I interrupt this Maternity Monday with a public service announcement to the scorpion population living in my house rent-free:
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.
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.
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.
To be announced in November
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.
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!!
It’s the only time in my baby’s life that I was hoping the munchkin would have his or her bit on full display, and…..
Since it appears that I talk about my pregnancy every hour of every day, and on here every Monday (ya know, whatever gets my big belly through the day) I have dubbed it “Maternity Monday”
So let’s get on with it.
My baby is 6 inches long and 7 ounces. Which is enough tequila to make for an interesting night until you get sick, if you’re into that kinda thing. And 6 inches is…… well, half the length of a ruler (I’m tired, it’s Monday, don’t judge). The baby is now fully assembled and functioning with appropriate proportions and everything. The rapid-fire development of this exercise is now complete. Let’s celebrate with one of those tequila shots, shall we? I kid, I’m really more of a rum gal.
This weekend I started crying for an unknown reason, and decided to put my mind to good use taking the painter’s tape down from our nursery to distract myself. It worked eventually, I was just glad that Angel wasn’t home to witness this one so I didn’t have to explain that I really had no idea why I was crying except that my dog just brought me her favorite toy. Her favorite toy! For me! How sweet was that?!
So, moods?….. check
Shit’s getting real. I now have a belly that warrants at least the question “Is she pregnant, or a closet carb lover?” which is a question above where I’ve been the last 18 weeks! We find out (hopefully!) in about 24 hours if I’m busy cooking a son or daughter in here, and I’m starting to notice a serious pattern to baby kicks and movements: 30 minutes between 9 and 11am, a kick or two around lunch time, a kick or two around dinner time, and 20 minutes right when I’m going to bed as well as waking me up with a swift kick if I roll onto my back in my sleep (apparently this munchkin appreciates not being cut off from umbilical cord blood as much as I appreciate a good night’s sleep).
Pregnancy books all talk about how important physical activity is, but they clearly weren’t written by a moody pregnant chick living in Phoenix in the summer. Since swimming is exercise, I bent the rules a bit and took a 30 minute nap on a floating raft with Molly at my feet. I got outside, I moved/floated, it counts. I’m way too busy sleeping and crying to have time to be active anyway, so I tore those pages out of the book and made some cute origami with them.
Not sure what it is, but I can tell you what it’s NOT and that’s telling me to exercise
Because I can’t be sarcastic 100% of the time, allow me a service announcement here: Pregnancy will, guaranteed, multiply whatever you have with your spouse. If you bicker about the trash, be ready to scream over it. If you love each other, be ready to love each other more. I’ve heard it before, but I swear it’s true. Sometimes I’m ready to throw the whole damn trash can at Angel, but more often than not I find myself thinking how I got so lucky to find someone so sweet to me. He’s been such a trooper with my sleeping all of the time, needing to take breaks when we’re out doing anything, calling him at work to ask him to pick me up a jar of Vlassic Crunchy Dill Spears on his way home, asking him to carry things up and down the stairs like he’s a Sherpa, and I’m sure I’m missing the other 1,000 things a day that he’s great about. A $5 bottle of water while we’re out running errands? Sounds totally reasonable to him if I’m thirsty. I’ve never once heard him complain or argue with my seemingly crazy requests. Instead, we cuddle on the couch with Molly on my leg and Angel’s hand on my belly waiting for baby kicks and watching HBO like an adorable little domestic family. Who cares about the dirty dishes? They’ll still be there tomorrow and I’ll get around to them then.
Pregnancy will only multiply what you have- be it good or bad.
I’m lucky to have a good thing going on.
This is all a little bit overwhelming. Angel and I have started the horrible process of looking for car seats.
But do you know how many options there are out there?! “Do you want it to fir your car seat? What kind of car seat do you have?” Oh. My. God. There’s an order to this?! “….uh, the kind that goes in the car?” So we start with car seats. Do you want an infant only car seat, a convertible car seat, a removable car seat, a booster seat, or a toddler seat? Do you have anchors in your car or do you need one that operates without them? Are the anchors high or low? What’s your stance on removable bases?
Listen, people. I just need something safe to hold my child while I run to the grocery store like a bad mom at 11pm because I ran out of milk. “Oh, they’ll all do that so you need to be more specific.” whimper
In an effort to prove that I haven’t completely given up on my blog, I’ve decided to talk it into a blog-life crisis. As part of this mid-blog crisis, whatlieswithin.net has undergone extensive plastic surgery to attract a younger, hipper, blog with larger posts.
I’m not done yet, so expect more in the near future and stay tuned as I gear back up my extensive postings about random things no one thinks are funny except me.
For many reasons, yesterday was unarguably the best day of my life.
I guess it’s true what they say about karma, because I was running all over the valley yesterday trying to make people happy and I ended up pretty happy myself. I was also brought to tears a few times by the touching comments, emails, and texts I was getting regarding the random acts of kindness that I inspired people to do as well.
I didn’t complete 27 separate random acts because I got a little sidetracked with Angel half way through the day, but I know I did touch at least 27 separate people.
But who says the 27 acts have to be all in one day? I’ll finish them up, stay tuned.
What Lies Within 