Ode To My Husband

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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

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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.

101? I’ll Take It!

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My prayers have been answered!  I type this as it rains and my computer says it’s only 79 degrees outside at the moment.  I don’t think I’ve felt 79 since probably March.  Even though it’s humid as hell, I’ll take it over hot as hell.  All day.

The high today is 101.  I think I’m in heaven.

I also considered wearing a sweater to work because I wasn’t sure what to do about the “cold front” that we’re having.  I instead decided to wear a tshirt and embrace feeling cold!!!!!  (side note: I don’t actually feel cold at all.  I feel pregnant.  Still.)

Baby Update

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At 28 weeks, I’m getting more and more confident that nothing more is going to fit in my belly.  But oh my God, baby still has about 5 pounds to gain.  He’s continuing to get longer and fatter by the day, which is shocking, I know.  In the last month alone he’s doubled his weight, so what’s good enough for baby is good enough for Mommy.  Except that my weight is following the “spike and plateau” method pretty closely.  After gaining SIX POUNDS last month, I’ve gained nothing the last 3 weeks.  Maybe half of a pound if I’m getting picky, but I consider that a small tremor on the Richter Scale of Pregnancy.  So I’m 28 weeks on Sunday and literally OVER NIGHT I gained 3 pounds.  Soooooo, here we go again and I’m bracing myself for the next spike as I’m dangerously close to outgrowing my favorite pair of maternity jeans.  Hell hath no furry like a hormonal woman who outgrows something with an elastic waist.

Speaking of weight, Mini Me is about 2.5 pounds of adorable baby-ness.  He kicks up a storm about once an hour, is developing sleeping patterns that I’m starting to notice, and he stopped waking me up in the middle of the night.  All is right in the world.  His fused eyelids now open and close, and this weekend I think I felt him hiccup for the first time.  He’s the cutest, most perfect little man I’ve never seen.

If the old wives tail is true that the worse the acid reflux the more hair your baby will have, then I’m preparing myself to give birth to a wildebeest.  Or perhaps John Mayer before he invested in some scissors and a razor:

There’s a face only a mom could love

I have 11 1/2 weeks left, and at this point I’m feeling both like this pregnancy will NEVER end and that 11 1/2 weeks is not nearly enough time to prepare.  Mostly the latter.  Has it seriously gone by this quickly?  I must move furniture, replace ceiling fans, clean carpets, fold clothes, organize the linen closet and finally get rid of the trash in the side yard and yes, darling, these are all essential tasks that MUST be completed before the baby gets here, DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME AND GO HANG UP SOME SHELVES.  I kid, he’s actually been a rock star when it comes to expecting husbands.  The first time I’ve heard him complain since we started on this journey came this weekend when I insisted he clean the carpets yesterday.  He came home from Dallas obnoxiously late on Sunday night/Monday morning, and by 9am I was waking him up and asking him to to pick up a carpet shampoo machine and clean the house.  And even his complaint came in the form of “that’s exactly what I want to do on my day off” but then he got up, rented the machine, and cleaned the house.  I must give credit where credit it due, and he deserves so much for being so good about my requests, demands, cravings, needs, emotions, etc.  We also got our latest electric bill (a new record).  We saved $70 for being on the “time of use plan” which essentially means we’re paying out the ass for all electricity used between 1pm and 8pm, and getting “dirt cheap” electric the other, cooler, 17 hours in the day.  I say “dirt cheap” because it’s Phoenix in the summer and having two air conditioning units in a 3k square foot house costs about as much as purchasing a small plot of land every month.  Angel saw the total and just said “I can’t say that I’m surprised” and nothing more.  I love him for not guilting me about how much it costs every time I turn it down a few degrees because I’m sweating.

Speaking of, I woke up last night at 2am sweating, miserable, and throwing up.  All of these things may have been related.  I eventually made it to the thermostat and turned it down ONE simple degree because you’ve been reading about my electric bills the size of my mortgage payments, right?  Well it worked and I fell asleep feeling as comfortable as I can when I’m carrying around an extra 20 pounds, I’m nauseous, and my belly moves on its own.  This morning I had to laugh at my adorable family’s reaction to the temperature change as proof that all men (and dogs) really do notice a change in their thermostat (the photo is dark because I had the flash off so I didn’t wake them up):

Wusses

A common question that I get is if I have any cravings.  I’ve really only had one in my first trimester when I called Angel at work and asked him to bring me home Keebler Grasshopper cookies and a box of raisin granola (he was happy to oblige his pregnant wife at that point because it was the first time I was wanting to eat in probably 4 weeks).  Other then that, fruit in general has always sounded good, but not to the point that nothing else would do.  Last night I woke up from a nap and the only thing that I wanted for dinner was a Taco Bell bean burrito.  I honestly can’t remember the last time that I ate Taco Bell, but I’m willing to bet that it was in college and there’s a reason that I don’t remember (blame it on the alcohol).  I have no idea where the craving came from, but I had to go get one because nothing else would do.

There are a few points to make with this post.  First- that I’m back to taking naps (oh my God, they’re like heaven again).  Second- I’m back to getting nauseous.  And third- I’m back to having an occasional, random, craving.  The moral of the story is that I have reverted back to a more uncomfortable version of first trimester– though the symptoms aren’t as miserable the second time.

And while I pop more Tums and try not to puke at my desk from acid reflux, here’s what I imagine my baby looks like this week:

His poor mom. How many Tums do you think SHE had to take?

I’ve Lost Track of the Weeks (And That’s Probably For the Best At This Point)

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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: