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*