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Maternity Monday- 23 Weeks

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.

Eviction Notice

I interrupt this Maternity Monday with a public service announcement to the scorpion population living in my house rent-free:

G.T.F.O.

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.

Family Photo

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

Maternity…. Tuesday?

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.

21 Weeks

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.

“A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes…. Simply give him your heart and he will give you his.” – John Grogan

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.

Attack of the Bed Pillows

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.

Maternity Monday- Half Way Mark

I know it probably feels like I just announced my pregnancy, but I would like to point out that we announced our pregnancy to the general population when we were already 3 months deep.  So add 3 months of secret knowledge onto your public knowledge and that equals the half way mark.  I’m officially half way there and death be to the first person who utters the word “overdue”

This week my baby’s the size of either a banana, carrot, or butternut squash.  Pregnancy books vary in produce this week, which further proves that my made up ones are just as accurate.  For those of you who don’t “eak-spay roduce-pray” I’ve decided to declare this week the week of the 7 inch Woolly Mammoth because apparently my little boy is covered in hair and if those aren’t crazy long tusks that he’s jabbing me with, than I’m going to have a baby with long basketball legs.  Since I’m only 5’2″ and Angel’s somewhere in the 5’7″ range, process of elimination leaves me to believe that I’m carrying the world’s smallest Woolly Mammoth.

Let’s discuss heat, shall we?  I would like the news to shut the heck up about “how hot” they think 100 degrees is and “how miserable” everyone is in it.  It’s been averaging 114 here and I’m carrying around an extra 10 pounds of Woolly Mammoth everywhere I go.  Besides that, my adorable husband insists on parking the new car as far away as possible and making his pregnant wife hike to the store in some form of cruel Death March.  I’ve been sucking down water like it’s my life line (becausehello, it is) and heading to the bathroom a lot less which is a HORRIBLE SIGN.  In fact, I’m pretty sure running errands on Friday I had mild dehydration and I’ve been feeling like I’m melting into the ground ever since.

Last night at roughly 3am Angel and I (and by this, I mean just plain I) nearly came to blows over the ceiling fan speed.  I don’t care how much that stupid thing makes noise that you think keeps you up.  I have a lot of things keeping me up, like the crazy long tusks our baby jabs into me every 5 minutes, all of the bathroom disruptions, and the fact that our bedroom is the hottest room of the house and closing in on 82 degrees at 3am and for the love of God sleep in the other room if the fan is too much for you! Oh, you just asked why I was getting up?  It’s to turn the fan higher and the AC lower and I will stab you in the eyeball with a fork if you make any comments about the electricity bill that’s coming for this.  Here, here’s an extra blanket for you so you stop shivering.  I know it’s bad when my hairball of a dog is curled into a ball UNDER my pregnancy pillow when I woke up this morning.  This is a maneuver she typically saves for the winter nights that we sleep with the window open.  And yet, I still feel like I’m melting.  So that’s been fun.

This is the cuteness that I’m freezing out of bed at night

On to more thrilling topics then my sleep habits.

Tying the Guinness Book of World Records for fastest time a couple agrees on a baby name, Angel and I are about 99% sure we have a winner.  I’ve been keeping a veryshort list of baby names that I like as I came across them that Angel had no idea I was doing.  Angel approached the naming topic gingerly (see: Hormonal PregZilla) and asked if I had thought of any names yet that I liked.  I said I haven’t thought about it at all (LIE) and he said that there was one name he liked.  He said it, I freaked out, took out my list of two names, and said name was number 1.

Fast forward 2 days to driving in the car and Angel asked if I had a chance to think of middle names.  I said no, he told me he had Googled it and found one that he really liked.  Again, he said it, and after I repeated it a few times I said “Ya know, I really like that!”  We’ve been calling Baby Rivas by name since to make sure we still like it.  The more we say it, the more we like it.  And we’re both in agreement that we think we have named our first born.

And the winner is……

To be announced in November

New Teeth!

My teeth have always been a larger self conscious sore spot then I have ever let on.  And that statement should really put things into perspective for people like my parents and husband who can probably count on one hand (COMBINED between the three of them) how many times they have ever seen me without my retainer because I make it clear that I’m self conscious about it.  And for those of you who don’t know, I lost my two front teeth when I was 15 and have been wearing a retainer with fake teeth in it since (do the math- almost 13 years of retainer).

Last year Angel and I started saving up and making plans for the multiple oral surgeries that were involved in getting rid of my retainer.  2 surgeries, 3 dental procedures, and countless x-rays and consultations later, I have two pins in my jaw bone with holes on the end that crowns screw into.

This morning I went into the dentist and traded my ill-fitting retainer in for a pair of lovely, temporary crowns screwed into my jaw bone.  Retainer be gone!!!  They look amazing.  Ah-maz-ing.  Seriously.

I go back after baby Rivas is born to trade these plastic, beautiful, crowns in for a pair of even more beautiful porcelain ones and 4 veneers on the surrounding teeth and then I am DONE with the teeth conversation FOREVER and I will be sporting the most beautiful teeth ever.

It’s only been about an hour of New Teeth Christina, and I can’t stop smiling and looking in mirrors and shiny surfaces.  All of my teeth now are the same size, and when I smile it doesn’t look like I have 2 teeth that clearly don’t fit in.  I can eat without food getting caught in my retainer, and I can stop worrying that something horrible is going to happen to this retainer when the final pin breaks and it doesn’t stay in my mouth anymore.

May I never need another oral surgery again. And may the phrase “Let’s take a look at your teeth” never end in “Take this pain medication every 4 hours and ice until the swelling goes down” again.  I will scream at any dentist from here on out who does anything other than clean my teeth and you will have to drug me and drag me into an oral surgeon.  You’ve now all been warned.

Don’t take your teeth for granted.

First Baby Boy Purchase

Angel and I celebrated our new baby boy last night by taking a stroll through the cool, air conditioned mall in search of a few clothes.

 

First stop: The Disney Store for the Mickey Mouse onesie that we saw in San Fran but didn’t want to get because we didn’t know if we were having a son or daughter yet.  I made Angel promise that he would take me to the Disney Store in our mall when we found out, and he’s a man of his word.  Unfortunately, the store didn’t have them in stock, so we have to order online:

 

Next stop: Baby Gap (which is attached to Gap Maternity and they were having a sale on my FAVORITE maternity tank tops that I wanted to pick up a few more of).  We ended up strolling through the infant clothes and got the cutest, but most impractical outfit for our first family photos that I’ve already made Angel promise we could take this winter:

What baby doesn’t need a blue plaid button down onesie and khaki pants?

Final stop: Carters.  Okay, I’ve never been here before but I have heard so many good things about it and when someone at work forwarded me an email about their semi-annual sale that they were having, Angel and I decided to see what the whole fuss was about.  Plus, it was right next to the mall and my body was still letting me walk.  So let’s walk!  We didn’t go nuts because we know that people love to buy baby clothes by the truck load as gifts, but here’s the best thing about Carters: they have the most amazing return policy.  As long as the tag is on and you have the receipt, you can return it ANYTIME.  12 months later?  No problem!  So we stocked up on some things we thought were cute and have them hanging in the closet until we know that we’ll need them.  I’ll just return what baby outgrows before we have time to use.  So we now have 20 outfits ranging from newborn to 3 months.  Including the outfit that Angel and I want to bring baby Rivas home from the hospital in (again, not practical, but I swear this was the second and last one of these that we purchased that’s intended for a “special occasion”  Everything else is a boring sleeper with full length zippers and snaps):

As a rule of thumb: lime green elephants and strips are always adorable…. always.

I think it’s safe to say that the Rivas household is very excited for this baby boy!!