I'm back

I find it slightly awkward that my last post in over 2 months was about grooming, but hey, whatcha gonna do? So much has happened (hello, new human!) and no one wants to read a novel of a blog post, so here's my summed up version:

- I was a bridesmaid in a wedding when I was 37 weeks pregnant. Oh yeah, I was hot, obviously.

- Once I hit 8 1/2 months pregnant, I actually started feeling pretty decent physically, but absolutely so anxious mentally that I could barely stand it. I was having almost nonstop Braxton Hicks during the day, and about 20 times I day, I thought "Is this it? Is this it???" My husband was going nuts and every time I called him at work he thought it was TIME. Every time I called a friend or family member, they answered the phone by asking me if they should meet me at the hospital. This was doing nothing to help my anxiety.

- 40 weeks came...and went.

- It was decided upon that I would be induced at 41 weeks. In the meantime I was eating spicy foods, having more sex than a woman with a belly my size should be having and spending far too much time in Dr. Google's office examining every perceived "symptom". The morning before my induction, I had an hour and a half of acupuncture. No dice.

- The evening before I was to be induced, I was snuggling with my husband and son on the couch, and I put my hand on my belly. I felt my little baby's leg, which was pretty common. I grabbed his leg and expected for him to pull it away from me like normal. He didn't do that. I was able to move his leg up and down my belly. Cue: freaking the fuck out. All of a sudden I realized I hadn't felt him move since the acupuncture. I started to shake my belly, trying to make him move. He didn't. I laid down on my left side and pushed in on my belly, always a sure fire way to get him moving. He didn't. Cue: absolute panic attack, complete with hysterical crying. I grabbed my phone and called my doctor who had given me her personal cell phone for when I went into labor. She told me to go to the hospital right away. We called a neighbor girl to watch our son and were out of the house in less than 5 minutes. The hospital is half an hour away from our house and I felt him move twice on the way, very slightly. Not his usual beating, but enough to make me chill out a little bit.

- The baby was fine - and I never got an explanation for his lack of movement, but all I needed to know was that his heartrate was good. And of course, as soon as the strapped me into all the monitors, he started his usual acrobatic routine. *HUGE SIGH OF RELIEF*

- They kept me overnight since I was scheduled to be induced the next morning anyway. Super short version of labor: Pitocin started at 8:30, mild contractions until about noon, doctor broke my water at 12:30, contractions increasing in insanity until about 2:30, epidural at 2:50, baby born at 3:10. Welcome to the world little one.

- So I post a pic on Twitter shortly after he was born. And so many wonderful people gave me congratulations...and wanted to know his name. Now, this threw me for a loop, although I should have thought about it sooner. I have all these fake names for myself and my husband and my kiddo on the blog. But for some reason, I just couldn't give my newborn son a fake name. So, I went into Twitter silence. And since then all these wonderful and funny and annoying and maddening things have happened and I have really really wanted to share them. But I felt like a tool just leaving all these people asking me the name and never telling.  So, his name? It's Will. And it's perfect. And so is he.

 

Note:  I've decided to nix the fake names....and I went back and changed them throughout the blog to my REAL name.  Scary.

Down there

Yesterday, for some unknown reason, I decided to look up birthing videos and photos. Google was happy to oblige, giving me more content than I could ever view. One thing that became clear to me very quickly (besides the fact that birth is....let's face it...pretty gross. I mean, yadda yadda, special and beautiful, etc - but come on, very very gross too, at least when it's a strangers birth captured by a zoom lens close up on her lady parts) is that NONE of these women were...groomed...in any way whatsoever. Not that this was totally shocking, but I thought at least one or two would be rockin' the landing strip, or at LEAST a tidy little triangle. Nope. Full bush, top to bottom, every single one.

So after going through all these photographic treasures, I went straight to twitter:

And I got more responses than I've ever gotten from a tweet before. Most of them were along the lines of "you can't take care of what you can't see", and also different variations on can't bend, can't reach, etc. One person (a dude, no less) said: "It's obvious this is your first pregnancy. :P" Ouch.

Argument 1: I have been taking care of business in that region for over 10 years. I'm not pruning into heart-shapes here. I can keep things pretty tidy without seeing what I'm doing.

Argument 2: If I was going to actually videotape my birth, I think I'd want to clean up the stage.

Argument 3: This is my second pregnancy, thank you very much. And furthermore, when my water broke during my first pregnancy, I took a shower and spent a few minutes shaving legs, armpits, ETC (if ya know what I mean).

Argument 4: I'm out of arguments, but 3 points is pretty weak.

Da Crib

We have completely finished up getting ready for the baby. I'm talking room ready, all furniture in place, clothes in the drawers, bottles washed and put away, half-packed hospital bag in the closet just awaiting the last minute items like toiletries.

This is a little ridiculous because:
a. I still have 6 weeks.
b. Once the baby is home, he is sleeping in our room for the first 6ish weeks.
c. We won't introduce the bottle until the baby is 3-4 weeks old.
d. I am convinced I have just given myself a due date of 2 weeks late by being so prepared.

I don't care because:
a. I will not have the energy to wash and put away baby clothes and blankets when I am 39 weeks pregnant.
b. Maybe I'll want to put him in his room during naps? And plus, this has given Finn a tangible thing to look at in anticipation of his brother's arrival.
c. I will be so happy that all those bottles are washed and put away when it's actually time to use them
d. Okay, I actually do care about this. Baby: Please do not be late. Please.

Pics of the new baby digs. We are stoked at how everything turned out:

Mural painted by my coworkers sister. We were a little afraid it was going to be too "Nightmare Before Christmas" but we are hoping the other colorful aspects in the room counterbalance it. It was inspired by this tree I found, but we wanted to make it a bit more...masculine or something. I made the mobile with felt pieces and sticks from a tree in our yard when the one I wanted from Etsy.com was sold out. Etsy mobile with shipping: $57. My mobile: $4

Magnetic wall art is SO AWESOME. Love this idea, not sure where else you would put something like this other than a baby/child's bedroom.

Scored this glider rocker off Craigslist for the smokin price of $175. The one I wanted at Babies R Us was $600, so I thought this was a steal. I wish I could explain to you the comfort of this chair. I make everyone who enters my house sit on it.

My sis-in-law is supposed to sew a liner for the little diaper basket there...but considering she's the biggest procrastinator of all time, it will probably be a couple of more months before I see anything.

OMG, that crooked picture is making me crazy. I must go home right now and fix it.

That little bird on the table is sooooo cute when it's lit up. A perfect little nightlight and goes with our nature theme perfectly.

32 Weeks

Holy moly, 32 weeks.

I had Finn three weeks early, which means I COULD be having a baby in 5 weeks. FIVE WEEKS.

The room is TOTALLY ready, which prompted my sis in law to say that this probably means that I'll be 2 weeks overdue. I told her I hated her for saying that.

Of course, I'm also in a wedding on October 3, and the bride asks me every 3 days how I'm feeling, if I think that I'll make it past the wedding (oh girl, how I wish I had insight in to that). Maybe the 2 things will balance each other out and I'll have him mid-October.

Fingers crossed.

56 Days

No, the title of my post isn't a reference to about the number of days it's been since I last blogged - although it's close enough. That's the number of days I have left of this pregnancy...at most (hopefully!)

Jake got me a gift certificate for a massage since all I do is complain about my back lately. I went in yesterday and as the gal was getting started, she asked if I had ever heard of integrative massage. I tell her no, and she says "It's like...catering to not just the body, but to like....the mind and soul too....like....through breathing and stuff"....Ohh, well that sounds...like, great and stuff. I told her I was into it, so off she went. But it seemed like just a normal massage to me. But thanks for the weird intro, massage lady.

So besides my lower back screaming at me from about 3pm on, I've also got my first hemorrhoid, which is...wow, how do I describe this little slice of happiness? I'm pretty sure I can't do better than Sundry did on her post, so I'll just direct you over there for a moment.

Another awesome "symptom"? Rage. I'm not kidding you. I was bordering on homicidal for a good two hours at work yesterday. This morning I literally had to reason with myself to not hit another coworker in her face. Her fat-annoying face. Her fat-annoying-won't-follow-policy-or-procedure-because-she-is-too-fucking-self-important-and-has-1000-excuses face. *Deep breath*

To top all of these fabulous things off, I've been dealing with two THINGS. First thing: Serious sleep regression. I'm talking a sleep regression of epic proportions. Let me be specific here:

Scene, 4 weeks ago: It's 7:30 pm, the sun is setting, my little boy smells sweetly of lavender, fresh from his bath. I bury my nose in his hair as we hug and kiss goodnight. I lay him in his bed, he rolls over, muttering "I love you mommy." I walk out of the room and enjoy 2 hours to myself before going to bed at the reasonable hour of 9:30.

Scene, 3 weeks and 6 days ago - 4 days ago: It's 8:30 pm and I have FINALLY managed to force him through a tenuous bedtime routine in which he has come up with 65 excuses to delay along the way. I lay him down in bed as he is asking for water, for hugs, for snuggles, to sit on the potty, to blow his nose, for that one car he played with that one time 7 months ago that is in one of his 6 toy bins downstairs and can he have it pleeaaaaassseeeeeeeee or he'll JUST DIE. I say no no no no no no, goodnight.....and then spend the next 2 hours putting him back in bed repeatedly. Sometimes I get all the way out of the room and manage to sit on the stairs before he hops out of bed again, sometimes I've barely turned around before he slides out of bed. Sometimes he is screaming, sometimes he is whining, sometimes he is eerily silent. He finally gives up a few minutes before 11 and I fall, exhausted, into bed. Only to wake up at 11:30 because he's SCREAMING that there is a monster at his window. A monster? Where the hell did you learn about monsters?

Anyway, we have finally conquered this excuse-making/boundary-pushing beast and we are all sleeping through the night and getting to bed at reasonable hours. But holy hell, was that painful.

The second thing I've been dealing with is similar to my very cranky toddler - my bi-polar moody boss, who has all of a sudden decided to turn my maternity leave request into some kind of weird-o power play. I was hoping to take off 10 weeks, but since we are a very small company and not governed until the laws of FMLA, he is making me beg and plead for it...and I may only get 6 weeks off in the end. This has come as a very unexpected and disappointing surprise, as they were very kind and flexible when I had my first kiddo. Have a mentioned I've been there for nearly 5 years? And work my little preggo arse off? Doesn't seem to matter.

I ease all of this drama by laying a hand on my bulging belly, to my little growing baby boy (who remains nameless because of my crazy picky husband who dislikes every perfectly acceptable name I've thrown at him, but then suggests things like "Thor") and realize that this is all going to be worth it in the end.

I'm huge - uh, I mean, I'm 28 weeks

Last week I had my glucose test - a test which gave me no problems this time or the last. I don't know why this test is so feared. Pound a sugary drink, wait an hour, get your blood drawn. I didn't have to fast, just couldn't eat anything sugary 2 hours before the test.

I got the results the next day - everything looks normal (thank god, I don't have to stop eating M&Ms by the handful). However, they reported that I'm quite anemic, a revelation that actually really excited me because now I have a REASON (besides good 'ol pregnancy) for being so nutty tired. She told me to pick up some iron pills and start eating more red meat and greens (do green colored M&Ms count?)



My belly seems huuuuuuuuuge to me. He is so so so low, I feel like I'm going to break in half when I sit sometimes. I'm terrified when he drops, he's going to fall into my legs.

Pregzilla

{Courtesy of dhammza}

For the most part, I've done an excellent job in my life at not being "that girl" who becomes a raging bitch once a month and blames it on PMS. I'm not sure if I'm just lucky that I'm not someone who is really sensitive to changing hormone levels or what. The same has been true of my pregnancies. However, my streak has ended. Last night was a serious shit storm of emotion and hormones, aimed directly at my poor, unsuspecting husband.

As I've been complaining about, I've been tired, OH SO tired the last 2 weeks. I get lots of sleep and I'm still trying to be active but it's not helping. Yesterday was no exception - I was crazy tired all day and left at 5pm on the dot to go get Finn from daycare and get home. My husband had the day off and he was supposed to be writing a paper which was due that night. Also, he had to get up at 3:30 the next morning for work. So I walk in the door and immediately I'm irritated. Nothing has been done around the house. There's this printer our friend gave us (made us take) that's been sitting on the island in our kitchen since LAST THURSDAY that we don't really have a place for. I was hoping it would magically disappear since he had the entire day off and to himself at home (side note: the last time I had an entire day off and to myself? Um, the weekend before I had Finn, 2.5 years ago). But no such luck, it was sitting there. Okay, whatever. So Mike gets up and goes to the family room with Finn and plays blocks while I throw myself on the couch and start a barrage of complaints. The highlights: so much pressure! my pelvis! so tired! so emotional! Summation: poor me! Mike kisses me and hugs me and tells me I'm amazing and listens while I repeat myself and continues to give me sympathy. After a good 10 minutes of this, I haul myself off the couch and start making dinner. He keeps Finn entertained and I bring down food and we all eat on the couch together. I turn on a DVR'ed episode of a show that Mike thoroughly dislikes and he doesn't say a word. Although Mike said the pasta was yummy about 64 times, he didn't SPECIFICALLY say "thank you for making dinner" so I was PISSED. So after dinner, he says he needs to finish his paper and I'm PISSED because that means I have to do the bathtime/bedtime thing by myself and I'm PISSED that he didn't use his time of his day off better and I'm PISSED because...well, at this point, try to find anything I'm not annoyed at, that would be easier. So then, Finn goes into pushing/testing boundary mode and doesn't want to do anything I want him to do and screams when I make him. My tolerance level is at a ZERO. We get through bathtime and I did something heinous like make him put on his pajamas, and he starts screaming. Mike comes into his room and Finn starts whimpering and reaches out for him like some abused child and I stomp out of the room like a toddler. Mike sees that intervention is necessary, so he helps me read him stories and get him into bed. Afterwards, I slam my way around the kitchen and did the dishes from dinner (pissed, because what the hell, i made dinner, he should do the DAMN dishes) and put all the various shit away that was sitting around the kitchen and then stomped upstairs and was going to go to bed without saying goodnight because I WAS PISSED (is there a theme emerging here?) As I was getting into bed, I noticed Finn's milk cup and it was nearly full, so i went back downstairs to put it in the fridge and Mike asks "Baby, are you going to bed?" and I wouldn't make eye contact with him and mumbled a barely-audible "yup". I threw myself in bed and sobbed and cried and I didn't want him to come up and I'm pissed he's not coming up all at the same time. I cry for like 10 minutes and finally calm down and start going to sleep and he comes up and crawls into bed and asks me what's wrong and I'm sniffling and crying and snotty and gross and whining. I'm state my very compelling argument that "No one is taking care of meeeeeeeeeeeee, no one is spoiling meeeeeeeee". He says "Just tell me what you need, I'll do anything, I love you, you're amazing, you're beautiful," basically saying all the right things which is making me even more upset and at this point my entire head is so stuffed up that I'm making that weird nasal noise and I can't blow my nose and OMG, it was a site to see.

So now that pregzilla has emerged, can I put her back? Can I muddle through my remaining 12 weeks with some sense of decency and control? For my husband's sake, I sure hope so. And in the meantime, he may want to consider hiring a housekeeper and a nanny.

Hair intervention

When I was in high school, I was gross. I only showered like twice a week, but somehow I still managed to never get ousted for my bad hygiene. I'm lucky because I don't really sweat much and I'm just generally not a stinky person. And my hair....it just always looked REALLY cute. I have no idea how this is possible. It was long and lush and beautiful - even without proper grooming. I would wake up in the morning and literally not touch it and it looked perfect.

Cut to today. Something has happened in the last 12ish years that has not been good for my hair. Whether it be more regular bathing (but, let's be honest, I still only get it in like 4 times a week) or having a kid or that my eating habits went to shit...I really don't know. But basically, my hair kinda sucks. I have one particular problem which keeps it from looking good. I don't know what to call it, but basically it just goes all Medusa on me. It starts out something like this:

And then by like 11am, it looks more like this:

I have no idea how this happens. My hair is not curly, I do not live in a humid climate and I sit at a desk all day. But something happens between the time that I put it all in a ponytail and 3 hours later that makes me look like I ran a marathon. In Arizona. In July. At noon. And before I know it, I look like this:

And this:

And this:

There have got to be something that would tame this yucktastic mess on my head. But being the (formally) spoiled hair haver that I am, I never learned the fine art of hair products. So please, for the sake of my coworkers, enlighten me. What do I need to put on this rats nest??

By the way, ignore that pesky double chin that seems to have arrived with my 3rd trimester today. That thing seriously came out of nowhere.

Tired

{Photo Courtesy of Salvini}

This morning, someone asked how far along I am. I told them "26 weeks today"..."WOW!" they exclaimed..."It's going by SO FAST!" Oh, is it? Is it going by fast for you? How nice.

I was going to have a good day today, but then I woke up with 4 zits in a sort of artsy semicircle formation around my chin. No sugar coating it - I'm struggling right now. And I'm not happy about it. See, I strive to be this super happy positive gal and I've always thought of myself as the sort of person who could float through pregnancy with a big smile on my face and talk about how good I felt and how much energy I had and how strong I feel. Well, fuck, that is just not my reality. I spent the first 16 weeks wanting to puke about 23 1/2 hours of the day. And then I had a really pretty nice 8 weeks. And then about a week ago, I started feeling big and gross and tired. I don't WANT to be any of these things. I want to be vibrant! And glowing! And.....oh forget it, I hardly have the energy to come up with another descriptive word. I'm one of those annoying "your reality is what you make it" people (yes, I'm that girl who asks you if you saw that Oprah episode where she talks about The Secret). Well, I must have fucked up my vision board or something, because this pregnancy has taken a turn for the crabby, and I don't seem to be able to change the trajectory. I am getting between 9-10 hours of sleep every night, but still wake up and spend my day totally exhausted. I feel bleary eyed and cloudy headed and just a general sense of drag-ass'edness. If I was 36 weeks along, I wouldn't be so upset about this. But 26 weeks!? Come on! This is supposed to be my blissful 2nd trimester time! I am the victim of energy theft! Give it back! *sigh*

24 Weeks

Alright, you caught me, I'm actually 25 weeks along now...wait, what was that? You aren't diligently counting my pregnancy progress? Oh. How sad for you. WELL, anyway, here are my (late) 24 week belly pics:


For comparison, you can see my other photos at 16 weeks and 20 weeks.

I'm starting to get a little worried about the state of my maternity clothes wardrobe. Although I'm pretty much right on track for weight gain so far (18 lbs as of my appt yesterday) my pants are getting tight around my hips. Last I checked, babies don't grow in your hips, so it must have something to do with this little 2-3 time per week indulgence:

Moving right along

So you remember my big whiny bitchfest about not wanting to switch my little one from his crib to a bed? It turns out I'm just a huge loser because we did it last night, and guess what? It went off without a hitch. We layed him in bed, we walked away, he slept. That's it. Yup, that's what I got all worked up over. Nothing. Hey, that's cool with me. I'd rather deal with the 'I told you so' look that my husband will give me tonight rather than the bleary eyed 'what the hell did we do and how fast can we put the crib back together????' discussion.

See mom? Nothing to be afraid of....get me outta this thing

I've been toying with the idea of doing the "letter to my kid" thing on here...everytime I start to write it, it just becomes one of those sappy jesus re-born tributes, and no one wants to read that, except maybe me and my husband (maybe). I still think it would be cool, so that should come in the next little while. Although, knowing the frequency of my blogging, I wouldn't do any breath-holding in the meantime.

I'm reaching that point in my pregnancy where things are pretty well blissful. I'm rarely sick, I'm cutely bumpish (24 week belly pics to come this week), I'm sleeping decently, our little son is kicking me often and people are being SO NICE to me. It's a huge slice of wonderful, actually. I'll come back and read this post in another 3 months to remember that I did actually enjoy a portion of being pregnant. One part that I am having a slightly hard time adjusting to is not pigging out at every meal. My stomach space has changed quite a bit in the last week or so - I need to switch to that small meals/more often schedule rather than the dinosaur-sized portions 3 times per day. I'm pretty much chairman of the board of the clean plate club, so it's hard for me to not eat every last bite, especially at restaurants. I'm all for leftovers, but like last night I got nachos, and we all know those aren't going to exactly heat up for the next day's meal, so I just had to stare longingly at those last chips lying there in the bottom of the plate, begging to be consumed. Oh, and that reminds me: Heartburn. Yeah, so it turns out that heartburn kinda sucks! It falls into that category of things that doesn't seem so bad until you get it yourself. People would talk about it, and I'm like "eh, suck it up"....why didn't they tell me it was like you swallowed an iron poker and it's stuck in your chest? Honestly, metaphors are kinda necessary for that level of discomfort. Besides that, things really are going well. Although it's funny how the first time I was all about the pregnancy while fretting about the actual baby part...and this time, I'm just like "can we get this whole incubation thing over with so I can get my hands on my baby boy???"

Unnecessary

Sometimes I see a product and wonder how in the bloody hell it made it onto the market. Someone I follow on twitter discovered this product and (correctly) commented about how dirty it looks.

It's called KUSH.

First, the photographic evidence:What the hell is the point of this thing? I had no idea. As the CEO Cathinka Chandler (seriously) explains it: "Kush offer more natural rest for the breasts for a more comfortable sleep, it helps to prevent the appearance of cleavage lines and wrinkles."

Now, internets. I worry about many, many things. Will we save enough money to retire? Is my job stable? Am I a good mom? And I also worry about trivial things - Do people think our kitchen table looks cheap? Are we going to like the new paint in the babies room? But one thing I have never ever ever worried about is cleavage lines. Like, EVER. Don't get me wrong, I see them on ladies and don't think they are super cute. But I've never sat in Target and lamented about why! oh why, is there not a product that will not only help me with my breast support at night, but also prevent wrinkles in my cleavage??? Because, here's the thing - I could have SWORN there was already a product on the market that supported my boobs.

I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall during the meeting with the bank to get that business loan.

To crib or not to crib

I saw this picture on this talented artist's blog the other day and it grabbed me. This picture says freedom to me. Or, more specifically, being free. Free to go outside and throw your head into the wind and smell deeply into the air. With no laundry to do or email to return or bills to pay. I think we all have that dream where you sell all your shit and just leave to wherever that place is that calls to you. Being the responsible (and scared) people that we are, we are firmly anchored to our mortgage and our jobs and have to take our moments of freedom where we get them.

I love my son. I love my life more with him in it. I'm a better person, my husband is a better man and we are a better us with him in our lives. With that said, one of my favorite moments of the day is when I pull Finn's door nearly closed while saying the love you's and see you tomorrow's. We are extremely lucky to have a very good sleeper - although if I'm being honest, I do take some credit for having the determination to stick with sleep training - but I was also blessed with a kid who sleeps for nearly 12 hours at night and another 2-3 during a midday nap. We get him to bed by 8pm and I like to be in bed by 10pm these days. This gives me a scant two hours to do whatever it is that I want/need to do. The only two hours in my entire day when I don't have anyone directly counting on me to do something. I can be responsible - wash the dishes, get my lunch ready for tomorrow, return some work email, put away toys, etc etc etc. OR, I can flop my pregnant ass on the couch and watch So You Think You Can Dance while eating popcorn. The thing is, it's ladies choice, and that's a damn good feeling.

My husband is really pushing for us to move Finn out of his crib. He's only climbed out once (back in January) and although I'm due in October, the new baby will sleep in our room for a few weeks, so we have plenty of time until we would need the crib. But for some reason, Mike is insistent that Finn is ready and he wants to buy him a twin sized mattress and start ASAP. I am typically a very positive person, but for some reason the concept of this scares the holy shit out of me. Because what is at stake here? My 2 hours. I'm totally terrified that this is going to turn into one of those Super Nanny episodes where the kids are running around the house at 11pm begging to watch Elmo, refusing to stay in their rooms. Or, waking up at 4am with my kid 3 inches from my face, staring at me in the dark. I have read every article and post on the message boards on BabyCenter.com and they all say the same thing - for some kids, it's an easy transition and for some, it's not. Wow, thanks for the incredible insight.

The conversation came to a head today and I agreed that if he felt that strongly about moving Finn into a bed, I would get behind him and get positive and we'll make it happen. (By the way, this is becoming a worrisome trend lately where my husband really gives a shit about things that he never used to give a shit about. It's weird.)

So, deeeeep breaths. I'm diving into the deep end here, potentially losing not just my hours of freedom before I go to bed, but also the naptimes and the hours through the night. Oh damn, there I go being negative again. Okay - um - I mean....YAY BIG BOY BED! I can't wait (ughhhh).

Halfway

Wow, 20 weeks. How is it going so fast and so slow all at the same time? Here is my growing bump:



(Here I am at 16 weeks for comparison)

I'm feeling pretty good most of the time now, but still yarfing in the morning. Oh well, way better than the 24 hour nausea!

I was sick Sunday - Tuesday of this week with a gross nasty cold that laughed at me while I stared longingly at the bottle of DayQuil (Tylenol Cold and Sinus, you are worthless). I was a disgusting snotty coughing sniveling mess, and thankfully the schedule worked out so that my husband was able to pick up much of my whining slack.

As I've mentioned in the past, my dad is flying from Nashville the weekend after 4th of July to help us with a honey-do list that would be pretty overwhelming for my husband to tackle alone with his crazy full-time work/school schedule. We made a list of things we wanted to get done before my dad got here - not that most of the things need to get done this early, but my procrastinating hubbie and I are best under tight deadlines and neither of us much liked the surprise of early labor last time. When my water broke 3 weeks early, I stared into the mess that was my future child's bedroom as fluid dripped down my leg and held back tears that everything wasn't "perfect". By God, that's not going to happen this time around.

Manipulation, Frustration and Stop Lights

How does a child know the fine art of manipulation so aptly at a mere 2 years old? Theo has started this weird game that makes me want to drive blunt forks into my eyeballs. He wants something, but he won't tell me what it is and when I correctly guess, he pretends he doesn't want it. And I try to give it to him and he turns away and so I walk away and he screams for what I just offered....so I try to give it to him again and he turns away again. This is very frustrating for a number of reasons, and I'm sure the moms of toddlers totally get it, but it seriously awakens some weird rage in me that makes me happy that I have such great anger management skills. Because I KNOW what he wants. And HERE IT IS! Look!? I've got it! Right here! And you want it! So freakin take it, will you??? This has only been going on for about 3 days now, and I think I have figured out my strategy, it's just a matter of putting it into action. This morning made me see the light.

I try to give Theo choices, so he feels like he is involved in what happens to him. I ask him if he wants chicken nuggets or a quesadilla for lunch. Does he want to wear the jeans or the shorts? His crocs or his sandals? This book or that one? This morning, he didn't want to put on a shirt. I think this was because I was walking around in my bra because all my clean shirts were downstairs hanging in the laundry room (have I ever mentioned that when my mother in law watches him on Wednesday, she does ALL OF OUR LAUNDRY? It's the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me). Anyway, so I opened his closet to choose a shirt and he did that weird thing he's started doing where he kinda screws his face up and refuses to speak. I started to put on this terrible Mickey Mouse shirt that actually sings the Mickey Mouse Club song when you hit a button on the bottom hem (I obviously hate it, he obviously love it) and he refuses to put his arms through the holes and just starts wailing. So, hey, I'm flexible, I take it off and tell him we'll just get a shirt downstairs in the laundry room. All the way down the stairs he's crying and pointing with all his might (you know what I'm talking about here, right? When they put their WHOLE SOUL into pointing?). I take him into the laundry room and see a sure bet - his Spiderman shirt. Nope, he doesn't want that either. He is fighting me hard, kicking his legs (did I mention we are running late? Of course we are). So I threaten him with time out...he keeps being insane, so I put him in the spot for 2 minutes. I use the time to run around and get everything together for work and breakfast and daycare and lunch and the myriad of other shit I somehow need for a mere 10 hours away from the house. Once the 2 minutes are over, I kneel down and explain to him why I put him in time out (I resist gritting my teeth and telling him it's because "we don't act like assholes") and I try to put his shirt on again. He again starts pointing up the stairs with a huge bottom lip out and his eyes brimming with tears. Okay, you soulless mommy, go get his damn mickey mouse shirt. So I run upstairs to grab it and once he sees that shirt, the shit storm continues, because HOW DARE I GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTS??? At this point, the running late has become running later and the low patience level has become a dire running on fumes - so I just pick him up screaming and bring him out to the car and somehow get his shirt on despite his flailing limbs and buckle him into his car seat. I keep my face calm (even though my evil eyes SO want to glare him down) and don't say a word (even though I SO want to scream louder than him) and shut the door behind me. I take a deep breath. I pull out of the driveway and into the neighborhood while Theo sniffles and avoids eye contact with me. As I merge into traffic outside my subdivision, I find myself behind someone who is ACTUALLY paying attention to the 25 MPH speed limit in the construction zone (the nerve!) and manages to go SO SLOW that we both get stopped at the stoplight that is on a timer which makes it so you are stuck for a minimum of 4 minutes even if there is not one other car for miles in any direction. My blood pressure is rising and my stress level is through the roof. Finally, once we get moving again and I manage to get through several green lights in a row, I start to breath normally and reach back and tickle Theo's legs...he lets the corners of his mouths turn up slightly. A couple of minutes later, he sees a tractor and breaks into a full smile and then all is right with the world. By the time we get to daycare, it's all good - I get the same smiles, hugs and kisses that I always get when I drop him off. My insensitive shirt wrangling is a thing of the past.

The lesson? I need to remember I'm in charge. I want to give him choices, but when he gives me the baby version of the finger, I need to stay on task and make the decision for him. It'll piss him off, obviously - but learning from the trends of the last couple of days, that's going to happen anyway, so I might as well get out of the house on time without road rage and know that it'll all be forgotten in a matter of moments. And next time? Maybe he'll tell me what he wants.

Does it ever get easier?

The important bits

So today was the day - the BIG day. We had our ultrasound this morning to make sure all was well with our little growing baby and also to find out the sex. For some reason, I was all nerves leading up to the appointment. We already have a son, and this was our last chance for whatever it was going to be - we are rock solid on only having two kids, so if I was going to have a girl, this was the only shot and if I was going to have 2 of the same sex, this was it too. I went back and forth with what I wanted. I think that a girl would be amazing for Jake and I, but I also love the idea of little brothers running around together. I also had anxiety about having a girl because I was nervous about the future mom/daughter dynamic. (And it doesn't help that I'm reading "The Tenth Circle" by Jodi Picoult which is about a teenage girl getting raped - shudddder). If it was a boy, it means no paying for extravagant weddings. But if it was a boy...that means we have to think of boy names. NOT the easiest process the first time around.

Our little one was bouncing around my belly all during the ultrasound, making the tech's job a little on the difficult side to get all the views that she needed. After what seemed like a million measurements of bones and organs and the brain and the heart, she finally said "Okay, let's see if this baby will show us the important bits." She pushed the wand across my belly, and got a view of the bottom, with the legs tightly closed. "Baby is being shy," she said. At that moment, our little son opened his legs wide to reveal his bits. Looks like we've got a flasher on our hands. We couldn't be more excited.

Rabbit, rabbit

In one of my high school classes (I believe it was Botany, in which I learned absolutely nothing) the teacher told us some myth about that at the beginning of each month, you should wake up and look up at the ceiling and have the first words out of your mouth be "rabbit, rabbit". And that this will guarantee you splendid good luck the rest of the month. Despite hearing this some 11 years ago, I still think about it almost every month. Usually mid morning on the 1st of the month or first thing on the 2nd. But I've never managed to actually do it.

This morning, however....I woke up, looked at the ceiling, and (despite feeling a tad bit silly) said "rabbit, rabbit" and I went back to sleep. I'm thinking good things are coming my way. And, on that note - I find out the gender of our growing little kiddo tomorrow morning.

On Mothers Day this year, I planted flowers with my boys. I also did two little strawberry plants. Don't let me fool you - I don't know anything about gardening. I buy enough flowers every year to go in my fake terra cotta pots and happily throw them all away in September. But I gotta tell you, these little guys make me happy.

Grow, baby grow....

Don't even get me started about ranch dressing

I'm picky. I know this about myself. I'd rather just state up front what I want and what my expectations are so that way I can know in advance if they aren't going to be met. Perfect example: I love iced tea with a half of a sweet & low packet. Not Equal. Not Splenda. Not raw sugar. When I go to a restaurant that doesn't keep their sugars on the table, I asked if they have the pink packets before I order my iced tea. If they don't carry it, I order water. Nothing lost, nothing gained. If I go out to eat with someone new and they hear me ask this, I inevitably hear the "wow, you are picky" statement. But here is my argument -would it be better for me to order iced tea and then have them bring it to me and then when they don't have the sugar I want, send it back? No! I ask for what I want in advance. This is very logical to me.

My husband, kiddo and I stayed at my dad's house for 3 nights in Nashville last weekend. We went to spend memorial day with him, my stepmom and 16 year old half brother and my dad and did a sprint triathlon on Monday. I'm not sure exactly when this happened, but it was blatantly clear during the whole trip how accustomed I've become to the way I do things at home. Here are all the things I mentally complained about:
- The A/C was set to 78. Like, they SET it to not get cooler than that. In humid Nashville. Ugh. My house is a blissful 72 degrees in non humid Colorado, with ceiling fans aplenty.
- They don't have filtered water. I'm not like some germ freak by any means, I just like my cold Brita filtered water. And my glasses are perfect. They have weirdly thick insulated ones that don't quite hold enough liquid and the bottom edges are kinda rounded or something and I always feel like they are going to fall off the table.
- We slept on my little brothers full sized bed. The pillows were just....not right. The sheets are flannel (remember: A/C set to 78). And our kiddo was in a pack in play at the foot of our bed. Our bed at home is king sized with the softest sheets ever and a down comforter that always feel cool to the touch. I have a Snoogle pillow which supports and snuggles every little bit of my weird pregnant body. So there I was, laying on top of the sheets, hogging about 7/8 of the bed, trying not to move too much so we wouldn't wake up Finn, unsuccessfully tucking pillows in awkward positions.
- Everything creaked - the floorboards, the bed, the chairs. (remember: kiddo at the foot of our bed).

I do not remember ever staying away from home and wishing I was home so badly EVER. And not that the trip and the company wasn't lovely - I love hanging out with my dad and his crew. But I just longed for my shit. I have to imagine that this was only exacerbated by my expanding belly and my toddlers general crankiness the last day and half of the trip. But I can only assume that this gets worse as you get older. At the ripe 'ol age of 28, I think this may be a problem.

Markings

The other day while giving Finn a bath, I noticed that he got his FIRST FRECKLE!


This blew my mind because it solidifies that he's like, a real person. A person who's not only going to get freckles, but also body hair and cavities and a girlfriend and a tattoo and OH EM GEE mah baby is growing up! Wait, deep breath, he's only 2. Calming down now.

Coincidentally, I also got a new freckle in a weird place - my thumb.


I don't know what this means, but I feel like it means something. Like, something to do with palmistry. But seeing as how little I know about that subject, I'm just going to theorize that it means that I am pregnant with the second coming of Einstein.

And something else that I'd like to talk about (that will NOT have an accompanying photograph) is the fact that my chest is currently expanding at an insane rate. I don't recall this happening last time until towards the end of the pregnancy. I'm busting out of all my bras and although Jake is NOT minding this "development" (heh, heh, heh) but I'm a little perturbed. Because if THIS is how they are NOW...well, then how are they going to be come October? I'm worried for the well being of my bras and also my husband, who won't be allowed to touch them for the entire time I'm breastfeeding. And seeing how they are looking so AWESOME these days, I feel kinda sorry for him.

In other CrAzY-town news, I was just asked to be in a wedding for my husband's best friend. I'm not super close to the girl, but we are both really close to the guy. And when is their wedding, you ask? Why, about 1 month before I'll have the baby. Because you know what's cute? An 8 month pregnant chick in a bridesmaid dress. Uh huh, SUPER CUTE. At least my rack will look hot.

Evidence

I'm fairly maniacal about taking pictures - I have some crazy number of photos of my kid that is somewhere in the thousands (yet, he still won't cheese it up for the camera). But for some reason, I did a terrible job of documenting my belly growth with my first pregnancy and I'm not showing any drive towards doing a better job with this one. I will blame this 100% on my husband because he never has the inclination to pick up the camera, putting me in the position of awkward self portraits. Well, if that's how it's gotta be.....here's me at the 16 week mark:


I think my belly looks huge-ish for 16 weeks. And also weirdly pointy.

I had my appt this afternoon and felt some weird sense of satisfaction that I've only gained 6 lbs so far. I'm being sorta gloaty about it. Example: Towards the end of my appointment today, my doc is like "Any more questions?" and I'm all "Is my weight gain okay for this stage?" Even though I know damn well it's just fine, I just wanted to hear her say it. She looks at my chart and is like "Oh yes, it's quite good!" and I look at my husband with some smug look, as if he gives a shit whether I've gained 6 pounds or 12 pounds. Ahh, the things I take joy in...

Speaking of taking joy in things, here is my kid playing with the stirrups at the docs office. Classic.

Wordy

Found a cute little tool today that created a word cloud out of your tweets - I already knew about Wordle, which rocks and I've given as a cool gift, even if they don't really "get" word clouds. So, here's my cloud from my twitter account:


Here is how it works - the more you have a word written, the larger the word becomes on the cloud. It's no surprise that nausea is among the biggest, and I'm happy to say that it's mostly behind me now. Still twinges in the evenings, but all in all, I'm feeling very very close to normal.

I'm also so excited that I'm starting to feel the baby move, which is such an interesting feeling. As cool as it is (and don't get me wrong, it's awesome) it is also incredibly strange. Also, since the babe is like the size of an avocado, but my belly is more the size of like a half volleyball already, I just wonder how it manages to get such a running start that I actually feel it.

As much as I wasn't really interested before, I'm all of a sudden DYING to know what the sex of the baby is. Our appt. is on June 2, and it can't come fast enough. I ask Finn every couple of days if it's a baby girl or a baby boy, and his answer changes all the time, although it's been a girl the last few days. When we had Finn, we had a short list of names in mind, but didn't actually pick until we had him. I wonder if this time we'd be more inclined to pick a name so that he could start calling the baby something. Just as we were the first of all of our friends to have a kiddo, we are obviously the first to have the second, so I have no idea what types of things will make the transition easier for Finn, something that is VERY important for me. I guess I need to pick up a book or something on the subject, because I really want Finn to still feel super important and loved and payed attention to. I guess it all works out, right? People do this all the time :)

Neither here nor there

Just when I thought I had the cold that would NEVER EVER end, I got my 15 week email from Babycenter.com and they informed me that there is a reason that I've been blowing my nose every 5 minutes. Well thank god, because it made it so I could go see my new friend's baby at the hospital today without feeling like I was bringing along a bucket of germs. He's all brand new and squishy, full of the cutest squeaky-est little sounds and THANK GOD I'm pregnant, or I'd be breakin' out the moves tonight while simultaneously flushing birth control pills down the toilet.

I can't believe I'm 15 weeks already, firmly in the 2nd trimester. I'm feeling fab, finally, and now wondering when I'm going to start doing all those things I said I'd do when I started feeling better (i.e. exercise, cook dinner, put away laundry and all those other mundane useless tasks that I found to be quite easy to ignore the last 2+ months). I'm doing a triathlon in exactly 3 weeks and DAMN if I didn't get winded walking up the stairs to my 3rd floor office today. I'm kinda screwed, but going to do my best working out the next several days so I don't fully embarrass myself.

I'm feeling much better today than I was when I wrote my previous post on the woes of being me with my crazy family. I'm back to my zen state of being in which I realize I can only control me, blah blah blah. Although I did read a fairly beautiful post today in which the blogger described my ideal family situation. I couldn't help but have one of those "if my family could only be like THAT" moments, but ya know, it's not - and that has to be okay. Moving on now!

Random share of the day: I totally believe in Love and Sex and Magic now. Girl you are FLEXIBLE! It's kinda skanky but totally hot all at the same. I can't help but wonder what their significant others think when they see this video? I mean, I guess Jessica puts up with all of Justin's weird new heavy framed glasses, so she can deal with a little fondle here and there.

I'm off to go buy a used co-sleeper that I found miraculously for only $45, which is about half as much as I've ever seen used, I'm totally stoked. Three cheers for perfectly good used baby garb!

Deep breaths

Okay, Internets, I'm just going to say it - I think the worst of my nausea is over. I realize that putting this out there could be my undoing - my unborn child will check his/her little fetal iPhone to check out my blog and somehow turn up the hormones, but I'm just going to take that risk, because HALLE-fucking-LUYAH, I feel like a normal human being. I'm only about 5 days in, but after you've spent 10 consecutive weeks of 24 hour nausea, 5 days seems like a pretty incredible reprieve. There have been several moments of sickness in the last few days, but it seems like no big deal comparatively.

I'd only gained about 3 pounds as of last week, and I just stepped on the scale this morning and was up to 7.5 pounds! Yikes, how did that happen?

I've been reflecting on how this pregnancy has compared to the last. Some of the notable similarities include craving chocolate milk, chocolate ice cream and Chipotle barbacoa burritos, puking every morning and being sick for 10 weeks exactly. However, those 10 weeks were from 10-20 weeks with Finn and 4-14 with this one. And I know it's easy to forget things that suck, but I swear it was worse this time.

Also something that I've been overwhelmed with this time is the inability to precisely control my emotions, something that I am generally VERY good at. I've been dealing with some pretty obnoxious family issues the last couple of weeks and I'm just not handling it well. I don't want to use the pregnancy card, but I just want to be like "PLEASE can we freeze the freakin drama for like a year or so??" I'd sorta like to just float along in a idyllic existance for the next few months and ignore *certain* family members who frequently act as if the rules of reality don't apply to them.

Here's the fact of the matter - I simply want to live an honest and happy life. And I feel like most of my life is like that. But then I've got these dark clouds looming over that just want to rain all over my good shit. Normally I can aptly ignore these clouds, but being pregnant and emotional and a little loony is making it harder - and not only does it make me sad, but it makes me angry. I am a lot of things, but an angry person isn't one of them, so this is an emotion I have a hard time navigating.

I've talked at length about this with the husband and he's trying to help me come up with some good coping strategies, which makes me feel a bit like a mental patient. I've just got this voice in my head that is telling me "ESCAPE! ESCAPE!" and then the other day Mike sent me a link to real estate in Guam, and I couldn't help thinking....I hear the Mongmong area is beautiful this time of year....

And so it goes

I'm peeking over the corner at week 14 of this pregnancy and beginning to see moments of brilliant non-puked-on light peeking through. Now, I'm not going to get all "OMG, 2nd trimester is amazing" already, but OMG, PLEASE 2nd trimester, come through for me, baby!!

My belly is seriously out there and I'm really loving some of the new (consignment) stuff that I've gotten over the last couple of weeks. My body type really is suited very well for pregnancy. Although I have a pretty even distribution of extra uhhhh....love! Yeah, let's call it love!.....I do carry quite a bit in my tummy. My legs are slim, my ass is small and then my tummy kinda takes over. So my bottom is like a size 8 and my tummy is more like a 12. So maternity pants are kind of my best friend. I can fit nicely into a size medium jeans with that nice beautifully stretchy waistband.

I scheduled the ultrasound on June 2 which will tell us the sex of the baby. I truly don't care, which is strange for me. We really wanted a girl with a first, but Finn is like the best thing that ever happened to me - so I figure whatever I get is exactly what I'm supposed to have. It would be pretty incredible to experience what having a girl is like, but also pretty cool to have little boys, potentially brother buddies.

Mike and I also sat down and had the "how much do we need to save for maternity leave" conversation last night. This is depressing, since I am the one that brings in the larger salary of the two of us. I REALLY wanted to try to take 12 weeks this time (I did 9 with Finn) and there is just no way to make it happen. We aren't barely scraping by, but our idea of a luxurious night out is Qdoba and a rental movie. We don't exactly have a whole lot of places we can cut back on. We talked about various things in the house we could possibly sell, but we don't keep a whole lot of extra shit, so this isn't too much of a money source. We both work full time, he also goes to school full time, which leaves me with the kiddo alone in the evenings a couple of nights per week. The likelihood of either of us finding extra work right now is pretty low. How do couples do this?? And furthermore, how do couples manage to actually have one parent stay at home full time? It just doesn't add up for us.

Also, something slightly random - I wasn't necessarily keeping this blog a secret from my husband, but I just didn't tell him about it. He'd be fine with me doing whatever...I just wanted it to be my private little venting/sharing/emoting/sappy/whatever place. However, the other day, he joined twitter and I accidentally followed him on my Belly account instead of my public account....therefore, revealing my website to him. So once I realized I did this, I told him about the blog right away instead of letting him find it. And so check this out - he hasn't even looked at it. This just proves that opposites attract, because LET ME TELL YOU, if I found out he had a private blog where he was sharing his thoughts on WHATEVER, I would be lapping that shit up in like 2.2 seconds. Maybe it's because I never shut the hell up, so he is probably thinking "what in the world could she be talking about that I don't already know." Good point.

On being wanted

Last week was particularly rough for me. Drama with my mom - and if I've learned one things from stories of the internet, I won't be airing that kind of dirty laundry. But let me just tell you that it's ongoing, it's exhausting and I'm far too busy growing a human over here to want a big family mess to clean up.

Jake had a random day off last week and came into my neck of the woods to meet me for lunch.
He was already there when I got to the restaurant, sitting in a booth in the front next to the windows. I walked up to the table, he stood up with his arms open. As soon as his arms closed around me, I started sobbing. My body shook and I dug my face into his chest. He held me tight even though the waiter was awkwardly trying to pass behind us at that very moment. It wasn't so much that I was upset about this specific issue that was going on - just a million different little emotions that are always rudely awakened anytime something happens with my mom. We finally sat down and he covered my hands with his.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so emotional," I said, as another fresh wave of tears fell down my face. You know what it's like when they won't turn off by sheer will.

"It's okay baby, I'm emotional too," he said earnestly.

This made me smile a little. My man doesn't get emotional. "Why aren't you crying, then?" I asked a little coyly.

"No, I'm serious. I was watching you walk inside from the car and..." - he put his hand in a fist over his heart - "I just feel so lucky to have you, that you are mine."

Now, first of all, let me tell you that I was wearing this nasty grey hoodie that our old dog chewed all these holes in and I was actually wearing the hood because it was raining. I have to say, I look REALLY bad in a hood, I'm not sure what it is. But they'll never cast me in the next Lord of the Rings movie where everyone is wearing those hooded capes. Secondly, Jake is a really sweet, communicative guy. He tells me he loves me, he kisses me in public, he holds my hand, he swats my ass any chance he gets. But he doesn't generally express himself verbally too much. He's a shower, not a talker.

On a recent Oprah, there was this gal talking about what woman really want - what gets our libido rockin', what makes us feel fantastic. She explained that it was being desired by the one who we desire. Man, this couldn't be more true. To feel really wanted, needed, loved, desired by the one whom you feel all those same emotions for. It is a truly powerful feeling and I think that after you've been married for several years, you start forgetting to make the other person aware that they are still the person that you CHOOSE. That you aren't sharing your life with them because of your mortgage and your marraige license and your kids and your religion and whatever else.

I realized in that moment in the restaurant that the parts of my life that truly affect me every day - my husband, my son, my work, my friends....that they are solid and truly fantastic (ok, my job isn't really FANTASTIC, but I am gainfully employed without risk of losing my job). I can't control every single relationship in my life (or so my therapist keeps trying to tell me). But what I can control is making sure that the ones in my life know more than that I love them - but instead, that I want them in my life. Not by obligation, but by choice.

3 times the insanity

I was looking at my Google calendar this morning and realized that the triathlon that I signed up for is in under 5 weeks. I'm somehow planning to still do it even though I haven't ran in about 8 weeks. Everyone thinks I'm crazy - and I really don't have anything to prove. Well, maybe that's not entirely true. This will be my second tri - the first was in June of last year and was my driving factor for the hours I spent at the gym last spring, resulting in lots of splendid weight loss. The event was great - I did it with a friend and we stayed with each other the whole time. I would have smoked her on the swim, she could have killed me on the bike, but we slowed down so we wouldn't lose each other. The run was pretty much equal for both of us, as our legs were such jello by then, we just alternated running and walking until we crossed the finish line. This time, I'm doing the race with my dad. He was so impressed that I did the tri, he signed up for one in his state and started training right away. He's in the best shape of any 60+ year old I've ever personally known and I have no doubt he is going to kick my pregnant ass on this race. Not that it's a competition - but I was sorta looking forward to beating him. This was before my 2 month hiatus from the gym. Now, I'm just hoping that I'll be able to finish without the help of a stretcher. My hope is that everyone will be SO IMPRESSED that I'm doing the race pregnant that even if I'm dead last, I'll still get kudos. The very next weekend after I fly out to do the race with my dad is the tri that I participated in last year here at home - and I'm planning on doing that one too. So, 2 races in 6 days. Hmm. Am I insane?

I am going to force myself to resume my lunch hour gym visits, starting today. There's a pretty good chance you'll find me napping on a weight bench or sitting on a treadmill watching HGTV on one of the television sets in the cardio room, but BY GOD, I'll be at the gym.

Foot, meet mouth

So it turns out that those brief 3 days last week of relief was a mere temporary tease. Easter weekend was probably the two worst days of nausea I've experienced yet, made even worse by the fact that I truly thought I was on the upswing.

My sweet, sweet husband came home last night with an arsenal of nausea-combating goodies - teas, suckers and candies meant to "ease morning sickness." He is so wonderful, even though I know his true motivation is that I start feeling good we can begin having sex again. Although he has been incredibly understanding, he did read me off the stats of the number of times we've had sex in the past 8 1/2 weeks and he seemed quite depressed by the number. I know, babe. Me too. And after this nausea and the big belly and the birth and the breastfeeding and the vasectomy is all over, we'll start doing that again - see ya in mid 2010. Smooches.

We went to a child's birthday party and Finn wore his truly adorable Uggs. Let me be clear - I would never ever ever ever pay $100 for a pair of toddler shoes. I don't even spend that much on shoes for me, am I seriously going to drop a bill on shoes for my 2 years old that he will outgrow in 3 months? Negative.


We are the proud recipients of hand me downs via about 4 different sources. One of which happens to be a very well off couple whose 2 year old is growing so fast and so big and so tall that we often get their brand new, super nice clothes that have labels on them that can only be purchased in those high end boutiques I would never set my Target-footwear-clad feet in.

I always get compliments on his shoes, because - duh that are so f-ing cute (and like crocs, Uggs always look WAY cuter on kids than they do on adults). At this birthday party, the host was raving about Finn's shoes. Like the high class gal that I am, I scoffed "they are so cute, but I would never pay a hundred bones on a pair of kids shoes, thank god for hand me downs!" She nodded vaguely and we went on to other topics.

As we were leaving, I grabbed my coat from the closet and what did I see on the floor of the closet? Oh come on, you can guess. Not one. Not two. THREE pairs of infant Uggs for her little girl, all lined up as beautiful little pieces of art. Well, ugh. As if I didn't feel bad enough.

And another thing

Amazingly after my ridiculous rant a couple of nights ago, there has been a marked improvement in my nausea. I have felt closer to normal yesterday and today than I have in nearly 2 months. I am excited to actually start enjoying this pregnancy.

I read this excerpt from the Halle Berry interview in the May Harper's Bazaar:
"My pregnancy was amazing. I was happy that whole time, I felt good, I had energy, I was like Superwoman. I wish I could feel like that for the rest of my life, that's how fantastic it was."

First of all - I hate this new Wonderwall thing that msn.com has going on - on all their articles, you have to either click "next" 10 times or scroll horizontally to read the article. So lame. I get that they are trying to be all different or emo or something, but it's all too overdone and obvious.

Anyway, back to my point - when I read this, I thought that one of two things were going on. Either she did what I did a few months back and remembered only the fabulous things about being pregnant....OR....she's some kind of mutant who didn't experience nausea, back pain, sleeplessness, etc etc etc. And hey, I am one of those people who wishes others the best, so I certainly hope it's the latter. But this just makes me insanely jealous. Why is it that celebrities have such a way of pretending like their lives are all glitter and rainbows? Give me a break.

Now that my morning sickness seems to be passing, I started to think about some of the other things that I have to look forward to. One of those things, I'm determined not to experience again - stretch marks. I got my fair share with my first pregnancy, and I'd like to do whatever I can to make those the last ones I get. To be fair, I had started to get them before I even got pregnant because I had gained so much weight in the years before. This combined with the fact that my mom has terrible stretch marks had me prepared that it was going to be bad. However, I wasn't expecting them to be on my hips and on my thighs and so high on my belly....and so low on my belly. People would say "use this product" or "try this lotion" but I was all "it's my fate, I'm not going to bother with that stuff." Well, HA, I really showed them, didn't I?? Ha! Ha! Ha...oh wait. Cue cutting nose, spiting face. SO this time, I'm all up in all the lotions and creams and oils and whatever else I can slather on this belly of mine. My marks remain silvery and deep...and I'd like them to just stay how they are so hopefully they can cut them all away when I can afford my tummy tuck in 5 years. I do not subscribe to that theory that my marks are like the roadmark of my journey to bring my child into the world. My child is enough of a testament to that. Why do I also need to look at these ugly marks every day too? Seriously, if you can look at yours and smile, you are a more content person that I. And if you don't have any...well, I'm freakin jealous.

When I started writing this post, I was determined to end on a postive note since my last one was so incredibly in the dumps. So - let me take this moment to say I'm really looking forward to the 2nd trimester. No nausea. beautiful round belly emerging, the kicks and movement starting, the glow, the kindness of strangers, the smiles from random people and my cute new maternity shirts. Bring it on :)