Accidentally slept until past nine this morning, ah well. It was worth it. I got up and had half of a bagel, a banana, coffee. Watched a little TV, then washed my hair, dressed, painted my nails cherry red. Next up on the agenda is to go to the coffee shop and read.

We went to get our taxes done Monday and were given a horrific bill, over eight thousand dollars. We were stunned, and I freaked out, thinking about how we’d just found out we were in for a major life change this year and now we were going to have to wipe out our savings plus whatever else we could come up with until April. The accountant told us a few things we could do deduction-wise, and we made an appointment to return on Friday.

So back we went, this time armed with bills and records so that Brian could deduct his home office and utilities from it. We also figured out he had made a mistake on part of his income — the loan from the 401k for the house down payment was just that, a loan, not a cash withdrawal that would have meant a penalty. So that saved us. Also since he was taxed in CA but doesn’t live there, he should get all his withholding back from that state. We went over the return again with all this new information and guess what? Now we probably won’t have to pay ANYTHING when the CA refund comes in.

Gigantic sigh of relief. We are still on spending lockdown but now we can *save*, instead of just saving up money only to send it all to the IRS in April.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind paying taxes (I’m not a Republican). I just want us to devise a formula where they are all paid throughout the year instead of owing at the end of the year. Mostly this is going to fall to Brian since he earns almost twice what I do.

Last night I started reading “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” For the first three chapters, all it talks about are risks, genetic screening, what not to do, worst case scenarios, birth defects, and the horrors of conceiving after the dreaded age 35. Left me feeling like most pregnancies are fraught with fear and medical disaster. Thanks, assholes. I think I will move on to “Pregnancy for Dummies”, now. The title of which makes me think it was written for pregnant 16-year-olds, but anyway.