Category Archives: Domestic Goddess

Happy Valentine’s Day

Just for the record, Lucas fell asleep an hour ago and I’ve spent the whole time trying to figure out how to use this new computer so that I could actually update my blog and not the 3 photos and 5 words that you all got a few days ago.  My last personal computer was purchased in 2002 and didn’t have wireless internet and “Windows Home” and the work computer that I had been using was rocking Windows XP and Microsoft Office 2007.  Now that I’m on Windows 8 with Office 2013, I feel like I’ve been driving a 1976 VW Beetle for years and Angel just handed me the keys to a Lexus with self parking capabilities.  I know this machine can do so much more then I’m giving it credit for, but I’m spending hours trying to figure out where the gas cap is.

So an hour later, I at least know how to edit my photos and add my little website tag to them, which is more then I had the other day after I spent 30 minutes in Photoshop trying to open a file.

Two days ago, I took my little pooper to our “new” house and we got the keys!


I was excited to talk to the homeowner because she was a stay at home mom who was apparently extremely involved in mom groups and I wanted to pick her brain about where these such groups meet.  A few minutes later, I learned that the group she was involved in was through her church and was a bible study with an elaborate day care that takes your kids for an hour or two while you’re in the study group.  That’s not quite what I had in mind as a “mom group” so I politely passed and decided that I would just Google my options as soon as I learn how to use the internet on this computer.

Yesterday I went back to the house with Pooper and we had a few ladies from La-Z-Boy come by to measure the living room and give us some options for a couch to replace the disgustingly dirty one that came with Angel when I acquired him.  Bachelor couch is not dog and baby friendly and we’ve been so impressed with the rocker from La-Z-Boy that we have in the nursery (or storage, whatever) that we decided to go see what they had.  I’m pretty sure that the ladies didn’t take us seriously, but that’s the theme for this crap hole that we’ve moved to.  Perhaps I’m just in the wrong parts of town (which is possible because I don’t know any better yet), but everyone looks at me and automatically assumes that I’m a struggling teen mom playing house.  Most of the time it doesn’t get to me, but some times I just can’t take the looks and whispers because Angel and I have worked really hard for what we have and the ability for me to comfortably be a stay at home mom.  But I digress.  So yesterday when the ladies were leaving the house, the one was trying to see how serious we were about purchasing a couch and asked what our budget was and immediately started talking to me about financing options.  When I said “I don’t think we’re interested in financing.  We would just pay cash.”  She was trying to suppress a laugh and then spent 15 minutes asking me how old I was without actually coming out to ask.  I finally said “I’m 28.” and she replies with a “Wow!  You look great!”  And you look old.  What’s your point?  If I wasn’t getting this kind of discriminating looks and comments everywhere I went here like I’m living way beyond my means for purchasing both spaghetti noodles and spaghetti sauce at the same time I may actually be offended by the way that the lady was acting.  But instead, I think I’m just (sadly) getting used to it since we’ve moved here.  I miss the area we lived in and friends that we had who were all in the same position.  I’ve never felt like I was in an elite income bracket until I moved here and it’s a really uncomfortable feeling.  And then I get mad for feeling uncomfortable for what I have because again, we’ve worked really hard!  So I just turn the other cheek and then try not to be snobby because I hate people like that, but it’s hard not to come across that way when the lady from La-Z-Boy is standing in my living room asking me how old I am and commenting on how nice the house is.  Listen, bitch, sell me a couch or get out of my house.  This feeling is really what I’m struggling the most with here and I hope it gets better when we move into the house which is supposed to be in a nice area full of families and stay at home moms.

In a lighter note, Lucas has been waking me up earlier and earlier and refusing to go back to sleep.  Going are the days of sleeping until 10 and feeding him and going back to sleep. This morning I was looking for the snooze button on my human alarm clock and spent 5 minutes pressing his forehead but he wouldn’t shut up and go back to sleep.  I’m going to have to take this back to the store.

So instead, I got up, made coffee, and dared to put Lucas in his Valentine’s Day outfit early.  I call this a “dare” because he’s been blowing out his diaper and staining his clothes nearly every day.  Angel and I assume this is a sign that we either forgot how to properly put on baby diapers, or Lucas is outgrowing them.  I’m guessing option 2, so we’re going to finish up what we have, and then finally move on from the newborn diapers.  In the mean time, here’s a photo of Lucas on his first Valentine’s Day (before he poops out of the outfit) while he lays on a changing pad without a cover because he pooped all over that and it’s in the washer.  At this point, a drop cloth would be more appropriate for my house.



Angel is taking the three of us to dinner tonight in Kalamazoo and I’ll be sure to tell you all about it tomorrow because I need more practice on this computer and because I don’t have much else to do while I’m living in temp housing.





<—– Look what I learned how to do!

History Repeats Itself

Hm…. Where to start?

First, my adorable baby apparently doesn’t want to be set down tonight, so I had to start this blog post 4 different times before I could actually get writing.  And now I write this

I’m sorry, what was I saying?

Yes, that I’ve had to start this post 5 times because I keep stopping to try to make Lucas fall asleep.

Yep, 6th time’s the charm….

Sometimes it takes 7 starts to a

I digress…. And I also think I have at least 4 minutes to collect my thoughts this time

Nope, sure didn’t.

Okay then, so this week I think I finally got into the groove of being a stay at home mom.

Aww, that’s cute.  There was a 20 minute pause between that last sentence and writing the rest of my blog because Lucas decided that he was hungry and I had to feed him.  So let’s talk about nursing for a minute, shall we?  It’s been going much better since we moved to Michigan.  Mostly because I’m lazy, partially because I don’t have the resources readily available that I did in Arizona, but really mostly because I’m lazy, Lucas has been nursing 100% of the time.  I haven’t gone near a pump or a bottle in about 2 weeks.  In fact, I have no milk in the fridge because I had to put it all in the freezer or throw it out (and cry) because he hasn’t had a bottle in so long.  Yay me!  (And maybe a little bit Lucas).  But I still call “BS” on books, people, and lactation specialists who make it sound like nursing feels like magical unicorns giving you hugs while you sip Mai Tais on the beach.  It’s more like dangling it in a tank of piranhas who haven’t eaten in a  week.  What I wouldn’t give to be able to strap off my boobs, throw them in his crib, and get a good night’s sleep!!

Yesterday I took a shower (because I promised Angel that I would) and took Lucas to Target to get a sewing machine and then to the fabric store to get fabric for burp cloths and blankets.  Why?  BECAUSE I’M BORED!  The fabric store was in the loveliest part of town: located between the Salvation Army and a couple of pawn shops (see: “Crap Castle”).  The trip was even complete with two moms screaming at each other that the other was a “ho” in front of their children.  Sweet, right? My mom apparently did the same thing when she moved a young family to California, so I have that in common with her, and that’s fine by me.

Sorry, another pause to read a Dr. Seuss favorite to Lucas and put him to bed, so don’t mind me if the next little bit of my blog post rhymes and has made up names that you’re not sure you’re pronouncing correctly but then it’s not like there’s an audience you’re reading to who knows any different, so feel free to skip a few pages to speed this bedtime up.

Anyway, what was I saying?  Something about history repeating itself and I unknowingly did what my mom did when she was in my position.


Now that Lucas is in bed, I promise to have the rest of this post won’t be as scatter-brained as I think I’ve proved that I now live my life by.

So anyway, I was sewing these burp cloths all day yesterday just because it seemed more productive then watching more murder mystery shows on daytime TV:

burp cloth

I’ve gotten into the habit of not waking up until 10am, mostly because I don’t work and Lucas still lets me sleep.  Last night I put Lucas to bed an hour late, so instead of eating at 7am and going back to sleep until 10, he ate at 8 and then daddy kept him awake while he was getting ready for work (grrrrrrr).  So right after daddy left for work, I snuck another man into my bed.  And by the grin on his face, he knew he didn’t belong there:


So after I decided that there was no sleeping through those giggles, I got out of bed to make coffee and run some errands but quickly changed those plans when I looked outside to find that my perfectly clean and snow free car looked like this this morning:


Angel was nice enough to clean off half of it when he left for work, but I secretly think he only did it to say “now you have no excuse for not changing out of sweat pants and leaving the house” but the joke it totally on him because I didn’t change out of sweats, and instead sat on the couch all morning with Lucas watching paternity test results on Maury:

watching tvLucas gets very into finding out if the ho is telling the truth or not.

Angel probably knew the car stunt wouldn’t guarantee him that both Lucas and I would bathe today, so he sent me a text message about 10am saying “for dinner tonight do you want to” and then I honestly didn’t read the rest before I answered “yes!”  I’m just glad he followed it up with “go to dinner in downtown Kalamazoo” and not “cook me a 7 course meal complete with lobster tail”  So by 5 o’clock this evening, I was so excited at the idea of putting on jeans and going on a date that I had Lucas fed, bathed, and dressed and Molly pottied and in her cage, and I was in clothes that were clean and my hair was curled.  Curled people!  I don’t think you understand how excited that means I was.

We dug out my car, drove out of our crap castle, and went into town to a nice European restaurant.  No idea what European food is?  It’s like heaven when it means that I didn’t have to cook it.  He even took me to grab a glass of wine before dinner where 2 ladies (one who works in OB) guessed that Lucas was either 2 weeks or 6 weeks old and were totally floored when we told them he was 3 months next week.  Then came the famous follow up question that I get every time I leave the house: “Was he a preemie?”  Nope, I fully baked my tiny baby.  The manager at the restaurant mentioned that we had a “very well behaved baby” which is great to hear since he was being exceptionally fussy tonight at dinner and we were in an establishment that probably only had high chairs because they were legally required to and not because anyone brings children there.  But “yeah, this one’s on the boob so he can pretty much go anywhere” (name that movie! *Sweet Home Alabama*).

When we got home, Angel and Lucas had a moment.  When the two of them start smiling at each other, I hardly care that the guy living above us is running in place to bad techno music while he washes laundry at 11pm.  I kid, I totally still care, but this is pretty adorable:

baby smiles

The first week of staying home was interesting.  I may be the only person in this town who doesn’t shop at Goodwill and can afford to wash my jeans on a regular basis, and I get people whispering to each other when I grocery shop at my local Wal-Mart (that is seriously my only grocery store option around here.  Fried food, anyone?) regarding my Coach diaper bag and clean hair.  9 days, 2 Kindle books, and 6 burp cloths later, I had a total melt down to Angel one evening about how I hated this place and he can’t move me out of here fast enough and I can’t stay in the house all day every day and I need to make friends.

To prove my point, I sent Angel a text message this afternoon that said “I just finished up sewing a baby blanket with matching burp cloth.  I’m about to start sewing a new bedding set for our bedroom if you don’t help find me friends stat”  He wrote back with a phone number and said “call this number immediately” for the phone number of a mom’s group leader.

Next week’s goal: adult interaction.  I don’t care if it takes mom groups, extreme shopping, or jail.  Mark my words that next week I’ll talk to someone who doesn’t speak 2 month old in a venue that requires me to put on pants.

Crazy going slowly am I.


TGIF? Screw that.  I still have to wake up in the middle of the night, change 1,000 diapers, go to the grocery store, cook, clean, and have dinner ready by 6.  How about TGIS when I have a hubby who takes the baby into the family room to play at 8am and lets me sleep until 11.  Now that’s something to be thankful for!

Here’s what my new normal looks like in photo montage:


1. Wake up the sleeping beast

2. Get screamed at while I attempt to change a dirty diaper and get the baby dressed

2. Get screamed at while I attempt to change a dirty diaper and get the baby dressed

3. Feed the baby

3. Feed the baby

4. Baby peed in the process so change his diaper again

4. Baby peed in the process so change his diaper again

5. Time for morning cuddles.  Eating is a lot of work

5. Time for morning cuddles. Eating is a lot of work (creepy sleeping but awake eyes)

6. (No photo) Mommy has 30 minutes to shower before the baby wakes up

7. Time pauses for a while because the baby is smiling.  Everything else can wait

7. Time pauses for a while because the baby is smiling. Everything else can wait

8. Use the phrase "dig out" in reference to your vehicle

8. Use the phrase “dig out” in reference to my vehicle

9. Bundle up the baby

9. Bundle up the baby

10. After all of this is done, I have roughly 30 minutes of sleepy baby (as long as I don’t try to take him out of his car seat) before he starts screaming and it’s time to start this whole process over.  Realize that you can’t get anything done in 30 minutes.  Turn off the car, don’t dare touch the sleeping baby, and enjoy 30 minutes of peeing in peace, brushing my teeth in peace, pretending like I was ambitious enough to read (in peace), and picking up after the baby.  In peace.

Lather, rinse, repeat.


Today I came across two women who are desperately trying to have a baby and thus far have been unsuccessful.  It serves as a reminder to me how lucky I am to have my son.  I came to this revelation between his screaming in my ear while I was trying to burp him, and his throwing up on me after he burped.  And you know what?  I still feel lucky.

I also feel extremely thankful for the opportunity to stay home with my little man for at least the next few years.  I always planned on going back to work because I never thought that I would be able to afford to stay home, and I feel lucky that I have the chance to stay home now.  Now that my little guy is 2 months old, I can’t wrap my head around paying someone else to enjoy all of the fun firsts that are coming, see him smile, and play with him while I go to my marginally pleasing job.

In more lighthearted news, today I had another “Sorry about that, Mom” moment while I was at the mall with Lucas purchasing jeans that fit the new body that he gave me.  I’ve been living 8 weeks in sweat pants and leggings and have decided that that’s not going to fly in Michigan where it’s a little bit colder.  So I threw in the towel, went through my pre-pregnancy jeans, and gave away the American Eagle jeans that were made for girls who don’t have hips (I don’t fall into this classification anymore).  My tummy may still go back to the flat that I once knew, but those hips are here for the long haul.  While I was trying my jeans on to see which ones I can keep, I realized that a lot of the low rise jeans that I had weren’t made for a mom who constantly bends down to pick up a baby, a baby in a car seat, a pacifier that the baby threw on the floor, or to retie my shoes (What?  Not everything in my life is “baby.”  I still have my shoelaces).  So I’m keeping this and my muffin top in mind when I’m out looking for jeans and end up with two of the most attractive “Mom Jeans” that Dillards sells.  Don’t know what “Mom Jeans” are?  I suggest you watch more old Saturday Night Live, or just check out this:

“Give her something that says ‘I’m not a woman anymore.  I’m a mom!‘”

I used to make fun of my mom for these, and now this is totally my life!  Thanks to my adorable baby, I have an ass that rappers love to sing about and the option to show plumbers crack or leave the pacifier on the floor of the store as another casualty of the situation.

The jean situation reminded me of this week’s Modern Family episode where the older daughter is babysitting the young son on New Year’s Eve.  The boy invites a girl over and when the daughter kicks the girl out of the house, the son storms away and the daughter yells after him “Some day you’ll thank me for this!!….. Oh my God.  I owe Mom a big apology.”

I have a feeling that I’m going to feel this way more and more for at least the next 18 years.  Starting with my new Mom Jeans with a waistband so high that I can tuck in both my rapper ass and my hazardous boobs (because those took up a new home somewhere just north of my belt).

Babies are adorable so that we don’t eat our young because let’s be honest here- if he wasn’t cute, none of this would be worth it.

I’m going to go change out of my puke stained pajamas now and cross my fingers for 4 hours of sleep.

He’s lucky he’s cute.

This sleepy hug rights all of the wrongs

This sleepy hug rights all of the wrongs

Hurricane Angel

Okay, you remember me telling you all about how I won Mom of the Year by ignoring my screaming baby to vacuum and clean my house with my ipod?  Yeah, I was able to keep the house spotless, dishes washed, and have it ready to be shown to potential renters at a moments notice.  ALL WITH A SICK BABY.  No problem.

Until Friday night when Hurricane Angel blew through town.

I appreciated the help and having him back.  And he appreciated the baby which was perfect because by Saturday morning I was ready to tap out.  I actually left the house alone and it was ah-mazing.  And then I took a nap, read a book… and no I’m totally kidding.  But I was able to leave the house alone and it felt like vacation not having to carry around 8 pounds of baby in a 15 pound car seat being pushed by a 10 pound stroller.

On Saturday night Laura was in town so we went over to a friend’s house to see her.  And because Lucas doesn’t really know the difference between 3pm and 3am yet, we took him along with.  When we got home at 11pm, we put him to bed and I swear to you he slept from midnight to 7am straight and I couldn’t believe it when he woke me up and the sun was coming up.  It was a refreshing change from stumbling for the light switch at 4am while screaming curse words.

On the topic of curse words, Angel and I decided that we were going to copy what our friends do with their daughter.  She’s only 9 months old, but they have decided that they need to change their vocabulary and have a swear jar and for every bad word they throw $0.50 into the jar that gets deposited into her college fund.  Luckily for our bank account, we decided to wait to implement this until after the move because I would hate to owe my baby that much money right off the bat.

Today when we were getting ready to take Angel to the airport, Lucas had the diaper blow out that we’ve all been waiting for.  We cleaned him up, changed him, and about 15 minutes later I could smell him from across the house.  So we cleaned him up, changed him, and went to the airport.  After Hurricane Angel blew out of town and I returned to the dwelling that was once my organized house, Lucas blew out diaper number 3.  At this point, painter’s drop cloths in my family room would be appropriate but instead my poor dog is hiding somewhere in the house far, far away from the explosions going on down south in the land of Lucas.  I don’t blame her, I’m actually a little jealous that she doesn’t have to deal with this.

That’s it for tonight.  I need to get some dinner and then bundle up because it’s been freezing (literally) all weekend.  I had to turn the sprinklers off because they iced over my sidewalk.  It’s been in the 20’s at night and 40’s or 50’s during the day and my heater broke.  Luckily the one upstairs in the bedrooms still worked, so Lucas and I spent most of last week in our rooms and the loft until I figured out how to light the pilot light on the fireplace in the family room.  Before you judge- we live in Phoenix so fireplaces here are totally asthetic and we’ve never used it in as long as we’ve lived in this house.  We probably still wouldn’t use it if I had heat downstairs.

I can smell my son, so it’s probably time to stop typing and go change the plastic cover on the sofa because I am a classy lady.

Our Michigan Trip

I’ve been really bad about updating what’s been going on- I’m well aware.

So here’s a quick run down  of where I’ve been the last week and a half:

Right before Christmas, this lovely thing was posted in my front yard:

IMG_0432(insert “booooooo”s here).  But allow me to explain the sign real quick- our dream house is NOT for sale, just for rent.  Our realtor has been made clear that any calls she gets about sale she can immediately ignore because we aren’t willing to entertain any.  But since our realtor is only really posting our rental as a favor and it’s not something that she normally lists, she only has “For Sale” signs.  Thus, the sale-but-really-for-sale confusion in our lawn.

My parents ended up coming down to Phoenix for Christmas!  In the 10 years that I’ve lived here in Phoenix, I’ve never actually spent a Christmas here because I’ve always gone home.  This was going to be the first year that I wasn’t coming to Colorado and babies make a great excuse to both: 1) not travel if you don’t want to and 2) get everyone to travel to you.  So we bribed my parents with adorable baby photos such as these:

20121221-205537.jpg IMG_0438 IMG_0449 IMG_0490

… and they practically beat down our front door like any proud grandparents would.

So we PACKED our adorable Christmas tree full of presents- mostly for Lucas- and didn’t get out of bed on Christmas Day until about 10am.  I’m guessing that this is going to be both our first and our last Christmas morning that we’re going to be able to sleep in.  We took full advantage.

Angel guessed before Christmas that my gift to him under the tree was a Keurig machine, so when Lucas woke us up at 10, Angel rolls over and says to me: “I was thinking that I should just go open the Keurig so that we can make coffee before we open gifts.”  By this point I was laughing because I was thinking the exact same thing.  This is why we’re perfect for each other.

Naturally, our adorable baby got carried away from the tree with the largest pile of gifts that he neither opened, nor was aware of.  In fact, our little munchkin looked like this most of Christmas:


And yes, he’s wearing Christmas jammies which he was also unaware of.  But I’ll be able to show him these photos and explain it when he’s older.

So overall, we had a lazy, sleepy, first Christmas with our adorable little man and extremely proud grandparents:

IMG_0459 IMG_0462 IMG_0465 IMG_0468

So that takes us through Christmas.  My parents had to head home on the 26th, and the Rivas family loaded up and shipped our first car to Michigan:

IMG_0472 IMG_0469

So while I’m standing in the driveway holding the baby, watching the car get loaded onto the truck, and waiting for the realtor to come show the house, it took just about everything not to start sobbing.  So the car leaves, and I spend the rest of the day packing suitcases because we left to move Angel to Michigan the next day.

Traveling with a newborn?  Easy.  Schlepping all of the crap through the airport?  Oh. My. God.  Tack on a cross country move for Angel and we’re left with 4 big suitcases, 1 carry on suit case, 1 diaper bag, 1 backpack, 1 stroller, 1 stroller bag, 1 car seat, 1 car seat base, 1 tote bag, and I’m sure I’m forgetting some but I think I’m making my point clear.  Crap.  Lots of it.

We were hoping to be able to arrive straight into our 2 bedroom furnished apartment that we’re calling home until March, but that got the red light until January 8th, so we were moving into a teeny tiny hotel room.  With all of our crap.  And a tiny baby.

Side bar: hotel rooms are HORRIBLE with a baby.  Oh Lord, I can’t explain it, you’re just going to have to think back to having your kids in a hotel room if you’re a mom, or imagine trying to throw a formal dinner party for a litter of puppies in your garage and that’s about half of it.  We got 2 nights of 7 hours sleep bliss from Lucas, followed by our first 8 hour night (which is considered “sleeping through the night”) and then we threw him on a plane, packed him into a freezing hotel room, and by the end of the week I brought him home with the schedule of screaming his head  off every 2-3 hours.  All day, all night, doesn’t matter.  SCREAMING.  In public, in the car, in the hotel room, in a crib, laying on mommy, cuddling with daddy, he did not like it here or there, he did not like it anywhere.  He does not like green eggs and ham, he does not like them Sam I Am.  So declaring victory and then being sent back to the starting line has been rough.

But I digress.

So we’re in a hotel.  We go to look at the only 6 houses in a 30 minute radius of Angel’s work that are available to rent and will allow dogs.  6.  I’m moving from a city the size of Phoenix to a 30 minute radius of 6 rental properties.  The first 3 I was trying to keep an open mind while thinking in my head how I was going to live in an apartment for a few years with a baby and stroller and dog because these houses clearly aren’t going to work unless I plan on cooking meth in the basement as a side job.  We drive to a different town, go to lunch, and then see house number 4:  Winner, winner, chicken dinner.  The house has 4 bedrooms, tile and hardwood, upgraded carpet, a fireplace, a kitchen that I could cook in without having to disinfect with bleach, and A FENCED YARD.  Sounds so mundane, but apparently nobody in the midwest fences their yards.  They like their neighbors, I like my privacy (and my dog not to run away when I let her out to the bathroom).  So we jumped immediately.  And then we learned why the house was so drastically different from everything else we saw: 1) because the town was where families lived in the area, and 2) the owners are moving to Singapore for 3 years with work and then plan on moving back into the house.  The realtor tells us this and our reaction is: “Oooooooohhh, okay now it makes sense.”  Anyway, we apply and get the house.  We’ll be moving in February 11th.  I would show you a picture of the adorable place, but I think I was in a state of shock at finding a house that I could live in that I totally forgot.  I’ll have Angel take one when he goes back to Michigan tomorrow.

So we have a house, we’re struggling with a  baby in a hotel, we’re freezing our Arizona butts off:


We peace out of Michigan, drive the 2 hours to Chicago, and spend New Years with the Gerstner Family who spit out their first kid and moved home to Chicago 9 months ago.  There are multiple babies, we swap war stories, we cook, we drink, and we’re all yawning on the couch by 11pm on New Years Eve.

Enter: the reason why we’re doing all of this.  Angel starts his new job.  It sounds like he’s really going to like it, but more importantly I now get all of the Kashi cereal that I refuse to buy because it’s too expensive.

It’s time for the baby and I to come home and Angel to come with so I can schlep all of this crap back:


Lucas earns his wings when the flight attendants are all just eating him up and he’s being his adorable self and looking around while trying to eat his teeny tiny hand.  So the flight attendant comes back when Lucas falls asleep and gives us his wings that I pinned on his seat belt for the photo:


We land at 6pm and Angel turns around to head back tomorrow at 3.  Sad face.

Lucas started his new routine of evening screaming (thank you, hotel).  So I give him a GIANT bottle, put him in a bath, put him in clean jammies, read him a new Dr. Seuss book, and put him in his crib to scream it out.

5 minutes later he’s half sleeping, half fighting it, 2 minutes after that I’m going to make sure he’s still breathing because he has passed out.  Let’s see how long this will last.

But noteworthy- this is his first night in his crib and his first night spent in his adorable nursery that will be dismantled and moved in about 2 weeks.  Another sad face.

So there you have it.  That’s what I’ve been doing the last week and a half and now that you know, I fully expect you to forgive me for not writing while all of this was going on.

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!

Maternity Monday- A Lesson In Knowing When To Stop

24 weeks!  Finally!  Not sure what the significance of 24 weeks is, but whatever, I’m there! Yay me!

My baby is 12.5 inches, which is about the size of a foot long submarine sandwich loaded with extra olives- mmmm (though has already costed a touch more than one), and is over a pound. I haven’t felt as tired lately because I’ve been way into the Olympics.  After the first week of events I’ve decided that we need to figure out a way to get a tiny treadmill up there for Baby Rivas to start practicing so that I can be the mom crying in the stands instead of the soon-to-be-mom crying over P&G commercials on her couch.

Speaking of movement, little guy must be running out of room to kick me unnoticed because last night was the first night that I woke up due to Mini Me movement.  It was adorable and endearing and all of that… for the first 30 minutes.  If his ears are developed enough to hear me then he is already learning how to defy his parents wishes.  Isn’t that sweet?  So now I imagine my Baby Rivas looks something like a Tarsier:

Tarsier- a big-eyed, hairy, nocturnal mammal who clings to things like trees and bushes

This is probably why my doctor hasn’t recommended any ultra sounds after 20 weeks, especially in 3D.  It would just make my imagination worse.

I’m also getting comfortable with all of these odd pains and symptoms that I’ve been feeling and what’s causing them:

  • Sharp pain in my lower abdomen: my baby somehow got a hold of a spork
  • Burning in my throat: baby doesn’t like what I ate
  • Pain in my tunny: baby did like what I ate

I was told “everything in moderation” and got a lesson in when to stop this weekend.  Angel was awarded the Husband of the Year Award when he indulged my taste in rockers for the nursery at La-Z-Boy, was a silent shopping partner on hanger holding detail at Motherhood Maternity in the mall, and then took me to In-n-Out for lunch because burgers sounded good to me.  This is about the time that I decided to quit while I was ahead and stop asking for things because he apparently forgot what the word “no” means and I didn’t want to remind him.  I also gave him a big kiss and control of the remote for the evening for letting Momma get what Momma wanted all afternoon.  Love this guy!