Sobriety is for the birds

I miss alcohol. I miss the warm, fuzzy feeling of being mildly intoxicated. I miss just how good that second glass of wine is. I miss that iced cold beer on a hot summer day and that dry peppery red with my medium-rare filet.

Because of this, I've taken to smelling my husband's alcoholic drinks. Not just a casual whiff, mind you. No. Instead, I've found myself gently, but deliberately grabbing the beer bottle, pressing my nose just ever so slightly against the mouth of the bottle and deeply inhaling. It is a glorious smell. At some point I reluctantly release my grip as he's prying it out of my hands set the beer bottle back down on the counter, sigh and walk away. I feel I've been a pretty good sport about this whole sobriety thing. God knows my pregnancy has not put a crimp in Brian's enjoyment of alcohol. Well, perhaps I have a put a crimp in his actual enjoyment of alcohol (as my big sad eyes bat at him begging the question "don't you feel mildly guilty drinking that in front of me?"), but his habits haven't changed in the slightest.

Because I'm a masochist and really enjoy torturing myself, I'm keeping a list of all of the upcoming events at which I cannot drink. They include: Various summer parties, cook-outs, fundraisers, and the ENTIRE upcoming football season. The several upcoming weddings we have been invited to. My birthday. Thanksgiving Eve and Thanksgiving Day. Christmas. New Year's. Did I mention the ENTIRE upcoming football season??? How will settling into the couch on a lazy Sunday afternoon, with the game on, while my husband complains that I'm wasting the afternoon on stupid football is off building something because he can't sit still for more than 20 minutes to save his life, ever be the same when I can't drink BEER? How will GOING to the game on a glorious fall afternoon be satisfying when I can't enjoy that $12 draft while simultaneously medicating myself so as to tolerate the other drunk fans and/or Bills' loss? Maybe I will have to buy one and just resort to smelling it for the duration of the game. Because that wouldn't be weird at all.

Baby Gaga

I have been obsessing about baby names. I'm not sure why since I have a million weeks to go in this pregnancy, but I spend the majority of my day scanning names through my mind. Think of a scrolling news feed on the bottom of CNN's television screen. Only this feed doesn't tell us anything useful or critical. Instead it reads, Naomi . . . Layla . . . Evelyn . . . Marilyn . . . and on and on and on.

I have to stop discussing baby names with my son. I suppose at the age of 6 he can't appreciate the concept of suggesting a name that is not already being used by one of his close friends. Or a Star Wars character. His top suggestions are Luke, Vader (because Darth is too obvious), Anakin, and "Pookan" - which, if he's staying true to the Star Wars theme, I am pretty sure is supposed to stand for Plo Koon.

My 14 year old daughter on the other hand has managed to suggest only a single boy name (Joel) and a handful of girl names, all of which had to be immediately rejected because each was an ex-girlfriend of my husband. [It's bad enough that he routinely called me and/or introduced me as those names during our first year or two of dating.]

My husband has suggested no names. This may be because he doesn't care. It also may be because any girl name he might suggest would inherently lead me to ask, "why THAT name? do you KNOW someone named that? where did you meet her? is she pretty? do you like THAT name better than MY name?" Poor Brian has 6 more months of this to go . . .

My mom hates all names that I seem to like. As we were giggling about names throughout dinner last week, all we had accomplished by the end of the meal was that Baby Gaga - a name that made us both laugh hysterically - was a clear front runner since we could agree on nothing else.

It was easy naming my daughter. I just knew she was a girl and I knew she was going to be Whitney. She's named after my grandfather, Lyle Whitney Cagwin, and his mother, Ethyl Grace Whitney. Even Cameron is named after family since his initials are C.J. and my grandfather's father and his father and his father were all C.J.s.

I am convinced I'm having another girl. Though I could be entirely wrong since my psychic abilities have proven on multiple occasions to be entirely NONEXISTENT. But assuming I am not wrong, with the exception of Grace, which is already in use as a middle name in one of Whitney's first cousins, there really are no other girl names that I can steal from my family tree. My grandmother's name, Ella, is already in use TWICE in the first cousins in our family. Her middle name, Maxine, was a candidate, but my mom has put the kibosh on that. My great-grandmother's name, Ruth, was considered until I realized she would be Baby Ruth. I can't do that, I mean c'mon it's not even a GOOD candy bar. Other options include Isabunda, Gertrude, or Ethyl. No lie. I feel like giving those names to an innocent little baby would be worthy of some level of legal reprimand or censure. Probably not unlike naming your child Baby Gaga . . .