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.

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.

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).