I’m not entirely sure how far along I am now. 26? 27? 28? Somewhere in there.  I was just informed by Angel that I’m 27.  I’m sure glad that one of us is keeping track, although I’m a little concerned as to how he knows that so quickly….

Allow me to take a moment to welcome myself officially into the third trimester.  I’m in the home stretch now!!!  And while it was slightly terrifying to be told at 20 weeks to pre-register for the hospital because at “this point it’s a delivery either way,” I’m a little less freaked out that Mini Me is planning to arrive to the party before the invitations go out.  Nobody wants to be “that guy” and I’m glad that he’s learning this at an early age.

Although, can I say: Holy Braxton Hicks contractions!!  I know they’re “normal” but seriously, little man, cooperate with Mommy here because we still have 13 weeks to go and there are better ways to get your point across for me to drink more water than taking my breath away and then starting me in a progressive panic.  On Saturday morning I told Angel that I am determined to stay out of the hospital while I downed my third GIANT bottle of water.  I said this all because if I get more than 4 an hour, it’s like pulling the “Go directly to Jail!” card in Monopoly.  Pregnancy books say that dehydration can cause them, so I spent the better part of my weekend drinking and peeing and watching the clock.  I’m happy to report that thus far I have been successful in staying out of the hospital system although at one point I did count three an nearly burst into tears.

In another bad decision, we were at a pool party on Saturday and I exchanged my bottled water for a red keg cup of sunkist orange soda (living the life of a rock star, clearly).  As a general rule of thumb, fruit soda does not have caffeine, but as I always liked to remind my mom when I was little “there are exceptions to every rule.”  I haven’t had caffeine since February and about half way through my drink I started to feel a little…. off.  Mini Me was clearly feeling the same thing because: OH MY GOD! What are you- Ouch! That hurt! Wait, little man, I need you to- wowza! Okay, okay!  My little man went on a caffeine binge and decided to redecorate his room- with gusto.  So for anyone reading this and keeping track, Sunkist orange soda DOES indeed have caffeine.

Mini Me is 2 pounds and 15 inches of adorable baby-ness.  His eyes open and close now, and he enjoys moving (especially when given caffeine).  His kicks are a tad more painful than they were before and they reach areas that I wasn’t aware his little appendages were long enough to reach.  Seriously, I didn’t know it was possible to kick my left hip while punching my right rib, but I’m here to clarify that it is, in fact, possible because Mini Me is doing just that as I type this.  He’s still breathing, drinking, and peeing amniotic fluid getting ready for the real deals.

With that said, here’s what I imagine that my baby looks like this week:

I’m in love… with a piece of furniture.

Angel went on Saturday morning to pick up our new La-Z-Boy rocker.  So let me break down how the rest of the weekend went after:

Saturday 2pm: Rocker arrives at house.  Momma-to-be (me) is out bringing lunch to her brother.

Saturday at 4pm: Momma-to-be arrives home to new, gorgeous, rocker/recliner in the loft in front of the TV.  It’s love at first sight.

Saturday at 5pm: Momma-to-be texts family:

our new La-Z-Boy rocker/recliner for the baby. It’s in the loft while Angel paints and I would take a picture of it but I haven’t gotten out of it yet so this was the best I could do

Saturday at 7pm: Starting to get hungry.  Still unwilling to move for food.

Saturday at 7:05pm: Baby disagrees.  I move for food.

Saturday at 8pm: Back in the chair, back watching HBO.  This is the start of a wonderful romance.

Saturday at 9pm: Chair seems to do the job…

Saturday at 11pm: Chair seems to do the job well.  Daddy-to-be wakes up Momma-to-be (and puppy) to put them to bed.  A successful night in the life of a chair.

Sunday at 11am: Momma-to-be takes a break from nesting.  Sits in the chair to relax for a minute.

Sunday at 11:30am: Momma-to-be is quickly joined by her fur baby who’s getting the hang of this:

Sunday at 1pm: Momma-to-be is woken by a swift kick to the bladder.  Baby hungry and not appreciating the chair as much as Momma-to-be

Sunday at 6pm: Back in the chair.  Seems to have a gravitational pull for Momma-to-be

This is the start of a beautiful relationship with my new chair.

Welcome to Maternity Monday in my 25th week.  I’m still feeling like a pregnancy rock star, although as I round the bases home I’m a little less mythical unicorn and a little more textbook.  First, I would like to welcome back my first trimester crap symptom of nausea.  It’s been….. at least 6 weeks since you’ve been around so I’m (not) glad to have you back.  Second, I would like to also welcome back first trimester crap symptom of fatigue.  While not quite as rough (yet) as first trimester, I vaguely remember how this started in February and it was something like how it’s going now.  I’m hoping that I could blame it on staying up late to watch rhythmic gymnastics on the Olympics, but now that that’s over I don’t feel like I have any more energy.

Went to the doctor this morning and I don’t have gestational diabetes, so I picked up some ginger snap cookies on the way home and I type this as I plow through my third.  He also mentioned something about the 6 pounds that I’ve gained in the last 4 weeks, but I would like to think that’s all due to the water that I’ve been drinking for this heat and nothing to do with me eating fruit like it’s going out of style (or my 4th ginger snap…. yum!!).  Whatever, my baby metabolizes sugar appropriately so I’m good and my doctor can continue to justify my dramatic weight gain as “typical due to water retention and extra blood creation” and I’ll go with that plus the fact that my chest is still fighting for a first place finish against my belly.

And before I forget, because my “pregnancy brain” has actually gotten worse, my baby is 13 1/2 inches and a pound and a half.  Which is the size of an average rutabaga.  Don’t know what that is?  Me either.  Therefore, I say it’s about the size of…..  whatever. A rutabega.

My maternal instinct seems to be kicking in nicely.  We started looking at day cares last week.  Granted we’ve only seen two so far, one I was ready to sign on the dotted line for and the other nearly threw me into a convulsive, crying, panic attack at the thought of having to actually leave my child in that building with those people.  I can’t put my finger on what it is in either place, so I decided that it must just be a mother’s intuition.  But then Angel agreed with my assessments, so perhaps it’s just a “parents intuition” that we’re experiencing in Casa de Rivas.

Speaking of the Casa.  This weekend I was able to pass off some of my sleeping misery onto those I love the most.  On Friday night my beloved fur baby Molly, who is known for her original sleeping positions, was sleeping on her back snoring (I’m not even joking) when all of a sudden there was the sound of knocking on wood followed by the loud thump of something hitting the ground.  My poor dog had rolled herself right off of the bed in her sleep and hit the foot board on the way down!  Luckily, she appeared to not be injured by the foot board or fall once she was in my lap being cuddled.  She’s still iffy about jumping back on the bed… as if it’s the bed’s fault.

Kind of looks like my Little Man’s ultrasound photo

Then on Sunday Angel informed me that he had a dream that the baby came early.  I started laughing because now the shoe’s on the other foot.  In his dream I had the baby on a Thursday in October and was home from the hospital that day with Mini Me because we were apparently taking a road trip to Las Vegas the next day.  So Angel said that he was sitting on the living room floor playing with Mini Me while he and I freaked out about what we were supposed to pack for a baby on a road trip.  But I really don’t see what the problem is, if we’re taking him to Vegas all we need are clean diapers and beer for the bottle.  But it was nice to see that Angel has finally joined the ranks of sleepless nights due to odd baby dreams.  Also, I breezed right over it, but I do wonder how he was “playing” with a 24 hour old baby?  Does he think this little guy comes out kicking soccer balls?  But awww, he was picturing himself being a hands-on dad and I think it’s adorable in any capacity that it comes.

I really need to stop typing and go pick up paint to finish up the nursery.  We’re planning on getting the furniture this week/next week and the room is still under construction.  Besides, I really need an excuse to separate myself from these damn cookies before I eat the whole dozen and get another lecture on “appropriate weight gain” at my next OB visit.

P.S. I consider “appropriate weight gain” to be the final tally as I cross the finish line at 40 weeks as long as I’m not looking like Jessica Simpson did during ANY part of her pregnancy:

I was watching the news last night, preparing to become an old, domestic, mom when they mentioned that we have set 6 temperature records in the last 5 days.  In fact, yesterday we set a record (hotter) “low” and a record (hotter) “high” with 98 and 115 respectively.  I thought it was just me, but I have been validated that it really is hotter this summer.

I mention this now because it’s 9:23am and already over 100 degrees outside.  It’s going to be another hot, hot, day followed by another high, high electric bill.

Therefore, I would like to mention that I hope pregnancy memories fade along with child birth memories.  Otherwise there’s a strong possibility that my little boy will be an only child until I move out of the greater Phoenix area (or hell freezes over).

It’s official: I’m in hell.