I’m 23 weeks and going strong. That is, until I’m not because I have acid reflux so bad I’m throwing up like I have morning sickness again. Ahh, memories.
My baby is a tad larger and heavier than last week (surprise!). Baby’s growing, always with the growing. Lung development is big right now since apparently babies born at 24 weeks have a fighting chance of surviving outside of the womb. 23 weeks is questionable and 24 certainly isn’t anything to be proud of, but I do get s slight sense of relief knowing that my kiddo has a fighting chance in hell if something were to happen. But hang in there little guy, I’m not done cooking you yet.
And here’s my weekly check-in with my hormones:
I’m starting to be able to see the baby move, which is odd. It just looks like I’m burping or working my abs, but my belly is moving completely outside of my control now. And apparently my baby’s hearing is improving and he can hear everything that I do, except with an “underwater” tone. In that case, I apologize Mini Me for my pregzilla outburst last Friday at our pest control company. The silver lining of it all is that loud noises that Mini Me gets familiar to now won’t phase him when he’s actually here. So I have just under 4 months to expose this little guy to as much dog barking, vacuuming, yelling, door bells, and everything else that’s going to wake him up from the nap 10 minutes after I’m finally able to get him down for.
Angel said the smartest thing to me yesterday since we started this whole endeavor. We were watching Keeping up with the Kardashians (because women’s basketball was playing on the Olympics) and the sneak peak for next week showed Kourtney exploring home birth options. I immediately said something offensive along the lines of “Oh, hell no. Why would anyone want that?” or my famous “Does she know that someone has to clean that up?” and Angel said to me “I would do it if you wanted to.” I gave him a really odd look like he was about to spout off a list of research that he’d done about the pros to home birth in an attempt to convince me that it’s not too late to change my mind, but instead he just continued with “I don’t really care either way how the baby comes. You’re the one doing it, so it’s your choice and since you want to be in a hospital with an OB I’m fine with that, too.” Listen up, guys. Smartest thing to have ever come out of his mouth regarding pregnancy: “You’re the one doing it, so it’s your choice” BINGO. And there was no hint of sarcasm or longing to change any birth plans. Every time I mention something that I want to do or don’t want to happen regarding birth, he’s 110% on board. He’s a smart man. No uterus, no opinion.
Now when it comes to raising children, my opinion is no better off then his. Let’s talk it out and come up with a compromising middle ground that we can both live with that will keep our munchkin happy and healthy. But when it comes to birthing, let me, the baby, and the OB call all of the shots and in return I promise to allow you in the room. But surprisingly, that conversation never needed to happen.
I also scrubbed the house clean from top to bottom for the second weekend in a row. It’s my way of nesting while dropping an atomic bomb on the scorpion population. Besides, it’s the one of the few exercise options that I have available in the summer heat and apparently Mini Me can feel me move and dance now, so he should be happy that Momma’s rocking out to her ipod while mopping the floors.
I interrupt this Maternity Monday with a public service announcement to the scorpion population living in my house rent-free:
I have scrubbed my house clean, hired a second pest control company, and turned my backyard into ground zero of chemicals for the mass genocide that’s coming to said scorpion population. Move on, or pay the ultimate price.
The clock is ticking.
I’m super lazy and it takes me longer than it should to take photos off of my camera. I hope to correct this behavior before Baby Rivas comes, otherwise he’ll be in college (God willing) before I get a chance to share his baby photos!
In the mean time, here was our first family photo that was taken in San Fransisco this spring:
Just trust me when I say that the bump is much bigger now
It’s a Maternity “Tuesday” day because I spent Maternity Monday throwing some money at the struggling economy with my Momma and literally shopping until I dropped. But I do think I did pretty well keeping up until it was time to make dinner, in which case I was more of a house plant than a help… and then we watched HGTV from the pool until my back felt better. All of these things pulled rank over my blog but I trust that your disappointment lasted no longer than my credit limit did at Target.
You know what’s pulling rank over my blog while I type this? Lunch. Because I feel like I haven’t been fed in the last year. Which is so far from the truth and I have a fridge full of my mom’s amazing leftovers to prove it (mmmmm…. beef stroganoff). It’s actually a pregnancy miracle that lunch made it to work with my today because pregnancy brain is getting the better of me. I spent 30 seconds staring at dear husband trying to recall his name and hoping he didn’t take offense to me calling him “Hey, you!” followed by a grouching order to take out the trash, take off his shoes in my house, or give me the television remote. And then a kiss so I don’t seem like such a hormonal bitch (naturally).
This week is the week of the low patience. Week may be a little generic, actually. Perhaps I should just declare it the minute of the low patience because I’m about to scream at someone at work and I can’t entirely identify why, however I’m willing to bet that they don’t take it with as much understanding as the man that I’m married to (what’s his name again?).
So hormones? Memory loss? Check. Check.
I haven’t checked in with my weight lately on the blog, but I find that it’s important to weigh yourself immediately upon a positive pee test so that you have a baseline in which to openly judge yourself for the next 9 months. In my case, I started at 116, went down to 114 when I decided that food was the enemy, and now am 125 with a relocated scale so that I would stop looking. I’m gaining weight at a slow but healthy rate and unless the doctor tells me otherwise, I’m assuming that I’m allowed to stuff my face with as much of this beef stroganoff as I damn well please (or until the baby sends it back up, which ever limit occurs first). So pass the bowl of peaches and get the hell out of my way (blah, blah nutrient-rich protein-heavy snacks blah).
And before I forget (or have I already mentioned this?…. I forget), my baby is about 11 inches long and claiming at least one of those healthy pounds for himself (my chest claims at least another 8, but that’s beside the point). 11 inches is the size of…… a 22 gestational-week old baby.
One of the errands that my mom and I made yesterday was to the baby store. They were fresh out of babies (dagnabbit), but it was fun to walk my mom around and point out all of the things that we registered for and show her just how correct Angel was in his assessment that I’ve turned into a crazy type A super planner. But she only secretly judges, and I adore her for that.
I would love to talk about more, but I’m reaching the bottom of my beef stroganoff bowl and the end of my lunch hour and work really gets in the way of my personal life.
First, let me start by saying that my back is starting a fight against the rest of my body. Just above my tail bone are a few very angry vertebrae attempting to protest any further work on their part. Trust me vertebrae, I get it, but this is a team effort and no part of my body is enjoying the extra work– least of all my digestive system. Keep your eyes on the prize.
Guess how many pregnancy books, websites, and emails say that I should be feeling like a rock star and downright awesome? Well, LA DEE FRICKING DA!! How wonderful that must be for those folks! I am feeling better than I was, but I don’t think I would classify myself as feeling “fabulous” or “energetic” for probably another 18 years.
My baby boy is about 10 1/2 inches long, and still clearly developing his reflexes. Movements can be felt from the inside, outside, and for the full Jurassic Park effect, can be seen through rippling in the water while I float in the pool like the fat lady that I’ve become.
Speaking of kicking, simmer down Baby Rivas and stop distracting mommy from complaining about being pregnant with you!
Oh, and let’s do our weekly check-in with my hormones: Yep, still present! I started crying last night while laying in bed because Molly was cuddling with me and my belly and I suddenly thought of how sad it’s going to be to have to put her to sleep in 10 years. My hormones are playing nasty, nasty tricks on me that I am not appreciating! I also got so incredibly sad this morning when I put Molly in her crate that I promptly left her out and told her to be good so I don’t get in trouble with “dad” for not crating her. I couldn’t stand the face that she gave me!!! So then she got cookies, some cuddle time, and I was late to work while she, no doubt, is sleeping on my couch all day instead of being in her crate.
In other news, this week I think I can declare an official winner in the race outward that was being held between my chest and my belly the last 21 weeks. The win goes to….. my baby belly! This marks the start of looking pregnant and the end of looking fat. Congratulations, baby belly, on your win.
I dropped in to the OB this week who measured my belly, took the heart rate, and read through the ultrasound report. Apparently I’m measuring 3 days ahead of schedule (hello, Thanksgiving!) and am in the 23rd percentile. I had him walk through what that meant and was essentially told that I have one healthy little baby boy growing like he should, but not to plan on a 10 pound baby which “is probably a good thing given your size.” All essential organs are present and operating as they should, there are 4 chambers of the heart, and 2 parts of a brain. I’m a baby making goddess!
Next stop: gestational diabetes test.
My adorable husband has been having trouble waking up in the morning with neck and back pain. But I haven’t had anything 31 years old that hasn’t broken yet so it’s to be expected. He went to the chiropractor who cracked his back, told him to get a shaped bed pillow, and sent him on his way.
So he traded his two king sized pillows in for one small shaped pillow to support his neck.
Now, you remember me telling you about how I now sleep with a pregnancy pillow that’s the size of a Backstreet Boy? Now we have that, 2 king sized pillows, one neck pillow, and a feather pillow. I woke up in the middle of the night with one pillow on top of me, one wrapped around me, the dog sleeping on one, Angel hugging one, and the smallest neck pillow the only one being put to proper use.
My bed has completely been taken over by the Pillow Apocalypse and it must be stopped.