It is beginning to look more and more like I'm carrying a 2012 baby...

As the minutes continue to tick by, it looks less and less likely like I will be a mother in 2011.

(Sigh)

But, you know what? I've totally made my peace with it and have moved on. Well, waddled away uncomfortably at least.

I've done everything I can think of to do. It is up to Thor now. Might as well let him come when he wants to. Or, if he waits until Wednesday's appointment, when the good doctor tells me we are inducing. Either way, it isn't up to me.

All this probably explains why I didn't get out of bed until noon and watched four episodes in a row of Parenthood. I've always liked to pretend that I have some sort of semblance of control over things, and giving up that illusion generally involves chocolate and watching way too much TV. Today was no different. And, by the way Trevor, we are out of chocolate milk. Again.

(Have I mentioned that I've been consuming a disgusting amount of milk - skim, chocolate and otherwise - over the past five or six weeks? No? Well, I have.)

In other news, my entire family except for dear Auntie Mimi and Trevor have left town for New Years. My dad, brother and sister are at the ranch and my mom went to Bonham. Cell phone reception at all of these places is known to be spotty at best, which might explain why most of them are now convinced I will go into labor at any second. Or maybe once they all have a glass or two of champagne or wine in their system and they can't drive anywhere until morning.

If it works, the kiddo has totally inherited my sense of humor.

Here are my last belly pictures of 2011. They were taken this morning. Please take a moment to properly bask in my +/- 41 week wideness:







And in closing, here is the final sunset of 2011 as seen from my bedroom window:

Happy New Year's Eve!!!

The latest Trevorism...

My husband is amazed, nay - FASCINATED - by the fact that his Breathe Right Strips temporarily glow in the dark when he pulls off the adhesive backing.

Seriously. Two nights in a row. It is pretty fabulous.

It doesn't take much to keep my man happy and completely entertained!

In case you were wondering...

Not much to report today except I am still pregnant.

At least I got all the Christmas decorations put away, thank you notes written and various chores and "to-do" list items completed.

I even took the dogs for a long walk with a friend and had a fabulous spicy lunch at Good To Go Taco.

Although none of this was labor inducing, it was a good, productive day and I am hoping at least half of those annoying, nagging voices in my head at 2 AM will be silenced. I could use a good night sleep before, well...a whole different kind of 2 AM wake up call.

The latest and greatest. Sort of...

Well, I progressed. But only 1/2 a centimeter. Which, if you are keeping track, is still 1/2 a centimeter LESS than I was dilated three weeks ago. The doctor also said that the baby's head is "still up near Sherman", which (for those of you not familiar with Texas geography) is essentially Oklahoma. My birth canal is located in Dallas, so that isn't a super promising sign of impending labor.

So, basically, I haven't really progressed at all, but I'm trying to look on the bright side. Because, you know, the other side is nothing but depressing. And dark. And babyless.

The doctor did offer to induce, but I really don't want to yet. Which (I know, I know) is strange since I am so obviously over the whole pregnancy thing. It is just that I hear that inducing can cause a whole host of problems and often ends in a c-section. I'd rather let nature take its course. The doctor agrees. At least to a point. As long as my body continues to tolerate being past due and there isn't a risk to the baby he is willing to let it go a little while longer. But he is pulling the plug if something doesn't happen by next Wednesday's appointment. Mainly because there have been issues surrounding my due date (obviously), and things start going downhill pretty quickly the closer you get to 42 weeks.

At least this whole situation got my doctor to sort of admit in a roundabout way that my due date has already come and gone. Even the sonogram tech was shocked to see me this morning and exclaimed, "OMG! You're STILL pregnant," when she came into the room during my internal exam. And the receptionist and nurses now look at me with large, round eyes that are just dripping with pity. When I went to make my appointment for next Wednesday, the woman behind the counter even patted my hand and told me that she'd be praying for the baby to come soon. Nothing, she claimed, would make her happier than having to take me off of next week's schedule.

Which, wow. Do I really look that awful?

The good news is my body is handling the stress very well (even if my appearance is taking a beating). According to the doctor, this is mainly due to the fact that I am tall, have a lot of room and have been physically active during my pregnancy. If I wasn't all these things, it would likely be a different story. Especially considering that the doctor still insists I am carrying a very large baby. He even joked that I could make the news on Sunday with a twelve pounder born on the first day of 2012.

Which, if you are me and have to give birth sometime soon, is SO not funny.

My doctor actually thinks my kiddo will be in the 8-10 pound range. He describes my abdomen as being "all baby" and consistently firm on all sides. Apparently, there isn't a lot of padding or wasted space in there, which leads him to believe that Thor will most likely be a heavy weight at birth.

I'm still hoping for a healthy and completely average seven pounder, and have my fingers crossed that Trevor's petite 6 pound, 4 ounce birth weight will influence his unborn kiddo. Because the idea of having to squeeze a giant baby out of my hoo-haa is a little disconcerting regardless of how I am excited I am to have all this over with soon.

Plus, with all the discrepancies with my due date, I find it hard to believe my doctor will call my baby's birth weight with any accuracy. But maybe that is just wishful thinking.

I guess only time will tell, right? And as long as the little guy is healthy, nothing else really matters.

See? Bright side. I am so owning it.

Proof that I am using what Amy gave me for Christmas...

And, yes. Photographic evidence is necessary when my sister is involved.

Desperate times, desperate measures...

Partly because I am done being pregnant and partly because my mother wants to make a contribution to Thor's educational fund in 2011 (which apparently requires both being born and obtaining a social security number by TOMORROW at noon if we are going to have a realistic chance getting anything set up before the New Year), I've attempted everything I can think of to induce labor.

Not only did I go to the gym this afternoon and walk for 60+ minutes on the treadmill, I also RAN for an additional 15. Well, it was more of a slow, waddling jog (a twelve minute mile to be exact), but I am going to call it "running" because it felt really good and made me realize how much I've missed it since my doctor ordered me to stop back in April or May. Not because of the baby, mind you. But because of my stupid vein problems. I listened at the time because I was worried about being in support hose by August, but - at this point in my pregnancy - I figured I have very little to lose. And, well, hey - it might just send me into labor. It worked for that crazy woman back in October who ran a marathon and gave birth seven hours later. Not that I ran a marathon by any means. In fact, I made it just over a mile before my heart rate started to creep up to a place where I could imagine Trevor's best "disapproving face", and then I returned to walking.

See? Good girl.

Then, I got home and my neighbor brought me half of a lemon pie. She says her doctor told her to eat lemon pie to induce labor, and swears it worked for her when she had her son 28 years ago. And, well, I'm not above anything at this point.

(And, no. I didn't eat the whole thing. Just a slice. And it was fabulous.)

Especially since my sister has become increasingly bitter since the weekend. Something about her not getting her nephew for Christmas like she wanted. Anyway, over the last several days, Amy has said the following to me:

• While looking at photos of our honeymoon on Christmas Eve: "Wow. You've really aged a lot since your wedding. I wonder if it is because of the pregnancy or if it is just the sign of a really difficult marriage."



• While helping her register at Neiman's yesterday: "All the veins under your eyes are really swollen and dark. It looks really bad - almost like you were attacked or beaten up."



• And most recently in a text this afternoon: "hows old bessie doin today? mooooo!"

So, obviously, nothing but a big, happy, confidence-boosting thank you goes out to my sister. And, yes, I am blogging about it now, so I can remember all these wonderfully unique warm fuzzies when she is knocked up in the future!

(Muhahahaha!)

But, seriously, tax credits and educational funds aside, I am ready to have my body back now. And to see my baby boy and finally have irrefutable evidence that he really does look JUST LIKE TREVOR. Because you know he will. That cute, little neanderthal brow is just too strong with la familia de G-Wink. All that is really unclear (at least until Thor makes his debut) is whether or not any of my genes even had a chance. And, well, the curiosity is becoming just too much to bear!

Next appointment is in the morning. Last week I progressed backwards (which, by the way, isn't supposed to be possible), so keep your fingers crossed for SOMETHING (seriously: ANYTHING) tomorrow! Because this whole thing is starting to get super ridiculous.

What is worse than being ten months pregnant?

Being ten months pregnant and coming home to discover that two of your dogs have had explosive diarrhea. In the house. On multiple rugs. And you don't have any Resolve.

(Neither literally nor figuratively.)

There may have been tears.

(Okay. A lot of tears.)

And I might have been showered and in bed by 7:30.

Wouldn't you after spending nearly two hours cleaning up dog sh*t on your hands and knees?

I mean, seriously? WTF Universe?

Uncle! Mercy! Whatever! Just throw me a freaking bone, here!!!

I figured out why Thor hasn't come out yet...

...His astrological sign looks like the word "no":

Trevor says, "He might be independent and insightful but he is definitely not driven so far".

I disagree.

I think Thor is exceptionally driven to exist in the womb for-ev-er.

Trying to keep a positive outlook...

Things that make me happy (because still being pregnant most certainly does not):

My new bunny slippers. Because I am 31 and still don't think that I should have to wear grown up house shoes.

My brother's new puppy. Even if I can't pronounce his name. Maybe it is genetic?
My grandmother couldn't say "Cherry" and now I can't say "Shasa"!

Helping my sister register at Neimans and seeing little signs that suggest maybe (just maybe) I won't be pregnant forever.

Additionally, the wedding registry lady at Neimans was shocked that I was:

1. Pregnant.


2. 40 weeks.

Granted, I was wearing a sweatshirt, but I can now say I looked consistently not pregnant throughout my pregnancy. At least not to complete strangers. Which I've decided to embrace (instead of complaining about) because I feel especially wide today and need a pick-me-up.

And, yes, I know that the most reasonable explanation for not looking pregnant is because I was a fat a$$ to begin with (as described way, way back WHEN in bullets 6 and 7), but I've decided to ignore that fact for today. Consider it a self preservation measure.

Still getting it done...

...even if it doesn't seem to be making a difference baby-wise.

Merry Christmas...

...And, yes. Still pregnant.

Since Thor is still chilling in Hotel Uterus' swimming pool, I offer a picture of my mother's fabulously decorated holiday table:

My Christmas miracle? The fact that my mother, father, aunt, uncle and step father's family all celebrated Christmas together and feasted around the same table. It was truly fabulous.

Even if the reason for the get together was to celebrate a certain baby's first Christmas, and...well, still no baby.

Stubborn little guy, isn't he? Maybe he overheard us talking with the pediatrician about his inevitable circumcision the day after his birth? Welcome to the world (snip, snip)! Come to think of it, I'd probably stay put as long as possible, too.

Some of my favorite (random) Christmas Eve iPhone photos from 2011...

Alley Cat terrified to come into the living room because Lola is in there.
And Lola is scary.

My sister's sugar cookies for our annual Christmas Eve party. Please note that they are all super random and half are sporting unhappy faces. Apparently, she shouldn't bake for festive occasions when she misses Adam.

Our merry, little Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. My heart is so full after an evening full of friends, family and lots of good food! I love hosting our annual Christmas Eve party!

Merry Christmas Eve, everyone!

In case you missed it...

Amy coined the following poem in the comments section of THIS POST:

Twas the night before Christmas,
And Deal[s] was still knocked up
So I bought some tranquilizers
To put in her cup

I watched her eagerly
For with every sip
I knew any time now
My sister could tip

It took a few minutes
But she soon hit the floor
Just in time too
Because Saint Nick was at the door

We bound her with ribbons
And I sat on her tummy
I bounced up and down
While eating a cookie so yummy

Santa continued to pull
And I shrieked with joy
For I knew he'd soon find
That cute baby boy

Trevor looked panicked
But I told him to relax
We both knew he wanted a deduction
When he paid his tax

Santa looked pale
But with a smile on his face
Presented me with a nephew
Just before Deal[s] could spray him with mace

Deal[s] how could you
That was Santa you sprayed
We wouldn't need this nonsense
Had you not been so delayed

Then I wrapped up my nephew
And held him tight
What a wonderful present to get
As I kissed Thor goodnight

12/24/2011 9:10 AM

My sister is certifiably bizarre. She even called early this morning and woke me up to make sure I saw her comment and read her "lovingly" composed Christmas poem. She also apparently has plans to read it to Thor every year on Christmas Eve so he can grow up knowing the story of his birth.

And, well, that's all I have to say about that.

An update so no one thinks I've gone into labor. Because, you know, STILL pregnant...

It was another episode of "My Doctor is a Crackhead" this afternoon. Except he is much more tan, relaxed and groovy since returning from Hawaii.

Even if he couldn't get his laptop to work properly.

The appointment started out with a blood pressure scare, which was weird since I had done little today except lie in bed for hours before the appointment and wait for the laundry to wash itself. But apparently it was high enough to warrant the nurse to order me to lie on my left side, relax and then take my BP three or four more times until it finally went back down to 120 over whatever. Only then was I allowed to sit up under the watchful eye of the nurse while she monitored me for signs that I might pass out or otherwise collapse.

So, yeah. That was fun.

After that the appointment went back more or less to normal. And by "normal" I mean that I spent the next twenty minutes texting people to pass the time while seated on an exam table pantless and covered with a paper sheet. Which, quite frankly, is how everyone should spend the Friday before Christmas.

Finally, though, the doctor showed up and immediately asked me why I hadn't had my baby, yet. Because that isn't the million dollar question! Then, he flipped through his notes and found an obscure reference to a post Christmas due date that he dismissed months ago and decided that THAT due date must be the real one. Because, obviously, the other ones weren't panning out, so let's just pick a new one and see what happens. Heck, if you guess enough, you are bound to hit a home run, right?

Can you imagine my doctor in Vegas? He'd put his money on 14 and then change it to 5 and when the ball landed on 22 he'd claim that was his bet all along.

So, thanks to my doctor, I am now no longer 8 days late, but still have four or five or seven days to go. I don't know the specific date (because I was too flabbergasted to pay attention), but I am sure whenever the kiddo is born my doctor will claim he was right on time. I've decided to stop holding my breath as a self preservation measure.

The good news is that it probably doesn't matter how early, late or right on time I am because my body is holding up well (despite the BP episode) and Thor is thriving on the inside. As long as, you know, the baby comes before April 2014. Plus, my doctor said he would be surprised if I made it to my next appointment next Thursday. So regardless it seems like an end to all this might be in sight. Maybe. Because no one likes deadlines, and the world needs a little more flexibility. Obviously.

The bad news is that my internal exam had me progressing backwards (yet again). I am now only dilated 1cm (instead of 2) and my doctor said the baby's head is "two thirds of a mile from the birth canal". Which is fabulous in a I-am-being-completely-sarcastic kind of way.

You gotta give it to Thor. He is nothing but consistently unmotivated.

My doctor does think there is a very good chance that I will go into labor at more or less any moment, and even mentioned that he wouldn't be surprised to see me tomorrow or Sunday in the hospital. He also recommended that I walk more (seriously? MORE?) and have lots of sex. Because there is nothing quite like being a ten month preggo lard a$$ with shooting groin pain and nearly uncontrollable flatulence to boost a gal's libido. I'm pretty sure I am the epitome of "sexy" at this point. And I've probably never looked better to Trevor, either.

Lord.

In other news, I am no longer sleeping well and have started spontaneously crying for little or no reason. Which is fantastic since I thought these were both things reserved for AFTER Thor's arrival.

Trevor, on the other hand, is sleeping fine and is eagerly awaiting his son's arrival with baited breath. It all seems very unfair somehow, but he did bring me brownies from work today so I'm kind of over it for the time being. Plus, it is the beginning of the holiday weekend and it is great to have a clean house and the hubby home for a change. Even if I have to be (most likely) pregnant for all of it when I assumed I'd have a baby by now.

But enough with the self pity! Merry Christmas Eve's Eve, everybody!

Because Amy is fabulous, and I am trying to think positive...

It must be because it is armageddon week on the History Channel...

It has been a while since my boobs were the main topic of one of my blog posts.

(I can almost hear Trevor bracing himself and rolling his eyes. Can't you?)

Today, I did what every woman who is 10 months pregnant wants to do. I went shopping with my sister for bridesmaids dresses. Because nothing makes a lady feel extra special and sexy than trying to fit into something with a waist at a time when you are wider than you've ever been before.

Luckily, Amy knew exactly what she wanted and the trip was short and to the point. I only had to try one dress on, and - luckily - they had it available in maternity. Which was funny in itself because when I asked for it in maternity, the sales lady stopped, looked at me and asked if I was planning on being pregnant in April.

I quickly responded with, "No. I am hoping not to be pregnant this time tomorrow. But I'm shopping for this dress today."

My sister then gently explained to the poor woman that I'm due any time, and perhaps a little bitter at this point.

The dress on bobble head barbie.

Anyway, the dress ended up being exactly what Amy wanted and soon a color was nailed down (thank goodness!). So, all that was left was for me to be measured, the dress ordered and for me to pay.

Except I am very pregnant, and being measured for dresses while pregnant is a tad bit depressing. Remember THIS STORY?

The dress on me in the wrong color. Oh, how I miss my waist.
And not looking so incredibly puffy, thick and...well, pregnant.

Well, as it turns out, my boobs have stayed consistently the LARGEST part of my body during the last forty or so weeks. They still - surprisingly - stick out further than my belly, which apparently is odd when you are this kind of pregnant. But there you go. I've actually decided to blame my boobs for making me look less pregnant and more fat. Hey, I need a scapegoat for why I haven't been able to feel comfortable parking in the expectant mothers' spaces at Whole Foods and Tom Thumb during Thor's entire gestation period.

In fact, my chest is SO large (coupled with the fact that I am planning on breast feeding for at least six months) that the sales lady declared that she didn't even need to measure any part of my body EXCEPT my boobs. Which is how I ended up ordering an effing size 18 W this afternoon. Again, to accommodate my breasts and my breasts alone. Not even my VERY pregnant belly needs that much fabric.

My first instinct was to burst into tears and sob uncontrollably.

My mother, however, congratulated me. You know what they say: The boobs are always greener on the other side. Okay, that is totally stupid and not at all how the cliche goes, but I'm here to tell you that I've always wanted small boobs and don't understand why women pay good money for this kind of misery.

Speaking of which: How do women like Dolly Parton and Pamela Anderson buy clothes that fit? No, I don't pretend have a body like either of them (obviously), but I am still curious how someone deals with being this kind of top heavy on a regular basis. You must have to have all your tops and dresses specially made for you or something. Which is just a lot of effort if you ask me.

In other news, the bridesmaids dress I bought for my friend's wedding next month came in and it fits perfectly in the chest and is too big in the belly. Because I know you were worried and waiting on pins and needles for an update. But, in all seriousness, it IS nice to know that I don't have to worry about immediately losing a ton of weight in the middle in the next three weeks, because who knows if/when that will happen. Especially if Thor ends up being an elephant/human X-File hybrid and I am still pregnant come mid January.

You might laugh, but every day that goes by without a baby makes me think such ridiculous things are actually possible.

In fact, I only really need to be concerned with how much larger (say it isn't so!) my boobs might become once I start breastfeeding. Lord. The mere idea that they could become any bigger is just plain depressing. And sort of amazing in an awful and sadistic kind of way.

But I digress...

After the successful bridesmaid shopping excursion, I went and got a pedicure with the January bride, Anni. Not because I need especially pretty nails at this point in my pregnancy, but because I read that there is a pressure point somewhere in the foot or ankle that can induce labor. Apparently you are supposed to alert pedicurists to the fact that you are pregnant so they avoid the area. But I warned NO ONE because I am at that point where I am HOPING to hit some random hypothetical pressure point to stimulate Thor's arrival.

Call me crazy!

Six hours later and no baby, but my toes look awesome. And the foot message, although a total spurge, was absolutely fabulous. So, yeah, at least there is that.

Doctor's appointment tomorrow. Pray for progress!!!

They are, after all, the musical fruit...

I spent a significant amount of time last night hoping I wouldn't go into labor. Which is weird, because I am SO ready to have this kiddo.

The reason?

I had a bean burrito for dinner last night.

Yeah, EXACTLY.

I obviously need to put more thought into my meals, because one of them is going to inevitably be my last one before I, as my father would say, "domino". And maybe foods like beans shouldn't be on the menu.

Just saying.

Because I have nothing better to do than blog multiple times a day...

Just in case you thought I didn't get out of bed this morning...

In other news, my doctor's office called today because even they are sort of surprised that I haven't gone into labor yet.

I assured them that they would be the first to know when I did.

The nurse sighed (yes, SIGHED!!) and said there was still a day and a half until my next appointment. Maybe I'd have my baby before then.

Of course, she said it in a way that suggested she also thought it was a long shot. Kind of like when you tell someone who needs money that maybe they'll win the lottery tomorrow. Technically, you could, but no one really believes it will happen.

So, the plan (not mine) for tonight is to watch a scary movie. My sister thinks it will scare Thor right out of my uterus.

I, for one, am not convinced. I mean, would you be?

Amy on Adam...

"Adam is like a puppy sitting on a horse under a rainbow in a field of flowers on a cloudless 74 degree day. That's how I feel about him. [Pause] There might also be some bunnies in there too."

This is what it looks like when my dogs have given up on me ever getting out of bed in the morning...

Hey, if you can't beat her, join her, right?!

Again, no pressure but...

...A text message from your Auntie Amy:

"If you don't have that baby you're going to have to get everyone something else for Christmas."

To Thor, in utero...

Dear Thor,

I want you to know that I have done everything in my power to get you out before Christmas. I've worked out like a beast three of the last four days, and today your grandmother took me to the mall to "walk me" for over two hours.

(Your father joked that I needed to take a leash and a couple of plastic pick up bags in case I had an accident. He is a real joker, that one.)

And the mall was crowded, chaotic and more or less my own personal nightmare. Your father can attest to the fact that I am not a big fan of the mall, crowds or shopping unless Kona Grill is involved. Which it wasn't today. So, yeah: Sacrifice.

I have even resorted to jumping up and down in place. Your dad caught me doing this on Sunday evening and wasn't impressed. He obviously wants you to stay put until 2012.

I've also been eating a lot of spicy foods. But I'm not sure that counts since I eat spicy foods all the time.

Anyway, I just want you to know that I've been doing my part to get you out as far away from Christmas as possible. And, well, I can't be expected to do this all by myself, you know.

Plus, Anni's wedding is one month from tomorrow and I have this bridesmaid dress I need to squeeze into. No pressure or anything. I just wanted to make you aware of the situation.

Love,
Mom

P.S. Oh, and your dad is holding both of us responsible for his having to go to work every day. Which I say serves him right since he won't let me jump up and down in place without criticism and refuses to take me seriously when I say I want to find a trampoline.

A motivational pep talk from Gypsy. Sort of...

I know your life kind of sucks right now, and you hardly slept a wink last night. But are you ever going to get out of bed and play with me?

50+ years of history...

Just canceled my home phone service. It is silly that something so trivial has caused me so much stress and anxiety. I have - literally - been agonizing over this decision for months now. Which is stupid since it will be saving me a good chunk of change every month on something I hardly ever use anymore.

Except, the number has been in the family for decades. My grandparents got the second line number back when phone numbers were only four digits long. The reason? So their four teenaged kiddos could call their friends and have some privacy without monopolizing the family phone line for hours on end.

The number was tied to my grandparents' house until my grandmother passed away in 2005. My sister took the line one number (6276) and I took line two (2313). We both kept the numbers until this year. Amy lost hers when she bought her house and moved over the summer. I've moved mine twice without issue, but having the landline was costing close to $40 a month. Which is ridiculous considering I hardly ever used it, solicitors and politicians were the only people who ever called me on it and I dreaded having to empty out the voicemail every so often.

And, yet, I've held on it for nearly seven years. Leave it to me to make something stupid like a phone number into something sentimental. And, yet, there you go. It is just part of my charm.

But this afternoon something just snapped. I was trying to watch the news and the d@mn landline kept ringing and ringing with incoming calls from MOD, UNAVAILABLE and POLITICAL CAMPAIGN. Seriously. Five spam phone calls in less than twenty minutes. And I just couldn't take it anymore.

You just don't get between a pregnant lady and her compulsive need to watch the weather.

Afterwards, I might have had some residual regret and called my mother in a panic. And, well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry a little. Yes, over a phone number. I mourn stupid things.

It should come as no surprise that this IKEA commercial had me in tears when it used to run on TV years ago:

Consider the 2313 landline number the red lamp in the rain,
and my iPhone the replacement.

The funny thing about the whole situation was that the AT&T sales rep randomly asked me if I would like a year of channels like Showtime, The Movie Channel, FLIX, STARZ and Encore added to my cable bill. I initially said no until the sales guy informed me that if I accepted my cable bill would be $14 a month cheaper than it was if I didn't add these channels. Which I don't pretend to understand. It might be a scam even though the guy kept insisting that it was some sort of promotion and all I had to do was call next December and cancel the extra channels if I didn't want them anymore.

Still? Get more? Pay less? That can't be right, can it?

I guess I will know for sure when I get my next bill. Which, thanks to the lack of landline and promotional cable package, should be $50+ less than what I have been paying every month. That definitely helps take the sting out of losing a sentimental phone number.

And being able to watch shows like Dexter and Californication doesn't hurt either.

Just in case you didn't believe me when I told you that pregnancy has made me a complete moron...

The following conversation took place between Trevor and I via text messsage between 3:49 and 4 PM this afternoon:

Me: "Buying stamps for thank u cards. Should I hold off on buying stamps for announcements or just buy say $50 worth?"

Trevor: "Go ahead since you are there"

Me: "Let's say we send out 150 announcements. How many stamps is that?"

Trevor: "Really? Think about it."

Me: "Shut up and tell me"

Trevor: "150. [Pause] Wow."

Me: "Ok. I asked the wrong question. How much do I spend? Is fifty dollars enough? Or do I need more? [Pause] Stop laughing at me a$$hat."

Trevor: "Tell them you need 150 stamps. They will tell you how much you owe them"

It is sort of amazing that I can remember my own name at this point. Seriously.

It probably wasn't that funny, but it still made me giggle...

Which is sad if you consider that I was by myself.

(But I'm choosing not to dwell on that.)

I am more or less as pregnant as it is possible to be, and yet this afternoon I found myself purchasing a large bottle of vodka at the local Centennial. Not that the man helping me had any idea I was pregnant (I was wearing a sweatshirt), but, just saying, the irony wasn't lost on me.

(And, no. I'm not 100% sure "irony" is the right word given the situation. My brain isn't firing on all cylinders anymore, which is pretty dangerous considering that I've actually more or less convinced myself in the last twenty four hours or so the only thing ironic is the word "ironic" because nothing is actually ironic if you really get down to it. Which everyone knows is false, because - duh - 9th grade English! So, all this irony talk should actually be filed under "pregnant women are dangerous and completely irrational". But at least I know that on some sort of conscious level. Even if I make no effort to change it or otherwise hide the fact that pregnancy has made me a moron.)

Anyway, the fruits of my labor:

Yes, that's right. I bought me some "Mama Pull Over". I'm classy that way.

I thought I was hysterical even if the the clerk behind the counter seemed a little unnerved by the solo, giggling, fat girl in front of him buying cheap, Russian potato vodka.

And in case anyone is unnerved by the idea of a pregnant lady buying vodka, let me put your mind at ease: It wasn't for me. I've owed a coworker vodka for about six months now. Long story that I actually can't remember anymore. But it involved him catching something I had missed and more or less saving my a$$. As payment, he asked for vodka for Christmas. Debt settled.

Trevor says pregnancy isn't an exact science, but I've decided my doctor's office is full of crackheads...

Lord. My doctor's office.

If you are keeping track, you may remember that my doctor is in Hawaii, and I got to see a different doctor in the practice this afternoon.

After waiting AN HOUR, I finally got to meet Dr. H who - I kid you not - walked into the exam room (where I was waiting pantless and covered with a glorified paper towel) and said:

"Hi. I am Dr. H. How can I be of cervix?"

And, well, it went downhill from there. Mainly because I thought he accidentally misspoke and he had to explain to me that it was a joke. Which created unnecessary awkwardness in an already awkward situation with a strange man who was moments away from probing me.

Then, he asked me how I was doing with my kick count, and I told him the same thing I tell my doctor every week: That my kid falls asleep after every meal (which apparently isn't typical) and that he seems to be less active lately.

None of this seems to worry my regular doctor (hey, the kiddo is running out of room in there), but it sent Dr. Cervix into a panic. Which is how I got a completely unexpected (and probably unnecessary) sonogram. But more on that later.

After more or less freaking me out about the health and activity level of my unborn child, Dr. H did the internal exam. Last week, according to my chart, I was dilated 2 cm. But, today, Dr. H declared my cervix to be completely closed. Which is fabulous since that means I am actually progressing backwards. Yet, again.

The nurse said it is the difference in fingers. Which makes me think that there should be some sort of standard for measuring this sort of thing other than the width of whoever's fingers happen to be doing the internal exam.

But maybe that is just me.

Dr. H also felt my abdomen and guesstimated that the kiddo weighs at least 7.5 pounds. Which is much better than my regular doctor's estimates of some sort of mammoth baby.

Then the doctor cut the examination short so I could be worked in on the sonogram tech's schedule. Normally, this would have been fine except he forgot to measure and listen for the baby's heartbeat. So, other than the fact that I am progressing backwards, I don't have a lot of stats to share this week.

Figures.

The sonogram tech, who - to be fair - hadn't seen me since August, was surprised when she looked inside and saw a full term baby. Apparently, she thought I was only a few months along and commented on my lack of a substantial belly this late in pregnancy. Because, you know, I've never heard that before! Maybe it was because I was wearing a sweatshirt?

The sonogram took forever, but it was nice to see el nino (yes, he is still a boy!) and learn that everything is A-OK. In fact, he scored an eight out of eight on all the tests they do if you get a sonogram this late in pregnancy. The amniotic fluid levels are great, the heartbeat is strong and rhythmic and - better yet - Thor is practicing breathing in and out just like he is supposed to and the little booger fights back when provoked. He is also, as the sonogram tech described, "exceptionally lazy". It took her nearly fifteen minutes to rouse the little guy, and even then he kept trying to roll over and go back to sleep. Then he started to punch back and shake his little fists in front of his face like a boxer when she continued to poke him with the sonogram wand thingy.

My kid doesn't wake up well. Wonder where he gets that from?

(Shut up, Trevor!)

He was seriously pissed to be awake, which I hope means that Thor will be a good sleeper once he decides to hang with us on the outside. The bad news is that all signs point to the fact that he may throw a wall eyed fit and come out swinging when unnecessarily roused from dreamland. I guess Trevor and I should remember to always let this sleeping baby lie.

In addition to being exceptionally lazy, Thor appears to be very comfortable inside Hotel Uterus and is showing very little motivation to move south or otherwise make an exit.

The only strange thing was that the sonogram tech estimated his weight to be in the six and a half pound range. Which is a pound less than Dr. H's guess and nearly two off from my regular doctor. Not that it really matters. After all, Trevor was only six pounds, four ounces at birth and a smaller baby seems like it would be much easier to squeeze out when the time comes. It is just weird to me that there is such a range.

Just like, say, my due date.

Speaking of which, Dr. H told me that my regular doctor is a notoriously bad due date estimator, and rolled his eyes knowingly when I told him that I have had three over the course of my pregnancy. He offered this as a case in point: When my doctor left for Hawaii he told those who would be filling in for him that he expected ONLY ONE of his patients to go into labor while he was away. Except almost all of his term patients have delivered since he left. The nurses actually joked with me that I might be the only one who hasn't, which...well, just figures.

(I later found out that there was another patient who, like me, who hadn't delivered. Except when they examined her this afternoon, it was discovered that she was actually in labor and they sent her across the street to Baylor. No such luck for me. Because my baby is apparently all cozy, unmotivated and...well, "exceptionally lazy".)

Dr. H actually thinks I will be pregnant this time next week (sigh), but doesn't think I will make it much beyond that. Apparently, my groin pain and whatnot are all signs that my body is starting the eviction process even if the kiddo isn't necessarily cooperating.

In other words, I could actually be carrying a Christmas baby.

I'd believe him except I've come to the conclusion that no one in my doctor's office really knows anything. At least nothing consistent anyway.

Part of me is resigned to the fact that it will happen when it happens, and the other part of me has decided I will be pregnant forever. Especially since TODAY was one of my three due dates.

Speaking of which, my aunt has taken all three of my due dates and averaged them together. Her money is now on the 24th.

Feel free to leave your guesses below. I have it on good authority that the kiddo WILL actually be born at one point of time or another. Maybe.

I might be getting a little bitter...

Yes, that is how many pre pregnancy calories I burned today lifting and walking on the treadmill.

I burned an additional 500 running errands afterwards.

And no. It has made zero difference.

While I am at it, here is a photo of the full moon on Saturday that did nothing to induce labor:

Have I mentioned that I know of five people who have had their babies or gone into labor in the last five days? Obviously, something is going on (lunar events? weather?) that is not effecting me at all.

(Groan)

I may have a case of baby envy.

The post where I try to make up for my last post...

So, Trevor was embarrassed by my post about Gypsy's lastest "issue".

Because I can write about a whole host of topics from gas to snoring to Trevor's questionable bathroom etiquette, but it is a post about a medical condition effecting my dog's genital area that makes him hang his head in shame.

Or maybe it is just because I used the word "vajayjay" on the internet?

Whatever. Obviously the man is very sensitive.

Except nothing of interest really happened today so here is an advertisement that makes me laugh:


Not that I've actually breastfed or pumped at this point, but I find it hard to believe that being hooked up to such a weird contraption like a cow would make me so happy and relaxed. Much less make me want to call someone and have a conversation like I wasn't in the process of milking myself.

Plus, don't those things make noise? And wouldn't that lead to a conversation like:

Me: "What's up?"

Hypothetical Friend: "Not much. How's the baby?"

Me: "Oh, he is fine. Just napping."

Hypothetical Friend "Oh?"

Me: "Yeah."

[Awkward Pause]

Hypothetical Friend: "So, uh, what's that noise?"

Me: "What noise?"

Hypothetical Friend: "That noise. That noise right...wait, are you pumping? OMG, did you call me while pumping?"

Me: "No? I mean...maybe? Oh, the baby just woke up. I gotta go."

[CLICK]

I am sorry. It just has weird written all over it.

But maybe that is just because I find the idea of milking myself comical and plan to do it only while locked in a closet or something. Not on the phone. Except for maybe with Trevor, but only because it might make him feel uncomfortable and I kind of live for those moments.

In other news, Trevor also commented that the last time one of our dogs appeared on my blog pre-baby could be with the Gypsy vajayjay post, and that is just wrong. So, to remedy that, here is a photo of our girls cuddling last week:

See? Cute!
Is everyone happy now?

Oh, Gypsy Kitty Woo...

Hi. I am a medical marvel.

What did I do when I got home today?

Gave my dog's vajayjay a sponge bath.

As if (STILL) being sick and pregnant isn't bad enough. This is a whole new low.

And, yes, it involves poor Gypsy Kitty (seriously, who else?!) who has most recently developed some sort of infection on her skin just outside and surrounding her "bathing suit area". I have special soap from the vet and I am supposed to leave it on the affected...ahem, "area" for ten minutes before rinsing thoroughly.

The whole thing is just plain weird.

I swear, if that dog hasn't prepared me for motherhood, nothing has.

What I woke up to this morning...

Feed me.

The post where Trevor goes out of his way to make me look like a fat a$$...

It's been three weeks since my last series of belly pictures, and I've been getting a lot of requests. Mainly, from people who are convinced that my belly is going to spontaneously pop before this whole thing is over. And since I am considered term now (regardless of which due date you are using), I guess I should be more diligent in my documentation.

If you are me, or someone who knows me, it is pretty clear that I am as wide as a house. I feel huge.

However, if you are someone who rarely sees me or a complete stranger (like the guy at Sprint on Friday who sold us our new iPhones) I either look barely pregnant or not pregnant at all. Trevor had to back me up to the Sprint salesman that I really was nine months gone and could give birth at any time. I'm not sure he bought it, though.

Anyway, as always, you be the judge. And sorry in advance for the sweats. I'm still under the weather, and simple things - like getting dressed - are really just too much effort at this point.









And because Trevor says that none of the above make me look pregnant enough, he had me hold up my shirt in the kitchen and took pictures of my bare belly from the most unflattering angle he could find.

This one wasn't good enough apparently, so...

...he got REALLY. FREAKING. CLOSE.

See?! Complete larda$$. I can't wait to have my abs back.

In other news...

Trevor called me at work yesterday just to tell me that I snored "like a hog" the night before.

Am I a lucky girl or what? Trevor always knows just what to say to make a lady feel special.

I might be watching Happy Feet while typing this post...

Had another prenatal visit yesterday, and...well, the best news is that I lost a pound. This brings my total pregnancy weight gain back under 30 (even if it is just 29).

I have also made progress in terms of dilatation and all that but I have no idea how much, because my doctor in the middle of giving me my stats for the week threw in one of those, "Oh, and by the way, you tested positive for Group B Strep". Which I had read about, but not really paid any attention to because it seemed like no big deal. And then I got home and completely freaked myself out by Googling it. Seriously, pregnant women shouldn't be allowed to use search engines.

The really sucky thing is that I have an upper respiratory infection on top of everything else, but my doctor doesn’t want to treat it with antibiotics because I now have to be given intravenous antibiotics during labor and delivery thanks to the GBS. Since no one knows exactly when Thor will make his debut (it could be tomorrow or it could be in two weeks), they don’t want to risk giving me an antibiotic now that could interfere with the antibiotic that I will have to take in Labor and Delivery. Plus, it probably isn’t ideal for the kiddo if he is exposed to so many antibiotics so close together.

So, in other words, I get to suffer.

The good news is that the infection is relatively mild. Which means I still feel like crap, but I am mostly functional. The bad news is that my immune system is suppressed thanks to el nino, so it could take my body weeks to clue into the fact that I am sick. And I’ve already been sick for a week now. Good grief. At least the doctor said I can take things like Mucinex and Robitussen, which seems to be helping with the deep cough. For the past week, I’ve only been allowed an occasional Tylenol, vapor rub and my netti pot. If I have to wait for my body to heal itself, I am happy to now have a little relief from the symptoms!

Also in the good news category is that people with normal immune systems are at a very low risk of being infected by me. So I was able to drag my ailing booty to the office every day this week without having to worry about exposing my coworkers. Trevor encouraged me to stay home and rest, but it was my last week of working full time. I just wanted to get as much checked off my "to do" list before the lunar eclipse and full moon. Not that either one will induce labor (because I am exceptionally unlucky that way), but a sick and pregnant girl can dream, right?!

But back to the appointment...

The worst part about the whole "I'm sick" thing was that my doctor got a phone call during my appointment from a family member who is also ill. He listened to him/her, said, “It sounds like you have a sinus infection. I will call you in a prescription”. And then he turned to me and was essentially like, “No drugs for YOU”. Which I guess I am glad about, because I really don’t want to risk hurting the baby. It is just that being sick on top of the whole nine months thing is just plain miserable, and I am so ready for all this to be over. I actually had a dream last night that I went into labor and was so relieved because that meant they’d make my nose, throat and chest better in the process!

Of course, if I do go into labor, my doctor is now on his way to Hawaii, so that sucks. He had originally told me he was only going to be gone a week, but he let it slip yesterday that he wouldn't be back until the evening of the eighteenth. So, for the next ten days I am just hanging out sick, pregnant and term without a doctor in the continental United States. Which, I guess, is no biggie considering there are probably loads of doctors out there that can play "catch" if the need arises. It is just that - if the kiddo DOES come - I have heard nothing but glowing reviews of my doctor's skills in the circumcision department. I've been reminding myself of this every time my doctor has annoyed me, but now he has taken his talents in the snip department and headed to a tropical paradise.

So, yeah: Awesome.

If you need me, I'll be watching bad movies on AMC Family.

Because sign post and billboard were already taken...

I've been getting a lot of questions regarding the actual name of the baby.

And, no. Thor isn't it.

(I know you are disappointed.)

Let's just say that naming the kiddo has been a topic of major debate in our household. Not because Trevor and I couldn't agree, but because nothing (and I repeat: NOTHING) goes well with Trevor's last name.

In addition to being a mouthful, Trevor's last name is also not spelled the way it sounds. So, no matter WHAT we chose, the name - in combination with the surname - is already predestined to be a long and somewhat complicated one.

As a result, we both thought that whatever name we picked should either be short or easily shorted AND simple to spell and pronounce.

Making this whole process a little more challenging, we decided that using family names was very important to us. I am, of course, a history nerd, and Trevor has always wished that his name had a connection to something other than a baby book. The only problem with this is that you are limited to...well, family names. And not all family names are worth passing down. Namely, Orville, Elmer and Villard.

(Sorry, Dad!)

And then there were family names that were *almost* worth considering, like Henry and George. Except when they were combined with Trevor's surname all I could think of was a fat kid with bad acne that was beaten up with his own tuba after band practice in high school.

And, let's face it, George G-Wink is just a BAD name.

Plus, I wanted something unique. Henry is very trendy right now.

But I digress...

The kiddo will actually go by his middle name (just like his mama). It was my great, great grandfather's middle name as well, and - ironically - the very first name in the baby name book I saw when I opened it back over the summer (before I even knew if I was having a boy or a girl).  Looking back, it was almost as if our kiddo chose his name for us (as strange as that sounds).  I mean, what are the chances that I'd open to THAT page, glance at THAT column and see THAT particular name first?  Especially in a book that was literally HUNDREDS of pages long, with THOUSANDS of naming possibilities?  Whatever it was (fate? coincidence? divine intervention?), once I read the name in the book, it just seemed to fit.  Trevor agreed, and we never looked back. 

Anyway, we aren't going to call him by the entire name (although the whole name will appear on the birth certificate), but a shortened version of it which used to be very common among men with the same name centuries ago. The name today (in either the shortened or longer version), however, is relatively rare.

The first name was harder for us to decide on. We threw lots of names back and forth, but kept coming back to one in particular. It is more widely used than the kiddo's middle name, and goes surprisingly well with the last name (which is very important since the name will be called out on the first day of school and will appear on most legal documents throughout his life). It also happens to be Moo's father's name, which is our special way of honoring her and her memory. Especially since it is very much in the realm of possibility that the kid could come on the third anniversary of her passing. That would actually be rather serendipitous if it didn't mean that I would have to be pregnant for another two and a half weeks.

The best part about these two names together for me is that way, way, way back when I first started at my job at the museum 7+ years ago, RR found a letter from my great, great grandfather (where we are getting the middle name) to my great grandfather (first name). At the time of the correspondence, neither man had any idea that their two families would ever be connected - much less that one day 80 some odd years later a baby boy would be born that would bear both their names. In fact, the families weren't connected until my parents wed in the 1970s - twenty or thirty some odd years after both namesakes had passed away.

I think that is sort of special.

Of course, no matter how much thought and effort we have put into naming our first born, there still have to be haters out there. Which I find fascinating because how would they feel if the situation was reversed and I told them outright that I thought what they were naming their kiddo was a bad idea? And the implication that I am intentionally naming my kiddo something that will get him beaten up in high school is ridiculous. The name is shortish (if you go with what we are going to call him), easy to spell, unique, has history behind it and passes both the Banana and the Google Test. What else can you ask for?

I guess I am both cursed and blessed to be surrounded by people who do not hesitate to tell me EXACTLY what they think of something.

In any event, the name is decided, and both Trevor and I love it (which, in the end, is all that really matters). And since I am 5'10 and Trev is nearly 6'4, any future high school bullies should probably beware!

It is shaping up to be a banner year!!

Trevor gets a daddy shower!

Thanks to Kelly and everyone out at Trevor's office for helping to surprise him with his very own daddy shower last night!  It was wonderful!  And I loved being "in" on it!  In a word: FABULOUS!

It might matter more if we weren't actually married. Maybe...

So, I haven't worn my wedding ring for a couple of weeks right now.

Trevor says it is because I get a kick out of people getting the wrong impression. I never took his last name, and now I'm walking around pregnant and seemingly unwed.

It is fantastic.

Of course it would be a lot more fun if, say, strangers could actually tell that I'm pregnant and not just fat.

In reality, though, I am forgoing wearing the ring because my body has decided that I am allergic to it. It has been fitting just fine. Until, that is, my finger started to swell inexplicably. But even then it was tolerable, and I could slide it off without issue at the end of the day. Except that my ring finger started to develop this nasty itchy red line where the ring sat on the skin, and it stopped going away between taking my ring off when I went to bed and putting it back on in the morning. So, I decided to not wear the ring for awhile to see how long it would take for the red line to go away completely. And, well, I am still waiting.

Granted, the line is pretty faint at this point, but it seems unwise to tempt fate and put the ring back on. At least not until I get the ring thoroughly clean. And, well, have Thor and get my regular immune system back. Because my head still itches and I sort of think pregnancy has made my epidermis extra sensitive. Especially considering that I've always had an allergy to metal. I'm guessing all the pregnancy hormones and/or the suppressed immune system is somehow to blame.

Or maybe Thor will physically embody my irrational fear of commitment?!

(Hey. It could happen.)

On the flip side, Trevor hasn't gone longer than a few hours without his since our wedding. And most of the time he has spent without it was because I stole and hid it from him. So, when we go out to dinner and what not, it probably looks like I am Trevor's pregnant (or obese) mistress. Which, if you are completely unfazed by appearances (like I am right now), is pretty, freaking awesome.

Cut to Trevor's eye roll here.

(Love you babe!)

Sometimes being a museum geek has its perks...

A bunch of us had the opportunity to visit the temporary storage facility for the Bush Library today, and take a tour. Photos weren't allowed in most of the building (for security reasons), but we were allowed to snap away in what the staff called "The Bling Room".

It was very cool:

Autographed baseballs, bat and Bush's 2010 ALCS ring.

Trevor would have drooled over these.

The ball standing up was signed by Ted Williams.

The signatures on the bat weren't too shabby, either.

The infamous bull horn.

A sample of Bush's extensive boot collection.

This pair had the White House on the front and the Texas State Capitol on the back.

Jewel encrusted stirrups.

Apparently, Mrs. Bush never wore the entire set at the same time.

The Pope sat in that chair.

There were several other things in "The Bling Room" that I never got an opportunity to photograph, but wish I had. Especially, a print that was dedicated the morning of September 11th, 2011 before the attacks began. Not only was it historically significant because of the date, but the glass in the frame had turned green after being radiated during the subsequent Anthrax scare.

Regardless of how you feel about the former President or his politics, it was a history nerd's playground. Very, VERY cool.