Except that when I went into my clearance buying frenzy, I didn’t think about the fact that this  Christmas, I’d be the mommy of a nine month-old and have no time to write Christmas cards. Or that I’d want to send personalized Christmas cards, with a picture of the not-so new baby (and possibly his parents).

So, despite having the dozens of Christmas cards in my stationery drawer, I’ll be purchasing cards from Shutterfly.

I first discovered Shutterfly last March, when the Burt Squirt was born and I received a coupon for birth announcements in a packet from the hospital. Since I had a newborn and really didn’t have time to go to a lot of trouble for birth announcements, I checked out the site. The design selection thoroughly impressed me, as did the simplicity of uploading a picture and personalizing the text. All told, I spent about ten minutes creating and ordering beautiful announcements (that I still see hanging on friends’ and family members’ refrigerators), and two or three days later they arrived in the mail, ready to be stuffed into envelopes and mailed. The price was good, too, especially because of the online coupon code I found for free shipping.

My experience as a Shutterfly customer was so good that I won’t consider ordering anywhere else. With 30% off cards and free shipping for orders of $50 and over (and an additional 5% off coupon code), I hardly feel guilty about not using all those cards I already bought. The hardest part is choosing between all of the adorable Christmas photo card and holiday card designs!  (I think I’m going with the Retro Ornaments Green to highlight the family picture I chose for this year’s card.)

And did I mention that for blogging about Shutterfly, I’m getting 50 FREE holiday cards–and you can, too?!

So check your mailboxes this December, because you may just find a Shutterfly card from me! (But if you don’t, it’s not because you’re Charlie Brown. It’s just because you didn’t send me a card last year. *wink*)

“Oh, it has,” I reassured him even as my thoughts turned to the the other dishes in our high kitchen cupboards which he’d clearly forgotten we owned owned: the retro diner set, the vintage Valentine set, the two sets of Christmas dishes, and the antique china.

Though in fairness, the former were Mr. Burt’s bachelor dishes, the latter was an heirloom wedding gift from my former piano teacher, and the Valentine dishes and one Christmas set were gifts from my mother-in-law. I only bought the other Christmas set because I saw it at the now defunct Linens N Things when we were doing our wedding registry and not only was it after-Christmas clearance but marked down to $4 as well because two salad plates were missing.

We’ll gloss over the part where I’ve never used any of them because they’re up in the high cupboards where I can’t reach without climbing so I, too, forget we have them.

But speaking of wedding registries, that’s the perfectly rational explanation for the two sets of every day dishes:

Way back in the fall of 2003, Mr. Burt and I registered for this pattern. We both loved them because they were kind of retro-modern, and I loved the fact that Mr. Burt loved a set of dishes. Or felt strongly enough about them to insist we put them on our registry. Alas, not long before our first wedding shower, all the stores where I registered stopped selling them. So we registered for another pattern, which I loved and Mr. Burt liked well enough, but less than the first set which, bizarrely, would pop into my head every now in then in the years after our wedding. Like when, a few weeks before my 26th birthday, I wrote my lead character of Songs for Piano and Voice drinking coffee from one of the mugs from that set of dishes; on a whim, looked on Pfaltzgraff’s website to see if they still sold the pattern. As it turned out, not only did they sell it, but they were selling it on clearance–$115 place settings for four for $23. So I convinced Mr. Burt to get me them for my birthday. So I had both sets of dishes, and, more importantly, no more wistful regrets about my unfulfilled wedding registry or guilt that Mr. Burt didn’t get the one thing on the registry that he really cared about. Which he didn’t really care that much about.

All that to say, given my history with cheap dishes, it should come as no surprise that Mr. Burt’s first words upon arriving home from work today were, “What’s with the silly new dishes in the kitchen?”

“Halloween clearance at Albertsons,” I replied, and it was all the explanation Mr. Burt needed.

Because holiday clearance (75% off! 87¢ big bowls, perfect for popcorn! 62¢ plates! 31¢ cups! And to think I’d only gone in to Albertsons for hot dog buns and chili!) is my other fetish.

So, before Walmart, I ran in Kroger for the express purpose of buying Ragu 7 Herb Tomato pasta sauce. Two jars of it.

I came out with six jars.

Plus six more in other varieties.

And nine boxes of Cinnamon Toast Crunch…

…five boxes of Lucky Charms…

…four boxes of Barilla pasta…

…three 8-roll packs of Bounty paper towels…

…and two packages of Oscar Mayer hot dogs.

It’s like The Very Hungry Caterpillar Goes Grocery Shopping.

I couldn’t help myself! They were all items I buy regularly, and they were on sale cheaper than Walmart ever has them, and in stock, and–

Well, you know you may have gone a little beyond taking advantage of a good sale when the cashier remarks, “Not planning on going out for a while?”

I gave a sheepish laugh and indicated my baby belly. I should have told her I was preparing for the Zombie Apocalypse and asked if she was ready (because nothing says preparedness for zombie attack like weenies, cereal, pasta sauce, and paper towels). But I never think of these things in the moment. Even when I’m not pregnant.

You’d think that such a life-altering experience as pregnancy would be a subject a writer would eat up, wouldn’t you?  Yet this writer has made it six months into her first pregnancy without really blogging about it.

Several things can account for this, I think.  During the first part of my pregnancy (17 weeks, to be precise), I was too sick and tired to blog.  These days I’m feeling better physically, but I most often don’t feel I have the mental capacity or creativity to write; I’m preoccupied (gee, I can’t imagine with what), and I believe that my body is so busy making a tiny person that there’s not much left for making stories of words.

It doesn’t account for the slowdown in my novel work, but I think the biggest detriment to my blogging is Facebook.  When you can share any interesting news or amusing tidbits in one line, or upload a photo album to share with all your friends, why go to all the trouble of writing blog posts?  (Which is an entire blog topic in itself…)  But the writer in me resists this laziness – the less I write, the less I’ll be able to write.  And the sentimental part of me knows I’ll regret not having written anything but Facebook status updates about my pregnancy.

Though maybe there’s something to not chronicling pregnancy:  if I don’t write about my experiences, I won’t remember them as clearly, and will be more likely to consider a second pregnancy… Because I’m convinced there must be some sort of amnesia that sets in after birth, or women would never volunteer to do this more than once!  (I don’t know what to make of all these women who claim to love being pregnant…)

We found out I was pregnant on the July 4, 2009.  (So Liam won’t be born on the 4th of July, but maybe in a metaphorical sense, the idea of him was.  And maybe statements like that are why I should keep on not writing…)  It was our second month of trying, and I was a few days late, but I’d been late the previous month and gotten my hopes up – and been disappointed by negative pregnancy tests – so I didn’t particularly want to test again and see another “Not Pregnant.”  Jeff insisted, though, because we were going out with friends for the 4th of July and there would be wine.  Also, I’d been feeling nauseous after meals for the past few days, and he put more stock in that than I did.  (All my life I’ve suffered from a nervous tummy, and I wouldn’t put it past myself to imagine morning sickness.)  So I took a pregnancy test.

It was about 6:30 in the morning, and we were at my parents’ house.  I went to the bathroom, then brought the pregnancy test back in the bedroom, set it on the night stand, and lay back down, determined to be comfortable in bed and not think about the results for the next two minutes.  When enough time had passed, I didn’t want to look, so Jeff got up and red the test.

“You’re pregnant!” he announced.

My first thought was that he was kidding, and I said so.  Then it occurred to me that would be a really mean joke, and Jeff would never make a joke like that.  At which point I bolted upright in bed and looked at the test for myself.  Yes, I was pregnant.

We lay in bed together, savoring the moment of our discovery.  I think we giggled a lot, and kept saying, “We made a baby!”  It wasn’t too long before we couldn’t take it any longer, and had to get up and tell my family, and call Jeff’s family to tell them the exciting news.

The sickness, which would last until my 17th week of pregnancy (I was five weeks pregnant when we tested), began the very next day.  I’d cooked mostaccioli for dinner and made it through the meal without incident.  It was later that evening, when I opened the fridge and got a whiff of the cold leftovers, that I lost it, and it seemed like I barely stopped for the next twelve weeks.  I tried every remedy I heard of, and even had prescription nausea meds, but nothing seemed to work for me.  I tried to keep in mind what women who’d been there, done that kept saying:  that the sickness was a good sign, meant my pregnancy was progressing normally, and my baby was healthy.

But the following Sunday, a week to the day since we’d announced my pregnancy, I began to bleed.  Since I hadn’t yet seen my OB-GYN (my first appointment was scheduled for two days later), I had to go to the ER.  The less I can remember about that night, the better – though I was, remarkably, calm, because I did know that about a quarter of all first pregnancies end in miscarriage – but I don’t think I’ll ever forget what a long night that was, lying there for hours, being pumped full of fluids, waiting, and finally hearing the words “threatened miscarriage.”  I was sent home with the order of two days’ complete bed rest, but I didn’t sleep much that night for the smell of hospital clinging to me.

Thankfully, after that scare, I had no more of the same.  Four weeks later, we heard our baby’s heartbeat for the first time.  Jeff was at the appointment with me, and neither of us expected how amazing it would be to hear that “whoosh whoosh whoosh” sound.  Dr. Franken didn’t even have to hunt for the right location to pick up the heartbeat. She touched the microphone to my tummy and immediately we heard our baby.  “There he is,” I said, and Dr. Franken remarked on my use of the male pronoun.  I hoped we’d have a boy first, because Jeff’s parents already have two granddaughters and I thought it would be doubly fun to have the first grandson in the family.

A few weeks after that, we had our first ultrasound, and learned we were, indeed, having a little boy.  I was right!  (Though Jeff refuses to believe I had any kind of intuition about the sex of our baby, since there was a 50/50 chance of being right.)

We named him Liam Alexander, just because we like the name, but I think the meaning is apt:  “strong-willed warrior.”  (Though we could be asking for it with that one…)  As with his heartbeat, we were amazed to put a face to the little creature responsible for making me throw up every morning.  He was still very much developing, but his face was so complete.  I think Alyssa put it best:  “He has a NOSE. On his FACE. Which you can SEE. BABY.”

Many couples, I think, rush out and start buying baby clothes when they find the gender.  We were not above shopping for Liam – but his wardrobe, so far, isn’t entirely practical.  We’ve acquired a few things from a friend who sent me some baby clothes her son never wore, but mainly Liam has Halloween onesies and…

…a dragon costume.

We actually were a little hesitant to start shopping for lots of stuff for Liam.  Halloween is gender-neutral (well, maybe not the dragon costume…) but as the ultrasound technician was only 85% sure he was a Liam, we waited till our 19 week ultrasound confirmed his maleness.

People criticized me for posting the picture of his teenie weenie peenie on Facebook, so I’ll refrain from embarrassing my son by instead posting the picture in which he is sucking his thumb.  That is my favorite picture of Liam to date, the one that makes me melt into a puddle of mush.  There’s something so comforting in knowing that my baby boy is nestled snugly inside me, contentedly sucking his thumb.  And it’s just such a baby thing to do.

In the weeks since the ultrasound, Liam has gotten up to even more baby things.  We’re feeling him all the time now.  I first felt a little succession of taps when we were at a Ben Folds concert at the end of September, but now he’s progressed to kicking and punching and flipping and rolling and head-butting.  He is one active little guy – and Jeff’s mom says that’s just how Jeff was in utero, so we’re expecting a little bundle of energy when he’s born.  I love feeling Liam move – every time it happens, I can’t help but stop whatever it is I’m doing and put a hand to my belly.  Or not put a hand to my belly, because I like to watch him move, too – even though there’s something slightly freaky and sci-fi-ish about that.  But as much as I love feeling and watching Liam, I think what I love best is how Jeff reacts to his movements.  The first time he felt a kick was the most joyful I’ve ever seen him.  (And considering my husband is pretty much always happy, that’s saying a lot.)  Of course, that joy was contagious.

As much as, on the whole, I’ve not enjoyed being pregnant – the sickness and tiredness really were horrible, and even now I’m frustrated by my inability to concentrate and my loss of motivation and by the changes in my body that make showering and dressing a big chore – I have loved what pregnancy has done for our marriage.  I was afraid I’d be hormonal and unpleasant to be around, but I think it’s actually mellowed me a lot, made me more patient, more eager to please and be pleasant and kind.  I find myself wanting to spend more time with Jeff – not that we didn’t spend time together before, but I find myself taking more of an interest in his interests and just wanting to be with him.  Probably on some subconscious level I’m aware that soon we won’t have each other’s undivided attention and I’m making the most of every moment we have while it’s still just the two of us.  I’m also more aware of what a wonderful husband he is.  Throughout my days of sickness and bed rest, he was so patient with me, taking care of me and helping out more around the house.  He never gets annoyed (or never shows his annoyance) when I’m tired or sore or complaining.  He’s never afraid of what might happen or what’s to come, and that eases all my anxieties about giving birth and becoming a mom.  We’ve taken a lot in stride the past six months, and we’ll continue to do so in the months to come.  So I’m very grateful to pregnancy for preparing me (us) for the future, and strengthening our relationship through this shared experience.

Moving on from that gush of sentimentality, now that Liam is 100% confirmed male, we’ve begun to prepare our home for him in earnest.  We actually found a high chair on a curb, which we picked up and cleaned up and have restored to like new.  Craig’s List provided a stroller/carrier/carseat and a crib and changing table – and the bedding for Liam’s jungle-themed nursery.

I will have everyone know that Jeff is the one of us responsible for carrying our the jungle theme to the extreme.  We went to IKEA one afternoon, and my normally frugal husband insisted we get Liam a stuffed hippo, elephant, crocodile, and shark (you know – a land shark), along with a sunshine light fixture and that nifty leaf canopy.  Ever the interior decorator, I of course did not argue.  We’re going to paint the walls a lovely shade of green and do leaf murals.  After we’ve dealt with a little leak problem that’s cropped up…

And…that’s my pregnancy to date.  Except for a picture of the pregnant lady herself:

There I am, at 23 weeks.  I am amazed at my hugeness, and slightly alarmed to know that I’ve got four months to go and will get huger still… I shall endeavor to blog about that experience.  Though if there’s anything I’ve learned from this post, it’s that words are really inadequate to describe what it’s like to bring a child into the world.

But even getting something small for free is hugely thrilling. For instance, the other day I bought seven boxes of cereal because A) they were on sale for a really good price and B) you got a free package of Pop Tarts and three free gallons of milk.  It’s a sensible combination for a deal, isn’t it?  Cereal, milk, Pop Tarts — all breakfast foods.  However, I’m at a loss to see the sense in this manufacturer’s coupon offer from the past Sunday’s paper:

Possibly I could see the connection if this were any other soda being offered for free with the purchase of eggs — a lot of people do drink soda with breakfast, and eggs aren’t just a breakfast food.  But Big Red?  Who over the age of eight drinks Big Red?  (Also, I must register my astonishment that there’s actually a Diet Big Red.  Are people who don’t find liquid bubblegum sickeningly sweet really that bothered about sugar?)  In any case, this is one coupon I did not clip with the intent of squirreling away a little extra money while our economy goes down the toilet.

Speaking of the economy, some brave soul has decided to start a new business in our area.  About a week ago, I went out my front door to find a nylon bag hanging on the knob, accompanied by a flier advertising a pick-up dry cleaning company.  As in, on Tuesday morning, you put your clothes in the bag, leave it on your porch, and they pick it up and return my clothes to my porch on Friday, starched and hung neatly on hangers.  If you never intend to use the service, you put the empty bag out on Friday for pickup.

Is it just me, or does this strike you as a highly naïve operation?  First of all, does someone really expect me to be trusting enough to leave my good dry clean only clothes on my porch?  If you’ve ever been to my neighborhood, you’d know that stuff left outside your home is fair game for scavengers.  It won’t last five minutes.  And this is suburbia!

I myself am proof of the kind of property rights mindset people have around here:  on the first Friday pickup day, I did not return my blue nylon bag.  Truthfully, I forgot to put it on the porch, but that was probably more a case of out of sight, out of mind.  As in, the bag was out of sight, in my laundry closet, because I thought it would make a great laundry bag for wet clothes when traveling.  If you put a bag on my doorstep and invite me to take it into my home, it’s not coming out again.  It’s mine, my own, it came to me!  We’re in a recession, I must hold on to anything useful that should fall into my possession.

On one last money-saving note, this week I’ve been stricken with a nasty sinus infection and cough.  While debating whether to drag my sorry tail up to the pharmacy for cough syrup, I googled Robitussin to see if it actually would help.  According to Wikipedia, “some cough medicines may be no more effective than placebos for acute coughs in adults, including coughs related to upper respiratory tract infections” and “Recent studies have found that theobromine, a compound found in cacao, is more effective as a cough suppressant than prescription codeine. This compound suppresses the “itch” signal from the nerve in the back of the throat that causes the cough reflex. It is possible to get an effective dose (1 g, though 0.5 g may be sufficient) from 50g of dark chocolate, which contains 2 to 10 times more cacao than milk chocolate. Cocoa powder contains roughly 0.1 g per tablespoon.  Theobromine was also free from side effects in the blind tests.”

So, I have not spent money on Robitussin, and have instead been drinking many mugs of Swiss Miss Dark Chocolate Sensation.  Which may not have saved me money…But even in an economy like this, a spoon full of sugar — or in this case, a mug full of dark chocolate — makes the medicine go down in a most delightful way.