For Halley...

Here I am in a WHITE t-shirt this morning:







And just to cover all my bases, here are the pictures my coworker took this afternoon:

Oh holy wideness.

Close up of fat rolls.

My coworker went out of her way to take the least flattering photos possible. Which I thought you would appreciate considering how you told Trevor someone else needed to do the photographing from here on out.

I even tried to push my belly out more in the first one just to give you the desired effect.

Happy now? ;P

Because I know you wanted to know all this...

I had another prenatal visit on Wednesday morning. This one included the dreaded glucose test. Not only is the stuff they make you drink gross, but it - literally - made me feel sick for the rest of the day. No joke. I even skipped dinner twelve hours later.

And then I noticed a nail in my tire, which was just icing on the flipping cake.

(Grrrrrrrr...State Fair.)

Other than that, though, the appointment was pretty uneventful. We didn't get to see Thor or his penis, and I managed to forget to ask half of my questions despite the fact that I had preemptively written them down on a piece of paper in my purse.

Obviously we are at the point where I need a reminder to remember my reminders.

Needless to say, I forgot to inquire about getting a flu shot and have no idea when the results of my glucose test will be back from the lab. Among, well...other things. I'd mention them here, but I've honestly forgotten them again and my purse is in the kitchen.

Have I mentioned that it is sort of a miracle I remember to get dressed in the morning? Because, seriously, it is.

I do, however, vividly remember the doctor calling me, "A Baby Making Machine". Apparently, Thor is still measuring big despite the fact that I look anything but seven months pregnant. When I expressed concern over having a big baby, the doctor just smiled and said, "We don't worry about women that are 5'10 having big babies. We worry about women who are 4'10 having big babies."

And then he joked that he can "probably guarantee" that my baby will be under twelve pounds at birth.

Thor better be under twelve pounds or me and my vagina are suing someone.

The only good news in all of this is that my doctor now thinks I am only ten to twelve weeks away from Thor's big debut. Which puts my due date back where it was originally.

I thought I blogged about this before, but - if I did - I can't find it. Hmmmm...

Anyway, my original due date was around the middle of December (the 15th). But there was a while there in the spring/summer where every time I went to the doctor, I would lose a half a week to a week.

My first appointment in April was to confirm the pregnancy. I was approximately six and a half weeks along.

Ten days later, at eight weeks, I had another sonogram and heard the heartbeat for the first time.

My next appointment was four weeks later in early June. Based on the measurements from my previous two sonograms (and basic math; 8+4), I was twelve weeks. But at this visit, without another sonogram, I was knocked back to to ten and a half weeks. And I lost another half a week four weeks later at my July appointment.

And, no. I didn't see Thor in July either.

If fact, I didn't have a sonogram between eight weeks and nineteen.

I joked a lot about progressing backwards in my pregnancy, and told my mom that - at this rate - she would be a grandmother sometime in the summer of 2012.

In the world of due dates, I went from mid December to the day after Christmas to New Year's Eve.

Which, frankly, is too close to January 1st and not being able to write off Thor on our 2011 taxes.

Just kidding.

(Sort of.)

So it is nice to be back where we started due date wise. Especially since Thor was planned and I was kind of there for the whole conception thing.

Not that there is any guarantee that Thor will cooperate and come when either the doctor or I think he will. I'm just saying that it would be nice if he came BEFORE Christmas. If for no other reason that every day he hangs out in my womb will bring him closer to twelve pounds.

Not that I believe he will be twelve pounds. If I had to guess, I'd put my money somewhere on the 7.5 to 8 pound range, like I was. Still, when your doctor seems amused by your baby's above average measurements, it makes you stop and think about birthing something the size of a bald eagle and shudder.

In other news: I've gained seventeen pounds and Thor is sitting on my siatic nerve. All this is less than pleasant, and the doctor says both are only going to get worse from here on out.

So much for sugar coating it. Thanks, Doc.

Oh, and my personal favorite, he told me to take Pepcid to help my head itch.

It apparently has something in it that curbs itching, but I just like to say my doctor prescribed an antacid for my scalp irritation.

My doctor says the itching is most likely being caused by my pregnancy suppressed immune system. I am normally a year round allergy sufferer, but ever since Thor moved in, my allergies have actually improved. Or so I thought. Turns out the itchy scalp is most likely the result of a chronic allergic reaction. It is just presenting differently than normal because I am pregnant.

And, of course, the only cure for the weight gain, siatic nerve pain and the incessant head itch is giving birth.

Awesome.

And that, my friends, is the latest and greatest from my uterus.

I know you are thrilled.

An example of my failing memory...

This morning, my Outlook calendar alarm went off to remind me that I had a lunch meeting scheduled for today from 11:30 AM to 1 PM.

Problem is: I have no idea who I was supposed to meet or where.

So, yeah. That was fun.

Eating my words...

Last night, at one of the museum's State Fair exhibit preview parties, there was VERY pregnant lady in attendance. She had the big, round belly and everything.

I joked with my coworker that I was probably further along than she was.

Of course, I didn't expect that my coworker would actually ASK the very pregnant lady when she was due.

And I never imagined that I would be, in fact, a month AHEAD of her.

Lord.

On the flip side, I haven't worn maternity clothes since Monday. Granted, I've been wearing loose fitting dresses for the last three days, but they have all been some of my favorite wardrobe staples for years. And they still fit fine. Maybe a little more snug in the boobs than they used to be, but I guess that is what I get for being seven months along with a pregnancy induced Dolly Parton rack.

WTF nature...

Something had been digging in my flower bed every night last week, and it was driving me crazy.

Especially, after THIS INCIDENT.

I could tell it was large, and assumed it was a raccoon or possum.

It wasn't.

At four in the morning on Sunday, I heard a weird noise in the backyard. The dogs heard it, too, and went crazy. After Trevor confirmed it wasn't an axe murderer, I ran out the side front door and to the gate into the backyard to try to get a glimpse of whatever (I asssumed) had been digging in my abelia shrubs every night.

After all, knowing is half the battle, right?

Without much thought, I opened the gate and bolted into the backyard waving my flashlight around like a mad woman.

I didn't get very far before I heard a terrified hiss and something BIG moving around mere inches from my leg. The noise brought me back to my senses and I suddenly was very well aware of the fact that I had just charged into the backyard in search of a wild animal in my PJs and a pair of flip flops.

According to my husband, I screamed like a little girl, turned around and sprinted back into the front yard where Trevor was standing on the patio barefoot, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and staring at me like I had lost my mind.

I'm sure my neighbors thought someone was being murdered next door.

Whatever-it-was was still moving around on the other side of the fence, so I crept back to the gate and pointed my flashlight in the direction of said animal.

And you know what it was? A flipping armadillo.

WTF? I live in the middle of a big city. I'm used to seeing armadillos at the ranch, but I had no idea they hung out in my neighborhood digging holes in flowerbeds like little hoodlums.

Once I realized what it was, I just stared at it. Trevor had to lead me back inside by the hand because I didn’t know what to do except watch it from the gate and wish it would disappear.

Honestly, I think I was hoping my all-but-naked husband would read my mind and chase the blasted thing out of my flowerbed and away from the backyard. Unfortunately, as it turned out, he had no intention of doing anything except going back to bed.

Once Trevor finally led me back inside – he turned on the alarm. Not to keep bad things from getting in, mind you. But to prevent his pregnant wife from going back outside in the middle of the night to chase random bits of wildlife in our yard.

Update: I’ve also seen two rabbits in the backyard since Sunday. Don’t know when my yard became such a hangout for nature, but it is getting a little out of hand. My flowerbeds have had enough stress this year without being eaten by cute, woodland creatures.

The New Benchmark…

I am not sure this story will translate into a humorous blog post or not. It might be one of those things that you either had to be there for or know the people well enough for the tale to be funny.

In any event, I am going to try to do it justice.

Last week, Carol randomly approached Nora and asked her if she collected anything. Nora hesitated before mentioning that she does, in fact, collect vases.

Now, while it is true that Nora does indeed collect vases, she hardly ever talks about or mentions it. This is mainly to dissuade well intending friends and family from trying to buy her new vases for her collection. It isn’t that she is ungrateful. She is just a serious collector and knows what she likes. Mainly: antique vases from a specific era, odd examples of colored glass from the 20th century and a very particular form of Venetian hand-blown glass from Italy.

Her sister, Susan, actually tried to buy Nora an antique vase several years ago for Christmas, and spent a fair amount of money selecting one that she thought Nora would not only like but would also fit in with her collection.

Unfortunately, Susan missed on both accounts. The vase in question didn't fit in with the other vases in the collection at all, and…well, according to Nora, it looks like it has three overlapping penises going up the stem. This isn’t quite the kind of vase she’d ever gravitate towards (much less purchase).

Consequently, the “Penis Vase” has become a little bit of an inside joke between the two sisters, and - as a result - Nora has it displayed somewhat prominently in her kitchen.

But back to Carol.

Nora took the time to explain the size and scope of her collection to Carol, as well as the reasons why she doesn’t like to talk about it more to deter more sweet, but completely unnecessary purchases on her behalf. Carol seemed to understand, and the day went on like usual.

The next morning, Carol approached Nora with an excited, “I’ve got something new for your collection!” And handed her this:


That’s right. A $2.50 plastic, collapsible vase from a party store.

Nora was livid.

See, Carol is well intentioned, but the idea of giving a plastic, collapsible vase to Nora as a practical joke would never occur to her. Hence, she actually MEANT for it to be added to Nora’s collection.

Therefore, you have to assume that Carol listened to Nora describe in great detail the types of vases she collects and the thousands of dollars she has spent over the decades purchasing them, and STILL came to the conclusion that the perfect addition to Nora’s collection was a cheap, plastic, collapsible vase.

I, for one, found the whole situation so utterly ridiculous that I was doubled over with laughter.

It took a few more hours for Nora to appreciate the humor in the situation, but we’ve now decided the plastic vase is the new benchmark for Carol-related gifts and presents.

Yesterday, Carol asked me if Trevor and I had decided on a theme for our nursery, and offered to buy me a $15 maternity top that had the words, “Welcome to my womb”, bedazzled in jewels and glitter all over the front.

While Carol just might be channeling Trevor’s Gran, it still comes nowhere near THE BENCHMARK set by the plastic, collapsible vase.

Nora thinks I should mention to Carol that I collect silver napkin rings from Neimans just to see what happens...

I obviously didn't know what a real craving was before Saturday...

It finally happened.

I had my first real, honest-to-goodness, must-have-it-NOW pregnancy craving.

The situation: After going to the gym and doing some yard work, I decided to get a pedicure yesterday afternoon at 3 PM.

Normally, I DREAM about pedicures, and love it when the process takes a couple of hours to complete. It is one of the few things that I find to be utterly relaxing in life.

They are also a bit of a splurge for me, so I don’t get them but every other month or so. In fact, my last pedicure was back in July – before we even went to Colorado. I was overdue for some pampering, and looking forward to having pretty toes again for all the State Fair opening events this coming week.

Anyway, the first half of the pedicure was everything I had hope for and dreamed of. But the second half? Yeah, TORTURE.

And, no. It had nothing to do with the pedicure itself, the fabulous technician or even the salon. I just happened to be flipping through a magazine and saw an advertisement for Jamba Juice.

Suddenly, and without warning, I wanted a smoothie. Nay, I NEEDED A SMOOTHIE. As in, “RIGHT THIS MINUTE, b*tch get out of my way”.

Unfortunately, the technician was still finishing up painting my toes, so I had to wait a bit.

I started out patient enough, but soon the minutes started to feel like hours. And, you know what? I literally started to panic. Which is silly because when has anyone ever died because they didn’t drink a smoothie? But it felt like a dire situation. And, by the time I finally left the salon, I was near tears. The need was THAT great.

I am pretty sure I sped through the Park Cities in an effort to get to the nearest Jamba Juice on Greenville. It is nothing short of amazing that I didn’t get pulled over. Because, really: Pregnant or not, what kind of excuse is a sudden onset smoothie craving to a Park Cities cop on an otherwise uneventful Saturday afternoon?

Exactly.

The craving immediately went away once I arrived, ordered and took a sip. The smoothie was cold and delicious, but drinking it didn’t give me the near orgasmic experience I had anticipated (considering the smoothie induced panic that led me to hightail it over there in the first place). In fact, consuming said smoothie was more relief than anything else. Almost as if I had narrowly escaped death or some sort of impending doom or disaster.

And, again. All I was doing was drinking a bleeping smoothie.

How many more weeks until December?! I'm not sure how many more cravings I can handle!

Relax...

These pictures were taken about a week and a half ago after dinner with my dad and brother at North Park. I think the universe is trying to tell me to relax. Too bad I don't have time. I blame the State Fair, Texas history and fried bubblegum. You would too if you had my job.

Did you know turtles sunned themselves with their legs sticking straight out? Yeah, me neither!

Technically, Brookstone was closed. It is sort of amazing my dad didn't opt to spend the night in the massage chair.

Seventh Month and still just plain fat...

I started the seventh month this week, so I figured I should document the occasion by taking some more belly pictures. And, yes, before you say anything that is the exact same outfit I wore the last time I did this about 2.5 weeks ago. I figured it was best to stay consistent clothing-wise for this little project.

And, well, I don't have a lot of clothes.

Plus, if you look closely, I am totally wearing a different necklace. In my world, that basically makes it a brand new ensemble.






All my friends keep telling me that they can (finally) tell that I am pregnant. Except for friends that I don't see very often and don't know that I am knocked up. Those friends still have to be informed because they either can't tell by looking at me that I am with child or are afraid to ask.

And then there was the lady last night at an evening function who basically said I must be joking when I told her I was expecting. In other words, strangers and acquaintances still seem to be none the wiser about the existence of Thor.

On the plus side, though, weird people haven't tried to touch my belly. Unless you count my sister. And, well, there isn't much I can do about that except scowl.

The frustrating thing is that I have the weight gain without the belly and the hip and low back pain without the distention. It all seems very backwards to me. I really thought I would be able to park in the Expectant Mothers space at Whole Foods by now.

Bother.

Yet another example of why the people in my family aren't mature enough for church...

On Sunday, Amy and Adam joined Trevor and I at 10:30 church.

One of the lessons was from Jonah:

The Lord God appointed a bush, and made it come up over Jonah, to give shade over his head, to save him from his discomfort; so Jonah was very happy about the bush. But when dawn came up the next day, God appointed a worm that attacked the bush, so that it withered. When the sun rose, God prepared a sultry east wind, and the sun beat down on the head of Jonah so that he was faint and asked that he might die. He said, "It is better for me to die than to live." But God said to Jonah, "Is it right for you to be angry about the bush?" And he said, "Yes, angry enough to die." Then the Lord said, "You are concerned about the bush, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night. And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?"

(Jonah 4:6-11)

Except all the talk about bushes and worms made Amy start giggling uncontrollably. The harder she tried to stop, the worse it became.

Trevor, upon seeing Amy, also started to chuckle and - before you knew it - all four of us in the pew were trying desperately to stifle our laughter before anyone around us noticed.

It is sort of amazing we didn’t get kicked out of church.

To be fair, when I was little, the bush was always “ivy” or “a plant” in Sunday School. Of course, I was also at an age where a worm attacking a bush (or Ivy for that matter) would never have been misconstrued to mean anything other than what was intended.

Sometimes I miss the literalness of childhood.

Speaking of: Last Sunday's Sunday School lesson was about Adam and Eve eating from the tree of knowledge. Trevor and I have been watching a lot of TRUE BLOOD, Season II recently, and one of the characters on the show said Eve was short for “EVE-IL”. Trevor thought this was hilarious. So, every time Eve came up in the lesson, Trevor would turn to me and mouth, “Eve is short for EVE-IL!”

It is amazing none of the kiddos caught him in the act.

[Shakes head]

This week’s lesson involves Lucky Charms and searching for treasure. I’ll try to figure out how that relates to the Bible later on and get back to you.

Overshare Theater: Preggo Panties...

Because pregnancy has done away with my internal filter and ability to avoid all things considered "TMI", I offer the following review of my new maternity underwear:

I was finally forced into ordering a few pairs of preggo panties a couple of weeks ago for several important reasons:

1. I kept pulling my regular underwear up in front as my baby beer gut developed. At first, this didn't change the way the undies fit overall, but eventually a significant portion of my backside started to be exposed as more material was needed up front. This left me feeling like a plumber. A fat a$$ pregnant plumber.



2. I was sick and tired of the random panty line where the top of my bikini briefs ended underneath the waist band of my maternity jeans.



3. My old undies started to roll down in the front. This was A) not comfortable; and B) not attractive as it made said abdominal panty line more pronounced.

So, I took the plunge and ordered knocked up undergarments to match my size F granny bras.

I got pairs with lacy bits at the top. This helped eliminate the abdominal panty line, which was definitely a small victory in the world of dear, ole pregnant me.

In fact, the only real drawback to the new undies is when I go to the gym to workout.

See, my new preggo panties are a little big. This is mostly due to the fact that my belly still isn't really a belly as much as it is a fat roll. Hence, there is a tad too much extra material in my gym shorts and, as a result, my new undies are now the cause of the world's worst workout wedgie.

Seriously, there is no wiggling or discrete jiggling that is going to get those bad boys to release from where the sun don't shine. I have physically relocate to the bathroom to right the situation. It is just plain awful.

[This is where I would expand on my wedgie description, but I am pretty sure no one wants to read that.]

So, there you have it. Preggo panties get rid of the abdominal panty line issue, fit nicely and are very comfortable. Save for the gym. And then all bets are off.

The End.

Redneck to English dictionary...

I will preface this following email thread by saying that there is a special exhibit at the museum and we have scholarships available to help schools pay to bus kids to see it.

The teacher in question is responding to the confirmation she received on Wednesday afternoon that her school had been selected for one of the busing scholarships.

Nora is one of my coworkers.

From: Teacher
Sent: Wednesday, September 21, 2011 5:28 PM
To: Deals
Subject: RE: texas history

Terrific! Now is that all that you will need for us to get rein versed for the buses?


From: Deals
Sent: Thursday, September 22, 2011 9:20 AM
To: Nora Lenhart
Subject: FW: texas history

What does her sentence below mean? Rein versed?


From: Nora
Sent: Thursday, September 22, 2011 9:32 AM
To: Deals
Subject: RE: texas history

reimbursed for the buses


From: Deals
Sent: Thursday, September 22, 2011 9:46 AM
To: Nora
Subject: RE: texas history

Seriously? THAT’S what it means? I’ve never heard that expression. I even googled it. Nothing.


From: Nora
Sent: Thursday, September 22, 2011 9:47 AM
To: Deals
Subject: RE: texas history

There is no Google translator for Redneck.

If you say "rein versed" with a thick Texas accent, it comes out sounding *almost* like "reimbursed".

No. Not kidding. Try it if you don't believe me.

This same teacher had also never heard of an invoice before today.

I couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to.

She's teaching the youth of America, people!

Just some food for thought.

Thor...

Trevor made me watch the movie THOR on Sunday.

Things I learned:

• Thor isn't the brightest crayon in the box.



• Thor is a bit of an egotistical jacka$$ in the movie.



• The movie involved a Rainbow Bridge. But not the kind where animals go to wait for their owners in Heaven.



• The actor playing Thor is really, really, exceptionally good looking. Especially when he takes off his shirt.

And because this post has no real beginning, end or (for that matter) point, here is a picture of Chris Hemsworth without his shirt on:

Yum.

An observation without merit...

I've mentioned before that (among other things like peas and watermelon) Thor has been craving almond butter.

I ran out last week and had to buy more. I was in a bit of a hurry, and the Whole Foods in Lakewood moved the nut butters for no reason that I can tell except to cause confusion and chaos among their nut butter regulars.

Another customer and I were linked briefly in our quest for almond butter. We both just kept staring at where the almond, cashew and peanut butter USED to be. Almost as if we stared long enough it would magically appear. Or maybe we just weren't looking hard enough.

It was a stressful few minutes.

We finally found the nut butters four or five rows over. But, by that time, I was really running behind, so I just grabbed the first jar of chunky almond butter I saw and made a beeline for the cashier.

It wasn't until I got home that I realized I had accidentally purchased raw almond butter.

At first, I wasn't too concerned. "Raw" is supposedly healthier, and the only ingredients in the jar are 100% organic almonds. I like almonds. It didn't seem like it was too far of a leap to assume I'd also like raw almond butter.

So the next morning I put some on my morning toast, and took a bite.

Y'all: Raw almond butter tastes like someone chewed a handful of almonds and spit them out into a jar.

Maybe this is something people sometimes look for in their almond butter. But me? Yeah, I'm now of the opinion that a little bit of salt and sugar mixed in with my almond butter isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Plus, once I thought of the raw almond butter as already-been-chewed, the thought of eating more of it kind of turns my stomach. Which is strange, because - again - I like almonds. And there is no actual proof that they were pre chewed. At least not by humans.

I'm blaming this one on Thor, and have plans to keep the jar of raw almond butter in my fridge until some point after my pregnancy is over. Because, who knows? I might like raw almond butter then. Until then, though? Yeah, it is nasty.

Grammy Pammy doesn't sugar coating anything...

Had lunch and toured a couple of day care facilities with dear ole' Grammy Pammy today.

Don't know what it was, but something about spending time with me made her want to strike oh-holy terror into my little, pregnant heart.

It started out innocently enough. She asked if I planned to breastfeed. I told her I thought it would be a waste to go up seven (yes, SEVEN!) cup sizes and not breastfeed. So, yes. I plan to hook Thor up to the boobie upon his arrival into the world.

At which time she said something along the lines of, "I don't want to scare you, BUT..."

(Don't you just hate it when people preface something that way? Because you know that all they really want to do is terrify you when they make a statement like that. It is like being passive aggressive, but intentionally forgetting the whole "passive" part.)

(I braced myself.)

Grammy Pammy: "...you should start toughening up your nipples now. They get really raw when you breastfeed. There were times when it felt like blood was pouring out of my nipples instead of milk. It was really awful and painful and lasted FOREVER. I thought my nipples would never toughen up!"

And she wasn't done there. Oh, no, no. After that she wanted to talk about episiotomies. Apparently, two of her three children (myself included) required the procedure, which kept her from being able to sit or pee without searing pain for nearly two weeks post delivery.

!!!

Basically, my mother was really selling the whole having-a-baby thing this afternoon, and I was left reeling from the experience. Had she told me all this stuff before I got pregnant, she might not be just a few months away from (finally) realizing her dream of becoming a grandma.

Which, come to think of it, is probably why she waited until week 25 to spring these little gems on me.

Lord help me.

I'd say "I want my mommy", but - honestly - I'm afraid of what else she might tell me.

I win.

It is official. The summer of 1980 is no longer the hottest on record in Dallas.

Take that, Mom!

We tied the record of 69 100+ days yesterday. Today was number 70. Tomorrow will most likely be 71.

It pretty much sucks to live in Texas right now.

Further solidifying the whole hottest-summer-on-record thing, the summer of 2011 beat the average temperature of 1980 by more than a degree. In 1980 it was a cool 89.2 degrees. The average in 2011? Yeah, 90.5.

Seriously, no wonder the state is on fire. We are living in an oven. It is mid-effing September and it was 107 today.

I said this before, but it is hard not to take all this heat personally. I was born in August of 1980. So, it makes complete since that I would be pregnant with my first child during the summer of 2011. My mother says it is karma. I've just decided that I am exceptionally unlucky.

Here's to hoping for some rain and sweatshirt weather in North Texas soon!

Alley CAT lives up to her name...

Alley Cat

I can't believe I am posting this. Part of me is horrified and the other part is excited we've finally found a useful outlet for Alley's hunting instinct.

Sometime last week something dug a hole under the cement slab in the dog run and moved in under there. The foundation of the house goes down pretty far into the ground, so we weren't too concerned with the whatever-it-was getting into our physical home. Still, it wasn't ideal to have something living under the patio in the dog run, because…well, ew. Plus, the longer it lived under there, the more likely that it would eventually figure out how to get in the crawl space under the house, and I’m just not cool with that. I am an animal lover by nature, but I have boundaries. My house is one of them.

Cut to Alley: the dog became absolutely obsessed with digging whatever it was up. She started spending most of her evenings in the dog run (in addition to her days), and had to be convinced to come inside when it was time for bed.

To call Alley a motivated hunter is a gross understatement. She would lie in the middle of the dog run completely motionless FOR HOURS waiting for the thing living under the patio to finally emerge. And then there were the holes she dug in an effort to flush the thing out of its den. This did nothing for my already sun torched landscaping.

Of course, the pest control people couldn’t come out on a weekend, so we were left dealing with all this “dog versus vermin” hole-y nightmare over the weekend.

But I guess Alley’s persistence paid off, because we found the murdered body of a mouse in the dog run Sunday morning. And then, as the afternoon wore on, she killed several of its offspring. I guess it either gave birth under there [insert shudder here] or moved her young from another location. Either way, the babies were too young to survive on their own, and easy targets for Alley as they wandered out from underneath the patio looking for their mother.

(Okay, okay. They were really all rats. I know we live in a big city and rats are always found in and around large groups of people regardless of the neighborhood, but still. NASTY.)

(I still feel kind of bad for the babies. I was out in the dog run when she killed one, and heard its terrified little death squeaks. It brought tears to my eyes. My only consolation is that Alley was quick about it, so it didn’t have to suffer for long.)

In an effort to keep any of the mama rat’s friends or family from also seeking shelter under the patio, Trevor and I spent a significant part of the late afternoon on Sunday digging around and burying brinks under the slab to discourage other vermin from burrowing under and repeating The Great September Rat Slaughter of 2011.

So far, it has worked and there is no longer any evidence of something residing under there. Even Alley doesn’t seem to give the area a second thought anymore, which is a good sign that we are now rid of the problem.

And, just think: I didn’t even need to buy a cat!

Almost as good as the time we accidentally turned Jesus into a zombie...

Today in Sunday School we taught the kiddos about the book of Genesis and the creation of Adam and Eve.

We were at the part where Adam was tending to the garden before God created all the animals and had Adam name them:

Other teacher: "Would you like to garden alone or with other people?"

Elton (2nd grade boy): "I don't really like to garden period. I'm a boy."

Me: "You don't have to be a girl to like flowers."

Other teacher: "Yeah, plenty of men like to garden. Can anyone name an example?"

Trevor: "Hippies."

We also had a bizarre (and utterly random) conversation with the kids about men who wear skirts. I think we were trying to teach them about Scotland and kilts, which - now that I think about it - has absolutely nothing to do with Adam, Eve or the Garden of Eden.

We might be the worst Sunday School teachers on the face of the planet.

Anyway, the kids had never heard of men wearing skirts in Scotland or anywhere for that matter, so we tried to come up with other real world examples of men donning what the boys in attendance this morning might otherwise interpret as "girly clothes".

And this would be the point when I equated the robes the Dean of the Cathedral wears during church to a dress.

Other teacher: "Yeah, that's called a 'robe', [Deals]. Not a dress."

Oops.

So, just to recap: Adam was a hippie and men of the cloth are cross dressers.

Fan-tastic.

Preggo brain mandates that I write these things down or forget them forever...

Five things that make me giggle:

1. My dear aunt Mimi keeps calling The Fetus "TRON" instead of "THOR".



2. Bronze castings of baby bumps. Other than the fact that I'm not sure I want to remember being the size of a house, what -pray tell - do you DO with a giant, metal distended belly casting for the rest of eternity? Hang it on the wall? Display it on a shelf? Or my favorite: Is it possible to use it as a serving bowl for chips and guacamole? Because if I had one, that's what I'd totally use it for.



3. Pregnancy ads for quirky products. Not that I have a navel piercing, but I am fascinated by the fact that there is a market out there for flexible belly rings. It must be because I am in my early thirties. I know, I know: Old.



4. Peas. What a random thing to crave. I had them at least twice last week. They are fantastic.



5. The fact that they are frying bubble gum at the State Fair this year. After the butter and beer of the past couple of years, I thought nothing would surprise me. Well played, State Fair of Texas. Well played. Definitely didn't see that one coming. I know it is technically a bubblegum flavored marshmallow, but you are going to cover it in chiclets. Is that even edible?

A post where the admittedly clueless, pregnant lady gives advice...

If I only knew then what I know now.

I mentioned this before, but finding a reputable day care in Dallas is a nightmare. Correction: finding a reputable day care in Dallas that doesn't have a ridiculous waiting list is a nightmare.

What they don't tell you when you go in for your first prenatal visit is that you really need to start getting on the day care thing STAT. Like, you probably should have already called a few centers around town the second you got that positive on your first at home pregnancy test.

I was a blissfully ignorant first time mom-to-be whose biggest concern last spring had nothing to do with day care. I was more concerned with getting through the first trimester, and was terrified that I would miscarry. As a result, the subject of day care didn't even cross my mind until I started the second trimester and the blood test results came back with the news that The Fetus was healthy and developing normally. And even then I was of the let's-research-everything-and-weigh-my-options mentality. By the time I actually started calling and emailing various centers, it was mid to late July and (no joke) PEOPLE LAUGHED AT ME.

By August, I was concerned and - now that we've hit September - I am pretty much a walking basket case. I am on five or six waiting lists, and the earliest any of them can take THOR is sometime next summer. Well, except for this new day care that just opened. They have room in March and April, but when I called them I was discouraged when the man answering the phone slipped up and said something about how short staffed they were. This immediately conjured up the mental image of my son crying unnoticed for hours on end all hungry, cold and suffering in a dirty diaper. But since I don't feel like I can afford to rule the short staffed day care out completely, I still have them on my radar.

All this distress in regards to day care also has me looking into options for Thor when he is a toddler and of pre school age. I might have already applied if the applications for the Episcopalian schools in the area hadn't asked me questions regarding my son's personality. Because all I really know at this point is that my child is active and dislikes flashlights. Additionally, they all want the kid's name and, well, we haven't decided on one of those yet. If you know Trevor's last name than you are aware of the problem. It is like Monica on Friends. Nothing goes well with "Bing".

But I digress. The real issue here is day care. So, if you just discovered you are pregnant, do yourself a favor and start calling around town tomorrow. You will save yourself a lot of time, stress and panic in your late second trimester. Which will leave you plenty of time to focus on the other important things, like, I dunno, baby socks and lamaze.

On intentionally irritating our unborn baby...

Remember this experiment?

Well, I finally let Trevor try it out on Thor early Sunday morning.

At first nothing happened. So, Trevor moved the flashlight around my stomach.

All of a sudden, my abdomen jumped with such force that I screamed, "OUCH", and Trevor backed away as if horrified with a low, "Whoa".

My mind immediately jumped to the movie ALIEN.

We had pissed off Thor. That much was obvious.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Trevor recovered and exclaimed, "Let's do THAT again!"

Uh, no, Trevor. Let's not.

So, yeah. That went well.

I am pregnant. Not DISABLED!

From: Trevor
Sent: Wednesday, September 07, 2011 11:19 AM
To: Deals
Subject: FW: Annual Fire Drill - FRIDAY, September 9th @ 9:00 AM
Importance: High

Yes. You are disabled.
________________________________________

From: Trevor's Job
Sent: Wednesday, September 07, 2011 11:17 AM
Subject: Annual Fire Drill - FRIDAY, September 9th @ 9:00 AM
Importance: High

Property Management has scheduled our annual fire drill for this Friday, September 9th at 9:00AM. EVERYONE must participate in the fire drill and evacuate to the street monument. However, ALL HANDICAP individuals should stop at the circle drive, this includes pregnant women. Evacuation maps will be posted throughout the office no later than Thursday afternoon, so you will be able to reference them during the drill.

I don't even have words...

Trevor just snuck outside to pee in the backyard.

(I'll pause to let you think about all the things that are wrong with that sentence.)

(And, yes, we have indoor plumbing.)

Trevor's apparent need to pee in the "great outdoors" or mark his territory or do whatever he *thought* he was doing was interrupted. First by me yelling through the open window, "OMG! ARE YOU PEEING?!" And second by Haskell who walked up beside Trevor and peed on his sock.

Lessons learned:

1. It is impossible to pee unnoticed in the backyard when your wife is airing out the house and watching the news in the master bedroom.



2. The backyard "territory" has already been claimed by Haskell. Violators beware.

Even when I try, I fail...

I tried to document my belly this morning. Not because there is all that much to show, but because I feel the need to prove that I'm still barely showing at nearly 24 weeks.

It took awhile because I couldn't find a mirror in my house that didn't showcase my poor housekeeping skills in the background. I finally decided on the guest bedroom, because - let's face it - hardly anyone ever goes in there.

Problem is, my sister swears that the images make it look like I am sucking in my belly. Except I'm not. Honest. And for those who don't believe me: I DON'T HAVE ABS ANYMORE. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO SUCK ANYTHING IN AT THIS POINT!

Seriously. Just ask my trainer.

Funny thing is that I was actually TRYING to angle my stomach closer to the mirror. This, if anything, should make it look larger. Or so I thought. Gosh, I don't know. Blame the fact that I was wearing a black top.

Amy insisted that she take more pictures of me, since I obviously wasn't doing it right. Except she managed to take the worst images of me EV-VER. It was like she was trying to find an unflattering angle. When I showed them to Trevor, he even exclaimed, "What the heck were you doing?!"

Yeah. They were THAT bad.

Needless to say, I am not putting the awful pictures on my blog. You will just have to settle for these:

If it is any consolation, I can tell I'm pregnant.
You can't deny those fat rolls!

We turned two!

It must have been a stroke of brilliance that led Trevor and I to get married over Labor Day weekend. Seriously. At the time, it was all about the date and numerology according to Deals. But the unintended side effect of a Labor Day weekend wedding is having a built in three day weekend every year for our anniversary. Accidental genius I tell you! What a good call!

It is also helpful to have your anniversary close to (if not on) a U.S. holiday, because it helps you remember that your anniversary is, in fact, coming up. Not that Trevor nor I were paying very much attention. Well, maybe Trevor was. I, for one, kept almost forgetting all week. I'm totally blaming Thor for stealing the blood supply that was so obviously intended for keeping my memory up and running. The little thief.

My favorite "oops, I forgot" moment was when I asked Trevor why he wasn't working on Monday (he works a lot of holidays), and he looked at me like I was a complete idiot. AND I STILL DIDN'T GET IT. It is never a good thing when your husband has to explain that he isn't working because it is your anniversary and he took the time off to be with you.

Pregnancy has turned me into a brainless a$$hat.

Anyway, the second anniversary is technically cotton. So, it makes complete sense that Trevor bought me a diaper bag from Coach and I bought him an electric razor. Hey, at least I BOUGHT him something this year. Last year I followed the whole first-anniversary-paper thing and presented my husband with a sappy, first anniversary card. And Trevor did THIS. Not that an electric razor is an over night stay at the Adolphus and dinner at the French Room, but I'd like to think that it was a step in the right direction.

(Yes, I do realize how that last sentence sounds. But in my defense it is a REALLY nice, top of the line electric razor. AND I let Trevor pick it out before ordering it on Amazon. Who says romance is dead?! And, hey, we traded socks to cover the whole cotton thing. Or we meant to, which is essentially the same thing considering I can't tell his athletic socks apart from mine half the time.)

The strangest part about this anniversary is knowing that this time next year we will have a *almost* nine month old. It never ceases to amaze to me how much life can change in a twelve month period.

I just hope I can find a reputable day care between now and next Labor Day weekend. Because being on multiple waiting lists for months is doing nothing for my sanity! They should tell all couples thinking about trying to conceive to call your daycare of choice NOW. Waiting until you are securely in your second trimester is basically making a public announcement that your really don't care about jumpstarting the education of your baby AT ALL.

There is something about Grammy Pammy...

Get it?!
(Snicker, snicker)

Second anniversary sunset over Lake Joe Pool...

Happy Anniversary, baby!

Sweet Pea...

Have I mentioned that last week I ate a can and a half of peas for dinner? No?

Because last week I totally ate a can and a half of peas for dinner.

Trevor is still stunned. It was pretty amazing.

Guess what Trevor did while I was getting a facial...

HOUSTON, WE HAVE A CRIB!

We don't have much more in terms of functional baby gear, but at least Thor has a place to sleep at night come December.

I never claimed to be rational (especially when it comes to itching)...

Gran always had this incessant itch at the crown of her head. When the family watched her oral history a few days after she passed away, you could see her reach up and give the spot a good scratch on several occasions.

All of a sudden, and for no good reason, the crown of my head started to itch in the exact area that always afflicted Gran. It began around the same time Trevor and I returned from Colorado (immediately following Gran’s passing), and it comes and goes randomly. I’ve tried changing shampoos, and even washed my hair for a week with Trevor’s bottle of Head and Shoulders Itchy Scalp Care Formula. AND IT DID NO GOOD. The itch is still there!

I am now convinced that my erratically itchy scalp is the result of Gran haunting me. Which is unfortunate because I don’t know what lesson I am supposed to derive from being all itchy and irritated.

NOTE: Yes. Randomly itchy scalp seems to be a side effect of pregnancy based solely on the sheer number of internet support groups I found when I Googled “itchy scalp + pregnancy”. I’m still going with the whole Trevor’s-grandmother-is-haunting-me theory, though. It doesn’t seem right to blame everything on poor Thor.

Good night, green tea. I will miss you!

I had a doctor's appointment yesterday to check on Thor, and got an unexpected sonogram.

The most important thing is that everything is fine and Thor still has a penis. That is very critical information to me because we just registered for BLUE bedding over the weekend, and I needed confirmation that Thor was still Thor and not Thorette. I think I now have more pictures of Thor's junk than any thing else. All of the images have arrows pointing to that all important male appendage with "it's a boy" written in big white letters next to it. Next time I get to see Thor, I need to remind myself to get more pictures of his face. I'm starting to feel like some sort of creepy fetal pedophile or something.

In other news, the doctor measured my belly (by locating the top of my uterus, which is now way, way, WAY above my navel apparently) and the bottom. He measured the first time, shook his head and measured again. Then he muttered to himself, “That is going to be one big baby”. Not sure how I feel about that – especially since I am still barely showing at all (save all the fat rolls and the Dolly Parton boobs).

Thor DID look more cramped in there during the sonogram, which might explain why I am finally starting to show signs of distention. He has no where to go but out at this point. Thor was also sleeping, which gave the tech a rare opportunity to capture a his little profile. And, yes, I think there is already enough evidence to suggest that this kiddo will look just like his daddy. Poor Thor.

(I'm KIDDING, Trevor! You are very handsome.)

(I just hope he has my skin pigmentation.)

(But your fabulous hair. Oh, please, let him have YOUR hair!)

I also got confirmation that Trevor was completely freaking out for no good reason about my heart flutters.

Did I mention that I've been having heart flutters? No? Well, they are not that big of a deal, so no need to worry.

I've had them for years, but they were always infrequent. I never got around to telling a doctor about them, because six months might go by between episodes. Plus, my mom has them and her doctor isn't concerned. I just figured it was genetic and almost didn't give them a second thought until Trevor caught me googling "heart flutters" over the weekend.

To be fair, they've been happening more and more often. And by that I mean "all the time". Still, I wasn't worried until Trevor all but dragged me to the ER. Not because I was having said heart flutters, mind you. But because I am the vessel carrying his unborn child and nothing can happen to Trevor's own personal mini me.

Dear Thor, Daddy already loves you more than he loves mommy. Mommy is okay with it as long as daddy keeps cooking, and continues to let mommy go to the gym relatively unsupervised.

Anyway, Trevor made me PROMISE to tell the doctor about them at my appointment. I was worried the doctor would overreact like Trevor, but he just said it was due to my increased blood volume. Not that there isn't any cause for concern. It just isn't unheard of. And for the time being I am under strict orders to avoid any and all caffeine. I can't even have decaf apparently. Throw that in with the heart rate limitations and the potential need to wear maternity support hose in the near future and my life is pretty much over until Thor's big debut.

Note: The lack of caffeine may or may not explain my spontaneous drooling in the last thirty hours or so. Without my afternoon tea, it is hard to counteract the soporific effects of the office. Pregnant women should be allowed to take naps. Especially after eating lunch. Just saying.

Happy September...

...it is still 102 outside. Bleh.

In happier news, here is a quote from my intern's page-a-day calendar that has kept me giggling for days:

Blind Woman: "You're a godsend, a savior."

Postman (Kevin Costner): "No, I'm a postman."

The Postman (1997)

I really need to see this movie. It sounds awesomely terrible. Who wouldn't want to see a film about one man's quest to rebuild civilization by resuming postal service? Yeah, I know! It is brilliant. I should sponsor a screening.