So I just need to clarify, in case you're all wondering, that this blog is probably going to get baby heavy. Well, heavy with my baby. Much like what is physically happening to me right now. I'm sorry if you think this is really lame because man, why can't I just keep talking about yellow icicles? Why do I have to talk about a baby?! Babies aren't as cool as yellow icicles!
Well my baby is the coolest so you are just going to have to deal!
But I do promise to not be one of those people who talk about the power and amazingness of birth and pregnancy. Because, gross! I hate it when people do that, and that's probably because I'm still an emotional sixteen year old and have a hard time taking things seriously. But I really hate it when people go on a sanctimonious power trip telling you about how spiritual or enlightening a first-hand experience is that you can't relate to.
"You have no idea the power behind birth. You can't even comprehend its ancient magnificence. How rooted to the earth you are, and to all the mothers before you. I can tell you don't get it, but it's the most special experience ever."
"But what about that time I went to Disneyland? That was really special."
"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, LESSER PERSON."
So even though this blog will likely turn into a detailing of our baby and baby related stuff, I promise it will be in a non-alienating vein.
And with that disclaimer out of the way, we will now talk about booze.
So like every responsible and educated adult who is growing a human, no alcohol has passed my lips in over three months. It sucks. What really sucks is I'm used to not being able to drink, since the last four years of my life have involved different arthritis medications that all carry no-alcohol warnings. The difference with those, however, is one glass of wine a week was really not going to destroy my liver (which is why you can't drink when on certain medications). But with this baby there's no way I'm having a glass of wine a week.
I'm living a life of temperance, and I want a medal for it.
Dan and I were not huge wine drinkers to begin with, but I would say I averaged about three glasses of red a week. So if we were in France, I would basically have been considered the hugest prude of all time and no one would want to hang out with me. Admitting in Canada you drink up to three glasses of red a week will cause some people to look at you like you're the hugest lush of all time and you need to dry out. Ah culture, I'm glad there are so many to choose from.
So even though I wasn't a huge wine drinker, it has been so nice that this past year I was off medication which meant I could enjoy a glass of wine whenever I felt like it (which was three times a week, on average). I do miss settling down with a glass, but I never realized how much I missed it until, for the past straight week, it's all I dream about. Except, whenever I start to dream about a glass of wine, my subconscious bodyguard busts in on my dream world and ruins all the fun much like when Lindsay Lohan walks into, well, anywhere.
So the first dream I had was a celebratory occasion. I was drinking champagne and I was so delighted to be drinking those dry bubbles that I was consuming that delicate brew out of a brimming liquid measuring cup. Dan was in this dream and we were sitting outside and I was happily slugging back the champagne when all of sudden Dream Dan yelled at me, "YOU'RE PREGNANT."
Oh Internet, how Dream Caitie did cry. She just started shuddering with sobs, wrecked with guilt, over having forgotten she was carrying a little baby. Dream Caitie smashed the liquid measure and started wailing that her baby was going to be taken away from her.
That was dream one.
I had a really good laugh about it when I woke up.
The next dream I had involved me sitting at a picnic table at my old high school with both my sisters and some recognizable faces from those zitty teen days. There was an open bottle of wine at the centre of the table and we were laughing about how we could drink on school property and no one could arrest us. Don't even get me started with that line of thinking. Dream Caitie is weird. Anyhow, Dream Meghan poured me a glass of wine and just as I was going to take a sip, THERE WAS AN EARTHQUAKE. My subconscious saw that none of my dream friends were going to be responsible and remind me I was carrying a baby, so it intervened in the form of a natural disaster that left us all scrambling under the picnic table.
That was dream two.
I was perplexed when I woke up.
The last dream I've had (that I can remember) Dream Caitie had a really sore ear and didn't know what to do about it. Dan was in this dream again and was drinking some wine (duh) and I wanted a sip. Dream Caitie told Dream Dan that a sip of wine would make her ear feel better so Dream Dan got up and went into the kitchen and poured the bottle of wine in to a saucepan and warmed it up. Then he poured the warm wine...in my ear. What?! Thanks a lot, subconscious!
I was scared about my mental health when I woke up from that one.
I just want you all to know that if you are planning on hitting the club scene and need some protection from creeps and lurkers, I'm pretty sure if you bring me along in a sleep-walking state my subconscious will protect you.
Just don't offer me any wine in gratitude.
Things could get ugly.
Oh, and if you could refrain from psycho-analyzing these dreams that would also be swell.