It's A....???

Jordan and I decided at the beginning of this ride not to find out the sex of the baby ahead of time. We thought, "There are so few true surprises in life, and we can always find out early with our future children...why not wait?" 

Little did we know it would start to drive us crazy around week 27. We are DYING to know! 

We've had several friends recently who were absolutely certain they were having one thing, only to discover their baby was the other. 

This question is looming so large in both our hearts right now - picking out names for a boy and a girl, wondering what special little touches to add to the nursery - that I thought I'd share a post about the old wives tales that "predict" the baby's sex. 

'Cause if it's all I can think about, by God, I'm gonna make you guys think about it with me.

(Also I'm using pink and blue for this post because it's a fun visual and not because I think boy = blue and girl = pink and gender roles and sexism and blah blah blah so cut me a break.) 

1. Where are you carrying?

Low = boy; high = girl. 

This test predicts that if your baby bump sits up in your ribs, you're having a girl. If you're swingin' low, it's a boy. Mine has been l-o-w this entire pregnancy, so signs would point to boy. 

2. What are your cravings like?

Salty = boy; sweet = girl. 

Really, I've had both. But first trimester and third trimester, they've been tending back toward the sweet - I've been able to put away sweets (even incredibly rich sweets) like nobody's business. I've also been reaching for fruit or fruit juice a lot, which is definitely in the "sweet" category! 

3. Fetal heart rate? 

> 140 = boy; < 140 = girl.

I (eek!) can't even remember what the fetal heart rate was the first time we got to hear it, but I do remember thinking, "That's a boy!" So...boy, I suppose. Also this is not scientific so it doesn't matter. 

4. What's going on with your skin?

Clear skin = boy; breakouts = girl. 

They say that girls are supposed to "steal your beauty," which supposedly means you break out more, your hair thins out, you have terrible morning sickness, etc. Apart from the occasional few breakouts here and there, my skin has been normal! 

5. Morning sickness?

No = boy; yes = girl.

As I was saying. The girl babies evidently want to make you miserable, according to these old pieces of nonsense. I was certainly nauseated and had some food aversions, but never actually got sick during my first (or any other) trimester. 

6. Ring on a string!

Circles = boy; back and forth = girl. 

This test is very witch-y and fun. You pluck a strand of hair from your head, loop it through your wedding band, and have a friend dangle the band over your belly. If the ring swings in a circle, it's a boy. If it swings back and forth, it's a girl. We repeated this test several times at one of my best friend's bachelorette parties, and it was always the same result for me: circles! Interestingly, we did the test on other people and it swung back and forth. So it felt accurate - even though, you know, it's a piece of hair around a ring. SCIENCE! 

7. Chinese calendar?

There aren't two options to choose between on this one - you have to chart the date your baby was conceived against your own birthday. For whatever it's worth, that math = a boy for us. 

8. Which side are you sleeping on?

Left = boy; right = girl. 

I have definitely been favoring my right side in these later months. That's the side I fall asleep on in bed and the side I end up lying on on the couch while binging episodes of VEEP with Jordan every night. 

9. Dad's weight gain?

None = boy; a little extra around the middle = girl.

As much as it would thrill me to watch my very trim husband pack on the pounds with me, alas, Jordan's still very trim (dammit). 

10. Mom's gut feeling?

I have to say, from Day 1, I've been feeling like this was a little boy. Early on in pregnancy - like, maybe week 8? - I went to a meditation session in Asheville (I know, SO very "Asheville" of me!). The intention I set for the meditation was to "get to know the baby." About halfway through the meditation, I started seeing a deep blue pulsing in front of me - sort of in that way that immediately after you close your eyes when you look at something bright, you can still see the shapes and colors of what you were looking at. 

Weird, right?? 

Anyway, ALL of these (even my meditations "blues!") are just silly and fun, but they're something for us to focus on while we very impatiently wait to see exactly who it is we'll be spending the rest of our lives with. Most signs point to boy! But who. even. knows.

HURRY UP, DECEMBER 15th!! 

An Ode to My Husband, The Dad-to-Be.

Yesterday, while the storms were rolling into Asheville and plummeting the temps to 50 degrees (heavenly!!), I sat on the porch and did a journaling exercise from a pregnancy book I intended to use from month one, but...forgot about. Oops. 

Anyway, the exercise was to list all my favorite qualities about my partner, and to think about how those qualities will translate into him being a parent. It also asked what qualities he will balance about ME, so that I can go ahead and start thinking about the things Jordan will be better at than I will/vice versa as a parent.  

So here's the excerpt from my journal yesterday. 

When teaching someone a new skill, he’s very patient. 
He is thorough (almost to a fault) and completes a task to the best of his ability.
He values excellence and craftsmanship over quantity.
He values family and moral uprightness over worldliness and wealth.
He is a dutiful son and sibling, and cares deeply for his family.
He is an incredibly loving and loyal son- and brother-in-law, and has become a part of the McAnnally family in a really special way.
He loves to learn and values information. He is always hungry for more knowledge.
He isn’t idle and loves to do things outside or in the woodshop - project-based.
He cultivates appreciation for new things (like cooking and baking).
He is SUPER intelligent and retains information at a high level.
He is kind and giving to people, animals who are vulnerable and can’t help themselves.
He is fun and silly and doesn’t take himself too seriously.
He is EXTREMELY witty and quick, and is always making people laugh.
He loves to play instruments and learn new songs.
He is proud and private about things that ought to be private.
He is very honorable and is a man of his word - if he promises something, he follows through.
He loves Jesus.

I'm jumping into into that third trimester (what?!) next week! So we're 2/3 of the day through this adventure, and it's impossible to overstate the difference having a supportive, loving partner who also has a great sense of humor (thank God) in the bucket seat has made. 

Yesterday, our crib was delivered. We've been piling furniture, books, and baby clothes we've been gifted into the soon-to-be nursery for months now, but the delivery of the crib was the thing that, for both of us, made this all start to click into focus in a new way. 

There's going to be an actual BABY in there. 

So I stood at the door of the nursery, sneakily snapping out-of-focus photos of my precious husband, taking stock of this empty (for now) crib. 

And I know this baby doesn't know it yet, but it won the freaking lottery. I did a good job choosing a husband, but this little one just lucked into having a dad who will be...all the things. I tried to list them out just now and just started crying, so insert your own. Any good adjective, just throw it on in there. 

Kid, you've got a hell of a dad. 

(Mary Catherine reserves the right to pen another one of these cheesy posts as the pregnancy progresses. This is just how things are right now, people. Don't come to our house if you don't wanna get covered in gooey feelings, 'cause they're contagious.) 

How Pure Barre Changed My Life.

Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones, you guys, but I am feeling particularly emotional about my last Pure Barre class this afternoon. At noon, I'll teach my last class before taking some time off to go grow this sweet baby. 

It's definitely time - my "demo's," where the instructor shows the clients how to set up positions, are getting a little laughable with this bump in the way. The clients at our studio have been so patient with all things pregnancy, particularly with the times when I'd get a move set up and then blank out completely. "Heavy tailbone, and...huh. Hmm. OH YEAH! Okay, 2 pulses down!" Hot mess. 

That kind of grace and community is just one of the many reasons I have loved this workout. If you've been following my blog for a while, you may remember this post about me going to Pure Barre for the first time, then an update after I gave it a shot for about a month, posted here. I've been taking Pure Barre since March 2016 and teaching since August of the same year, so I've spent a lot of time in that studio. Here are my thoughts as I put the mic on for the last time (for a while, at least!) this afternoon: 

1. Pure Barre is the most effective workout I've ever done. 

Please ignore my weirdly huge left knee??

From a purely exercise-based place, all the emotion aside, I cannot say enough about these classes. My background in exercise was pretty limited in terms of what I'd tried in earnest. I grew up running (very slowly, but running), and that had always been enough. As I graduated from college, I realized that running alone wasn't going to cut it. I added in some light arms and ab work, but it was always exactly that: running for 2.5/3 miles, then arms, then abs, then I'd leave the gym. 

I'd done group classes like Zumba, pilates, and yoga, and found myself really digging the class atmosphere. I'm a person who is pushed harder by the presence of other, more in-shape people. And running was starting to get hard on my knees and shins. 

Enter: Pure Barre. I started this workout a few months after an ankle injury that prevented me from running regularly. The difference I saw in my ENTIRE BODY - arms, abs, thighs, butt, posture, strength level, endurance - took about three weeks to start and hasn't stopped yet. I don't feel like I ever plateaued, I don't feel like it ever got easy. One of the complaints I hear is that Pure Barre isn't enough cardio. I'd encourage you to attend one of the new Pure Empower classes, a 45-minute cardio-centric class that has even the instructors dripping sweat. WOOF (but in the best way).

It has changed my body, my confidence in myself, and my perception of my own strength. I'm not an Olympian, but it turns out I can work pretty hard and achieve the results I want. Who knew?? 

2. The clients are incredible. 

Cuties Cher and Mary Frances at Halloween last year!

One of the things that Pure Barre Asheville has cultivated is a ubiquitous sense of community and positivity. When you hit the door, you'll be greeted by name by anyone standing in the lobby. For me, these days, it's been, "Look at you, cute pregnant girl!! How are you feeling??" (This happens on days when I am most certainly NOT cute, so that should tell you something about the level of support these clients offer me all the time!) 

My very first time, I was so nervous. Upon entering the studio, I was greeted by the women who became my "8:30 family" (the class time I always chose) - Linda, Vanessa, and Kendra. These ladies, ranging in age from younger than me to closer to my parents' age, made me feel so welcome and right at home. I include the part about their ages to add another dimension to the wonder of Pure Barre - I know of a client we have who is 19; I know of a client who is in her 70's. And these are REGULAR clients. The same goes for size, shape, and race. We've got clients all across the board, all of whom show up and prove their inner badass every single time. We show up to work out, not to put on a fashion show, not to judge each other. It's the most supportive workout environment I've ever seen - every SINGLE time.

There is something about a group of women (although we have several male clients too, who I absolutely adore!!) banding together to lift each other up that is all too rare in this world. Girl power is a THING. The Spice Girls had it right. And Pure Barre is absolutely dripping with it.  

3. The team I teach with is next-level amazing. 

Fellow instructor Christina and me, also at Halloween last year! 

Pure Barre is hard. There's no getting around it. It's a challenge mentally and physically to push yourself beyond what you think you're capable of doing. In order to feel good and encouraged by that challenge, rather than defeated by it, you need a team of people who's going to ensure you see yourself as a dadgum fitness warrior. That's exactly what exists at PB Asheville. 

These girls are just precious and delightful and energetic and wonderful and uplifting and ALL the rest of the adjectives. It doesn't hurt that they're all knockouts, either. I mean, why not have something pretty to look at while you're sweating your vital organs out? 

I moved to Asheville with no friends or family, and have found both here. I love sitting around after class and chatting with my fellow instructors when the studio is empty and no one else is around. We've shared fears, hopes, developments in our dating lives, pregnancy stories, career moves, engagement stories, house-building excitement - it's just a really special group of people.

There is no greater gift than helping another woman realize her potential - to see it written across her face that she did it after all, even when she thought she couldn't. I've watched clients go from not being able to hold a plank position for more than 10 seconds to breezing through the 90-second plank during warmup. I've seen people struggle through a few push ups early on, then conquer those things with no problem after a couple of months. 

Pure Barre changes people's lives because it changes the way people see into themselves. One of the things you'll hear repeated on the mic from instructors is, "You're stronger than you think." 

Well, you are. 

4. Carrying this baby around is a lot easier. 

I mean, I don't even want to imagine what carrying this monster baby around would be like if I didn't have a strong core to start with, thanks to PB. 

(Probably very hard.) 

A strong body and mind going into a pregnancy is something that's helped me exponentially. Not to mention walking into a studio three-four times a week where people say, "You look great!" even if you don't FEEL great; where people are pushing themselves to be their best. It makes me word harder, sweat more, and, most importantly, keep showing up and giving it my best shot. I am not Gal Gadot by any stretch (holler at your girl who filmed parts of Wonder Woman while she was 5 months pregnant ARE YOU KIDDING ME), but I can hold a 90-second plank in my sixth month of pregnancy, damnit. And that's not half bad. 

-- 

So, for now, farewell to teaching. It is weird to close this particular chapter because I feel like this was the last thing to "go." Months ago, when I was planning out when I'd probably need to step away, this day seemed like it was years in the future. It's here, and it means that Jordan's and my life is about to start getting really different with the arrival of this little baked potato. 

I am so grateful for this year of my life I spent with a Britney Spears mic strapped to my head, ra-ra-ing our wonderful clients, cutting up with instructors, drinking a million smoothies, getting wisdom and development from our studio owner, Flavia. Pure Barre has been a gift from God to me, as have the people that inhabit that studio daily. I'll still be taking classes, of course, but for now, I'm taking a minute to be still, to be thankful, and (at noon) to go get after it one last time. 

Nothin' but love, PB.

3 Years with Jord.

I love a special occasion. And this one, for me, is particularly special - it's the last anniversary I'll spend with my husband as "just the two of us." 

Next year at this time, we'll have a precious little 6-month old in our lives. And for the rest of our lives. Nothing will ever quite be the same for us, and while we're so excited, we're also treasuring this time together. 

There is no one I'd rather navigate this next step with, or in whom I have more confidence as a future dad. It completely melts my heart to think about Jordan stepping into a father role. What a lucky kid. 

I decided to share last year's post (as it still totally encapsulates how I feel about my angel husband) along with some wedding photos/videos by the amazingly talented Leslee Mitchell and Brittany Sturdivant of Love Be Photography, respectively. I just love looking back on this sweet day and looking forward to the future, but, today especially, I love standing right here, planted in this moment, holding hands with the man I married. 

8/2/16

It's pretty early in the morning. There is a dense fog hanging over the mountains - I can't see anything except the houses immediately across the street. I'm drinking a hot cup of coffee that my husband made for me, because he always does that when he wakes up before I do  (which is *cough* every morning *cough*). The only sound I can hear are birds chirping somewhere in the mist, and the "click click click" of my dog's feet as he wanders through the the house downstairs trying to figure out where I am. 

(He found me. He is now preventing me from writing this post because he wants to be in my lap. He is not a lap dog.) 

Okay, he's satisfied. Now sleeping at my feet. 

Confession: before I got married, I always thought it was kind of gross when people called their spouse their "best friend." 

That's your best friend? I thought. Don't you have real friends? Don't mix church and state. That's your spouse, not your friend. 

I vividly remember a conversation right before Jordan and I got married in which I told a girlfriend of mine in Memphis that Jordan was definitively NOT my best friend. He was my fiancé. To me, those were different. Jordan, on the other hand, was sure that I was his best friend. I felt a little guilty, but I stuck to my guns. Friends were friends. Husbands were husbands. 

Isn't it great to look back at yourself and think, "Wow, you were such a dummy. I'm so glad you learned some things!"? I think so. 

It took this move for me to realize that friendship - deep, understanding, soul-bearing friendship - is at the heart of a great marriage. And now, most days when Jordan leaves for work, I say, "I love you! You're my best friend!" And he still (thank goodness) returns the sentiment. 

Our first year of marriage was peppered with small challenges, most of them based in Jordan's residency and his countless hours of back-breaking work. Despite his schedule, it was certainly not a tough year, all things considered. 

This year hasn't been tough either - or, at least, it hasn't been unpleasant. But putting at least 5 hours between everything and everyone that's familiar to us has made the emotional roller coaster that is my life take dips and twists that are much more intense, much more thrilling and scarier, than ever before. Moving away is an adventure, but it also involves a little bit of mourning the life that you leave behind. 

This is my long-winded way (because, when it comes to me, is there any other kind?) of saying that I have never been more in love with my husband than I am today. 

This year, Year Two, Jordan has seen me at my most vulnerable and my least self-possessed. Not going to a job every day gave me time to think about what it is I'm doing on this planet, which, of course, led to a lot of self-doubt. In fact, this blog was born from such doubts and is my daily way of overcoming my fear of being unproductive. 

Through all of these moments - from the small triumphs of making a friend to the deep bowels of feeling profoundly aimless - my husband has been a rock. Well, really, he's been a rock, and a cheerleading shaker, and a bottle of champagne, and a laugh track, and a pillow, and a cool breeze, and a hiding place, and a safety net. Whatever it was that I needed. 

Jordan wakes up happy. He's kind to people, especially those he works with and those he works on. He's sharp as a tack, quick-witted, very funny - funnier than I am, to my deep chagrin (but secret delight - don't tell him I said so). Always playful. He's smart...scary smart. Steel trap smart. Want him on your team at pub trivia smart. He's no-nonsense and straightforward, solutions-oriented in a crisis. He's diligent, thorough, careful, confident. Perfectionistic in the best way. He finishes the DIY projects that I start and abandon. He regularly asks what he can do to help around the house even when he is bone tired. He says, "Thank you," for meals and clean laundry. He is empathic, motivated by helping people and animals who can't help themselves. Loves this earth. Experiences God in nature and doesn't understand the appeal of a city skyline, no matter how many times I explain to him that glittery lights are pretty. He's hard on himself and always improving, moving forward, in each of the roles he plays. He loves my friends. He is patient - good grief, is he ever - and long-suffering EVERY. DAY. He once housed his mother-in-law and his mother-in-law's dog for five straight weeks and didn't utter a word of complaint - instead, he walked through the door every afternoon and asked, "How are my girls doing?" Decent. Does the right thing. Doesn't take sick days. Doesn't complain. Always shows up. 

Look, we've all got problems and undesirable traits. Jordan, too. But if looking at someone's character is about what they do in the way of patience and kindness, selflessness and humility, celebration and cool-headedness (haven't I heard this somewhere before?), then he's got character spilling out of his pores. 

In Year Three, I will undoubtedly want to kill him at some point. And he will probably want to lock me in a room to let me run out all my energy like a five-year-old at a McDonald's Playplace. C'est la vie. It's part of the gig.

Over the course of me sitting at this computer, typing this post, all the fog has burned away. It's bright, sunny morning. I can see the mountains all around our house, wisps of clouds suspended in the air. It looks like a Bob Ross painting. My dog is snoring down the hall, where he moved to be closer to the air vent. Jordan just came up and asked if I wanted anything else. He meant coffee.

But the answer is, I don't. 

5 Things: Ways To Avoid Current Events Burnout

This has been an exhausting week in terms of keeping up with the world. Lots has happened. Lots has been really sad, disappointing, upsetting, and tough. I've felt a lot of anxiety around trying to inform myself about current events without allowing myself to become anxious or overwhelmed, which is not an easy combination. Here are some things that have helped me. 

1. Stay off/limiting social media. 

As much as it kills me to say, I have a Facebook problem. Many (most) of my friends have moved past this stage, but Facebook is still the website that I go to when I don't have anything else to do. Because of that, I find myself mindlessly scrolling through status after status - people's complaints, the products people are selling, photos of engagements and babies being born, etc. It's not all bad! But it is a LOT of input for one brain, especially when most of it is white noise. Reading about how the person who sat behind me in Algebra feels about the transgender ban in the military is not, in my opinion, a helpful way to process how I feel about it.

Twitter is another danger zone. This week, I found myself all spun up about John McCain's decision to vote "Yes" on the proposed healthcare legislation, only to find later that what he voted "Yes" to was to open the floor to debate the plan - not the plan itself (in fact, he voted "No" on the plan last night, so, ya know.). I am still unsupportive of this choice, but a series of fifteen angry tweets by my peers led me to believe that something more catastrophic had happened than had actually happened. This happens to me A LOT - allowing the opinions of others to work me up into a froth. Had I done my own research, I would've figured out what was really going on and saved myself the embarrassment of tweeting something dumb. 

2. Seek out credible news sources, and, even then, limit what you choose to read. 

If you've been following this blog for any length of time, you've probably heard me rave about theSkimm, which is a daily e-mail consolidating all the important sound bytes and news items of the day into a digestible, easy-to-read, ten-minute experience. 

But theSkimm is far from the only platform offering services like this: The New York Times has launched its own capsule daily news, as has NPR. Whatever news source you enjoy, it's likely that they'll start offering something similar. 

The reason this has been so effective for me is because I can't mentally and emotionally process a constant, day-long stream of opinions and updates about the world. Doing so makes me unproductive, depressed, and often keeps me from holding valuable perspective about what's going on vs. how big a deal it's being made into. Processing my information at once, every day, in the mornings, has made me able to retain more information and feel more confident, informed, and stable. I've stopped watching cable news completely and GOSH does that make a difference. 

3. Talk about it. 

Something about talking through tough issues with my peers or parents is helpful to me. I think being able to just verbally dump all my concerns on the people I love and then have them help me sort through it makes me feel like the walls aren't collapsing in on me. It's probably because I'm a verbal/written processor. I know that shocks you! 

Allowing other people into your head means you aren't alone in there. Holy hell, my head is a scary place sometimes. I bet yours is, too. Don't get trapped in there by yourself. Talk to your people. If your people are good ones, they'll help you make sense of it all. Things aren't as scary with a community around you. It's tribe mentality, and boy, does it work. 

4. Call your legislators. 

Oh, the instant joy that comes with hanging up after calling a legislator and leaving a voicemail for his or her aids to listen to later. Not impolite ones. Just normal, "Hey, this is how I feel, can ya let my boy/girl know?" sort of things. 

Y'all, people are passionate, but I'll tell you what does almost nothing: e-mails to your legislators. Facebook posts. Twitter rants. I'm not knocking these outlets on their own - often, you can get a lot of relief from either reading one or penning one of your own - but those things by themselves produce nothing but a momentary laugh, nod, or grimace from readers. It is so rare for a piece of writing to galvanize anyone to action without follow up of some sort. 

Calling your legislators and letting them know how you feel isn't just a way to blow off steam - it's actually part of our duty as citizens of this country. It digs way down to the bones of what makes America America. No march, no rant, no article, no 140 characters can do anything by itself. Keep calling, keep calling, keep calling. 

5. Remember that the 24-hour news cycle requires news. 

It wasn't so long ago that there were four channels and a hard stop to broadcasting every night that concluded with the national anthem. Since then, the monster of the 24-hour news cycle has been created. And it is HUNGRY. 

The mere fact of this neverending parade of news means that there has to be content to fill it, whether that content is meaningful or not. That might mean bringing so-and-so's ex-boyfriend's dog sitter on to offer her analysis of a situation, of bastardizing a truly tragic news story (like Charlie Gard), or reporting on content that no one is sure about yet for the sake of having something to put on TV. News media, it seems, cares less and less about credible sources and more and more about ratings. 

Fake News isn't just a thing that happens by clicking suspicious links your aunt posts on Facebook. I'd like to submit that Fake News can also mean stories about real events, but that those stories are inflamed and beaten to death to a degree that they mislead the public. It's just not responsible, and it's a product of the current need for news to be ALL THE TIME. 

So. Take a breath and step away from the computer if ya need to (I do). It's our job as consumers to CHOOSE what we listen to. I am terrible about having something "on" just for the sake of having noise in the background - I'm not even listening to it. Turn on some instrumental music. Sit in silence. If that's too much, flip on a white noise machine. But do SOMETHING to allow yourself a decompression every day, away from the noise of the world. Re-set. Otherwise, your brain might just become its own never ending newsfeed of anxiety-producing material that you just can't seem to get on top of. 

My Baby Stole My Brain.

...and won't give it back. 

You know those Life Alert commercials? 

Mmhmm. YOU know which ones I mean. 

That is the current state of my brain. There are lots of things about pregnancy I thought people played up/were kind of myths (more on that in tomorrow's post), but one of them is "pregnancy brain." 

Yeah right, I thought, arrogantly. These chicks are just being lazy and don't want to try anymore because they're cookin' a baby. Can't blame them, but let's not act like the forgetfulness can't be helped. 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, pre-pregnancy Mary Catherine. How foolish you were. You simple idiot.

I'd like to offer a few pieces of anecdotal evidence that Pregnancy Brain is, in fact, a thing. For your consideration: 

1. The Pants

Jordan bought (well, I bought) some things from J Crew. In the stack, there were two pairs of shorts that he didn't care for. He asked me to exchange them for a different color pair of shorts and a pair of slacks. These items have been sitting on a stool in our bedroom for probably 8 weeks now, and I finally got around to doing it this week. 

I took said items to the store to exchange, only to realize that I couldn't remember his pant size. Like, at all. It was gone. It was nowhere in the system from when I worked there, so my trip was fruitless and I had to go home, look in his other pants, get the size, and go back in. It's a 32/32 by the way, which really means I only had to remember the one number, twice. 

That one sounds mild, does it? Could've happened to anyone, you're thinking? Stay with me. 

2. The car keys. 

I recently got a new car. If you know me personally, this is a Big Deal as I have been driving the same car since my sophomore year of college (meaning almost a decade). My car had started to really die out on me - the AC was faulty, the radio didn't work, and, in its death rattle, the starter began acting up. 

One fateful Saturday morning after I'd taught Pure Barre, I got into the car only to find that it wouldn't turn over. Jordan had to come get me, and since we'd already made plans to go look at cars the next day, we decided to leave the car where it was and get it the next day. 

When we arrived at the car, neither of us could find the keys. Where had we put them? we both wondered. We couldn't figure it out, so we went on to the dealership and made plans to deal with the lost keys later. 

The next day, I made it my personal mission to find the keys. I turned the entire house upside down. Searched through our laundry, every nook and corner, and dug through Jordan's Jeep - nothing. COMPLETE mystery.

"Did you check your pockets?" my mother asked by phone. YES, MOM, I CHECKED MY POCKETS. Come on, girl. I felt like Parker Posey in Best In Show when the hotel manager suggests she look under the bed (anyone? anyone??) for her dog's lost toy. #busybee

So eventually, we bought another car and traded my current car in. Despite the fact that it was still in the Pure Barre parking lot. Locked. 

The only thing either of us could think of was that I'd locked the keys in the car that morning. So we called AAA. I'm sure this poor guy thought that we were about to hot wire this car given that he unlocked it and we were still unable to locate the keys and/or start the car. He drove away, but he looked dubious. 

Jordan had to go to work, so I stayed to clean out the car. Not knowing that the last time I drove the car would be the ACTUAL last time I drove the car, I'd made no effort to tidy it up. It's not important to the story, though it might be entertaining to include that inside the car, I found the following items that I did not know were there: 

• An extra key fob (still not able to start the car, but at least we could unlock it from the outside!) 
• A highball glass 
• A pair of Chanel sunglasses with one of the lenses missing 
• A full, unopened bottle of wine 
• A legal pad full of notes I'd been looking for
• A perfume bottle 
• Five pairs of Pure Barre sticky socks
• An iPod shuffle 
• Three cigars 

You get the point. If you found those items in a car, you'd be like, "So this is an alcoholic smoker who sometimes works out? Mmkay." 

Anyway, as I was cleaning out the ruins of my life, it started to rain. I pulled on my rain jacket and put my wallet in my pocket so that I could walk to Domino's and get a pizza to stress-eat by myself and...

...touched something. Metal. And clinky. 

The keys. They were in the pocket of the raincoat I'd been wearing that morning. Which means not only am I a moron, but MY MOTHER WAS RIGHT! 

3. The pound cake

Last week, I needed to make a pound cake as a thank you gift for a weekend trip we'd recently been gifted. I thought, "This will be a snap. I've done this a billion times." I FaceTime'd my mom, started chatting, and got to work. 

I laid all the ingredients out - eggs, sugar, flour, vanilla, lemon extract, Crisco (YEP. CRISCO. Deal with it.), etc. Started creaming everything together. Talking away, blah blah blah, got it done in a jiff, put it in the oven, and sat back to wait for the house to fill with that fabulous baking smell. I cleaned up all my ingredients, wiped my counters, and congratulated myself.

But it didn't smell fabulous. It didn't smell like anything except scrambled eggs cooking. 

I looked in on the cake and saw that it was sunken. This has happened to me before - I accidentally shut our back door too hard while baking once and it collapsed - so I thought, "Eh. Whatever. We'll see." 

Anyway, thirty minutes later, I looked in to find that the center of the cake was still completely raw. Odd I thought. I'll let it bake a little longer, I guess.

Twenty minutes later, the blackened scorch of failure wafted through the house. 

"What the HELL??" I said aloud to Tom Hanks. 

Turns out I forgot to put flour in the cake. Despite getting the flour out and setting it with the other ingredients and putting it back into the pantry with the other ingredients, it did not occur to me that I had not actually put the flour in the batter. So, I basically made custard, and then burned the custard. Then threw it away. Then went to the store and bought a cake. 

Friends, these are things that, despite my spazzy and oft-forgetful nature, would have NEVER HAPPENED had this baby not crawled into my brain stem, torn it in half, kidnapped my mind and held it hostage in my uterus. I can't even access normal thought anymore. I couldn't remember John Hughes' name the other day. JOHN FREAKING HUGHES, director of the 80's canon of classics such as The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles. I can't remember anything about Jordan's work schedule. I asked a friend when she was due (she'd already had the baby). I asked a co-worker how her mother-in-law was doing who'd recently fallen ill (it was her father-in-law). I left the house without Tom Hanks to TAKE THE DOG TO THE PARK. 

I've surrendered to it. Whatever. This is my life now. 

"Oh, sweetie, it only gets worse," knowing moms say to me with a smile. 

That's cute, lady. Thanks for the looming reminder that I'll never be able to effectively bake/speak/interact with other humans normally again. 

Oooooo, this baby better be cute is all I'm sayin'.