Who, me? Stressed? Who said I was stressed?
A few months ago, I was getting my hair done, and the stylist asked if I was usually a stressed-out person.
I actually laughed. It just seemed like such a funny question. Like, yes! Duh! How could you even ask that?
But then I realized that not everyone would have answered with such a resounding “Yes!” Some people, when asked if they were stressed out, might reply, “No, not really.” Who are these people? And how come I’m not one?
You see, I have this career … and sometimes it makes me so stressed out, I can’t breathe. And I could be pregnant seven weeks from now.
You see the problem, right?
This is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. When you are stressing out over how much you are stressed out, you have a problem. Darling Husband is worried, too, that I will either lose the baby or bring the baby into a crazy high-stress zone.
So lately, I’ve been practicing … breathe in … and it’s all about … breathe out … zen … breathe in … Calm … breathe out … You know, serenity.
- I have been taking more breaks at work (thank God for my nearby haven)
- I have been remaining calm when my colleagues are not so calm!
- I have been trying to let go of the stupid things
- I have been trying not to beat myself up when I mess something up
- I have been trying not to lose my temper
It’s going pretty well. I have felt less stressed out over the last few weeks — minus the Omigod-so-many-people-are-coming-over-and-everything-has-to-be-perfect backtrack.
Work has always been my biggest stresser, but lately it’s been a bit easier to just step back from the childish tantrums of other colleagues. To not let their kicking-and-screaming crap bother me the way it used to.
As it creeps closer to Open Season, I’m getting more perspective on what’s really important … and what isn’t. And — like the smoothies — it’s way easier to do something, or stop doing something, when you have the best reason in the world.
Blendy goodness
I feel sick. I drank a huge smoothie way too fast.
Wait — back up. I don’t even like smoothies. How did this happen?
Oh right. Yesterday my books arrived — yup, Eating Well When You’re Expecting, What to Expect The First Year, and the What to Expect Pregnancy Journal and Organizer.
Shut up, I know. But when you …
A) Are addicted to books
B) Are obsessed with getting knocked up
C) Are a crazy overplanner
D) Are all of the above
… this is what happens.
Anyway, the one I was reeeeeally looking forward to was Eating Well When You’re Expecting. I cracked it open as soon as I got home from work, and started pouring over the healthy-ho meal ideas.
For some strange reason, I love healthy diet suggestion books — even though they all say the same thing, and already know I’m supposed to eat fibre, veggies, small meals, blah, blah, blah. But reading it gives me … like … motivation or something. I find myself nodding and going, Yes, I really should be eating more green things. Yes, I really should try quinoa.
The first couple of chapters went on and on about morning sickness and how horrible it can be, and stressed the importance of getting down your fruit in a juice smoothie. I’m not a big fruit girl — I like apples and strawberries, but can leave the rest — so I decided to give it a try.
Darling Husband loves fruit salad, so we always have pineapple and melon and that orange melon — cantaloupe? So I blended the crap out of all of it, and added a lot of orange juice. I have tried smoothies with milk before, but found them gag-worthy. With OJ? Not so bad.
Now what the hell is “quinoa,” and where do I find it?
Not Me Mondays
Happy Monday, and Happy Memorial Day — or whatever you’re supposed to say — to my lovely American bloggie friends.
Alas, it’s not a holiday in Canada. Boo. We had ours last Monday. Anyway, over the weekend, I totally and completely …
- I did not spend all day Saturday — from 8 a.m. until about 10 p.m. — hyperventilating over the cleanliness/appearance of our condo, for Sunday’s party. I’m very relaxed about having people over, and I don’t get caught up in whether or not there is dried crud in the handle of my oven door.
- I did not go into hysterics when Darling Husband came home with one set of white bookshelves and one set of very un-matching dark wood ones — right before the aforementioned party. I am totally cool that way, and just smiled and thanked him for trying.
- I did not have nightmares about Sunday’s party, to the point where I woke up extra-early just so my dreams wouldn’t stress me out.
- I slept in, had a leisurely breakfast, and just managed to get dressed before the guests arrived.
- I am totally hosting another party as soon as possible. I take so much enjoyment from the hours of manual labour, stress, and preparation required.
- I feel refreshed today! What a relaxing weekend.
Secrets, lies, and lying by omission
I lied last night.
While out for a fun night with the girls — most of whom are colleagues — I was asked when Darling Husband and I are going to start trying to have a baby.
“Ohhh, not for a while,” I replied, shaking my head casually like it was the furthest thing from my mind.
Little do they know, I have a freaking COUNTDOWN on my BLOG that is all ABOUT THIS VERY TOPIC. Ironic, no?
I’ve gotten so used to telling the truth to all of you, and to family and friends, that it felt weird to pretend like we weren’t even thinking of it.
There were a couple of other girls there that are married but without kids yet. I felt like they were playing their cards close to their chest as well.
A few months ago, one of them commented to all of us that she would consider trying “in a few months.” Well, “a few months” has arrived, but no one asked her about it. I wanted to, but I didn’t want to be the obsessed girl who remembered a conversation from February.
In other news, remember the three preggo books I ordered? Well, crap, crap, and crappier — they have not arrived, and according to the tracking, appear to be stuck two provinces away.
The bad part is not that I’m impatient to read them — which, of course, I am — but that I had them shipped to the office … and am now terrified that because of the delay, they will arrive unexpectedly and someone else will open it. Geez.
And … and … and …
… Oh …
… It was another rejection letter. This time, from the literary agent.
Oh well. One step closer to Stephen King.
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