like 3am) I was trying to wax poetic about my insomnia; so for my Facebook status I posted. "O' sleep where art thou?" as I was clearly lacking in it. Now, as if you couldn't tell from my headline- I'm over trying to be quaint and I'm just down right pissy. I understand that this is Mother Nature's way of preparing me for when Baby Bean arrives and I get sleep maybe in 2 hour intervals after feedings. But can't Mother Nature wait just a few more weeks?! I mean good Lord I've still got 8 weeks to go. Can't this madness start in another 4 -5 weeks. What's the rush MN?

I really don't think I'm asking for that much. I'm someone can do wonders with five even four hours of sleep. I've never been a BIG sleeper as it is- even in childhood. Do you remember the good old days in preschool when after playtime and snacks you'd grab your totally uncomfortable macrame- like mat and lay on it for a quick 20- 30 minute nap? 

I could NEVER get into that. In fact it was so bad that my mom just had to write a note to the powers that be on my behalf saying that it was fine to let me stay up. All they had to do was stick me in a corner and give me a book and I was good to go. Now looking back I'm like what the hell was wrong with me? 'Cause as this point in my life I would pay somebody to make me take a nap in the middle of the day. But I guess I'm 30 + years late and a dollar short on that one.

What gets me now about this insomnia BS is that it's not like I'm not exhausted. Running around New York City, having shows, going on auditions etc., meeting up with friends for lunch or dinner, walking to the subway, trudging up and down the stairs in the ridiculous August heat with super swollen legs and feet (trust me I could put Hilary Clinton's cankles to shame) all I want to do when I get home is conk out. But I can't. 

I can't relax. I can't quiet my brain. I can't get comfortable. Well, that's not entirely true, I can do those things just not all three at once. And on the super rare chance that I do get the magic mojo for sleep working in my favor that's just when Baby Bean thinks it's time for a Zumba class to take place in my womb.  I can't tell y'all how many times I've been kicked in the ribs at 6am- just when I'm starting to doze off.

I know I can't take anything- nor do I want to medicate myself. But I am open to any and all natural methodologies. If you told me I had to stand on my head for 5 minutes with an ice pack on my vagina and that would give me a good solid 6 hours of sleep I'd be willing to try it. I am seriously that desperate.  

Just an FYI I am in a contest for the 25 Top Mom Blogs of NY- I would SO appreciate your vote ONLY a 10 days left. You don't have to give any personal info just click the button by my name from this link: http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/Top-25-New-York-Moms-2012?trk=t25_Top-25-New-York-Moms-2012

Thank you for the LOVE!

The 1st Official Dr. Appt.

Tomorrow is the first official Dr's visit. This will be the first time I get to hear the heart beat of the little sucker (s) who has been making me want to eat then toss my cookies for the past 12 weeks.
I'm super excited, but kinds nervous. I mean hearing a heartbeat is going to make it REAL! Right now, ironically, I think it's more real to my father and CJ than to me or my mom for that matter. Sure I feel a little different but I'm definitely not showing- sure I'm a little bloated and I have already started eating for two- actually I'm really just trying to combat the constant nausea. But I'm not going crazy- my jeans still fit! But other than that nothing's changed. Hah- except that I worry constantly about where I'm going to give birth- New York or Cali? How I'm going to do it- in a hospital with a doctor? At home with a midwife? Will we have everything we need and all the right stuff for this little creature? Then of course there's college! Maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself- but it's what's going through my mind. Sue me.

What is HE Going to Do when the Baby Comes?!

The HE I'm referring to is of course my darling husband CJ. Even though the arrival of our baby is a couple of seasons away I've been thinking about this more & more. One situation in particular started this spiral of worry. Let me give you some background. I am married to an Australian. If there is anything to know about Aussie men it's that they are viral and proud almost to a fault. My husband fits the bill, but is a far cry from a machismo a-hole. That being said, CJ thinks "man-scaping" is for punks, calling yourself a "metrosexual" means you're really two cocktails away (pun intended) from being a homosexual, and let's just acknowledge that the last three dogs he owned were Rottweilers. Sweet and loving dogs but VERY masculine. Since we split our time between California and New York but have been in NYC as of late CJ has only recently begun walking my 7lb. Chihuahua, Lealah, around our Manhattan neighborhood by himself. It was a hugely successful feat on my part to convince him during his solo mission that people would not doubt his sexuality- especially when it's chilly enough for my pooch to wear a sweater from her extensive wardrobe. Part 1 of this 2-part hurdle down. The area that needs some work is that CJ refuses to pick up my Chihuahua's pooh because- get this- it freaks him out. Mind you not cleaning up after your dog is completely illegal and punishable by fines up to $1,000 in NYC. 

But he's found a way to side wind his adorable Aussie self around it. He gets Lealah to relieve herself in this one particular spot that's part grass/part gravel/part someone's empty lot/private parking area- and the way it's situated there's actually no pedestrian traffic at all. Seriously, you would have to be half 3 Stooge half Tracy Morgan to step in this shit (literally).

 Some of you may be thinking: So?! What's the big deal? Well, it ticks me off for a few reasons: One it feels like he's shirking off his civic duties. (Someone was obviously a Brownie, Girl Scout and all around Goodie Two-Shoes.) Number two (no pun intended this time) I can't get my dog to pooh in this spot every time. In fact, in the almost 4 years since this dog has been alive and in my possesion she's pooped there maybe ONCE for me- and I still picked it up. He claims they (he & the dog) have an "agreement" (I'm also now sensing some jealousy on my part). I just keep thinking is if this were a cat / liter box situation both me and my baby would be dead from Toxoplasmosis! But lastly- my biggest concern of all is- if my 6-foot-4 knight in shining armor is SO skeeved out by picking up the .09 ounces of waste from an adorable Chihuahua what in the world is going to happen when our darling infant has fecal Armageddon in it's diapers? I'll tell you right now I'm already (albeit willingly) sacrificing my breasts for this kid. I am NOT risking complete loss of my sense of smell because Crocodile Dun-skeeve doesn't want to change a diaper or assault his senses of touch or smell. He says it will be different with the baby and he'll be fine. I pray for his sake he's right 'cause if I catch him outside holding our baby over the spot where Lealah goes it ain't gonna be pretty.

Um, That's my Seat!

Nothing is as precious or valuable as real estate in Manhattan- whether you live in New York City or not there's no denying that. However, when thinking of prime real estate most of us tend to think: Park Avenue, Central Park South or West, Gramercy Park...in a nutshell almost everything with a "Park" in it and anything that has exposed brick or a gorgeous view of a skyline- any skyline is valuable. The expression- "Location. Location. Location." came from somewhere.

What I'm talking about though is a different kind of real estate- one that's almost as precious as being in prized possession of a Gramercy Park private park key. That's right girls and boys I'm talking about the coveted seat on the New York City Subway basically anytime, but especially during rush hour. Every New Yorker knows it's value- but no one fights harder for it than old people. I have personally witness several octogenarian Asian women who in a heartbeat will not hesitate to trip, push or hip check you to get to a free seat on the subway car. I used to think: HOW RUDE! But at this point and time in my life/pregnancy I get it! I TOTALLY get it. Although I am no where near showing, every time I step foot onto the subway I make a B-line to a seat like my name is Ming Lee.  Because of my constant morning sickness what used be a bit of a jostling ride has now turned into the Six Flags "thrilling ride" Dare Devil Dive- sans the all the excitement, joy and funnel cakes.