After spending the last year isolating ourselves at home with pills, injections, thermometers, charts, books, and other infertility-related paraphernalia, DH and I have officially burst onto the social scene of Seattle. And when I say burst -- well, it was a close call on Friday.
We had plans for dinner with my mom's office manager's son and his wife. (Got that?) They live here in town, of course, and were gracious to extend the invite and welcome us to the city. Normally you will find me and DH at a restaurant shortly after 5 pm, the only people there without blue hair and still in possession of our own teeth. But in attempt to be cool for at least one evening, we agreed to meet them at a restaurant downtown at 7:30 pm. Shortly before we leave, I am putting on my make-up when I have a shooting pain in my left foot. Looking down, I clearly see that one of my toes is not happy, bent in a way that it usually isn't. So I start freaking out, and once DH is assured that no, Bean is not on his way, he promptly tracks down an urgent care place nearby. Luckily, we quickly realize it is just a cramp and my toe is soon back in it's rightful place. Cramps like this are common in pregnancy, and while they are not entirely preventable, drinking water is supposed to help. I guzzle down two huge glasses of water, praying that I wouldn't be struck by the affliction during dinner. Turns out that should not have been my biggest concern.
Downtown is approximately 25 minutes from our house, in good traffic. So we leave about 50 minutes early, anticipating a bit of a crunch. Now about 30 minutes or so into the drive, as we are crawling along the highway in extra-horrible congestion, it's time for the second panic of the evening. I have to go to the bathroom. Immediately. And we are nowhere near the restaurant or even any other exit for an emergency stop. As you probably know, using the restroom when you are pregnant is not something that can wait. There's no holding it when a 2-lb baby is using your bladder as a lounge chair. I try relaxation breathing to distract myself while DH silently dreams up an excuse to tell the couple in the event of an emergency change in plans. (We are both fearing the worst, although neither of us speaks it.) Somehow I manage to keep my composure until we can exit, which is in downtown Seattle. We immediately get stopped at a red light, and I get out of the car in the middle of the street and race to a nearby Subway. Thank goodness, crisis averted. But the fun is not quite over yet, because now I am standing in the dark in a rather scary part of Seattle, with a man and woman screaming angrily at each other in Spanish nearby (I was hoping it wasn't the couple we were meeting), while DH is struggling to navigate the one-way streets in gridlock to retrieve me. Plus we are at least 15 minutes late for dinner already. We connect via our cell phones, and DH says he is completely stopped in the next street over and suggests that I walk to the car. I express concern that traffic would become unjammed before I could get there, but he assures me, "There is absolutely nowhere for me to go." Famous last words. I turn the corner and see our car, just as the street opens up. I yell to DH over the phone, "I see you! Don't move! Unlock the doors! I'm running down the street!" So in all my pregnant glory, I'm booking it down the sidewalk to catch DH. I hop in and the slam the door, and we take off... for about 20 feet, and then stop again because the light has changed. DH is laughing hysterically, and I'm just relieved to be... well, relieved.
The good news is that despite the rocky start to the evening, dinner was wonderful. The restaurant had a lovely bathroom I visited about 5 times, just because I could. And the food and conversation were terrific as well. We were completely exhausted by the time we got home, though, so while it was fun to dine with people of our generation, you'll probably still more often find us eating with gramps and grams.
Saturday we wasted an absolutely gorgeous day doing necessary errands. It was our second attempt at getting driver's licenses, as we discovered the first time at the DMV that the State of Washington requires 26 original forms of identification, a character referral from your kindergarten teacher, and a notarized list of your favorite colors signed by the governor. Then you get to wait an hour and a half to sign a form and have your picture taken. After that bit of fun, we battled the crowds at the mall to do some Christmas shopping. Overall the day was a success, though. Our eyes are open in the license pictures and we knocked off nearly our entire gift list, which is pretty much all we could have asked for.
Sunday was another social day for us. One of DH's coworkers invited him to a bar to watch the Lions play the Cowboys, as the game wasn't on the stations you can get at home. Being that we are in the Pacific time zone, that meant DH dragging himself out of bed early to get to the bar by 9:45 am. Despite the Lions blowing a fabulous lead, DH had a good time and got his football fix for the day.
Then around 3 pm, it was time for the highlight of my weekend: the cookie exchange. My love of cookies began when I was around age 2, perhaps even earlier, listening to Cookie Monster sing "C is for Cookie." You see, "C" is not only for cookie. It's also for ME! While Elmo eventually surpassed Cookie Monster as my favorite Muppet, I was hooked on cookies for life. For my birthday, forget the cake -- I want a ginormous cookie from Mrs. Fields. With extra frosting, please. (In fact, while we are on the topic, let the countdown begin: 2 months and 1 day until my next cookie cake. Dear lord, there'd better be Mrs. Fields out here...) So when a coworker of mine who was also transferred to Seattle with her husband two years ago invited me to a cookie exchange, you can imagine how quickly my answer was YES.
I have never been to such an event before, but now that I have been to one, I plan to elbow my way into the cookie exchange circuit as quickly as possible. It is exactly what it sounds like, heaven on earth: we all made and brought 3 dozen cookies, then went around the room filling a container with everyone else's sugary creations. We didn't eat any of the cookies during the party, but there were delish appetizers and hot orange cider to enjoy. So now there is a tantalizing array of 3 dozen cookies on the kitchen counter... minus the 7 that I ate for dessert last night. (Minus the 5 more that I will go downstairs and grab right now, because typing this post has made me hungry.) And I left the party with an invite from the hostess to hit the local malls with her whenever I feel like getting out. Which is pretty much every day. I hope she doesn't mind.
Cookies, shopping, socializing, and no car "accidents" -- I'd say it was a pretty good weekend. Oh, and I'm fairly sure we named Bean, too. Although DH doesn't realize it yet.