Love ~ Hate ~ Summer

It’s no secret that summer is my favorite holiday. Summer means trips to the beach, but it also means flip-flops and tank tops. Now that I’m 6 months pregnant, I’m getting a lot of sympathetic comments like, “Oh, I’m so sorry that you’re pregnant all summer!” I usually laugh and respond that I have handled the heat well, mostly because I can walk around in leggings, tanks and flip-flops and not be judged. I actually sympathize with those who are pregnant all winter, because their life consists of long pants, sweaters, coats (*shudders*) and closed-toed “real” shoes.

Bonus ~ only in summer can you can dress like a giant blueberry and accent it with a white cardigan and white pants!

Because, let’s be honest! I’m going to be sleep deprived, and if you’ve ever met me, you realize just how scary the beginning of this sentence really is.

Plus, my handsome Fred is definitely done with the itchies. As much as I love the warm weather, this dry season has made him quite miserable. I already spoil him rotten, but the added maternal instincts and hormones make me want to shake my fist at what causes his pain. Unfortunately that means summer has to leave us eventually.


“Nooooooo more itchies!”

For now, I’m going to enjoy the end of summer but actually look forward to the changing seasons. The end of summer, which usually brings sadness, is bringing the hope of something new…


…the joy of finishing a baby room…

…and the anticipation for our own little monkey.

And my husband is ready for football.

He’s a Redskins fan, shhhh….


Breezes, Beaches and Baby H

One of the advantages to getting married in the summer is you have a fantastic excuse to be at the beach for your anniversary. We were married on the Chesapeake Bay June 20th, 2009 and quickly jetted off to Turks & Caicos for our honeymoon. Every summer since then, we were in Bethany Beach, DE over our anniversary.

This summer, we had a nine-day adventure planned, and the husband kept saying, “This is our last summer to go nuts before the baby is here!”

Hmph. Perhaps he can go nuts, but I can’t drink, go in the water if it’s too rocky, or manage to stay up past 9pm.

Our first few days were very windy and chilly. I sat in my almost-too-low-to-get-out-of beach chair, wrapped in two towels and shivering, and thought about how I would still rather spend a cold day on the beach than a nice day anywhere else. It has always been my happy place.

Still better than being at work!

Once the weather started to get nicer, I was excited to go in the water. It’s not a complete beach day if I haven’t been in the ocean. But I quickly realized, being at the beach pregnant is a very different experience (along with the rest of life).

  • Your balance is compromised, and one strong wave can knock you on your butt, or worse, your belly! Paranoia won most days over the desire to get wet.
  • Tanning = dry, blotchy, gross skin. You need 100x more sunscreen, you burn in splotches, and you can develop brown spots anywhere. Sexy.
  • Everything is exhausting! You’re supposed to drink a ton of water, but when you are already peeing every half hour, the very thought of schlepping to the bathroom means you end up dehydrated.
  • Sitting under an umbrella for most of the day made me feel like a sell-out. But when the 100-degree-day hit, I was thankful for that shade. (And when I finally made it into the water, it was AMAZING!)
  • When all else fails, eat. Everything always tastes better at the beach, and despite feeling tired, sweaty, huge and hot (and not the good kind of hot), I did not shy away from stuffing my face.

Oh, the food! We ate at our favorite joints in Bethany, had our anniversary dinner at our favorite restaurant, Blue Coast, and managed to make two trips to Rehoboth Beach for Louie’s subs and Royal Treat ice cream. Salt air + beach days + Baby H = Yummy in the Tummy.

Alex even made a new friend on the boardwalk!

His name is Rex

And speaking of Baby H, right before we headed to the beach, we found out that it’s a . . .


Only the finest monkeys for our little monkey

I spent a chunk of vacation time dreaming about what color to finally paint her room. Nine paint samples later, we had a very blotchy wall but no decision. Think, think, think.

Alex had chosen a beautiful blue, but I only wanted it if Baby was a boy. I have never been a fan of all-pink rooms, and blue is my favorite color. I knew we could do blue, but felt limited with shades. We chose a few light, elegant, girly blues, but the last few days at the beach, I couldn’t get that original blue out of my head. After deciding to compromise with bright pink curtains (I don’t want this child thinking “Man, my parents wanted a boy”) we bought the paint, the job was done, and voila!

Pretty colors for a pretty little girl

















With a more-than-successful vacation under my belt, I’m starting to get really stoked about finishing her room. We are picking up the glider and ottoman soon, and hopefully the rest of the furniture will be in any day. My goal is to have this room done before our final weekend at the beach in August, if not much sooner.

And this time next year, I’ll hopefully have my new baby daughter on the beach, celebrating her parents’ anniversary, and getting her first taste of the Atlantic.

Life is good.


Finding Warmth in the Cold

I have a tendency to be a bit of a complainer. I really do try to be more positive, but sometimes the inner “me” just wins.

That being said, I HATE THE COLD.

I grew up in South Jersey and I always hated winter. Spring was exciting since my birthday is in April. Summer often consisted of church on Sunday with the family, then piling in the car with friends to drive down the shore for the day. Mack and Manco’s pizza on the boardwalk was the perfect end to the fun-filled day, and we settled in for the hour or so drive home. Fall meant pretty leaves, a break from the sweltering heat and random summer-like days that made me smile.

But Fall was just the stepping stone to Winter, and I liked to curl up in a ball and pretend that dreaded season wasn’t coming. I never really understood why I hated the season so much and started to wonder if I suffered from Seasonal Depression. Was it the dark morning and dark evenings that made me so blah? Was it the teeny bit of snow we always got, that first looked so beautiful but then settled into black, gross slush? Whatever the reason, I just wanted to hibernate until I could hear the birds chirping again.

When I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, it suddenly made sense. In a nutshell, cold hurts. It reaches its long, chilly fingers into my already aching body and wreaks havoc on my joints. I shiver like I have a fever, and even after entering a warm room, it seems to take forever for my body to stop shaking. Our house could be 70 degrees but I am firmly planted on the couch, covered in a fleece blanket, and sometimes I’m still shivering.

Hey Geese, aren't you supposed to be in Miami by now? Crazy birds...

My husband has discovered that warm, fuzzy socks are one of the best gifts he can give. He can run with the dogs wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and I’m in my raspberry-colored-snow-bunny coat as if I lived in Alaska. I check the temperature like an addict, always praying for that first number to at least start with a 4. 50s and above, I’m happier, but the minute that first number becomes a 3, I start to shut down.

This winter, I think God smiled on me extra hard. It’s been mostly mild and we’ve even had several 60-degree days. I could never live somewhere with frigid temperatures all season, and Alex could never live somewhere that didn’t have 4 real seasons. I’m happy where I live, but part of me still dreams of knocking him unconscious (but in a loving, gentle way), kidnapping him and *SURPRISE!* We now live on an island.

Oooo look, a boat! Honeymoon in Turks and Caicos, never wanted to leave...

I just don’t think we could find jobs. I doubt “sun-bather,” “goddess of the beach” or “lives-with-sand-between-her-toes” will earn me kudos on a resume.

So for now, I hate you, cold. But you won’t be here forever. I’ll snuggle up with my fleece and dream about Memorial Day.

8am and Pinot Grigio on the beach...beat that, January!

Change is Good…Right?

I am a creature of habit. I like routines, for things to stay the same (if they are good things). Anxiety is tricky and sometimes makes you think that if something is changing, it must be bad. But it doesn’t have to be.

At my current job, I don’t have co-workers. There is my boss and me. A lot of people have asked me if I get lonely or bored, and I find myself replying that I don’t. I remembered working at previous jobs and there being people I didn’t like. (I was a less-than-happy person with high anxiety. There was always something I didn’t like.)

There is now another doctor coming in to share our space. He is bringing an Office Manager/IT guy (?) and a receptionist. Suddenly, my space is not just my space anymore. I immediately wondered if the new girl would be nice. (I don’t even know if it’s a girl?!)

A few months ago, my boss thought of moving us to another office. I inwardly panicked, hating everything about the plan. It was further away from my house and I would be on someone else’s turf.

When my boss told me about this revised plan, I was surprisingly calm. I think it really came down to turf. I would have to reduce the space I use, the equipment I use and the schedule may be a little crazy, but at least it’s in my comfort zone.

I want to change my attitude so I don’t freak out so much about things changing. I think of summer, my favorite season, and the beach I love so much. Without change, we would never come around again to summer. Every autumn that creeps closer to winter, I dread the cold and snow. But it’s all for only a season before the flowers blossom and birds sing.

And before you know it, the waves are crashing on the shore and there is sand everywhere. If I didn’t have to endure the winters I hate, the summers wouldn’t feel so spectacular.

Because change is good…right?