Monthly Archives: June 2012

Week 18

Aaaaand I’m back to being nearly a week behind.  Whatever, deal with it just like I have to deal with the fact that I’m in constant search for the bathroom….

Our baby is 18 weeks old (give or take Bad Mommy’s lack of counting exactly), the size of the baked potato that I’m about to inhale for lunch, and can hear what I’m saying now.  “You stop kicking and let Mommy eat or so help me God I’m coming in there!”  While we’re on the topic of movement, let’s discuss how adorably annoying this is.  They are getting less “I think the baby just moved” and more “I was totally just kicked or punched” and “Awww, baby is rolling over!”  It’s a crazy sense of relief when the baby is moving and fist-pumping his way to freedom because it reminds me that the little munchkin is still there and breathing amniotic fluid like a champ.  While we were laying down watching TV the other night, the baby started to move and I told Angel to put his hand on my belly and see if he can feel it (I’ve felt it outside myself only twice).  I asked him a few times “did you feel that?!” but alass, he hadn’t.  I thought he started pushing on my tummy to see if it would help but instead he was like “I felt that one!!” with a big, adorable smile on his face.  So apparently he wasn’t pushing, the baby was just coming to saying “hi” to Daddy.

I’m also hungry.  But not until I start to eat.  It’s weird.  I’m not hungry at all, I get food in front of my face, and all of a sudden you don’t want to be the thing standing between a starving pregnant lady and her lunch (or you will be destroyed).

The pregnancy pillow is still the greatest thing EVER.  While very comfortable, trying to roll over with this sucker is a giant exercise in AWKWARD.  Molly has also decided that she likes it as well because now she can sleep up against it and not get kicked or rolled over onto in the middle of the night.  She has no enjoyment of risky sleeping, apparently.

We find out on Tuesday if I’m busy baking a boy or a girl.  Angel and I have always been in agreement on the “find out the sex” front because truth be told, we’re either surprised at 19 weeks, or at 40.  I am still convinced that it’s going to be a boy, but more and more of a feeling now that I’m in for a huge surprise come Tuesday.  Or maybe this baby will be modest and we won’t have a choice but to wait until 40 weeks?  There’s no real wrong answer here, provided that everything is healthy and fine and this little boy or girl stays put until he or she is fully cooked, amen.

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Introduction of the Pregnancy Pillow

I’m 17 weeks as of yesterday.  I celebrated by attempting to sleep in and my baby celebrated by fist pumping into my bladder.  Sweet, right?

My baby is 5 inches long, which is exactly the same size as the salsa bottle that I quadruple dipped into this weekend.  Bowls are for suckers.  Baby is also growing baby fat, which is obvious by my massive weight gain (those 3 pounds these last few weeks were clearly all baby fat and had nothing to do with the grilled cheese and pickles I craved at 10pm last night).  And baby is finally turning his (<– still assuming it’s a boy) skeleton into real bone.  Puts my nail growing into perspective a little bit, doesn’t it?  I can grow nails and apparently my baby can grow bones… show off.

The last few days I’ve felt immensely huge and pregnant.  Like, how on Earth are these pregnancy clothes ever going to fit this GIANT belly that I now have?  Oooooohhh, that’s right.  It’s all in my big, fat, pregnant, head.  For the record, “Normal” weight gain is anything between 5 and 13 pounds, but I seriously detest the word “normal” in reference to anything pregnancy (see: morning sickness STILL).  I want to stab the world in the eyeballs with a fork, a little bit, when I hear that word.

Now that the little munchkin is moving like crazy (granted only from time to time that I feel), I’ve replaced one paranoia for another.  Before, I was worried that my baby had died any time that I had a day without morning sickness or a few hours where I had enough energy to clean the kitchen.  There’s not other logical excuse for wanting to unstick the plates from the counter than a dead baby.  Now I get paranoid when I lay down for bed and don’t get annoyed by my moving baby keeping me up.  It’s all a very efficient process, actually.

I had a dream this weekend that the baby came early and the ONLY baby item that we had was a crib so I was worried about how I was going to dress the baby or change the baby’s diapers without clothes or diapers and I couldn’t go get them because I didn’t have a car seat or stroller to take the baby with me.  Don’t ask why Angel wasn’t around to watch the baby, because that answer is filed away with why I would have a perfectly healthy baby at 20 weeks home from the hospital without a car seat.  Pregnancy dreams are weird, y’all.  I told Angel about my dream and he started laughing at me and said “that totally makes sense.”  Apparently he thinks that I over plan.  I don’t know why he would think that.

In other news, we have our baby registry done because I’m a type A Super Planner who has nightmares about not being prepared.

I made some seriously fantastic purchases yesterday.  First, I went to Target to get a toothpaste that doesn’t taste like any variation of mint after gagging one too many times trying to brush my teeth.  And ya know, when you brush your teeth and it makes you throw up, the process to get ready in the morning really takes quite a bit of time.

I also got the most amazingly unsexy yet fantastic pillow known to the pregnancy planet.  I’m a back sleeper by trade and was told by my doctor to “enjoy it while you can” and to “stop by 20 weeks.”  That’s like telling a giraffe to stop being tall- not going to happen.  That is, until about 4 days ago when I would wake up in the middle of the night on my back and be in actual pain in my tummy.  All of that baby fat is apparently too much to be sitting on my abs comfortably anymore.  But then, I know no other way so I’ve spent the better time of the last few nights tossing and turning trying to get comfortable.  Or like I say, “rocking my baby to sleep because I’m selfless like that.”  Mom of the Year Award.

I took this thing home, washed the cover, and put it on the bed.  Angel, like a champ, saw it and said “that should help” gave me a kiss, and went on his way.  Success, folks.

I said this thing was hideous, folks. I wasn’t lying.

And can I say, I got the best night’s sleep I’ve had in weeks.  This won’t let me sleep on my back, and when I go sort of roll onto my back, it keeps the baby to the side so I’m not in pain and waking up 10,287 times a night.

I love Angel even more for not complaining that he now shares the bed with me, our dog, my giant belly, and a pillow the size of a Backstreet Boy.

Exactly.

I told Angel “Happy Father’s Day” yesterday for putting up with my pregnant self crying over cars, filling the fridge full of pickles, and waking him up in the middle of the nights to tell him that we need to start shopping for the baby because what if the baby comes early and we don’t have the car seat to bring him home from the hospital?!  He said “Thanks.  Almost half way there.”

And that was enough to cause me to freak out.  Oh my God.  I AM almost half way there!  In my dream the perfectly healthy baby came at 20 weeks and we only had a crib and you’re telling me that I’m almost 20 weeks and we don’t even have the freaking crib?!  Side note: I’m aware that a “perfectly healthy” baby at 20 weeks is impossible.  This is what makes me and my planning so ridiculous.

But then, I love my husband for taking it all in stride.  Listening to all of my crazy dreams, and then asking if my lemonade needs a refill so I don’t have to make horrendous grunting noises trying to get myself up off of the couch.  They write books about him (Bed Time at the Zoo, and I’ll Love You Forever to name a few).

16 Weeks (Hey! I’m Getting Better!)

So I was 16 weeks yesterday, which makes me an Allstar for posting about it today.  I’m rewarding myself with some chocolate but considering that I’m sharing it with the baby, I’m a good mom.  See how that works?

My baby is 4.5 inches long and 3.5 ounces.  This is the size of an avocado and the weight of a chocolate Easter bunny (but not together, because eew).  Baby is also supposedly growing flesh-tearing talons (i.e. fingernails and toenails) so my kid and I are sharing that in common.  Seriously, if I could show you how amazing my nails are, you would be shocked.  I’m growing these suckers like a super hero.  Which I AM a super hero because who else can grow a tiny human from scratch except those with super hero abilities?

But all of that means nothing when I tell you that OH MY GOD I FELT MY BABY MOVE.  It’s like when you were 13 and the popular boy in math class asked you for a pencil and you told all of your friends for the rest of the day that he was clearly just looking for a reason to talk to you because who forgets to bring their pencil to math class so DUH he likes you and it’s necessary to apply another layer of makeup before you see him in the hall.  For those of you who don’t speak teenager, you may refer to the feeling as “butterflies”

Well, my baby feels like that.  Except lower and not triggered by the popular boy in math class (who got really ugly after he was released from prison, by the way).

This is all extremely exciting until my kid’s movements are less adorable and more “stop checking for structural defaults and let mommy sleep!”  But in the mean time, eeeeeee!! My baby moved!!

Strollers, and Car Seats, and Cribs- Oh, My!

This is all a little bit overwhelming.  Angel and I have started the horrible process of looking for car seats.

But do you know how many options there are out there?!  “Do you want it to fir your car seat?  What kind of car seat do you have?” Oh. My. God.  There’s an order to this?! “….uh, the kind that goes in the car?”  So we start with car seats.  Do you want an infant only car seat, a convertible car seat, a removable car seat, a booster seat, or a toddler seat?  Do you have anchors in your car or do you need one that operates without them?  Are the anchors high or low?  What’s your stance on removable bases?

Listen, people.  I just need something safe to hold my child while I run to the grocery store like a bad mom at 11pm because I ran out of milk.  “Oh, they’ll all do that so you need to be more specific.” whimper

 

15 Weeks and Still Puking (ugh)

Well, it’s official.  I AM indeed half-assing this trimester.  I was 15 weeks on Sunday and I celebrated by finally sleeping in past 6am (it’s the small things in life, people) followed by laying on the couch and refusing to do any house work and giving Angel the stink eye if he looked like he was about to mention my laziness.  “I MADE A HUMAN TODAY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”  But, the boy was smart and just asked instead if my lemonade needed a refill. Aww!  So sweet.

This is probably an excellent time to point out that my hormones appear to be on the world’s most ridiculous roller coaster.   My doctor asked a few weeks ago if I had mood swings yet and I proudly said “nope!” Followed 12 hours later by me bursting into tears at work when Angel asked me what time I can take my car to the dealership to trade in.  To which he then became extremely concerned that I didn’t like the car that we were purchasing and me spending the better part of the morning trying to explain that I just really loved my EOS convertible and “wanted to see it go to a good home.” (insert husband’s confused face here)

Angel told me it was probably a good thing that I never had to consider child adoption because he questioned my capacity to handle it.  Fair point.

Pregnancy books say that this week my baby is the size of a… wait for it…. beefsteak tomato!  It was just too good to make up my own.  I recommend that you all go to your local grocer and ask for a beefsteak tomato and wait for the young boy to ask you what that is.  I am resisting the urge to go pinch some produce as I type this.

The baby can also apparently sense light and pressure so I’ve gotten a jump start on annoying the crap out of our kid and shining a flashlight on my tummy and Angel asked me if that was mean.  We clearly have some different parenting styles to hammer out in the next 5 months.

On a serious note, Angel was so proud to paint the nursery (though he wouldn’t admit it).  My brother and sister-in-law offered a couple of times to come help paint since I couldn’t and Angel was always quick to say “well I don’t mind.”  So far he’s taken down wallpaper, repaired walls, primed, and painted the sage green on top:

the sun was setting when I took this, so take my word for it that the green is more sage and less angry army.

Yesterday he went to Home Depot to get more paint supplies so that he can finish it off.

My pregnant coworker put the fear of God in my eyes today at lunch when she told me about registering for their bundle of joy.  Angel and I decided that we were going to wait 2 more weeks to see if we’re having a boy or a girl before we register but my coworker explained the 5 hour horror that was registering as a first time parent.  I made fun of her for taking so long and she told me that the employee at Buy Buy Baby said the average is about 4 hours.  So she recommended that we start now and update when we know the sex of the baby.

I brought this up to Angel and braced myself for impact (he famously decided 5 minutes into the wedding registry that I have authority to just decide what we need).  I even told him that I can get started online and then we can just swing through the store to make sure there’s nothing he wants to add and I was completely surprised by his reaction: “You didn’t start it already without me, did you??!!” like it was the worst thing I could have suggested.  I said it could take 4-5 hours so maybe we should start now and split it up into a couple of trips and he was like “Maybe we can go Saturday since we aren’t doing anything.”

I always knew that Angel was so excited to be a dad, but it’s extremely adorable to me the way in which he shows it while trying to seem so casual and nonchalant.

These are tears of hormones (alright, and maybe a little love for the guy).