Getting Down to "Business"

Somewhere early on in this pregnancy I became obsessed with Ricki Lake. I know. Weird, right? Let me explain. Ricki Lake recently produced a documentary called "The Business of Being Born." In short, she sells the idea that hospitals and doctors are more concerned with making a quick buck by inducing pregnant women before their body is actually "ready" to give birth...which in many cases results in an emergency c-section, which, in turn, results in more money for the doctor etc, etc. Sounds nothing like me, right? I'm a planner. Induction fits perfectly with my personality. Strangely, I decided after already giving birth to two children that I would make a point this last time to do some research. Sorry #1 and #2. Hope you turn out alright. Catch ya on the flip side!
So I ordered "Business" on Netflix just to see what all the fuss was about. Ricki thinks, as do many other midwifes/Douala's/women who go bra-less and don't shave their armpits {oops, inadvertent stereotyping}, that when the baby is ready to come, it will come. In her documentary, which I begged Eric to watch with me to no avail, she focuses on drug-free home births using midwifes, water births, standing births, birthing ball births...basically every birth plan I swore I'd never do.

After watching the film, I re-confirmed for myself- Hoag Hospital or Bust. Surprised? What, I don't strike you as the deliver-my-baby-in-a-bathtub-like-Shamu type? The truth is, I grew up 5 minutes from Sea World and remember watching the news of a birth at the park when I was younger. I just can't get passed the God-awful visual it ingrained in my brain. And while we're on the subject, who wants to sit in the bathtub after the delivery anyway? I won't even take the baby from the doctor until it's been cleaned off. No judgements, thanks. We have the rest of our lives to cuddle. And don't get me wrong. By no means am I judging the au-naturale moms. More power to ya!

Still, after watching the documentary and deciding I was right all along, I can't get Ricki out of my head. She has been sitting on my ever-widening shoulder, whispering sweet Bradley-method nothings, convincing me that I'm going to screw up my kid by speeding up the labor process with induction and drugs. I've become torn {ew, awful word to use with just 10 days left. My apologies}

If you know me at all, it will come as no shock to you that I called the hospital months ago to make sure that they had enough epidurals on hand. God forbid they run out. I've also spent the last 9 months counting all the pregnant women I know. I even went so far as to create a list, in chronological order by due date, of all the preggos. This had nothing to do with my OCD {well maybe a little OCD}, but rather, I felt like if the majority of pregnant women I know were due at a different time than me, I had a better shot of delivering my child in an ocean-view suite at Hoag versus the Hoag hallway on a gurney. Yes, I actually have anxiety that we'll have a "no room at the Inn" situation. And seriously, I want {need} as much medical intervention as possible. Morphine for the pain? Absolutely. Pitocin? Bring it on. Epidural? Make it a double.

So Tuesday when I went for my weekly doc appointment {38.5 weeks} and my doctor mentioned induction next week what's the first thing I did? Check my calendar? Nope. Call Eric? No way. Call my mom? Uh-uh. Immediately get a vision of Ricki Lake sitting naked in a bathtub, groaning like a cow, birthing her second born? You guessed it. Ugh! Dammit Ricki. Get out of my head! Two nights ago I had a dream that a member of the Wiggle's delivered my baby in the cockpit of an airplane! I have crippling heartburn that could grow hair on your chest. The last thing I need right now is a Ricki mind-fuck.

I thought about it for a minute. I called Eric 2 times and got no answer. Awesome. Because if you know my husband, you know that he answers EVERY phone call. So yeah, that's ok babe, I'm just 10 months pregnant...water could have broken...could be 10 cm and ready to push {hee hee hoo}...and you're just not answering your phone. Whatever.

So I decided that Ricki could suck it.

March 28, 2011 is going to be a great birthday for #3. That's right. I said it, Ricki. You can take your bathtub birth and shove it. I'll be showered. Hair done. Legs shaved. You name it. I'll be ready. Induce the hell out of me. Let's make it happen. Bring on the pitocin, epidural and medical intervention. 5 days to go. Oh, it's so on...

Mamma's Got a Brand New...Blog

Someone got a mommy makeover. What!? Can you blame me? I do live in the OC...and a little nip/tuck is perfectly normal around these parts. Do you like? Leslie at Sweetie Baby's did a fab job on the re-design.

I have yet to decide what to "do" with my blog...I mean, other then to use it as my own personal parental catharsis and an outlet to put my foul mouth to good use...but it's like I always say, "even when you have zero clue what you are doing, you can at least look good and fake it." So I'm faking it.

In honor of the face lift, I invite you to follow me! Check out the link to the right {----->}...otherwise you're kind of just a stalker and it could get a little creepy.

And here's the first sign that Sawyer might not be that open to having a sibling. This is what he did when we said "Lookout Sawyer, Daddy's taking a picture of the baby." {Crap}

38 Weeks

Babies "R" U{suck}s

I've spent the last hour searching "woman goes freaking ballistic on babies r us employee" on You Tube. So far, no hits so I'm fairly sure the employee decided against uploading the store's security footage to the site. Phew, it got ugly...real quick.

A while ago, I mentioned that Babies "R" Us was basically a warehouse full of worthless employees all wearing purple shirts who have zero knowledge of any of the products they are selling and zero desire to be working there or provide an ounce of customer service. A friend of mine mentioned it sounded similar to an SEIU rally. If you've worked in state government in Sacramento, you're likely familiar with SEIU rallies. Basically, on any given day, you can find a group of public employee union members wearing purple shirts marching around the capitol chanting "Si se puede" Translation: "Yes, we can" or "Yes, it can be done." I quickly pointed out to my friend that if the Babies R Us employees chanted, they'd be saying "No, we can't" or "No it's not possible." Really.

So today when I set out to my local Babies R Us, I had a couple of objectives.


1. Pick up some Baby Talk magazines because these free publications that are available at BRU contain golden $10 off Baby Store purchases at Amazon.com.
2. Get some questions answered about what type of video monitor I should get this time around
3. Buy a few of the necessities that I know I'm going to need for the first 1-2 weeks after baby arrives. You know, bottles, pacis, etc.


Here's how it all went to shit real fast.


First stop: Registry desk.


Me: "Hi, can you show me where your Baby Talk magazines are located?"
Her {Puzzled and slightly cross-eyed}: "Um, why do you want Baby Talk magazines?"
Me: "Well, my friends mentioned that they are usually sitting on a free rack at BRU and contain some valuable amazon.com coupons."
Her {Slightly nervous and twitchy}: "Yes, they do. However, we stopped leaving them out because it creates too much competition with our store. So now we keep them behind the desk."
Me: {Slightly irritated}: "Ok, so...do you not give them to people that ask or...?"
Her: "...sure. Here's one."
Me: "One. Really!? Just one. Thanks so much for ONE magazine. Did you ever think that maybe if you lowered your prices on diapers, people wouldn't come to your store to ask for coupons to use at someone else's store?"
Her: {Silence}


Ok, maybe I shouldn't have gone that far but I couldn't help it and my smart ass comment did guilt her in to giving me 4 more magazines. Point is, BRU has gone so far as to realize that they're losing sales to Amazon.com baby store but instead of offering great deals/discounts and coupons to be competitive, they just decided to hide the amazon.com coupons under the desk. Fabulous sales tactics. Not to mention, why is my BRU the only store that hides the coupons behind the desk and makes you threaten the employees for them? At all the other stores, supposedly, they are just sitting there just waiting to be pillaged. Figures.


Second stop: Baby Monitors

As I'm waiting in the Baby Monitors section, hoping someone will recognize my confusion and ask me if I need help, I overhear this:

"So, can anyone tell me what their sales goal is going to be this week?"

I turn around and to my total shock and disbelief, I see literally 20 purple-shirt-wearing BRU employees sitting around, nodding off in the middle of a sales meeting.

I walk up and interject: "I have an idea. How about you save your genius and obviously ineffective sales meetings for times when the store isn't full of customers who require, I don't know, customer service?"

Ok, so maybe this last part only happened in my head. But seriously. What company holds sales meetings during store hours with every single available employee on the floor in the meeting? I'm beyond annoyed. Contractions are commencing.

Third stop: Bottles and Pacifiers

I spend about 20 minutes trying to figure out which bottles I want to use this time. Not sure why I've decided that I need to switch brands, but I know I'd like to get new ones since the last set of bottles has been used by two kids for longer than a kid should probably use a bottle. I'm sure I've reached some statute of limitations on these bottles so it's time for some new ones. While browsing, 4 purple shirts walk by. "No, thanks. I've got this. No help needed here. Thanks for asking." Oh wait...Anyway, I decide on the Tommee Tippee bottles where the nipple literally looks like a boob. Throw them in my basket and head towards checkout.

By now, I've been at BRU for about an hour. I get to the front of the line. The cashier rings me up. I hand her my gift card to pay for a portion of the balance and she says "your card has a zero balance." I tell her this is impossible because I just got it as a gift and haven't used it yet. She gives me the now standard BRU blank stare and basically says "sorry, can't help you. call the 1-800 number."

At this point, I'm done. I start to lose it. I head over to customer service and meltdown. I manage to get out "This place is un-freaking..." and then I burst into tears. Since I've left my items in the only open checkout lane, and the clerk can't void the order without a manager, the clerk and the 5 people in line behind me are now watching me at the customer service desk and are witnessing the meltdown. Can't blame them. I'd be staring at me too.

Now bawling, I proceed to tell the asst manager that BRU sucks ass. That all the employees are miserable, unhelpful human beings and that the only reason I am even in the store is because I have a gift card that I now have been told has been given to me with zero dollars on it. I spend 5 more minutes telling her how angry I am and how I'm literally about to go into labor in her store- which would be awful since no one there knows wtf they're doing or what a baby even is. All the while, she's standing there staring at me. Finally, I walk out, call my mom and have a meltdown in my car in the parking lot. Like hyperventilating-can't get a breath-gonna freaking kill someone-meltdown.

Eventually, I stopped crying...about 30 minutes later. And not before I realized how pissed I was that I didn't just pay full price for the items that I actually needed. Shit! I really needed that stuff and now I can't go back and show my face after bitching out that asst manager.

24 days to go...just. breathe.

The Things People {Idiots} Say

I learned at a very young age NEVER to ask a woman if she was pregnant. It was one of the great lessons I learned from my mom...that, and if you have the choice between flats and heels, sometimes pain is beauty.

Unfortunately for my mom, she enforced this rule so strictly upon me because of her own misstep. Years ago, she ran into an old friend in the supermarket and happily exclaimed, "Oh my gosh, I didn't know you were expecting again." The woman frowned and abruptly stated, "I'm not." The way my mom tells it is that the woman {although, not sure she used that exact word} was wearing the same maternity mu mu that she had been wearing a year ago when she WAS expecting. Who does that!?

As a result, I never wear maternity unless I'm pregnant AND I never ask a woman if she's pregnant unless I'm in the delivery room and the baby is crowning. Seriously. My question is, how come I'm the only person that was actually taught this lesson? I mean, this is an important one folks.

I mention all this because I'm about 36 weeks pregnant, though I feel as though I'm 40. I'm uncomfortable. I cannot walk without waddling. Just standing hurts. And some days I feel like TLC is going to show up with a camera crew and film an episode of that show where the person is too large to make it out of their front door without a crane and they've been living in their lazy boy for 7 years.  I can't put on my own shoes so I opt for flip flops or flats {sorry mom}. I've started getting those looks like "Oh my God, she's gonna blow any second." It's these last 4 weeks where people completely lose their filter {or ability to use their brain} and engage in what I like to call "verbal diarrhea."

So, in honor of my discomfort, I've compiled a list for you of what NOT to say to a preggo...I've also taken the liberty to explain why these questions are inappropriate...in case you were never taught by your mother. Free of charge. Life lessons here folks.

1. "OMG, you must be due ANY day!?"
-See here's why this is rude. I'm not due any day. I actually have 4 long, disgusting and uncomfortable weeks to go. Really not close at all. AND chances are that I will get bigger than I am now. So, yeah, don't ask this.
2. {As a follow up to question 1} "Are you sure?"
-Really!? You're going to argue with me on this? I have more hormones in the tip of my pinky finger than you will ever know or feel in your entire life. Do not push me to my already-teetering-on-crazy limit.
3. "Are you having twins?"
-Just don't. There's no point in insinuating that a woman is so large she might actually be carrying two fetuses instead of one. Let her offer this piece of information if she'd like to explain why she's huge, but no need to inquire.
4. "Oh honey, you look so uncomfortable"
-Thanks. I hadn't noticed. But now that you pointed it out. I realize that, yes, I have a watermelon inside my ever-expanding uterus. I actually have a foot inside my ribcage. There are things happening in my nether-regions that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. So, yeah, I'm a little uncomfortable. But you don't need to point it out. I know.
5. "Whoa"
-I have actually walked by people and heard them say this under their breath. Next time it happens, I swear I'm going to say "I'm pregnant, what's your excuse?" Would you ever in a million years say "whoa" when a non-pregnant woman walks by? No. So why now?
6. {And my personal favorite} "When are you due?"
-Now let me explain, because I get this one a lot and it actually doesn't bother me...now. When it does bother me, though, is when I've already HAD my baby and am standing there with the infant. It would be impossible for me to have an 8 week old and be pregnant and showing. Now, yes, I could still be carrying some old {son of bitch, bastard} baby weight but this is when you have to show some restraint and use that other lump, 3 feet above your ass. I'm not pregnant. I just had a freaking baby and am just, well, fat. Deal with it.

On a side note, #6 inevitably will happen at the nail salon. Getting a pedicure is one of the worst things you can do for your self-esteem after you've had a baby. Those women are just plain mean. The nail ladies manage to combine life lessons 1-6 into one question and then when you answer in a completely bitchy response, they talk about you in their native tongue. I've gotten off track. We'll save the nail ladies for another day. Give them another "shout out" when the time is right.

For now, here's to 250 days down, 30 to go...

35.5 weeks..."whoa!"

The Pacifier Intervention

I'm no Dr. Drew. I have zero experience as an interventionist. BUT I did used to smoke a pack a day for about 10 years AND watch a lot of reality tv so I knew we had an addict on our hands. Last week we decided to go cold turkey on the pacis. Poor little buddy didn't see it coming. Even I didn't quit smoking cold turkey. I needed an anti-anxiety pill for 6 weeks to get me through the withdrawals. That pill would have come in handy for Sawyer.

A little history, Sawyer was a tough baby. I threw a soothie in his mouth on day 1...mostly because he was so freaking loud. I needed a plug to drown out the screaming. Who knew 3 yrs later he'd be a full-blown paci addict? Once he turned one, we implemented the "MUST leave home WITHOUT it" rule. He did well with that. He only got the paci when he was in his crib. Piece of cake. At two, the dentist said we were screwing up his teeth and we needed to go cold turkey. The kid sucked on the thing so hard that he was starting to look like a Brit. Ugh.

Fast forward to last week and things had taken a turn for the worse. Instead of learning to live without it, he was becoming more dependent on it. He'd ask for it earlier and earlier each night. And then, the last two weeks he started waking up in the middle of the night when he couldn't find it in his sheets {remember we switched him from crib to bed about two weeks ago...shit!}. The end came on Monday night when Eric got up at 3 am and physically had to move the bed away from the wall in order to rescue the paci from the depths of the gap between the wall and the bed.

So we took him to Disneyland {California Adventure}. It was raining. We had the brilliant idea to let him hand the pacis over to Mickey Mouse...Mickey was such a nice guy, he was going to give them to the babies that needed them. Makes sense, right!? Two problems arose when we got there...first, Sawyer loves Mickey but he wants nothing to do with the characters at Disney. Watching them on TV is just fine with him. {Not sure how we managed to forget this small piece of info.} Second, it was raining and the only thing worse than having to wear that big ass Mickey costume is having to do it in the rain {I'm guessing, here.} So we got to Disneyland and there were no characters to be found. Zero. I decide, "How about we throw them in the lake?"...we'd only be potentially screwing up their new billion dollar "World of Color" show, but hey, whatever it takes, right? No. It started pouring and we were way too far away from the lake when it was time to do the deed so, in typical Eric fashion, he says, "F-it, let's just throw them in the fountain in Downtown Disney." I said, "sure, why not" because at this point I was in full waddle mode and starting to look like a drowned rat, er buffalo, from the downpour. We get to the fountain and it's off. Shit! and not only is it off, it's been drained. Double shit! So Eric says "we're doing it anyways" and hands over the two remaining pacis that Sawyer owns and says "Go for it buddy." To his credit, he chucked them in the empty fountain with ease...but then immediately burst into tears. I wanted to cry too. Eric looked at me and said "quick, let's get out of here." I looked at him and said "should I grab 'em back, just in case?" He called me an enabler and then took off back to the car. I arrived 5 minutes after him. Winded and wet. It was not my finest hour.

So we get home and here's where I realized that I really was one of those enabler moms from the Intervention show. You know, the mom's that let the kid live under their roof and the kid shoots up heroin in their bedroom and then the camera crew arrives to film the intervention and the mom acts shocked like she had no idea her kid even had a drug problem. Yeah, I'm that mom. I realized that Sawyer could handle giving up his paci but I couldn't.

Anyway, when we got home we put him down for a nap and here's where the real fun started. Now that we made him go cold turkey. We had to watch him have paci withdrawals...for two whole hours. Here's just a sampling of what the lil dude went through. Pacis really are like drugs.

1. Crying. First the tears came, hard and loud..."where's that plug? oh wait..."
2. Shaking. Then he started shaking and rocking, back and forth in his bed.
3. Hot then Cold. He ripped off his socks and pants. Then, he got cold and was pissed when he couldn't get his socks back on.
4. Taking his stuffed puppy and slamming it against the headboard.
5. Yelling, "I'm mad. I'm so mad."
6. {And my personal favorite} When I finally went in the room to check on him he says, "Mommy, I need somefing for my mouf." Shame. The old oral fixation problem. I wanted to hand over one of those extra special anxiety pills that I used to pop like candy when I quit smoking.

Here we are now, 5DPP {5 days post paci} and he's doing pretty well. The first few days, nap time was the toughest. He's basically been trained to use the paci as a tool to help him fall asleep. Now he has to get to bed on his own. Not so much. Bed time has been simple because by the time he gets in bed, he's so freaking exhausted that he passes out. Today he actually fell right asleep at nap time. Golf claps for mom of the year over here.

Hey, I have an idea! How about we have another baby! Crap...

The way they were. {Cue Taps}

We weren't even really sure what Sawyer looked like until after his 1st birthday...

Sawyer and his BFF {Paci, not Rylan}

The day the pacis died...

In other news, I may not be an interventionist or a doctor, but I did figure out what's wrong with Serene Branson...she didn't have a stroke. She's pregnant. This is how I sound every day...

Making Room for Baby...Literally

I was told by someone  recently {thanks Dad} that my previous post had me sounding like a bitter, cynical, preggo almost-mom-to-three-kids {who me?} and that I ought to try and lighten {not a lot of that going on lately} the mood in my subsequent posts. Or at least watch the "shit" and "ass talk"...so here's my best effort.

This week, I kicked my urge to nest's ass, er butt. We are making some serious moves at the Beach House. Check it out. Here's Rylan's new "really big girl" room. She loves her new queen-sized bed. Most mornings we find her sideways in it. Think she's still getting used the size. What could be more appropriate than stripes, polka dots and zebra? Oh, and note the video camera mounted on the wall. Yeah, we'll have that there until she graduates high school. Sorry, Ry, but you have my DNA, which means there are all sorts of shenanigans we can look forward to. In case your wondering, yes, Rylan loses all of her privacy because of the "choices" I made in high school. Sorry, girlfriend. It is what it is.

And then there's the Dude's new digs. I made the brilliant decision when I was pregnant with Sawyer to buy the twin bedding that matched his crib set. Brilliant! This way, we wouldn't have to re-do his room 2-3 yrs after he was born because we couldn't find any twin-sized cowboy bedding, make sense? Highly recommend this decision to any first-time preggo 3B430 blog readers. He loves his big boy bed and has yet to get out of it in the middle of the night or even in the morning. Think he may be scared. We're going with it. "Yes, Sawyer, it's very scary to get out of bed in the middle of the night. Don't try it." Is that bad?? No judgements thanks. My toughest {please, #3, don't make me eat my words} kid has actually made a major toddler milestone easy.  Who knew?

Here's a sneak peek of #3's home once he/she is out-of-utero. It's not complete. But I do take comfort in knowing that if I go into labor tomorrow, the kid will have a place to crash that's not in our bed/room. Eeek. No offense to moms who do a "family bed"...It's just not for me. Anywhoo, a sneak peek of "Beach-wood Forest." More pics to come once it's complete.

Voila! Originally, I didn't want to do a gender-neutral nursery. I hated the idea of a yellow nursery. I was actually going to wait, pick a bedding set for a boy and a girl and then order it from the hospital after delivery. Can you imagine what would have happened to me and my urge to nest if I had done that? Sweet Jesus. Eric would have divorced me. So we decided to go with a forest theme. Yes, it's blue {torquoise} and green. But I figure if it's a girl {which, btw, we don't think it is} we could add some birds/fairies, etc and if it's a boy we can masculine-it-up a bit with some {deep voice} manly deer and "felt-idermy"...yes, it exists. Yes, it's one of the fabulous things I discovered after spending a disgusting amount of time on Etsy.com. Did I mention I could decorate my house completely in wall decals if I wanted to? I have issues.

Sarah Palin, eat your heart out...

Amazing, right?!! Felt-idermy. Genius.

And then there's me. Making room for baby, literally. I have feet in my rib cage. This baby kicks so hard it wakes me up from my sleep. If it's a girl? She's a rock-ette. A boy? A punter {sorry, babe. I know you're not a huge fan of punters. I couldn't think of a more masculine guy who kicks. Wait! got it.} Take 2. A boy? Beckham. And I think this is where I become bitter and cynical so I'll try and honor LT's wishes. I gained 4 lbs in 2 weeks. Oh the gluttony. Seriously!? That just sounds unhealthy to me. But, Doc says I'm good to go and has yet to have the come-to-Jesus "honey, you need to slow down" conversation with me, so I digress, enjoying my Mike and Ike's {seriously, the best EVER} and satiating myself on portions large enough to feed Secretariat.

Thar she blows folks. 32 weeks. 8 weeks to go {eek!! screams of panic and terror}

Final count: 2 "shits". 1 "ass". An improvement? I think so...

Nesting my freaking ass off...

Let me just start by saying I don't intend to have every blog post from here on out have something to do with my ass...this one really won't. The back-to-back "ass-titled" posts are just a coincidence in this case.

Moving on, I don't remember having the urge to nest this badly in my previous pregnancies. Perhaps it's because my Type-A self had Rylan's nursery done two weeks after the positive pregnancy test and Sawyer's nursery was complete when I was about 6 months pregnant. Now, granted, this time around I have a 4 and 2 year old keeping me busy but I'm also starting to think I've been living in denial that #3 is coming, ready or not.

Currently, if you're keeping track (and maybe you should start because, clearly, I'm doing a shitty job) I have 11 weeks, 4 days until my due date. That's 81 days until April 1. Now, I've also delivered two babies prior to their due date so who knows how long we've really got. I wouldn't mind an extra 4 weeks or so...but that could be a disaster for my growing ass so let's not go there. Sorry, more ass talk. Let's just say 10 weeks. 10 weeks before we become a party of 5. Oh My God. I hope there's a lot of booze at that party.

So here's what has to happen before #3 debuts.

1. Move queen bed from guest bedroom to Rylan's room.
2. Buy queen bedding for Ry's new bed
3. Move Sawyer's crib to the guest bedroom for #3
4. Move Rylan's twin bed to Sawyer's room
5. Paint guest bedroom
6. Sell Armoire in guest bedroom on craigslist (oh, craigslist, I'll touch on this in a sec)
7. Drink a shot or two of whiskey because I can't deal. I feel like my life is freaking musical rooms

As I mentioned in #6, I've been listing things on craigslist as a way to make room for the new things that we need/get rid of things we don't. You know, nest. Now craigslist doesn't have a section for "hormone crazy preggos that are trying to nest"...it's just called "items for sale" in the "baby/kids" section. Craig should think about making a change. This way, assholes would know what and who they're dealing with before they sent an idiotic email inquiring about an item. Seriously, Lifetime, get ready to write the script for Craigslist Killer part 2. I'll be the star. I'm going to kick someone's ass.

Let me just paint the picture for you so you can have a better idea of the conversations I've had in the past week. Honestly, I've had more enlightening conversations with my two year old:

A question from a buyer regarding this post titled "Babies R Us Pink Chenille Glider w/ Ottoman - $225 (Costa Mesa, CA)"

You ready? I really can't make this stuff up. Here it is:

Buyer:"Where are you located and can you tell me how much?"

Now, I did go to college (and kindergarten for that matter) so I know how to read and I know that this woman could have answered her own question simply by reading the headline of the ad. I mean, is she blind? What a waste of freaking space.

Here's another one:

My Post: "Babies R Us Chocolate Brown Suede Rocking Chair and Ottoman - $225 (Costa Mesa, CA)"

Buyer: "hi. do you still have rocking chair? is it supper comfy?? I will buy it today what is your absolute best price? and where abouts are you in costa mesa?

Me: "$225 is actually my bottom line. the set was purchased for over $500 so it's a great deal. we're in eastiside costa mesa/newport heights area...just off the 55 south. let me know if you're still interested."

Buyer: "yes. i am interested."

Um, ok. WTF!? Dear buyer, are you trying to drive me crazy? Because, you've succeeded. And, BTW, "super" is only spelled with one "p" you moron.

For the record, this guy was never heard from again. Who does that!?

Here's the thing (and I know this post is turning into a rant so I'll wrap it up here shortly) shopping on Craigslist means you're already getting a deal. Wanna know why? Because your cheap ass would be paying full price if you were buying it from the store. So, if you're shopping on craigslist, chances are you are already getting a discounted price. Don't ask me what my best price is. The price listed IS my best price. Take it or leave it.

I'm going to end it with that thought. I can feel my blood pressure increasing. God forbid I get preeclampsia and this baby arrives "supper" early. Here's to the next 81 days. Bear with me.