Saturday, January 24, 2015

The Reaction

When I found out that against all odds, I was unexpectedly pregnant at the age of 44---with NO medical intervention whatsoever, I was in complete and utter shock.

In case you're wondering, a reproductive endocrinologist confirmed that the odds of this happening to ME was LESS than one percent.  Did you get that? I said NOT.EVEN.ONE.PERCENT.....Now, hold the fort while I run out and buy a lottery ticket. Yo.

After I left the doctor's office, I drove to work to share the news with my husband. I wasn't sure how I was going to tell him...how I was going to get the words out...because all I could do was sob uncontrollably. I was overcome with anxiety and fear.  The conversation I'd just had with that jackass doctor kept playing in my head and I was worried sick about what was to come.

Would I be able to carry this baby to term? If I did, would my baby be healthy? Would my cardiac health worsen during pregnancy? Would I die during childbirth and never get to see my "miracle" baby? Was I just too old? How would my husband react?

I found out the answer to the last question soon enough.

When I got to work, I calmly walked into my office, hung up my coat, met my husband's glance through a window in the production area, and then? I.TOTALLY.LOST.MY.SHIT.

I ran into the bathroom, sobbing and heaving, like a complete maniac.

He followed me.

I can't remember exactly what happened next because I was basically incoherent, even to myself. But, finally, through my heaving and hyperventilating, I said...

Me:  Oh. My. God. You are not going to believe this! I'm...I'm...I...I...Um...I...The doctor said...I'm...Oh my God....

Hubby:  What? You're what? Are you sick? Are you okay? Is something wrong?

Me:  *heaving* I'm pregnant! 

Hubby: *BLANK STARE*

Me:  Did you hear me? I said I'm PREGNANT.

Hubby:  *hugging and squeezing buckets of snot out of me*  Okay! Calm down! It's okay! This is great! GREAT! Just think! We'll get to go to baseball games! Or tea parties! THIS IS GREAT!

Me:  Baseball games or tea parties? WTF is wrong with you? What kind of a reaction is that?

Hubby:  THIS IS GREAT NEWS!!!!!!!! IT'S AWESOME!  Don't you see? NOW we'll have someone to take our driver's licenses away when we start to drive like ASSHOLES!  

Me:  *still sobbing* But, you already drive like an asshole...

Hubby:  Ha! Don't worry. Everything will be fine. We're in this together. We can handle anything that comes our way. It's going to be fine. Believe me. This is going to be GREAT!

Me:  *still sobbing* We'll be THE OLDEST parents on the playground! WE'RE OLDDDDDD!!!!!  *heave, heave, heave*

Hubby:  We're not old!  We're hip....and cool!  Please don't worry. We'll always have each other!  AND, after the baby is born, if you want---WE'LL GET BOTOX!  Okay? Please calm down, Sal. Everything is going to be fine. Trust me.

Me:  *heave, heave, heave* Okay....


And that, in a nutshell, was how our most amazing journey began....

STAY TUNED.




Monday, January 5, 2015

You Dropped A Bomb On Me, Baby---The Gap Band, 1982

I found out that I was pregnant in late September 2013.

The day started out like any other ordinary day. I had a midday appointment with my gynecologist because I wanted to get some information about the Depo-Provera shot.

Since January, I had had super unpredictable menstrual cycles and I was tired of not knowing what the hell was going on with my body. I had discussed my irregular cycles with my doctor earlier that year and he flippantly said something like, "Don't be worried. You're 43. Your hormones are changing. It's probably peri-menopause."

Awesome, I thought. Here comes the damn mustache.

Because I had recently returned from a cruise to Bermuda and spent almost the ENTIRE trip wrestling with Aunt Flo (ugh), I was annoyed. A couple of weeks after I got home, I read somewhere that by getting the Depo-Provera shot, you could halt your monthly cycle completely. Immediately, I knew that pending the side effects of said shot, in accordance with positive input from my doctor, that THAT was likely the road I was going to take until full blown menopause decided to rear its ugly head (or hairy chin…whatever).

When I arrived at the empty doctor's office (Yay! THAT never happens!), a young lady quickly took me into a receiving room where she checked my blood pressure and my weight. Then she handed me a plastic cup and told me to go take a pee.

When I got back from the bathroom, I handed her my cup o' urine, sat down, and began checking an email that I'd received on my phone (It was a work day). When I glanced up, I noticed the medical assistant looking at me oddly. Three times, I watched her peel this strip thingy out of a paper wrapper (like a band aid), dip it in the urine sample, take it out, study it, then glare at me.

Suddenly, she jumped up and said, "Um….Mrs. Costa, you can come with me." Then, she led me into the doctor's office, where I sat and continued to read my emails.

Within minutes, this doctor, who I'd never dealt with before (and never did again after this day), walked in, shut the door and leaned against the counter. Nonchalantly, He blurted, "I'm Dr. I-Think-I-Walk-On-Water. Your doctor is no longer with this practice….Also, there's no other way to say this….You're pregnant."

Me:  I'M SORRY? WHAT?

Doctor:  YOU'RE PREGNANT.

Me:  OH, F*CK!

Doctor:  Hehehehe…..

Me:  *sobbing* Oh, my God! I'm sorry! I'm an educated woman. I don't know WHY I said that! Um…But, this is impossible…I mean there's NO way….

Doctor:  Mrs. Costa, YOU ARE PREGNANT. From what I can gather, you're due date is May 10th.

Me:  WHAT?! I HAVE A DUE DATE?! WHAT?!

Doctor:  Because you are of AMA (Advanced Maternal Age), I'm going to schedule genetic testing ASAP…just in case….

Me:  JUST IN CASE WHAT?

Doctor:  Well, just in case you need to make some timely decisions.

Me:  WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

Doctor:  Also, I wouldn't tell anyone, except your husband, just yet. AT YOUR AGE, you have a very high risk of miscarrying.

Me:  *sobbing* Oh my God. I can't believe this….

Doctor:  Stop at the desk on your way out and they'll give you an appointment for a sonogram. Any questions?

Me:  *ugly crying* Unrelated, but, yeah…...Do you have any children?

Doctor:  One. Why?

Me:  If you don't mind my asking, why did you only have one?

Doctor:  Well, by the time my wife and I decided that we might want another one, she was already 44…and that's just too damn old! BAHAHAHAHAHA!

Me:  *sobbing* BASTARD.

Later that day, after dropping the F-bomb and calling him a bastard, I switched doctors. 

I never saw that a-hole again. 

True story.

***Stay Tuned for Part 3***


Friday, January 2, 2015

I'm back! And this time? I'm not alone. Yo.

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Last year, I decided to take a blogging hiatus when I found out that I was unexpectedly pregnant. I needed to sort things out in my head a bit and felt like I wanted to do so privately (READ:  MELTDOWN). If you know me at all, or even if you don't, I was the chick who never really made having children a priority. I always sort of had it in the back of my mind, often pondering my child-free status as the years rolled by, but I never truly pined for children. The conversations I had with myself were more like, "I'm almost forty. My biological clock must broken. Hmmm...I wonder if I'll ever regret not having a kid?" 

Looking back, I think my reluctance to commit to having a baby stemmed from a few things.

First, my husband and I were (are) happy. We weren't THAT couple who felt like we needed children to feel complete. We know people who've had children thinking that THAT would fix whatever was missing in their relationship (They're divorced now). Not us. We never felt like our lives were fractional and we really enjoyed our time alone and being a family of two. Wouldn't having a child just screw up our zen life?

Even so, out of a sense of obligation, I remember reluctantly asking my husband--right after I turned forty--if he wanted to have a child. I think the conversation went something like, "Look, dude. I'm forty and we need to make a decision here. If you want to be a Dad, I don't want to deprive you of the experience." He looked at me and responded, "If you're good, I'm good." WHEW, I guiltily thought. I totally just dodged a big ass bullet right there.

Second, I am a woman who constantly craves independence and alone time. As a matter of fact, I'm going to go one step further and admit something to you all. Most of the time, I am downright antisocial. Since I was a kid, I have always enjoyed being alone more than being with people. How the heck could that characteristic ever translate to my being a decent parent? I wasn't at all interested in finding out. Trust me.

Finally, and this is going to sound really odd and immature y'all, but it is what it is….

I am not a fan of pain. 

I know, I know. Who is, right? 

Um. I'm being a bit more extreme here, folks. 

You're probably unaware of this little factoid, my friends. But, I am probably one of the only women you know who doesn't even have her ears pierced (and I NEVER will). Tattoos? Piercings? No, friggin way. I'm way, way too wussy for that. So, the thought of pushing a human out of my vagina or having one cut out of my gut? Yeah, if I even tried to give that shit some extensive thought, the anxiety alone threatened to kill me.

So, you can imagine my conundrum, when at the ripe old age of 44, after totally ruling it out and intricately planning out my child-free future and early retirement (Hahaha…yeah, right!)---I found out that I was pregnant. 

I was shocked, worried, scared, nervous, and extremely anxious. 

I was also convinced, beyond a reasonable doubt, that I was living proof that Jesus had a sense of humor.

Well played, Jesus. Well played.

***(Stay tuned for Episode 2)***




















Tuesday, September 3, 2013

A Perv Among Us

I was minding my own business at work today, thinking only extremely pure and religious thoughts *AHEM*, when I received a letter from the treasurer of my business condo association. It read:

"Acme Sanitation has brought to my attention that materials are being improperly disposed of into our septic system.  These materials can cause the system to backup and become clogged.  Please see the attached invoice for more details."---Joe Smith, Treasurer

Hmmm....Why didn't he mention what the materials were in the letter?

So, I dug around in the envelope for more information and I found this....


Then, because I am the consummate professional that you expect me to be, I ran into the production area and yelled, "Holy crap!  There are PERVS among us!  Hide your kids! Hide your wife! Hide your husband!"

And the guys were all, "What the hell?"

So, I showed them the letter and then, because they are consummate professionals, they all started taking bets on what neighbors they thought were bumping uglies during work hours and we came to the consensus that somebody's probably having an affair, y'all.

That's when I realized that perhaps collectively, we---being the consummate professionals that we are---should probably pay a tad bit more attention to the OTHER piece of mail that we received today...



Because I'm pretty sure that if we owned a Fortune 500 company (we are sooooo far from it), talking about wieners at work would probably be considered inappropriate behavior....as is, boinking your coworker in the employee terlet, I suppose.

But, that's just an assumption, y'all....

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Than God He's Not A Librarian

On Saturday, my husband offered to take me to an outdoor book sale at the Chase-Cory House, not far from where I live.  I usually attend this book sale every year, but this year, I was so super busy and crunched for time---overseeing a huge construction project at Sophia Petrillo's house (the Mama)---that I decided I wasn't in the mood to browse.  Actually, I had a stress induced migraine and the thought of looking through old books in the hot sun, made me want to vomit.

As we drove to Sophia's together, to witness what looked like a bunch of dudes testing missiles on her house, the following conversation ensued...

Hubby:  Why don't we go to the book sale for a little while?

Me:  Not into it today.  I need to be at my mother's.

Hubby:  How about just an hour?

Me:  No, thanks.  I really need to get to my mother's.  It's raining tar shingles over there.

Hubby:  Are you sure?  You love that book sale!

Me:  Yeah.  I'm sure.  Thanks, anyway.

Hubby:  I don't know.....I think we should go for just a little while.  It'll make you feel better.

Me:  Seriously, dude. My mother's house is a disaster.  I need to get there ASAP so I can be the buffer between her and the contractors.  She.Will.Drive.Them.Nuts.

Hubby:  Fine. But, when you miss out on finding a first edition of The Man and the Whale, you'll be SORRYYYY!

Me:  A first edition of THE WHAT? 

Hubby:  THE MAN AND THE WHALE...You always hear about people scoring first editions of old classics at book sales and yard sales for wicked cheap money.

Me:  The Old Man and The Sea?

Hubby:  NO. THE MAN AND THE WHALE. You must've read it.  You went to college.

Me:  Ummm.....Moby Dick?

Hubby:  Oh, wait.....Is that what it is?

Me:  BAHAHAHAHA!  

Hubby:  Oh, Jesus. Here we go....

Me: THE MAN AND THE WHALE!!!!  BAHAHAHAHAHA!



*In related news, if you'd like to purchase a copy of Paul Costa's The Man and the Whale, you won't find it at Amazon.com, cuz that shit don't exist, y'all.

**In even more related news, I went to a bridal shower on Sunday (more about that later).  While there, I was asked to write down--on a 3x5 index card (A) my name and how many years I've been married and (B) some advice on what makes a successful marriage.  Easily, I filled out both sides of the card.  But the first thing I wrote was:

"Make each other laugh."

My husband does that for me all the time....even when he's not trying to. 








Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Gifts That Suck: The Birthday Edition

A week and a half ago, I celebrated my forty-fourth birthday.

Ugh.  Where the hell has the friggin time gone?

I swear, it seems like just yesterday, I was whining over turning forty and grumbling about my sisters posting my picture on the obituary page of the local paper (bitches).

Crooked bangs courtesy of my sister, Natty, and her madshitty hairdressing skills.





Anyway, because I received such an overabundance of f*cking lame unique gifts, I thought I would share my wares with you, my imaginary internet friends.  Read em', weep, and control your jealousy, people.


Gift #1---Redneck Book Bag (I mean, really?)

Okay.  I'll say one thing.  My name is Sally Costa and I am a book addict. Seriously, there are books in EVERY.SINGLE.ROOM. of my house.  I love, love, love, them.  That being said, I wouldn't carry anything is this queer book bag, let alone my beloved livros, because (A) I have standards...and (B) I have teeth.

Gift #2---Doobage Cookies (for real)
Now, some of you questionable people (READ: Dead Heads) might be saying, "Hey, duuuuuude.  Those cookies are bossssss."  (Um...Is that what the cool kids are saying these days?  I wouldn't know because I am a dork.)

To you I say, thisgirl's not interested in pot cookies because (A) I'm already high on life and (B) Coconut is effin disgusting (One of the only foods that I will not eat). Blech....

BUT NO WORRIES, OFFICER.  Rest assured that I have properly disposed of said assumingly illegal cookies in an appropriate manner.  ALSO, as the president of the company that I co-own with Hubby, I've made an executive decision to temporarily SUSPEND all random drug testing.  *ahem*

Gift #3---Every gal wants a pretty journal, no?


Um. NO.

Frieda Kahlo's been shanked, y'all...by a shit ton of nails.

I understand that in her paintings, she often depicted herself in these kinds of morbid situations (being stabbed, having her heart ripped out, etc...).

I'm no expert in art interpretation, but if I had to guess, I'd say that Frieda probably could have benefited from some Coconut Ganja Cookies (and extensive laser hair removal). Geesh....

To conclude this post, I'd like to point out that because I feel like I've grown so much--emotionally--since turning forty-four, I've decided that I'm not going to out the jackass "friend" who gave me these f*cking tasteless gifts.

As a matter of fact, I think the best course of action is to not be wasteful, utilize what I can, and give away the rest. 

On that note, THIS is the first entry in my Frieda Kahlo journal: 




 Feel free to form your own hypothesis.




Thursday, May 9, 2013

#NOBODYCARES2013

I know how important it is to get away....to take a much needed vacation from the daily grind, before you feel like mental exhaustion will overrule your mind (and body) and you start stabbing people, only in your head-hopefully.

That being said, when you go on vacation, the people who you are friends with at home are happy for you (at least, I know I am). 

However, those people back home?  Their lives will not stop because you are not there. They are still working, paying bills, doing chores, and juggling the stresses of everyday life. 

And to be frank?  They don't really give a crap what kind of a time you're having because they are too BUSY to care.  So, when you keep sending them texts and pictures from your vacation destination of you floating around in the ocean half nekkid (while they are sweating their balls off at 8 o'clock at night--after real work--cutting the grass at their 82 year old mother's house) or drinking tropical beverages with random, drunk people you've never met before (while they are at the doctor's office getting versed on their new heart medication)?  They just want to tell you to go bang your ankles...because like I said before, THEY'RE BUSY.

And when you continue to send queer texts (even though you've been warned), eventually, THIS is what's going to happen...


Day 1:
Douche-Canoe:  Look at us in the pool!  So beautiful here!
Me:  That's nice.  Hope you're having a good time. 

Day 2:
Douche-Canoe:  Look at this giant donut we bought!  So delicious!
Me:  Working.  Stop texting me.

Day 3:
Douche-Canoe:  Hanging out with these girls on the beach! (sends picture of scantily clad hosers)
Me:  Grocery shopping. Stop texting me. 

Day 4: 
Douche-Canoe:  Look at this view from our balcony!  Isn't it amazing?
Me:  Good for you.  At the doctor's office.  Stop texting me.


Day 5:
Douche-Canoe:  We are at the Ritz-Carlton, having breakfast.  It is beautiful here!
Me:  We ate at McDonalds.  Fuck off.

For the record, I'm not jealous.  I'm just busy, WORKING...so I can save my money to go on vacation, where you'll never hear a gahdamn peep from me :)