Monday, June 29, 2009

Das Bump

Well, folks, we hit 30 weeks today, and, holy hell, do I have one humongous bump! For a woman who's gained less than five pounds (or maybe none at all, depending on which scale I've hopped onto) I'm just stunned at the size of Zaphod's uterine cocoon. I'm almost terrified to imagine what I'm going to look like in a few more weeks. Doesn't help that my tatas have swollen to massive proportions. I'm flirting with EE territory I fear--and my milk hasn't even come in yet. Lord help me! I might have to hang counterweights off the back pockets of my jeans to keep from tipping over!

Anywho. Here you go. Point and laugh at Das Bump. Oh, and don't stare too long at the chicken wings. Losing fifty pounds in six months does that to a body. No worries though. As soon as Zaphod makes her debut, Mama's right back on the fitness wagon. I'll have that flab toned up in no time!

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Fruits of My Labor

So I chose not to put in the big garden as we'd planned. The idea of dragging my huge-o pregnant booty outside in 100 plus degree heat and 98% plus humidity day after day to tend a garden didn't sound quite as appealing once I really gave it some thought. I compromised with a selection of patio plants. The plants are doing fabulous because I love on them every morning but, unfortunately, they're just not producing. I'm not sure if I picked a bad batch of plants or if it's just the unbelievable heat (100 plus degrees for the last two weeks with unbelievably high humidity.)

Okay. So I did get one tiny strawberry, two grape tomatoes and a bell pepper. The plants are producing but just really measly little veggies and fruits. No, really. Behold the fruits of my labor.

That tomato is about the size of a dime, folks. A dime. Gah! Maybe I chose plants from the pixie people range. I don't know. It's so aggravating it's hilarious. Every time I look at my tiny tomato and bell pepper I can't help but giggle at the idea they'd be perfect for cooking up a Lilliputian feast.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Peanut Gallery

So there are times when being married to someone who deals with the gnarliest, nastiest of emergencies day in and day out is a perk. Some days it's annoying as hell.

Yesterday, I woke up with this unshakable need to clean. Everything. So I did. I even hauled laundry downstairs. Bosley kept giving me the you're-gonna-get-in-trouble stare as I worked my way through two stories of the house. See, I promised Dave I wouldn't do any housework that requires bending, lifting, or smelly cleaners until after the baby gets here. Bosley knew it. I knew it. But I did it anyway.

And then I got sick. My nose gushed like you would not believe. It looked like someone botched a surgery in our powder room. (Quick digression--doesn't powder room sound so snooty?) While I was trying to stem the blood flow, I started having Braxton-Hicks contractions. One of them actually hurt so I'm fairly certain it was a real contraction since B-H don't hurt.

I called Dave but he didn't answer. That's normal since he's typically dealing with a patient whenever I get the urge to dial. By the time he called back, I'd kicked back in a recliner, gulped a gallon of water, and had finally stopped bleeding and/or contracting. Of course, as I'm trying to explain this to him, he's asking questions. For some reason, his partner seemed to think he needed to jump in on the conversation and offer me all kinds of unwanted advice. So then I got snippy. Like pregnant hippo snippy.

That is one of the worst parts of being married to a medic. Everyone in the peanut gallery needs to chime in with their own version of treatment. It's so annoying.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Sinfully Delicious

Sinfully Delicious
, a naughty tale centering around a couple and their unashamed food fetish, hit the virtual shelves on Friday. It's something of a departure for me. I considered softening the heroine's gluttony but in the interest of being true to the character, I left her as is. I'm curious to see what the reader response will be...


Critically acclaimed chef, Gabe Raeburn, lives for indulging the gluttonous whims of his lover, Carmen Montes, a gourmet food shop owner. Every Monday night, Gabe treats Carmen to a veritable smorgasbord of delicious delights and the kinkiest of food play. The melding of hot sex with the sweet and savory treats Gabe creates epitomizes Carmen’s very own version of nirvana. She revels in the freedom of their relationship, in their shared fascination and absolute obsession with food.

A true glutton, Carmen is rarely satisfied. Always, she craves more—more food, more sex, more of Gabe. Just one more spicy tryst on Gabe’s dining room table, one more cupcake, one more sinfully rich chocolate truffle . . . .

But with a crazed food critic out for her blood, Carmen’s gluttony may be a weakness that proves fatal.

If you're feeling froggy, take a peek at an excerpt or purchase.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Solstice Caroling

Walking in the grass
It's so fine
Don't need shoes
In the summertime

~Spongebob Squarepants

So it's no secret I am a Spongebob fanatic. One of my absolute favorite episodes ever features Spongebob wearing the cutest little pink flower framing his face as he skips into the Krusty Krab and showers everyone with flower blossoms from a basket while solstice caroling. Why? Because it's the start of summer.

And, would you look at that, today is the first day of summer too! What a coincidence! So kick of those shoes, soak up the sun, and enjoy the longest day of the summer, folks!!!

As for me, I'm going to break out the construction paper and make a pink flower face ring for Bosley...

Friday, June 19, 2009


So I passed my three hour GTT. I totally snoopy danced when I got the results. And asked Dave-O for a donut. Not sure what the deal was with my one hour. My three hour results were all well within the normal ranges. Apparently the one hour is notorious for false positives. Am I the only one who wonders why the hell they keep giving it if it continues to provide bogus results?

Waste of time. Waste of money.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

English Vice

My latest naughty tale released today at Ellora's Cave. I had a ton of fun writing this one because I was able to explore some of the darker fantasies lurking in the far recesses of my mind. A few people have asked about the title. English vice is actually a term used to describe spanking games, particularly over-the-knee style paddling and over-the-desk caning. If you're brave, Google it. But don't say I didn't warn you first!

Here's a blurb and excerpt for your enjoyment. You can read another snippet or purchase at Ellora's Cave.


Every Wednesday night, Jas revels in the debauched sexual games Cy concocts. The stinging kiss of leather, the burn of hemp rope and the soft thud of suede transport her to plains of ecstasy beyond her wildest dreams. Pain and pleasure. Submission and trust.

For Cy, these evenings feed his need for kink and fuel his addiction to Jasmine, his luscious Latina goddess. With Jas, he finds that deeper connection he’s always craved. He senses she needs him just as desperately. And it terrifies him.

Love and lust—Cy knows only too well how the two can be confused. Jas knows differently…but convincing Cy means denying herself her greatest desire.

To read a longer, not for the faint of hear excerpt, clicky clicky.


So today--all right, yesterday actually--was our second wedding anniversary. Two (er, three) days ago we celebrated the seventh anniversary of our first date. I know. Time flies when you're having fun and all that.

We had all kinds of detailed plans for today, namely heading to Conroe to eat at one of my favorite restaurants, picking up the old skool rocking chair for the nursery, and hitting up a Carter's baby outlet. Since I had a rough night--oh, insomnia and hip pain, how I loathe thee--we ended up scrapping our plans for something a little more low key.

We laughed in the face of frugality, kicked down the a/c to the low seventies and got all snoodled up in our blacked out bedroom for a late morning of snuggles and dozing. Instead of an expensive lunch, we grabbed big, fat yummy burritos from Freebirds and hit up Target for Father's Day gifts and cards. A slice of my homemade orange pound cake with a smidge of strawberry infused whipped cream and naughty time topped off the night.

Best. Anniversary. Ever.

Oh, and Dave-O brought me the usual gorgeous flowers and card. Don't let him fool you. The man is the sappiest of romantics and I love him for it. I won't share the inscription in my card but I'm seriously tearing up over it right now. And, no, it's not pregnancy hormones. Seriously, I always wonder what our kids are going to think when they finally go through the boxes of letters and cards we've exchanged over the seven years we've been together. It's like a Nicholas Sparks novel, lol.

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

Pin Cushion

Worst. Morning. Evah.

Since I failed my GTT by ten points, I had to retake it today--just old skool Medieval torture style this time. I had to fast starting a little before midnight and be at the lab by 0730. Look, when you're knocked up, you get thirsty. Even though I tried to H2O load all yesterday evening, it did me little good. By the time I reached the lab, I was parched. Thankfully, Dave-O chose to fast with me so we could share in the misery together. Aw, I know. How sweet, huh?

So anywho. I had a fasting blood draw at 0740 and then had to chug that disgusting orange-flavored dextrose bomb again. I had three more draws at 0840, 0940, and 1040. Yeah. All in the same arm, 3 in the same vein. It looks like someone tried to hammer a railroad spike through my antecubital. Don't even get me started on the nausea and headache. Seriously, though, there has to be a better way to test for gestational diabetes.

Anywho. Dave and I staked out a good spot in the lab waiting room. We made sure we could see the TV and claimed three seats. I took my knitting, a new book, and a stack of coupons to clip. Over the last few days I've been struggling with the first sex scene in the futuristic romance novel I've been writing. Of course, as I clipped coupons and had no access to a pen or paper, I had a mental breakthrough. Figures, lol.

That was my day. I'm off to tackle this steamy scene. Might go put a bag of frozen peas on my arm too.

Wednesday, June 03, 2009


So we have this possum problem. Our house backs up to a woodsy lot filled with a veritable menagerie of nocturnal critters. As self-proclaimed protector of this property, Bosley looks upon these nightly interlopers as his archenemies. He likes to snap at bats and bark at owls and growl at squirrels.

Well, an hour ago, I let Bosley out for a potty run and he immediately made a beeline for the back fence. It took my eyes a second to adjust to the darkness--but then I spotted it: a snarling possum reared up on it's hind legs atop the fence. Stupid move on the possum's part. I don't know why it didn't hop to the nearest branch and skitter. Bosley is tall enough now to put his front paws up on the top of the fence. The possum didn't have a snowcone's chance in hell.

This isn't the first time Bosley and a possum have come face-to-face. Last time, I almost ended up on the fanged end of the deal so I stayed well back from the skirmish tonight. Still I worried Bosley would get seriously hurt if he actually managed to grab hold of the spitting beastie. When he snapped the possum's tail between his teeth, I realized it was going to get ugly and fast. I looked around, desperate to avoid a midnight rush to the nearest vet ER. And then I saw the hose. Aha!

So I waddled my pregnant bootie across the yard, bent down (no easy feat with Das Bump) and grabbed the sprinkler. I jogged back across the yard to the spigot and unscrewed the hose. I turned the water on full blast, put my thumb over the end, and sprayed Bosley right in the face. He looked so betrayed, but it was the only way. I spent a few minutes alternating the water between marsupial and Great Dane until I managed to drive the possum into our neighbor's yard.

Bosley is still sulking. Glad to see he's not the least bit grateful that I saved him from a nasty bite and stitches. He threw something of a tantrum when he came in the house and slung water all over the kitchen before trotting into the living room and throwing himself down on the couch with a loud harrumph.

It's so nice to be appreciated....

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

Dextrose Death Bomb

So this afternoon I had my glucose tolerance test to check for gestational diabetes. They send you home with this bottle of flat orange soda with fifty (50!) grams of dextrose dissolved in ten ounces. You drink it and head in to the lab for a blood draw an hour later.

Since I've lived on a clean diet for the last 14 months (limiting my sugar and white flour intake,) my system reacted, um, violently to the introduction of that syrupy sweet drink in five minutes of guzzling. Seriously, it was all I could do not to dry heave in the parking lot of the lab.

Here's hoping I pass the test. I don't think I can live through that experience again if I have to take the three hour GTT. We'll need a yak bag in the front seat....