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I found a new favorite song that makes me smile and reminds me of Angel and I.  It’s “Home” by Phillip Phillips:

Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

Settle down, it’ll all be clear
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

Settle down, it’ll all be clear
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

That’s What Friends Are For

I think I’ve mentioned before, but my best friend (and maid of honor) and her husband are expecting a bundle of baby boy joy 2 weeks before Angel and I are.  I think I’ve also mentioned how I’m missing out on my favorite, local, seasonal beer brewed at Four Peaks in Tempe: Pumpkin Porter.  It’s like pumpkin pie… in a beer.  It’s amazing and I look forward to it every year.

This year, however, it dawned on me that I’m going to be missing out, so I sent Jackie a message since she shares my love of Pumpkin Porter and her response honestly made me laugh so hard I started crying:

Fire Up the Uterus

Just when I thought that my adorable husband couldn’t get any more adorable, he surprises me.

Yesterday I came home from work to a box on my front door that’s Mini Me’s new stroller.  Naturally, it’s “some assembly required” so I was thinking Angel would get around to it in 5-6 years… from our next child.  But perhaps because I don’t let him do anything with decorating the nursery, he took stroller assembly as his way to contribute to the kick-boxer that is our son.  He opened the box in the entry way of the house, drug all of the parts to the family room, and assembled the whole thing while I supervised from my perch on the couch (occasionally asking him to move his big head because it was in the way of the TV).  He then started pushing the stroller around the house and playing with the seat and showing me how to set it up, and collapse it.

It may be record time for a project being completed in our house.

Proud daddy

Maternity Monday- Final Countdown!

It’s the final countdown!  I’m officially 9 weeks away from my “expected due date” and I went in to the doctor this morning for the first of my “every other week” visits.  I always feel so great after talking to my doctor because he makes me feel like such an ideal, textbook, pregnancy case that he can do with his eyes closed.  And you know what?  That’s awesomely comforting to me that he seems so blase about my whole pregnancy.  He doesn’t say much, but if I ask a question he’ll talk my ear off in response.  At one point a few months ago I said “I assume that no news is good news?” and he laughed and said “yeah, I’ll let you know if there’s something to be concerned about, but it all looks great!”  Music to me and my little kick-boxer’s ears.  We’re doing it, Mini Me!

While I was walking into his office today, two old women walking in the office complex smiled at me and said “you look so cute!” which made me smile and feel awesome because “ugly days” seem to be so much more frequent when you’re pregnant and I’m glad that I don’t look like I’ve just given up.    So you rock, sweet old ladies!!

Talking to the doctor today, he started discussing delivery and post delivery.  I told him that I would like to do everything I can to avoid a c section, but at the same time I trust him and if he says that I need one I’m not going to argue or be disappointed.  He talked to me about the pros and cons of each and told me to think about it and he’ll plan on whatever I want.  He has very compelling arguments for each and now I don’t know what I want except for this kiddo to be out!  Which he said to plan to deliver between 39 and 40 weeks and he’s not really going to let me go longer (one) because of my small size and (two) because complications arise and it gets much riskier after that.  So apparently November 25th is really like the speed limit when a cop is present.  After about 30 minutes of chatting about delivery and post delivery plans, he smiled and told me that I “certainly have the right attitude” because I just seem genuinely excited, able to laugh, and approaching decisions with the right attitude.  Which isn’t the first time that I’ve heard this from someone, but it’s not like this is a conscious choice.  I’m just not worried about some things while I’m terrified of others but at the end of the day I’m just so excited to meet his little man who’s been kicking me and stealing all of my energy, food, and air for the last 31 weeks.  Who, speaking of, has his adorable little food lodged directly into my left rib at the moment.

My baby is over 3 pounds, blah blah bag of oranges, sock full of nickles, etc.  You get the idea.  He enjoys blinking, sucking his thumb, long walks on the beach, and kicking me in the ribs and dislikes when mom tries to sleep and loud noises.  At this point, I just sit on the couch and play “guess that body part sticking out of my belly” with Angel, who always looses because I’m not only a contestant, but also the judge.  Poor guy.

At this point in my pregnancy I totally round down to TWO MONTHS when people ask how long I have left, especially when smashy objects are within reach.

I filed for my maternity leave last week!  That means that I’m free to mentally check out of work not that it’s been approved to let me leave on October 26th and not come back until February.  Computer passwords, what?

And ohmygod how I can I forget to mention that we got our nursery furniture delivered last week!!  We’re still missing a few pieces, but the dresser and crib are here, and that’s really the most important part anyway.  So naturally, I spent hours getting everything set up and put away.  I still have a little bit to do and organize before I move on to the baby’s bathroom (exchanging prescription medicine bottles for band-aids and infant shampoo).  Still a work in progress, but here’s what adorable little Mini Me’s room looks like:

there’s a hutch that goes over the changing table that we’re still waiting on and the mobile over the rocker was my Friday night crafting project

The Crib ❤

The whole room (though dark). There’s great natural lighting in the room which really results in some crappy photos

Now because my beloved La-Z-Boy has been relocated to its rightful home, I’ve been reading my Kindle in the nursery and falling asleep almost daily.  This weekend I woke up in the chair and found Molly sleeping on the floor right next to me guarding me and the baby.  I’m guessing that she wouldn’t be nearly as protective if she knew what this little man is going to take from her in 8-9 weeks.

So there you have it.  A delivery deadline, a nursery, and a protective dog.  That about sums up my week!

Take Two (And A Half)

I really don’t appreciate writing things three and four times, so I decided to split up this week’s Maternity Monday blog entry.  Here’s the second half of my post, if it wasn’t deleted twice this morning:

 

On Saturday I convinced my adorable husband to wake up at 6am, dress up, and take maternity photos with me.  I think that he (secretly) got into it and by the end was (secretly) enjoying himself.  We even took our fur baby along and turned them into a bit of family photos since this is the last time that it’s just going to be the three of us in a photo and I imagine this alien I’m growing inside of me is going to harass Molly until she hides from him for the rest of her life.

Here is a sneak peek at a few of our maternity photos from this weekend.  If you want to check out all of the proofs, the information to do so is at the bottom of this post:

I’ve heard that light orbs in photos are spirits that are around you when the photo was taken.  I would like to think this is true because most of the photos that I’ve seen the orbs in are ones taken during major life events.  For instance, this one that my friend snapped at my wedding when I was dancing with my dad:

I showed this one to my grandpa and told him about the light orbs and that I thought one of them was my grandma and my grandpa said he agreed.  While I was looking through the proofs of the maternity photos just now (as in the first time that I wrote this), I came across one where I was admiring my belly and there were three orbs.  I would like to think that these are my grandma, my grandpa, and the baby who we lost in December and the lights are over my heart- right where they belong:

And because I may have jacked the last one off of her website, please give credit to Brooke Oliphant of Keki Photography (www.kekiphotography.com) for her amazing work.

On a lighter note, I made Angel sweet potato casserole last night.  This is a big thing because it’s probably his favorite side dish ever and I strongly detest sweet potatoes.  If they were to not survive a Zombie Apocalypse, I would carry on the exact same after my sweet-potato-free party that I throw.  But I decided to make it for Angel for being so sweet to me and loving me through all of my neurotic mood swings the last 30 weeks.  I didn’t try any, but he told me that he LOVED them and then he ate about half and told me again that they were the best he’s ever had (I probably made up that last comment but I’m pretty proud of myself).

 

To checkout our maternity proofs:

http://keki.instaproofs.com/
password: ac-rivas

You need your email address to sign in, but she doesn’t spam.

Take Two

So I had this great, creative, witty, BIG post about the Zombie Apocalypse, sweet potatoes, and dead relatives, and then I hit “save draft” and my blog thought that I hit the super-secret non existent “delete all and waste my time” button.  So I was forced to rewrite a crappier version of the blog entry and when I hit “publish” my blog thought that was also the super secret “delete all” button that still does not exist.  So now you’re stuck with a crappier version of a crappy version of an amazing blog entry.  And you can blame it all on my computer being a bitch.

 

I am officially in the home stretch.  69 days stand between me and our expected arrival of Baby Rivas.  I commented to Angel yesterday that it feels like it went by so quickly and he said: “Really?!  No it doesn’t!” but I decided to assume that he meant that in a “no, you absolutely haven’t been a pain in the ass the last 30 weeks, babe” kind of way.  It also probably didn’t help that this conversation was had on the way to Buy Buy Baby to purchase a crib mattress against his will.

My pregnancy email this week says that my baby is 17 inches long and 3 pounds “or about the size of a head of cabbage.”  I would like to know what kind of freaky Farmer’s Market the writers of babycenter.com shop at that sells 17 inch, 3 pound cabbage because I call BS on their analogy.

My OB was right at 14 weeks when he told me that if I could already feel movement that it meant my “third trimester was going to suck.”  At this point I’m starting to worry that I’m gestating a pissed-off house cat.  He’s swimming around in about a pint of fluid now that will decrease as he grows.  It makes me happy to know that at least one of us is still able to drink pints, and I hope for his sake that it’s something good, like Four Peaks Brewery Pumpkin Porter.  I’m having a fall baby, after all.  Mini Me is also starting to thin some of his crazy body hair and will continue to do so until he’s born.

My baby at 30 weeks. Isn’t he sweet?

In nursery news, the furniture is getting delivered on Wednesday.  I think they forgot all about me until I called them last week asking what the ETA was on furniture that I don’t need yet.  The little boy on the other end of the phone asked me if there were stairs in my house and when I said “oh, yeah” I could hear a loud sign on the other end of the phone.  Yeah, I’m not stupid, I know this crap is heavy and there’s a lot of it and that’s exactly why we paid you to haul it up my stairs with the sharp turn half way up.  Enjoy, and you’re welcome.

Ode To My Husband

Last night, somewhere between the 2nd and 3rd time that I woke up to use the bathroom (and it was only 12:30- Oh my God I’m not going to miss this), insomnia set in so I naturally started thinking about things that have no place in my brain in the middle of the night.  For instance, “I need to remember to tell my coverage at work to request security access to so-and-so system tomorrow.”  I’m talking about very productive thoughts, here.

And then they started down the anxiety ridden path of what’s coming in the next few months in regards to Little Man.  I’ve never been concerned with what comes after pregnancy but I guess now it’s hitting me that I am RUNNING OUT OF TIME.  What if I need more burp clothes but I’m too tired to leave the house to get some?  What if I don’t have time to wash his clothes?  Those thoughts were my biggest worries until last night when I started to realize that I’m genuinely scared.  What if something happens to Mini Me or me during labor?  What if he gets stung by a scorpion?  What do I do if he gets a fever in the middle of the night and I don’t realize it?  These thoughts are so much more terrifying than trying to fit in another load of laundry into an exhausting day.

But then it hit me.  Literally.  Angel rolled over and his arm hit me.  I’m not in this alone and if I don’t notice a fever in the middle of the night, Angel will.  If I run out of diapers, one of us can run to the store while the other fabricates a disposable diaper out of paper towels and then we can laugh about our failure while we wipe poop off of the nursery room walls.  I have no idea how to explain to a boy how to use the bathroom but you know who does?  His dad.  I don’t know how to play G.I. Joes, but neither does Mini Me so he’s not going to know that I’m doing it wrong until Dad does it right.  This little boy is so lucky to have him as a dad and he doesn’t even know it yet.

So then I started thinking about just how lucky I am to have such a great husband!  The first two years of marriage has already had some tough obstacles that we weren’t expecting but when things got tough, Angel knew just how to let me be the right amount of sad before he distracted me.  While it drives me crazy that I’m always the one to clean the bathroom, the pool doesn’t appear to be growing anything and I know we don’t have a pool boy (because I’ve asked for one).  And are 3 junk drawers a sign that we’ve finally made it or that we’re hoarders?  The point is that I am so happy with my frustrating husband, dog who doesn’t always follow the rules, and kicking baby who makes me pee 4 times a night, that it feels like there’s no way that this can be my life.  Do I really drive a mom-mobile with a car seat in it to take my dog to the groomer?  I would never be able to own my own house with an adorable nursery for my son if it wasn’t for the love of the guy laying next to me.

And then Angel started snoring and I thought “Wow, that’s annoying.  But I’m still pretty lucky.”

Maternity Monday- When The Men In My Life Follow Directions

I’m 29 weeks (*cough* 3 days ago), which means that I’m only 3 weeks away from being able to deliver this baby at my planned hospital (prior to 32 weeks I need a hospital with a level 3 NICU).  It’s scary to know that in just 3 weeks I can plan on a healthy baby only spending a week or two in the hospital.  How did this sneak up on me so quickly and yet so paaaaaaaaaaaaainfully slowly.

I purchased diapers this week because I felt the need to be a little more prepared for this kiddo than a few onesies and an awesome diaper bag.  I’m not really exaggerating- we have those and a car seat…. and that’s it.  No crib, no changing table, and no bottles or pacifiers.  Those are all overrated anyway and serve no productive purpose than to freak me the crap out while waiting for this little guy to come.

On Saturday we went to tour the hospital maternity services and I almost backhanded my adorable husband for comparing everything to when his mom had his brother.  I’m not sure why it bothers me since that’s his only point of reference and I’ve got nothing, so I’m just going to assume that the hormonal mood swings are back.  Which is great, I bet Angel really missed them.

I’m in a constant battle with Angel not to wear shoes in the house because I’m tired of dirty floors and not wearing shoes is a good habit to get into since we’re about to have a kiddo on the floor 24/7 putting things on the floor in his mouth so I took a page out of Marriage Psychology 101 (i.e. forceful lessons) and asked him to help me for 30 minutes last night vacuum the floors while I followed with the mop.  He asked me if asking him to help made me feel better so I asked him if bitching about it made him feel better and that was apparently the wrong thing to say because he just stared at me for a minute trying to decide if it was worth the fight.  He smartly decided that it wasn’t and instead asked if he had to vacuum the office as well and what order he should vacuum in.  I told him yes, and however he wanted to do it and my inner Hormonal Goddess felt a little bad and yet victorious at the same time.  He vacuumed one area, moved to the other side of the house, came back, did the hall, skipped the laundry room, and then finished by “spot vacuuming” the kitchen.  Knowing that opening my mouth meant the end of household help, I chose to ignore the hairballs and lint scraps still hanging around and just following him room to room in random order with my mop and bucket.  And you know what?  The house still got clean and I didn’t have to do it all AND at the end of it Angel went upstairs to change his flip flops for slippers and I didn’t even have to ask him to.  I thank my mom for teaching this to me after I was first married.  She was in town and we were making dinner in my kitchen when she asked where the bowls were.  When I pointed her to the cabinet she looked at me like I had two heads and then I sighed and told her that Angel must have unloaded the dishwasher so her guess was as good as mine.  She laughed and told me “the first time that you say something to him is the last time that he’ll unload it, so it’s probably better to just look through the cabinets on your own.”  It took me a while to understand how he can know where the bowls are to use them but not to put them away, but now I totally get it and see that she is speaking words of wisdom.  I thank you, Yoda.

This also reminds me of the Laundry Standoff of 2009 where he complained about me keeping clean laundry in the baskets and not putting them away right away to prevent wrinkles.  I told him that he should be glad the laundry is clean and using an iron is a small price to pay for my services and when he didn’t let it go I spent 2 weeks pulling just my laundry out of the laundry basket and washing that.  When he was forced to work from home because his underwear drawer was empty one morning, that seemed to be the end of his wrinkled shirt commentary and I went back to adding his laundry to mine as a favor.  The lesson here is that complaining is a 2 way street full of warning signs, traffic cones, and large obstacles that will inflict permanent damage if not navigated carefully.

And wow, that’s a really long and drawn out way to tell you all that Angel vacuumed my floors this weekend!

Him vacuuming is so rare that I literally had to hide and take a picture the last time that it happened as proof that he DOES know how to use it (The first and last time he used the vacuum in March 2010).

So back to baby.  He’s big and strong enough to resemble a sinister alien thrashing around my abdomen, as my husband kindly pointed out recently, upon noticing a rouge pointy elbow jabbing up and down around my belly button.  He’s also sucking up all of the calcium from the Tums I’m eating like they’re Skittles, like a selfish little baby trying to develop his bones.  Which is just what I need: MORE pointy, sharp bones. All the better to stab you with

My baby at 29 weeks

The doctor yesterday told me that I’ve only gained 17 1/2 pounds so far which he commented as being “very good” and literally used the phrase “keep doing what you’re doing” which I have been saying on here all along.  So after dinner I helped myself to a second Oreo Klondike bar and almost considered a third (because oh my God, they taste soooo good with the heartburn) but thought that at 3 Angel had grounds for open judgement so I decided to save some for today.

I also tried to paint my own toenails this weekend and was stupidly surprised when I leaned forward a little and *BLAM* my belly hit my thighs and the polish brush remained a good three inches away from my toes. So I moved to the bottom stair where I could spread my legs and dip my belly in between them (Damn, aren’t I the fancy lady).  And speaking of making myself look presentable again, I went to get my hair cut last night!  I embarrassingly mentioned that my roots are a bit out of control (since I last highlighted my hair almost a year ago) and the lady pulled up all of these magazine photos of “ombre hair color” which is where the top half of someone’s hair color is a few shades lighter than the bottom and explained to me that women are coming in by the PILES to pay hundreds of dollars to make their hair look like that.  I told her that she should recommend just getting knocked up instead, but I see how that may be a serious flaw in their business model so she just laughed.  It’s not like I feel less embarrassed about my hair color, I’m just embarrassed for a totally different reason.  Now I feel like I’m so out of touch with what’s “hip” that I just pulled an old pair of “vintage” 70’s bell bottoms out of my closet to find that they were back in style again and decided to rock them while my real jeans were in the washer.  Only it’s hair color, not laundry day, and I can’t do anything about it for another 74 days (roughly).

Mini Me, you are already changing my life.