Blinky Moments

Guess who is three weeks old already...

2012-01-25T22:59:00.001-06:00

More recollections from the hospital and the last several weeks...

2012-01-24T11:52:00.005-06:00

Blogging with a tiny newborn is hard! I am more or less stuck in Groundhog Day, except the people in the movie repeated every 24 hours. I am on a three hour loop: diaper changes, nurse, burp, play with baby (a.k.a. keep him up for an hour), put him down for a nap, repeat. And the hour and a half to two hours when the B-Man is sleeping, I'm trying to do other things like laundry or grabbing something to eat.

And that is WITH the night nurse that my fabulous Auntie Mimi got for me as a present. I think I was born without a maternal instinct, because nothing about this process has come to me naturally. The whole thing sounds so easy when you are pregnant and reading about it in a book, and then the little one arrives and suddenly *wham* chaos.

Let's just say the first twenty four hours at home before the night nurse arrived involved very little sleep and a whole lot of tears.

I was originally sort of ashamed to admit that I actually (desperately) needed the night nurse, but now I am working on letting the guilt go and just accepting the fact that a little extra help never hurt anyone. And I am learning so much from her, and things like getting the baby on a schedule no longer seems so daunting and scary. If nothing else, life around the house has become much more manageable now that everyone is a little more rested and I've had a bit more of an opportunity to rest and to recover from the surgery.

So, judge me if you will, but the night nurse is a Godsend.

(Plus, it isn't like she'll be around forever. I'll have to sink or swim eventually.)

Otherwise, though, motherhood is pretty awesome. I could stare at Banner forever, and just adore all the noises he makes. I love nursing him, and have enjoyed watching his little cheeks and belly fill out slowly over the last couple of weeks. Obviously, I am a little biased, but I think he is just about the cutest thing I have ever seen (even if he looks like a little, old man version of Trevor).

Because I am so behind on posting, I am resorting to a list to get all the details I want to remember written down before I forget. So, without further ado, here are some recollections from the last twenty days:

I went to work after the Jean Paul Gaultier exhibit on January 3rd to finish a report. I didn't tell anyone I was there because I was worried they'd make me go home (I'd been working on and off even though I was technically on vacation). Once "discovered", though, I got into trouble because my coworker was worried I'd go into labor or something would happen and no one would know I was in the office. Except she was less than 50 feet away and just didn't hear me come in.

(I'd like to think she would have heard me if I had screamed, though. Or, say, calmly called her from my office phone.)

Of course, twenty four hours later (after it was common knowledge around my office that I actually WAS in labor the previous afternoon) made them all feel justified in their opinion that women who are 42 weeks pregnant shouldn't be allowed at work.

I'm just glad I finished said report when I did.

Oh, and I am totally claiming that I worked up until giving birth. Just FYI.

The picture where Banner looks like my dad.
(Taken Day One)

I remember very little from the first twenty four hours or so after Banner was born. I can recall being wheeled up to the maternity ward and into my room. I have vague memories of people visiting me, but I couldn't tell you what we talked about or even tell you who stopped by unless a photo of them was taken. It is all sort of a blur.

The sunset from my hospital room on January 4th, 2012

This also goes for people I spoke to on the phone. To some, I sounded quasi normal. To others, I sounded...off. I told one of my best friends from high school that I was "just trying to speak English like everyone else" when she asked how I was doing.

Awesome.

So, if you spoke to me on January 4th, my apologies. In my defense, I was pretty heavily medicated and had lost a lot of blood.

The last few minutes of Banner's birthday.

I DO remember refusing to take any pain medication less than twelve hours after the surgery. I honestly didn't feel that much pain and I didn't want the drugs coursing through my system as I started to breastfeed. I also elected to have my catheter removed as soon as possible (10 PM), because I found it disconcerting that people had to periodically come in and empty my pee and clean me up. I wanted things to return to normal as quickly as possible.

I woke up at 2 AM on January 5th and had to pee. Because it was my first time after the surgery and catheter removal, I had to call for a nurse to assist me with the process. Except when I tried to urinate, nothing happened. It is honestly the strangest sensation in the world to have to pee and not be able to. It took a couple of trips to the bathroom and several glasses of cranberry juice to get the desired result. I will never taking being able to pee for granted again.

Trevor sticking his tongue out at his newborn son in the hospital.

I am sure I started trying to breastfeed the day before, but I can't remember. Trevor says there were some issues latching. By day two, though, those were long gone. B-man is a master latcher and champion sucker, and hasn't looked back since.

Hi.

The best thing about having the catheter taken out was being cleared to shower on Thursday, January 6th. Best. Shower. Ev-ver.

Middle of the night feeding in the hospital.

The second night, Banner started to cluster feed (apparently common around 48 hours), and I didn't know what to do except latch him on. Except my milk still hadn't come in, and my baby was essentially using my boob as a pacifier. Nearly three hours later, a nurse saw what was going on and took my baby back to the nursery so I could rest. It took nearly a week for my nipples to recover.

Hanging with dad.

Breastfeeding did (and still does) make me drowsy. Trevor has the absolute worst picture of my ev-ver on his cell phone. I was lying in the hospital bed with Banner plugged into my boob while I was visibly nodding off. Even though he refuses to delete it and PROMISED to not show it to anyone, a surprising number of people have now seen it (jackhole!).

(Groan.)

Sleepy baby.

Banner's blood tests came back with high bilirubin levels in his first few days of life. He was classified as being in the 95th percentile for jaundice, and I was told to feed him more often to encourage him to poop and pee (which is how the jaundice is eliminated from the body). This was agonizing before my milk came in because I wasn't producing enough of anything to get the desired result. We finally had to make the decision to supplement with formula to avoid having to put my baby under the lights. Luckily, we only had to do this for 48 hours before I started to produce enough milk to feed him on my own.

The thinker.

Because of the high jaundice levels, the nurses intentionally sabotaged Banner's circumcision by bringing Banner to feed first thing in the morning the day after he was born. My OBGYN came in to do the procedure and found him nursing away. Apparently, doctor's won't circumcise a baby on a full tummy, so the surgery had to be rescheduled for the next day. After my doctor left, the nurses came back in giggling and talking about how my baby's penis could wait another day in effort to give his jaundice levels a chance to fall off a little.

I was so relieved when my baby's penis got a reprieve on Thursday, but sobbed when they took him away to perform the procedure on Friday. It just seemed so unfair to come into the world only to have one of the most sensitive parts of your body operated on within two days after birth. But after the circumcision, Banner was no worse for wear. In fact, he didn't even seem to notice that anything had happened and was just (shockingly) hungry.

Thor and his hammer.

In an effort to get my milk to come in as quickly as possible (to help treat the jaundice), I started trying to stimulate my boobs by using a pump on January 6th.

Trevor slept at the hospital with me every night after Banner was born. I almost had to force him to go home periodically to shower, eat and get some rest.

Trevor referred to the nursery at the hospital as "The Full Detail Service" because we'd almost always send him there half naked (because he'd blown his diaper off or managed to pee all over his t-shirt), but Banner would come back all clean, dressed and tightly swaddled.

After the full detail service.

In case you were wondering, the Awesome Pawsome was taken care of by our fabulous neighbor, Becky, while we were in the hospital. She came by three a day: once in the morning to feed them and put them outside in the dog run, again at night to feed them dinner and once more around nine or ten to close the doggie door (otherwise Haskell would go outside and bark at nothing in the middle of the night). Not having to board our dogs was a huge relief (especially considering I went into labor in the middle of the night), and it meant or pups' routine wasn't interrupted or changed. It also meant that Trevor got to see them when he came home and they all got to sniff him and Banner's blankets once a day.

Banner gets the hiccups after almost every feeding. He didn't like the hiccups on the inside, and not much has changed since he started life on the outside.

Video of Banner's hiccups on his second day of life...

I was released from the hospital on Saturday, January 7th around 3 PM after I had over 40 staples removed from my c-section incision site.

I pumped before being released and was so proud of myself because I had finally produced over 30 ccs of breast milk. Before that, I had been supplementing whatever milk I was able to express with formula. But 30 ccs was the magic number because it was what the pediatrician wanted Banner to be getting 8-12 times a day at this stage in his very early life. Finally producing enough milk on my own meant I no longer had to supplement with formula. I was so proud of myself.

Then, as I prepared to leave the hospital, I accidentally (and totally without thinking) put the breast milk in a sack to go home and it spilled all over. I thought I was just packing the pump parts, and forgot about the breast milk which we were saving for the 3 PM feeding before leaving the hospital. This sent me into near hysterical sobs. I felt so stupid.

All this proves that while it might not be okay to cry over spilled milk, crying over spilled breast milk is a completely other matter altogether.

Little piggies!

Banner weighed 6 pounds and 12 ounces on the day he was released from the hospital.

Home!

As I mentioned above, the first twenty four hours at home with the baby were a nightmare. I was more exhausted than I think I've ever been before in my life, and Banner needed time to adjust to his new environment. My mom was staying with us to try and help with the baby so I could get some rest, but we all realized pretty quickly that none of us knew what we were doing. The baby kept crying and none of us could soothe him (in hindsight, he was probably just overly tired), and I was so worried that he'd stop breathing in his sleep that I couldn't relax and do anything other than worry and cry over him.

And, then, things I thought I knew went flying out the window. Like: How long can breast milk sit out at room temperature before going bad or how do you heat it up after refrigerating it? My breast milk - absent for what felt like an eternity in the hospital - came in with a vengeance by Saturday evening, and I was completely unprepared for storing it. I was still pumping because my nipples were - literally - cracked and bleeding.

Basically, I was overly tired and in a lot of pain. It was a looooooong night.

So little.

The first couple of weeks after giving birth I cried a lot. This is apparently normal and somehow helps stimulate milk production. It doesn't make it any less weird, though, when you burst into tears on a brief dog walk for no reason at all.

Because of the jaundice, Banner got to go to the pediatrician two days after being released from the hospital. He had been "exploding" pretty frequently since going home on Saturday, and we had all noticed that his little arms and body were substantially less yellow now that my milk was finally in. The doctor agreed, and didn't even need to run his blood to verify.

Another a good sign? That the little guy was up an ounce (6 pounds, 13 ounces) since leaving the hospital.

He has strong toes.

Banner's schedule since coming home has been to eat every three hours during the day (9 AM, 12, 3 and 6 PM) and four hours at night (9 PM, 1 and 5 PM). His appetite has increased from 30 ccs per feeding to 4.5 to 5 ounces in two weeks.

My OBGYN performed a Plastibell Circumcision on Banner, and the clear, plastic ring fell off exactly one week after the procedure. For reasons I don't pretend to understand, Trevor has ring on display on the shelf over the changing table and keeps threatening to have it bronzed and put on a chain.

Banner lost his umbilical cord scab on January 17th. The good news is that it isn't on display anywhere and I don't have to worry about feeling guilty about throwing it away.

The bad news is that we don't know where it fell off, so there is a scab somewhere in the house. This initially bothered me to no end until someone pointed out that I shouldn't worry since a dog has mostly likely eaten it in the interim.

(Gag)

Lazy weekend mornings with daddy.

At my two week doctor's appointment on the 19th I had lost 21 pounds in 15 days after giving birth.

I was also cleared to drive by my doctor, which was fabulous since I had driven myself to the appointment.

At Banner's two week appointment on January 20th, my kiddo weighed in at 8 pounds, 4 ounces and 21 inches. The doctor was very impressed with his weight gain, especially considering that our little guy isn't getting chubby at all (he now has fuller cheeks and a little belly, but no baby fat rolls to speak of). Apparently, he is committing every last calorie to growth.

Still, he is in the 50th percentile for height and weight and the 45th percentile for head circumference. Not exactly the linebacker stats that Trevor was hoping for, but the little guy is healthy and that's all that matters.

Because of his good weight gain, the pediatrician has now given us the green light to let him wake up on his own at night. Trevor is hoping this will immediately translate into Banner sleeping through the night, but I have more realistic expectations.

This is his surprised look.

I cried more than my baby when they pricked his heel for the two week round of blood tests. I am already dreading his next appointment at 2 months when they give him his first round of shots. Trevor might need to take the afternoon off because I am not sure I am strong enough to go through that alone.

I am producing a lot more milk than my baby needs, and already have a good store built up in the fridge and freezer. I often have to pump after nursing him just to get relief for my aching boobs.

Sweet baby.

Haskell is afraid of the baby. He was the first one we let get close to him after coming home. He sat down and sniffed the Banner. Then his eyes got really big and he started backing away very slowly. He now prefers to spend his time either on his bed (shocker!) or in the dog run sunbathing.

I was initially worried about Gypsy because she was showing a lot of interest in the baby. That is until one day when I wasn't paying close enough attention and discovered her giving Banner a foot and leg bath. Now her daily goal seems to be how many "kisses" she can sneak in when she thinks no one is looking.

Alley is the only one I'm not very comfortable with. She stares intently at Banner and cries. It is possible she thinks he is a hairless squirrel.

Hi, Grammy Pammy!

Banner graduated to size one diapers before the second week of life. We are still having a hard time containing him, however. That kid knows how to blow off a diaper.

Whadya lookin' at?

On Thursday, Banner peed all over the wall. On Saturday morning, he - literally - peed in my face (it went in my eye and mouth, people!). Then, less than twenty minutes later, he tried the same thing on dad. Trevor managed to block the flow, but it ricocheted off his hand and managed to hit the closet door nearly six feet away. The kid has range. He is committed to keeping us on our toes during diaper changes. And, yes, these are the results we are having WITH proper defensive protocol and utilization of things like pee-pee tee-pees.

This is his "Seriously? You are my mother?" face.

Sometimes Banner looks at me as if to say, "Really? Nine months of Adelle, Katy Perry and singing at the top of your lungs in the car?"

Giving mom lip already...
(possibly my favorite picture so far)

I love Banner's pouty face.

Gas.

No one talks about what goes on after the baby, and, no. I'm not talking about the depression. I am referencing the night sweats, uterine contractions (as things shrink back to their normal size), bleeding, aching boobs/nipples, weepiness, loose abdominal skin, etc. There is nothing sexy about just having a baby. Oh, and my head? Yeah, still itches.

Have I mentioned how much I adore baby feet?

I've decided that all pediatrician offices smell like germs and throw up (regardless of how clean the office may be). Trevor says he doesn't smell anything when we go, and that I am just being silly, but - seriously? Can you think of a bigger biohazard than a pediatricians office?

Mornings with mom.

Trevor can't pronounce Pertussis. When he called to schedule his shot a couple of weeks ago, he asked for the Per-TOO-sus vaccine.

Whaaaaat?

Banner always has his ankles crossed. Looking back at his sonogram pictures, it is how he held his legs in the womb.

Happy boy.

When Banner came out, he had his hands in tight little fists with his thumbs on the inside. Apparently, this is a sign of good luck, and I had several people comment on it in his first several days.

Sleeping on mommy's chest.

Ever since the first day, Banner has been able to lift his head up (briefly) and look around. We've also gotten a lot of comments from the doctors, nurses and pediatricians about how alert he is for a newborn. I think it is because he was late and just a little older and wiser than other babies his own age.

20 Days Old!

I am going to wrap this up now before something else happens that I want to add. Here's to shorter (and more frequent!) posts in the future!!

(Maybe...)

Stinkbug's first bath...

2012-01-23T20:13:00.001-06:00

Auntie Amy can no longer claim that people needed to wash their hands AFTER touching the baby:

Amy on parenthood...

2012-01-22T20:27:00.002-06:00

"Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face."

A Banner Birthday: It was pretty much the exact opposite of anything I had ever imagined...

2012-01-12T20:57:00.001-06:00

The last week or so has been a literal whirlwind, so I'm not sure where to even begin with the telling of the following tale. My apologies if the following doesn't flow well or skips around a bit. I'm just trying to get it all down before I forget everything.

And, no. My memory hasn't returned since giving birth. It may be gone forever.

Tuesday, January 3rd, 2012:

The first time I noticed anything was slightly amiss or had the thought "Gee, I wonder if that was a contraction" was at lunch with Mimi and Jessie at the Dallas Museum of Art after seeing the Jean Paul Gaultier exhibit. Mimi had joked earlier that the exhibit was weird enough to induce labor. Guess she was right. The projected (and sometimes talking or singing) faces on the mannequins were definitely interesting, as were the accessories made out of hair. Or maybe it was just all the cone boobs and corsets that made Banner think that life on outside was worth exploring.

In any event, I had reached a point in my pregnancy where I assumed I would never go into labor naturally, and had started believing that my son would be born sometime on Friday, January 6th following a scheduled induction.

(If we had gotten to choose Banner's birthday for him, Trevor and I had decided on Epiphany. We figured it was only appropriate since our kiddo wasn't having an "epiphany" about coming out on his own.)

As the afternoon wore on, the "Gee, I wonder if that was a contraction" thoughts continued, but I wasn't convinced it was labor at all. It was, however, enough of a nuisance to make me feel like I was sick to my stomach, and I decided against going out to dinner with family. So, my last evening at home sans kiddo was spent lounging on the couch with Trevor watching episodes of Showtime's Spartacus on Netflix.

My last meal.

The contractions continued to get more intense and rhythmic, but I didn't tell anyone (Trevor included) because I was preoccupied with the idea of crying the labor version of wolf and getting everyone all excited about nothing. So, I showered, brushed my teeth and got ready for bed around 10 PM even though I was significantly uncomfortable by that point.

I am good at denial, y'all.

Since the pain seemed worse when I was in lying in bed, I put off trying to actually sleep. Instead I did a load of laundry and putzed around the house in my PJs. Finally, though, I convinced myself to try to get some shut eye. I fully expected the pain to subside, to fall asleep soundly and wake up wondering what I was so concerned about the following morning.

Except the pain didn't go away. If anything it started to get worse.

So, I did what any reasonable person would do: I got on my iPhone and googled "what does labor feel like", and read several articles that made it sound like what I was experiencing (rhythmic pain and pressure in the lower abdomen that radiated around around to my back and spine) were just signs of false labor. Real labor pains are (apparently) felt higher up in the abdomen. Mine were more like really bad menstrual cramps.

Disclaimer: It is entirely possible that I chose to only indulge in articles that backed up my theory I was experiencing absolutely nothing. Which is part of the reason why I need to stop trying to diagnose myself over the internet. I was nearly 42 weeks pregnant and had convinced myself that I wasn't really in labor when I was actually having full blown contractions.

Which just goes to show that you can convince yourself of anything if you put your mind to it. Ask me. I am an expert.

But - just in case I was wrong - I downloaded an app on my iPhone to track the length and time between "the pains". On average they were 2 to 3 minutes apart and lasted 46 seconds.

Wednesday, January 4th, 2012:

I finally made the decision to call my doctor at 12:01 AM. But not because I had changed my mind about being in labor. I called because I started to feel concerned that something might be wrong, and I wanted the doctor to tell me that it was all nothing and to try to get some sleep.

Plus, since the pains had started, I couldn't remember feeling the baby move.

The doctor on-call was paged and returned my call at 12:07. And wouldn't you know that it was Dr. Cervix. Because why not? There are four or five doctors at my practice, and the night I go into labor it had to be him.

Dr. Cervix was obviously roused from a sound sleep and seemed limited in his ability to comprehend the English language. I told him what I was experiencing and he thought it *might* be contractions, but not to get too excited because it was my first pregnancy and it could go on for quite some time. Even stop. He told me to call back when my contractions lasted for a minute every five minutes for an hour, and then we could talk about going to the hospital.

Which, if you are keeping track, means that I needed my contractions to actually slooooooow down. I later learned that this typically isn't possible.

The moon as seen from my bedroom window the night Banner was born.

So, following doctor's orders, I went back to bed. Sleep was impossible because the pain was uncomfortable and frequent, but I still didn't bother to wake Trevor because he had complained of a headache earlier in the evening, and I figured - labor or not - we had hours to go and he needed his rest. He DID hear me come back into the bedroom, though, and rolled over and asked if I was okay. I told him that I there was a small chance that I might be in labor.

I got no response from the far side of the bed.

At 1:02 AM I decided to text my mom for support. Here is the transcription of that conversation:

Me: "U awake?"

Grammy Pammy: "Yeah..."

Me: "Called doc on call and it was effing doctor cervix. And I've decided he's an a$$ who is possibly the worst listener in the world."

GP: "What's going on"

Me: "I don't think he understands English"

GP: "Ok"

Me: "I've been having these stupid pains since lunch but they've been getting pretty bad lately"

GP: "Ok...do you think it's labor...Have you told trev...have you been timing?"

Me: "They last about 45 seconds to a minute every 4ish minutes. Can't sleep and they are getting worse. No tried to tell trev but he is sleeping. He didn't even react."

GP: "You wake him up (trev) & go to hospital now...!"

Me: "Didn't tell anyone earlier bc it wasn't bad and figured I might be making it up"

GP: "You may be in labor...this is nothing to fool around with..."

Me: "Doctor cervix said they needed to be a minute consistently every 5 minutes for an hour. I don't wanna go in if it is nothing."

GP: "Baby needs monitoring...Don't be silly...Let the hospital send you home...so what!"

Me: "He was more concerned that I didn't do my kick count than anything else. But I didn't do it bc this other thing that was going on and baby has only moved intermittently since it began"

GP: "...the thing is sweetie, that you need to monitor the baby for any stress...don't worry if they tell you it's nuthin...go to hospital & let them tell you...You are too late in this game to play around...its not likely nothing...You gotta think of the baby now....better to be safe than sorry...labor is different for every new mom & if the baby is in any stress you need to know now!"

Me: "But it will prob stop or something or I'll get there and they will tell me it is indigestion. And even if it is real isn't it supposed to last for hours and hours and water is supposed to break and whatnot?"

GP: "Are you kiddin me!?!? How likely is that you...10+ mos preg...have indigestion???"

Me: "I've seen movies. U just want a grandkid yesterday. How do you know it is real? And I'd have to wake up trev. He had a headache"

GP: "My water NEVER broke w/out help from the dr...what do I have to do to get you to wake up trev & go to hospital? Geez! Wake up Trev! Or I will send an ambulance to ur house"

Me: "Shouldn't I wait for the contractions to be consistently a minute in length???"

GP: "Are you kidding me!?!!?!...pleez! No! Go to hospital!"

Me: "Ur being irrational. U were in labor with me for a day and a half and u didn't go to the hospital right away. Dad had a dinner party. I know the story"

GP: "Then call me! Or I'm going to get in the car & come get you right now...Ok, that's it...I'm call 911 & sending them to ur house"

Me: "Noooo. Calm down. Don't make me sad I texted u. I don't need an ambulance"

GP: "You are killing me...And possibly ur own baby...Go to the hospital! Wake up Trevor...NOW! Something could be wrong...& every second you delay could be putting thor at risk...You need to listen to ur body...especially if it is not. Please go to the hospital! Now! Just the fact that it is not 'text book' make me think something could be wrong..."

And this would be the text that finally got me to wake Trevor up at 1:53 AM. But not because I was ready to come clean about the whole labor thing. No, no. I woke him up to ask him to call my mother and talk her off of Mount Crazy. Which in hindsight must have been pretty confusing for Trevor since he had no idea anything was going on at all. He found out about everything: possible contractions, my phone call to the doctor, etc. from my hysterical mother at nearly two in the morning.

Go me.

(To be fair, I was in labor and too stubborn to be rational.)

We left for the hospital around 2 AM. I almost refused to take my partially packed hospital bag (yeah, I never finished packing. I am fabulous that way), because I didn't think I'd need it yet and we'd be home in a couple of hours. This is how we ended up at the hospital without things like toiletries, cameras, anything for the baby or the blasted car seat.

I did, however, manage to wear Trevor's THOR t-shirt.

And, yes, I argued with my husband most of the way to Baylor because I thought everyone (mainly him and my mother) was overreacting. I had spoken with a medical professional and he had told me that I didn't need to do anything until the pains were five minutes apart. Who cares if mine were every minute and a half or two minutes? I even refused to let Trevor drop me off at Labor and Delivery. I insisted that we park in the garage like everyone else and walk. Trevor wanted to bring in my bags, but I also shot that down. They were in the car. If we ended up needing them, Trevor could always get them later.

So, yeah. Maybe in hindsight I was being a tad difficult. But in all honesty, the pain really wasn't that bad. Granted, I couldn't sleep through it but it was manageable. I remember thinking it couldn't be real labor because that was really supposed to hurt badly. I could easily breathe through what I was experiencing.

I'd pay for that thinking later on.

Smiling through the contractions.

We arrived at the hospital around 2:15 AM, and - much to my surprise - were admitted pretty quickly. At 2:30 I had my first internal exam and was hooked up to a fetal monitor. At the time, my contractions were a minute or two apart, but I was only dilated about 3 centimeters and 80% effaced. I assumed it was shaping up to be a long night, even with the contractions coming so close together. The nurse made it sound like my spazzing uterus could be caused by dehydration, and hooked me up to an IV.

The only "bad" news we received after getting checked in was that Doctor Cervix would be the one delivering my baby unless Thor decided to stay put until 7 AM. The mere thought nearly had me in tears, which is silly since I am sure he is a completely competent doctor (assuming someone woke him up and force fed him caffeine so he could function and speak coherently). The nurse, though, noticed my distress and panicked expression and came back into the room a little while later to report that my doctor was actually already at Baylor and asleep in one of the other rooms. Apparently, he was inducing one of his patients that night and doctors aren't allowed to leave the hospital during the process in case something goes wrong.

Hallelujah!

Considering how this whole birth story turns out, this was an amazing stroke of luck. I don't even want to think about what might have happened if my doctor hadn't been there already or if we had had to wait for Dr. Cervix to arrive.

The next hour and a half was spent breathing through contractions while Trevor worked on getting the kit so the baby's cord blood could be collected for storage. I was still committed to trying to have the baby naturally and without pain medication (especially since I already had to have antibiotics administered intravenously to treat the Group B Strep). Despite the frequent contractions, the labor pains were still tolerable - mainly because they came in waves. Yes, the peaks were uncomfortable, but I had a break in between them. Knowing they weren't going to last forever made them relatively easy to breathe through, and I was feeling confident in my ability to handle the pain.

At 4 AM, my doctor walked through the door to check me out himself. I was never so happy to see the man in my life. He announced that I was 3.5 centimeters dilated, and broke my water.

And that is when things got really interesting.

My amniotic fluid wasn't clear, but bright red. My doctor actually described it as being the color of "port wine". This, I quickly learned, is never a good sign and meant that my placenta had ruptured. My chances of having a vaginal delivery all but evaporated at that very moment.

Still, both my doctor and I were hopeful that I could avoid a c-section. The baby was handling the stress well (although an electrode was inserted vaginally and stuck on his head to more closely monitor his vital signs), and everyone was hopeful that everything would remain as stable as possible.

Things started moving very quickly after my water broke. The most noticeable for me was the fact that I no longer had any breaks between contractions. Looking back on it, my body was doing everything in its power to get the baby out as quickly as possible. But, at the time, it was nothing short of terrifying. Not to mention agonizing. For me, the pain no longer had peaks and valleys. I could no longer breathe through them. It just kept getting worse and worse - one building on another without a moment of relief. Then the nausea set in. I remember thinking that I could deal with the pain or the nausea, but both together was torture. Still, I refused the epidural until my doctor more or less insisted that I have one. Since my chances of having to have an emergency c-section were skyrocketing (I was still bleeding), he wanted me to already be numb from the waist down to avoid having to gas me if the need arose suddenly.

Not wanting to chance having to miss the birth of my first born, I gave in and agreed to the epidural at 4:30 AM. Despite the anesthesia, I could still feel a lot of pain and pressure. The only thing that truly seemed to disappear was the nausea, which I was grateful for.

At 5:00, I was 5 centimeters dilated, and at 5:10, I was catheterized. Or as Trevor wrote in his notes from that night: "decaphader". Which I am assuming is a little like a decathlon with a more urinary focus.

During this time, the baby had two or three "episodes" where his heart rate plummeted and suddenly the room was crowded with doctors and nurses talking in medical code and looking very concerned. One of these took place when Trevor decided to go to the bathroom that was attached to the delivery room. No one was in the room when he closed the door, but by the time he flushed and walked back out, the room was a buzz with activity. Luckily, all these episodes resolved themselves quickly and no intervention was needed. Still, you realize very quickly in a hospital that one or two people in a room at a time equals good. More than that equals PROBLEM.

It was all very scary.

At 5:30, two things happened almost simultaneously. The first was that I was suddenly fully dilated. That's right: I dilated 5 centimeters in less then half an hour. The second was another baby heart rate episode. This one was more severe than all the other ones combined, and didn't immediately rebound. Suddenly, alarms were going off, people were swarming the hospital room and my doctor started telling everyone to prepare for surgery. STAT.

I've watched enough ER in my lifetime to know that the word "STAT" is not a good thing.

Neither is it when your normally laid back doctor has visible sweat on his brow and is yelling that, "We need to get this baby out NOW!"

Trevor was ordered to leave the room and change into scrubs.

They started to move me, but then something else changed. It was just me, my doctor and one nurse at that point. My doctor suddenly shoved my legs apart, yelled the nurse to grab one and for me to grab the other. However, since I had the epidural, I couldn't feel my legs, much less move them. So the nurse had to hand me my left leg (which incidentally is VERY heavy and terribly awkward to manipulate when completely numb), and then the doctor started yelling for me to push.

I did my best, but while trying, I dropped my leg. I think I got two pushes in before the doctor announced that the baby was still too high to be delivered. Even at the end, Thor refused to drop.

Then, apparently, I started to bleed heavily and the baby's heart rate dropped to below sixty, and we were out the door and rolling into surgery.

I was terrified and the only thing I could think of to do was to recite the Lord's Prayer over and over again in my head.

My memories of the next few minutes are in flashes. I remember Trevor in scrubs next to the gurney as they rolled me into the room. He winked at me and smiled like everything was A-Okay. I remember my mother flying into the room, and chanting "My baby! My baby!" as she stroked my head. I remember them picking me up and moving me to the operating table and feeling temporarily like I was going to fall on the floor (not because they almost dropped me, but because they didn't have the luxury of taking their time and moving me gently). I remember that they didn't have time to put up a curtain to shield what was going on from Trevor and my mother, and I can recall their wide eyes and bloodless faces as they tried to focus on me instead of what was going on below my waist. I remember the absolute chaos in the room as the doctors and nurses ran around in a frenzy. I remember shaking uncontrollably (from rapid loss of blood), and my arms being pulled out to either side like I was being crucified. I remember how stressed my doctor looked which made me start to cry, because that was the first moment I realized how serious the situation was. He is normally so calm and relaxed. I had never seen him so tense. I was suddenly terrified that I would loose the baby.

I had no idea until much, much later that they were also worried that they might lose me.

Despite being numb, I still could feel a lot of discomfort and pressure. And I could feel them pushing and pulling my body in ways that made me think I was being ripped apart from the inside. I remember feeling faint and light headed and having time speed up and slow down somehow simultaneously.

Then, at 5:46 a shrill cry filled the air as Banner breathed his first breath and screamed his way into the world.

Trevor ran to watch them do whatever they do to babies when they are first born, and no sound was sweeter than the sounds of his sobs and the nurses declaring him to be absolutely perfect despite the heart rate episodes and trauma of the last several hours.

I remember my mother joining Trevor to get a first look at the baby, which was just beyond my range of sight still lying on the operating table. I heard laughter and Trevor ran back over to tell me that Banner was fine, healthy, definitely had his chin and had just peed all over the nurses while on the exam table.

That's my boy.

First picture of father and son.

After they cleaned him all up, Trevor got to hold him and brought him over by the side of my head to say "Hi". Because of the way I was on the table, it was hard for me to get a good look at him. But I said, "Hi, Baby" as I strained to look in his general direction to my left. Banner had been making noise, but when I spoke to him he got very quiet. My mom and Trevor later told me that he stopped struggling and calmly stared in my direction the moment he heard my voice.

It seemed to take forever for the doctors and nurses to stop messing with me. I heard things like, "We need to get a good look at the placenta", and a whole host of other comments about the amount of blood in my uterus.

I remember how strong it smelled it when they cauterized some part of my anatomy in an effort to stop the bleeding. Had they been unable to control it quickly, the next step would have apparently been an emergency hysterectomy.

Thank goodness it never got that far.

The technical term for what had happened is called placental abruption. I don't know much about it other than it is apparently pretty rare condition where the placenta starts to prematurely break away from the uterine wall. It occurs in 1% of pregnancies worldwide, and is a significant contributor to maternal mortality. My doctor told me he hadn't seen a case as severe as mine in over a decade. When they pulled my baby out, he was literally swimming in a pool of my blood. Or as my doctor put it, "a big, ole bottle of red wine".

(I have no idea what was up with him and his vino references last week. And, no. I'll probably never look at a glass of red wine in the same way again.)

I had none of the risk factors commonly associated with a placenta abruption, but my doctor hypothesized that it may have been caused because I was overdue and things like my placenta were starting to (for lack of a better word or phrase) "go bad". It also might explain why my baby was smaller than everyone thought he would be (although a 7 pound, 3 ounce kiddo is by no means considered "small"). No one knows when the bleeding started or what caused my placenta to start tearing away prematurely, but things like the frequent (tetanic) uterine contractions with little or no break were a classic sign that something was going very wrong.

Basically, had I been living on the prairie 150 years ago, both Banner and I would have died in childbirth.

All in all, we were very lucky. I don't want to think about what might have happened if my doctor hadn't already been at the hospital that evening inducing another patient, or if I had listened to Dr. Cervix and put off leaving home until my contractions miraculously slowed to five minutes apart. I truly believe God was looking out for me and Banner that night.

I lost over a liter of blood. For days I didn't think that was a very big of a deal. After all, I rationalized, I donate blood all the time. Until my brother explained the difference to me between a pint and a liter. Apparently, the average adult has five liters of blood in their body, and losing two liters can be fatal. It is probably a good thing I was never very good at subjects like biology or anatomy/physiology. In times of crisis, ignorance is a fabulous self preservation tool.

Waiting to meet the newest member of the family.

Following the delivery, the nurse that had been monitoring my progress since check in told me that baby Banner and I were the cause of her two newest gray hairs. And, over the course of my hospital stay, I had a variety of people - from nurses, to doctors to the anesthesiologist who performed my epidural and monitored me during the surgery - come to visit and check on us and remind me just how lucky baby Banner and I were to both survive. I may have not grasped the severity of the situation at the time, but I do now and feel forever in debt to the doctors and nurses who literally saved both our lives early last Wednesday morning.

Hanging with the B-Man...

After the surgery was over and I was all stitched back together, I was rolled into recovery for an hour and a half before being sent up to room 722. Baby Banner got to ride on my chest, and the trip to recovery was the first time I got to hold him.

And then there were three.

And in case there was ever any doubt, he looks just like Trevor. If he didn't have my blood type I'm not sure I'd be believe I had anything to do with it other than (obviously) carrying the little guy for nine (or ten) months.

Welcome to the world, baby boy.

The world has a brand new (and very small) person in it...

2012-01-04T20:04:00.004-06:00

Introducing:

"Banner"

Born on Wednesday, January 4th, 2012 at 5:46 AM.

7 pounds, 3 ounces
20.5 inches long

And...

2012-01-03T22:22:00.001-06:00

...still waiting.

They are called pressure points, but not because they are intended to take that much pressure (Trevor!)...

2012-01-02T21:34:00.006-06:00

In an effort to induce labor naturally, Trevor and I watched this You Tube video last night about acupressure points in the lower leg and foot, and then proceeded to try and stimulate (is that the right word?) every single one in the hopes of having a 1-2-12 baby.

The most promising pressure point seemed to be whatever one is located three fingers above my ankle bone, so Trevor went to town while watching the Cowboys get their a$$es handed to them by the NY Giants. It hurt (hey, the lady in the video said it wasn't going to be comfortable), but Trevor decided to turn it into a game to see just how much agony I could take before caving.

Had I not been so desperate for ANYTHING labor-wise to happen, I probably would have seen through the facade of "no pain, no gain" and realized that Trevor was having way too much fun intentionally trying to hurt me to be taking the pressure point stimulation seriously.

And all this would be how I ended up with deep, Trevor-thumb-sized divots in both of my legs last night, and bruises this morning:

And, yes. I am still pregnant 24 hours later.

So, either the acupressure points don't work or mine are now broken and completely useless.

(I'm going with the latter, because obviously.)

And because I like to send mixed messages, today I bought my husband a new watch at Nordstroms.

Because that is what every wife should do after her husband leaves her with bruises the night before.

[Shakes head]

To be fair, I just couldn't psychologically handle him wearing his heart rate monitor to the office one more day. True, it does have a small digital clock on it, but it is first - and foremost - a heart rate monitor with a cloth wrist strap that is sweat stained and smells. He might as well have stopped wearing deodorant.

But now all I have are bruised and potentially broken pressure points and Trevor has this:

Which more or less makes everything right with the world. Except, of course, for the fact that I am still pregnant. But as long as Trevor is happy and presentable, life is good.

(Or maybe that is just what I am telling myself at this point.)

Happy New Year...

2012-01-01T21:11:00.007-06:00

Yep. Still pregnant.

I really have nothing else to say about that except that a significant part of my day was spent repairing our doors with wood filler and touch up paint. I figured if the baby actually ever decides to come it might be nice to have, say, less evidence that my dog taught herself to open doors in our house with her paws.

Because, you know. The kid might notice or something.

(Yeah, I know: Irrational)

On a side note: I find it fascinating that Gypsy is smart enough to only try to open doors with handles she knows she can manipulate. All the other doors remain completely untouched. Not that this obvious sign of intelligence makes the fact that we can't relegate our dog to certain parts of the house without her liberating herself (and scratching the door in the process) any less irritating.

The remaining part of the day was spent driving around looking for black-eyed peas. I thought we were going to be unsuccessful until my aunt gave us her leftovers. I figured with the luck I've been having lately (still being pregnant/no baby, exploding dogs, etc.), forgoing the tradition of eating of black-eyed peas for luck on New Year's Day wasn't really an option. At least now I am covered thanks to the fabulous Auntie Mimi.

And because I really have nothing of interest to say, here is a picture of Trevor and Haskell contemplating each other this morning:

Happy 2012, y'all!

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

2011-12-31T18:45:00.016-06:00

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...

2011-12-30T23:59:00.003-06:00

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...

2011-12-30T22:21:00.004-06:00

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...

2011-12-29T18:29:00.008-06:00

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...

2011-12-28T23:29:00.002-06:00

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

Desperate times, desperate measures...

2011-12-28T20:36:00.008-06:00

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?

2011-12-27T21:04:00.005-06:00

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...

2011-12-27T20:20:00.006-06:00

...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...

2011-12-27T20:12:00.008-06:00

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:

Pregnant.

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...

2011-12-26T20:06:00.002-06:00

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

Merry Christmas...

2011-12-25T20:44:00.001-06:00

...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...

2011-12-24T23:53:00.014-06:00

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...

2011-12-24T12:45:00.004-06:00

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...

2011-12-23T21:50:00.011-06:00

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...

2011-12-22T22:37:00.001-06:00

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

2011-12-22T19:37:00.011-06:00

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...

2011-12-22T19:25:00.004-06:00

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...

2011-12-21T19:22:00.003-06:00

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...

2011-12-21T19:11:00.004-06:00

"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...

2011-12-21T10:15:00.002-06:00

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

Again, no pressure but...

2011-12-20T20:51:00.004-06:00

...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...

2011-12-20T17:21:00.008-06:00

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...

2011-12-20T11:32:00.004-06:00

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...

2011-12-19T22:00:00.003-06:00

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...

2011-12-19T21:44:00.008-06:00

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...

2011-12-19T19:47:00.007-06:00

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...

2011-12-15T20:23:00.018-06:00

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...

2011-12-14T22:30:00.000-06:00

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...

2011-12-13T22:20:00.008-06:00

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...

2011-12-12T19:22:00.011-06:00

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...

2011-12-12T11:36:00.002-06:00

Feed me.

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

2011-12-11T12:50:00.014-06:00

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...

2011-12-10T19:28:00.005-06:00

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...

2011-12-09T12:22:00.004-06:00

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...

2011-12-08T22:18:00.003-06:00

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. 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!!

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

2011-12-06T21:18:00.009-06:00

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...

2011-12-06T19:05:00.001-06:00

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.

In other news...

2011-12-05T22:03:00.010-06:00

The Kia Soul dancing hamster commercials completely freak me out:

Every day I'm shuffling.

And then there is this one from last year, which makes the Soul seem like a slightly better option only to, say, driving a toaster, card board box or washing machine:

Do. Da. Dip-itty.

Seriously? Why dancing, rapping hamsters?
And why are they considered "influential" and have cameos on SNL?

And to think I am bring a child into all this fuzzy, rodent rap-dancing madness!

I don't know why I thought any of this was worth writing down...

2011-12-05T19:03:00.009-06:00

I left work an hour early today because I couldn't breathe properly, and was starting to have irrational thoughts (brought on by oxygen deprivation, no doubt). Except when I finally got behind the wheel, I was instantly reminded that I needed to have my flipping car inspected because it expired at the end of November.

Granted, this was sort of on purpose. I've had 6-6, 7-7, 8-8, 9-9, 10-10 and 11-11. It seemed only natural that I'd also go for 12-12. Except I was going to get my inspection done over this last weekend, but then I got sick I didn't get out of bed. And on my way to work this morning I saw no less than five cops. Which - combined with the six I saw on my way home - made it seem like going more than five days with an inspection sticker that read 11-11 might be pushing my luck a little bit. So, regardless of the fact I still couldn't breathe, I made a brief detour and had my car inspected instead of making a beeline for home and the comforts (and relief) of laying horizontal on my own couch.

Of course, had I been pulled over I was planning on using the whole I-am-sick-and-nine-months-pregnant-don't-you-feel-sorry-for-me-officer card, except my coworker said it wouldn't work because no cop would ever believe I was due to pop out a kid sometime this month.

(Sigh)

All things considered, though, I probably couldn't have picked a better time to go because there were FOUR GUYS that swarmed my car when I pulled up. And those four guys had my car inspected my car TOGETHER and had it ready to go in less than ten minutes. Apparently, I always need to get my car inspected on a cold, dreary Monday afternoon when the guys that work there have nothing to watch on TV except old Judge Judy reruns (I know because they told me and because I got to watch Judge Judy while I waited). I think it took me longer to find my proof of insurance. And, well, that is somehow Trevor's fault, because for some inexplicable reason I have the proof of insurance for The Lexus in my glove compartment. Which I am assuming Trevor stuck in there on purpose to remind me that he drives a Lexus, and I don't.

Because I drive the OLD car that has the car seat set up in it, and can be "leaked on" by THIS pregnant woman in labor who refuses to wear a black trash bag on her way to deliver Trevor's first born.

Speaking of which, I have learned that pregnant women should avoid blowing their nose in public because, well, gas happens and I am at a stage where I am not always able to control it.

Trevor just said I should also add laughing, sleeping and sneezing to this oops-I-just-accidentally-farted list.

I would smack him, but he is currently sitting clear on the other end of the couch and that would require a whole lot of effort on the part of someone who still can't breathe.

(I married an a$$hat.)

In other news, I learned last night that I can no longer sit in the same position for more than an hour without standing up, walking around or otherwise dramatically shifting position. So much for seeing any more movies in the theater until Thor makes his debut. Which is sort of too bad because I really want to see Hugo, The Descendants and the new Muppet movie.

Have I mentioned that late stage pregnancy really sucks? And it isn't just physically, either.

Case in point: I also should avoid answering the front door since I have lost the ability to turn away solicitors and/or potential conartists. A couple of weeks ago I even had to stop payment on a check because the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had just contributed to a scam. Worse still, I had willingly opened my front door after dark to two large men with a small dog while I was alone in the house. And I only mention the small dog, because THAT IS THE REASON I OPENED THE DOOR. Which is irrational considering both of the large men standing there were still - in hindsight - incredibly sketchy and had "don't open the door" written all over them. Especially after dark. With or WITHOUT the little, cute dog.

Lord. I am such an idiot.

So, I've instituted a policy of Deals-doesn't-answer-the door-after-dark-because-she-is-a-moron. And I was SO proud of myself when I managed to ignore a knock at the door earlier this evening. I even gloated to Trevor about it when he got home. And then he opened the front door and discovered that the knock had only actually been a delivery. A delivery that, according to Trevor, we are lucky was still there considering that the number of sketchy solicitors in the neighborhood has greatly increased thanks to the stupid pregnant lady that can't help but answer the door and write checks to strangers with highly questionable stories. And then hugs them.

Did I forget to mention that I hugged them? Yeah, I HUGGED THEM. Seriously. I am the easiest con in Dallas. I will open my door for you after dark, write you a check and then hug you for your trouble. I even took the time to coo and pet their tiny, little dog.

(Although, to be fair, I don't think you can hold the dog liable for associating with those two. He was on a leash after all.)

OMG! When did I turn into THAT PERSON?! I know better! There is probably a really good reason why pregnant women are at greater risk of becoming victims of violence and murder. The baby has turned my brain into a gullible pile of mush. I am a walking, talking (and farting) disaster.

The baby better come soon. I'm not sure how much longer I can ~~survive~~ take all this!

Things my sister says that make me laugh...

2011-12-04T16:00:00.002-06:00

What is worse than being nine months pregnant?

2011-12-04T14:53:00.005-06:00

Being nine months pregnant and sick with a sore throat, fever and body aches.

I've literally been in bed since Friday night.

So much for my to do list.

I just feel bad for poor Trevor. My hubby has taken such good care of me! He has had to wait on me hand and foot, take my temperature, try to get me to eat, force feed me Tylenol (so I wouldn't hard boil our baby), etc., but at a price. He has gotten to do none of the fun things we had planned for this weekend.

At least he hasn't had to fight me for the TV remote control in the den. If any good has come out of this weekend, it is that Trevor has been able to watch all the football that his little heart desires. Still, this is one of the last weekends we will have that it is just the two of us. It would have been nice if I could have been a little more, I dunno, interactive.

Plus, with all the cold and rain, it would have been the perfect weekend to pick up our new iPhones and see movies like IMMORTALS (a.k.a. "Immortales", if you are Trevor). And, well, there is always that blasted nursery that needs finishing.

Sigh...maybe next weekend.

(Sorry, again, Trevy! I didn't mean to get sick, honest!)

Lately...

2011-12-02T19:04:00.017-06:00

It has been awhile since I made a list, but it seems appropriate now that I don't feel very good and I am completely over this whole pregnancy thing.

In other words, forgive me. Pregnancy has made me lazy. A possibly a little bitter. At least at the moment.

The following list of fifty observations and happenings is in no particular order:

My linea negra is both crooked and off center. I find this annoying. Almost as if it is mocking me.

My belly button is still an innie. It is rather shallow now, however. And if I roll it just right I can get it to pop out. Trevor described it to my sister as "looking like a water weenie", which is just plain wrong.

The first time I rolled by belly button out, it was just as dirty as I had feared. I am not ashamed to admit that I spent almost an hour cleaning and otherwise exploring its depths.

I've already told this story once, but I do not think I did a very good job the first time around (seeing as though I left out an important part of the story). Take two: Trevor got himself uninvited to the birth of his first born by informing me oh-so matter of factly that I am not allowed to ride in his new car if my water breaks. He later amended this statement by saying that I could ride in The Lexus, but only if I sat on a trash bag. When this elicited a scowl from me, Trevor dug the hole even deeper by stating, "Or, you know, we could just take your car".

He still thinks I am overreacting.

Speaking of Trevor, he has been the primary nester in the family. He loves nothing more than to work on the nursery. I've never seen anyone so excited to be a father before. All the books and websites keep mentioning that first time dads start to get nervous around this stage in the pregnancy. Not Trevor, though. When I asked him outright if he was getting scared about being a father, he just looked at me and said, "No! Not at all! Why? Are you?"

(Yes)

I still haven't packed my hospital bag. This is driving my husband crazy. He has even tried to jump start the process by moving my overnight bag into our bedroom and sticking things in it that he thinks I might need (breast pads and nursing bras. He is apparently very concerned that I might leak. Oh, and the Christmas socks with glitter that Gran gave me last year. You know, the important stuff). Since I've decided that I'll be in labor FOR HOURS, I keep thinking that I'll have plenty of time to pack once I realize labor has begun. Trevor doesn't agree that this is a good plan. It probably isn't, but the more or less empty bag will probably sit in the corner of our bedroom until the eleventh hour. I'm stubborn that way.

Gypsy has started to spend her days lounging on the rug in the nursery. She's never shown much interest in the room before, so I think she knows what is coming and is excited about it. Haskell, on the other hand, will sit in the hallway - paws literally on the nursery's threshold - and stare into the room for minutes at a time in silent contemplation.

And Alley? Well, she's shown little or no interest in the room, but has suddenly decided that her role in life is to rip the fluff out of all of Gypsy's favorite toys. "Mad Cow" no longer has a squeaker and "Pink Piggie" may need a stuffing transfusion.

I. Can't. Breathe.

Last week I burned 2979 prepregnancy calories. About 700 of these were at the gym. The rest were from bathing the dogs and cleaning the house. So far, I've been working out three times a week (on average), and during at least ONE of these workouts I burn 1000+ calories before I leave the gym.

And, yet, I've officially gained 30 pounds. I hate the world.

My ankles continue to swell after a long day on my feet. Because of this, my doctor has asked that I restrict my sodium intake and avoid Asian and Mexican food. Which, as far as I am concerned, is pretty much the end of the world. All major food groups are now stricken from my diet: Chocolate, Caffeine and Salt.

(And, yes, I realize that none of those are actual food groups. And, no, I am not very good at following doctor's orders.)

My doctor is going to Hawaii at the end of next week. Which is fabulous since the full moon is on the tenth, and I'm pretty sure that I'll go into labor the second he steps on a plane and turns off his pager.

As of Wednesday, I am 50% effaced and a fingertip dilated.

My doctor commented on my lack of a belly at my appointment this week, which he finds funny since I am still measuring large and ahead of schedule.

Speaking of which, I had to tell someone TODAY that I was pregnant. AND HE DIDN'T BELIEVE ME. Honestly, I thought this would all be a little more obvious by my ninth month. Especially considering I FEEL approximately the size of a house.

I've been craving pomegranates and pickles. No, not at the same time, but they both taste fabulous to me at the moment. This is much, much better than my first pregnancy craving back in June: Ketchup (that one was seriously disgusting. Food was just a vehicle to get the ketchup in my mouth. I could have DRANK the stuff. Yes, seriously). And much more agreeable to other recent cravings for foods that I don't normally like (i.e. chicken salad), which, ew.

Oh, and I can't seem to get enough of cheese lately. MMMmmmmm...cheese. But I've always been fond of cheese, so this is more of an observation than anything else.

I've been suddenly preoccupied with keeping the baby warm when he arrives. Oh, and my subconscious is really worried that Thor will come out a girl. Not that a girl is a bad thing. It is just that the nursery has a whole lot of blue in it at the moment.

I can't remember the last time I had a really good night's sleep. I'm guessing this is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.

This late in the game, it seems a little all or nothing when it comes to pooping.

We've taken two prenatal classes. The first one was on Baby Basics where we learned, well...the basics (swaddling, bathing, changing diapers, etc.). The second was Baby CPR and the Heimlich for infants. No lamaze, but not for any good reason other than the fact that the classes were late at night and I get tired around nine.

Going to the doctor every week is a little tedious. And all the good appointment times are taken.

Oh, how I miss wine.

Trevor managed to maim himself and draw blood while installing the car seat in the back of my car. And, no. I still have no idea how to get the blasted thing off of its base.

The car seat installation went so poorly in my car that Trevor has now decided to have the Lexus dealership install the other base in his car. But he seems in no hurry to have this done. I think it is all a ploy to force us to take MY car when I go into labor (see #4). Which shouldn't matter since, again, he is uninvited from the birth.

I only have one more week of working full time to go. Technically, I could be off for the entire month of December and still not have my maternity leave kick in until January 1 (which is the plan since my day care can't take Thor until late March/early April). If the baby hasn't come by then, though, the plan is to continue working half time. At this point it seems best to avoid boredom. Plus, being a Department of ONE means there are lots of loose ends - even if I have been training a part time person to oversee everything in my absence. Guess it is hard for me to effectively outsource when I've never had help before.

I think our pediatrician kind of looks like a smurf. Especially when he wears blue scrubs.

I am so sick of the constant back pain. Sciatica is no joke. It is getting harder and harder to tolerate without tears.

Ever since my doctor told me to avoid chocolate, that is all I've wanted. I think I've eaten more chocolate in the past ten days than I've had during my entire pregnancy.

Sunday was our last day to teach Sunday School before taking a leave of absence this spring to figure out the whole parenting thing. If you had asked me if I thought the kids in the class were getting anything out of our lessons BEFORE last Sunday's class, I would have dubiously said maybe. But we quizzed them before class last week and - I kid you not - the little boogers have been paying attention! I was shocked! Maybe we have been making an impression and the kids have been learning more than, you know, the whole Jesus/zombie thing.

My cousin-by-marriage is also pregnant and due in May. At Thanksgiving she made the comment that she was already bigger than me and she was only 3.5 months. I didn't believe it until she pulled her maxi dress taut around her middle, and well...I was so shocked that I may have laughed out loud. I honestly didn't mean to be a complete a$$. I was just amazed at her obvious roundness - especially in comparison to my fat rolls.

(Yeah. Whatever. I am such an a$$.)

It is officially difficult to do simple things like bend over, tie my shoes and shave my legs.

Little things leave me winded. Like sitting up. Or getting off the couch.

I may have bought Thor two different Syracuse onsies just in time for college basketball season. Trevor responded by having a bunch of Red Raider gear shipped to our house. This might get ugly.

See?!

I've written over 85 thank you notes for baby gifts. We have the most generous friends and family!

I randomly panic. I think it has something to do with the position I am in at the time. Maybe it is causing fetal distress? Or maybe it has something to do with my heart and body? All I know is that all of the sudden, I have to move. I have to escape. It is terrible and sometimes it is all I can do to compose myself like a normal human being and shift positions. The easiest way to relieve it is to simply sit or stand up. Once I do, the sensation goes away almost instantaneously. Isn't pregnancy fun?

I didn't think it was possible, but my boobs might be getting bigger again. Either that or my bras have start to shrink in the washer...

Trevor says I am in an exceptionally good mood all the time now. That is just because I can't remember why I am so stressed out.

I am perpetually hot. Trevor, for the first time since he met me, is cold. Welcome to my (usual pre pregnancy) world Trevor.

Trevor has been consistently more interested and opinionated as it pertains to the nursery than I have ever been. No one believes me, though, until they try to make suggestions. He is a man with a vision.

Advanced pregnancy means a lot of gas and acid reflux. As if I wasn't sexy enough with my cankles and unshaven legs.

Pregnancy also means random skin tags. I may or may not have found one in my navel that might have hypothetically been removed by force with tweezers because I thought it was caked on dirt from thirty something years ago.

I cannot wait to get up to pee in the middle of night without having to hold on to the bedpost for support. I learned the hard way that sciatica means sometimes your upper body moves and your lower body doesn't get the message. This makes walking challenging.

Speaking of pee: I think I got up fourteen times last night. Not cool, Thor. Not cool.

I've never been graceful, but my clumsiness recently is just plain embarrassing. I tripped over nothing today. NOTHING.

Despite my lack of a hugely distended belly, I've had to recline my seat more and more to be able to breathe while driving. I feel like a pimp.

I took a sip of Trevor's beer recently and ohmygoodness was it ever delicious. Which is super odd because, much like chicken salad, beer has never tasted anything but disgusting to me. Thor has hijacked my taste buds.

Thor really hates my ribs. I am sort of surprised I don't have bruises up and down my sides. One rib almost feels like it is poking out a little. Not a big fan. Plus, it is on my left side, which USED TO BE the most comfortable position in which to sleep. Figures.

The kiddo has been in position for weeks now (head down, butt up). More recently he likes to roll so I can feel his spine just above my navel. When he is turned this way my tummy is rock hard.

I feel bad for people who see me eat when I am really hungry. That can't be pretty.

I miss having sweaters that don't fit like mid ruff mini tees in my closet. Especially now that it is more consistently chilly here in North Texas.

I am sure there are many, many things that I am leaving off this list, but (again) my memory isn't what it used to be.

TGIF, everyone!

Trevor doesn't get nostalgia...

2011-12-01T13:56:00.000-06:00

We've been all set up for Christmas for about a week now. We figured it was best to start early since Thor could more or less come at any time.

Anyway, yesterday, after the gym, Trevor and I had dinner with Amy and Adam and it was revealed that Amy somehow managed to "borrow" some of our childhood ornaments from my father. I asked if there were any that she wasn't using and she mentioned that she had set aside some ornaments with my name on them (things commemorating my first Christmas, misc. ornaments that I had made as a child, etc.). So, after dinner, we ran by their house to, you know, see what we could see.

Of course, Amy had gone through all the ornaments and used the best ones for her tree (read: the ones that weren't broken, cracked or otherwise, as Trevor described, "weird"). But that didn't stop me from going through the remaining dregs looking for little additions for our house.

Trevor was sort of okay with the handful of ornaments that Amy had set aside for me. Well, except for the small upside down flower pot that I had turned into a bell when I was seven. Trevor obviously has no imagination.

But the flower pot was - apparently - golden next to some of the other ornaments I pulled from boxes and added to our pile. Mainly:

The moth eaten teddy bear...

...and the freaky eyeless snowman made out of yarn.

I also selected a headless rocking horse, a giant, red stuffed mouse and several handmade birds with broken wings sitting on seed pods.

Hey, they remind me of my childhood.

Plus, I saw Toy Story III recently and I kept imagining the ornaments being all excited that they had been rediscovered after 15 years, only to be put back in the box again.

You just can't do that to inanimate objects.

(Amy might have brought this up which may or may not have made me cry. Which may or may not have caused everyone else to laugh and stare at me and Adam to forever record the moment by taking a photograph of the laugh/sobbing knocked up freak holding a partially balding Raggedy Ann doll trying to make a case to her husband about why she should be allowed to keep her.)

Of course, Trevor didn't completely mock all my choices. He was completely fine with adding Drunk, Caroling Santa to our collection:

I mean, who wouldn't want an inebriated Saint Nick to polish off their holiday decor?!

I'm a donkey on the edge...

2011-11-29T22:16:00.004-06:00

Which, if you are Trevor, might make me an a$$...

This morning I had a cup of coffee with a little mocha mixed in.

And, you know what? It was fantastic. I had forgotten how much love (and miss) a good ole cup of joe in the morning.

When I mentioned this to Trevor, however, he thought I was kidding.

Like I would ever joke about something so wonderful. It was, literally, the highlight of my day. Heart flutters and residual dizziness be d@mned!

(To be fair, I woke up this morning with a killer headache and figured a little coffee was better than popping a pill. And, no. I won't be having another cup tomorrow morning. But I just might be counting down the days until I can.)

And suddenly it all makes sense...

2011-11-24T23:06:00.005-06:00

So, I've been having to count Thor's movements for almost a month now, and it hasn't gotten any easier. Mainly because I am supposed to count ten kicks, nudges, etc. in a two hour period after dinner. And food seems to put my kid to sleep.

It didn't seem right to have to stimulate fetal movement by induing a sugar high, so I mentioned it to my doctor at my appointment on the 9th of November. Honestly, I thought he'd agree with me, and maybe we could come up with a different time of day to count kicks.

Instead we we ended up having this conversation:

Doctor: "You know what really, really works well to get the baby moving?"

Me: "No. What?"

Doctor: "Dr Pepper."

In other words, my doctor is kind of okay with me going on a sugar bender to completely freak out my unborn child. He is even fine with me having a little caffeine. All in the name of obtaining 10 movements in two hours.

So another couple of weeks passed and I started to notice something very interesting:

After Trevor eats, Trevor sleeps:

Obviously, Thor is just taking after his daddy.

No amount of sugar or caffeine in the world is going to counteract genetics, people.

And suddenly I am much less concerned about counting kicks after a meal. I figure I'll get them in during another two hour span during the day when the kiddo is actually awake and active. Without having to induce a sugar high for baby and sugar coma for mama.

I believe they call this a win-win.

Happy Thanksgiving...

2011-11-24T22:51:00.004-06:00

Trevor walked in while I was getting dressed for Thanksgiving lunch, looked at me, paused, reached for my belly and said, "Wow! You are really starting to get BIG!"

He seemed shocked when I responded by punching him in the chest.

He tried to make up for it later by bringing me a slice of chocolate cake.

Obviously, the man is mocking me.

Congratulations Halley!

2011-11-23T23:59:00.001-06:00

He is beautiful!

I'm thinking chocolate is the least of my problems...

2011-11-23T22:37:00.000-06:00

My doctor just told me that I should start avoiding chocolate.

On the day before Thanksgiving.

Obviously, he is living in a fantasy land where smoking crack is legal.

Seriously. What kind of person tells a woman at the tail end of her pregnancy NOT to eat chocolate?

The man is insane.

Plus, I doubt that avoiding what little chocolate I do consume is going to have any effect on my heart flutters at this point. I think the only remedy for that is giving birth.

My new motto...

2011-11-22T22:32:00.001-06:00

...Since I still don't (apparently) look as pregnant as I actually am:

"All the suffering. None of the sympathy."

If I was going to be pregnant for longer (and if we weren't expecting a major cold front this weekend) I would totally make t-shirts.

They weren't kidding when they said the end of this whole pregnancy thing is a little miserable...

2011-11-22T22:10:00.004-06:00

Adding to the fact that I can't breathe, my back is killing me and my heart is still freaking out, Thor has now decided that I shouldn't be able to sleep soundly through the night, either.

Seriously. Pregnancy isn't for wimps.

I've seen 4 AM more times in the last week than I have since college. Except I remember those college nights being a lot of fun. 4 AM when you are essentially nine months pregnant is just plain uncomfortable.

Last night, it was all about Thor getting the hiccups. Apparently, the kiddo is NOT a big fan of the hiccups and had to make sure I was just miserable as he was. As if the rhythmic belly twitching wasn't enough, I also got to experience Thor's rage as he tried to fight off the hiccups by kicking the sh*t out of my ribs and basically throwing an intrauterine tantrum.

This epic battle went on for over TWO HOURS.

The inability to get comfortable has also caused me to start snoring. Something that Trevor just LOVES to point out every morning. Which is fascinating since I've been dealing with his snoring EVERY NIGHT for YEARS now.

Normally, I would be horrified if Trevor told me I had been snoring the night before. But, this time, I'm considering it a kind of poetic justice. Because I'm snoring because I am in the late stages of pregnancy. And Trevor? Yeah, he doesn't have an excuse. Somehow this makes the whole situation much more agreeable.

Muhahahahaha!

Why I love my friends...

2011-11-21T22:51:00.001-06:00

Questions like this:

From: Susie
Sent: Monday, November 21, 2011 10:19 AM
To: Deals
Subject: Gretchen's b-day

Deals,

How many inflated balloons do you think you can get into your suv?

Thanks.

Susie

And moments like this:

Trevor's "Crackles" are back...

2011-11-21T22:06:00.000-06:00

This is across the street from where THESE pictures were taken in the spring.

Okay. Maybe empire waisted clothing makes me look pregnant...

2011-11-20T21:24:00.004-06:00

The following are the latest batch of belly pictures from over the weekend.

The first group are from last night at Idlewild. That's right: I wore a summer maxi dress to a white tie ball. To be fair, though, I just couldn't justify buying a maternity ball gown that I'd wear once for a matter of hours.

But, to dress it up, my Aunt Mimi lent me Moo's fur stole. Which nearly made my father faint when he saw me. Guess he never figured he catch me dead in fur anything. Normally, this is the case, but I was desperate to dress up my black, cotton dress. Plus, the stole itself is AT LEAST 60 years old. Wearing heirloom fur seems somehow more acceptable than "new fur". But maybe that is just me making excuses because I actually thought it looked pretty.

In either event, I got lots of compliments on it, and it made me happy to be wearing something that was once my grandmother's. Apparently, I got my broad shoulders from her.

Anyway, these pictures are post event, so I am looking a little worse for wear. I can't remember the last time I was out until nearly midnight:

The second group is from this morning after Sunday School. We had an intergenerational event for all of the kiddos instead of regular Sunday School by grade. There had been discussion of Trevor and I having to dress up like Joseph and Mary (since our church decided to kick off the advent season a week early), but somehow we got out of it and only had to help the kids with their craft projects instead.

My sister thinks it is because I didn't look pregnant enough.

You be the judge:

Depending on which due date you are using, I am somewhere between 34.5 and 36.5 weeks. I've decided to average the two together and just go with 35.5. Soon I'll be considered "full term" regardless, and I'll be happy as long as I start 2012 with a baby.

Father Husband of the year...

2011-11-19T13:53:00.002-06:00

Me: "Your child is hurting me. It feels like he is attempting to rip me apart from the inside."

Trevor: "Good boy."

It has been an odd week...

2011-11-18T19:32:00.008-06:00

I am at that stage in my pregnancy where time seems to be going by at warp speed. Part of this is good, because I am starting to feel pretty miserable. The child seems to be living IN my lungs at the moment, which makes it hard to breathe. Today, I got winded sitting in my office chair. And, no. I am not kidding.

The other part about time speeding by is bad because...well, the nursery is nowhere near ready and we still have yet to purchase a car seat. Nesting: FAIL!

I also need to figure out what I am going to do about Christmas, because nothing sounds more miserable to me than having to go to the mall to shop for gifts at nine months pregnant. I obviously need to come up with some sort of strategy. It is times like these where I wish I was crafty or had baking skills. Or, you know, a personal shopper.

In other news, Trevor's grandmother is still haunting me. Apparently she wasn't making enough of an impact with the scalp itch, so her spirit hacked into my PayPal account. I made an Annual Fund gift to a local nonprofit via PayPal and it showed up on both my receipt AND in the paperwork the nonprofit received that I had made said contribution in her name. Which, by the way, I hadn't. The paperwork also directed the nonprofit to send notification of the donation to her previous worldly address, and not me.

Seriously, Gran?

All this is very odd seeing as though I rarely use PayPal except for iTunes, and have never done anything remotely connected to Trevor's grandmother using PayPal or her former address.

So the obvious conclusion is that the woman is still haunting me and has now decided to take credit for my end of the year charitable donations.

Speaking of the bizarre and irrational, the City of Dallas called me on Thursday to ask how they could obtain a permit to sell things in Dealey Plaza. I've decided this is the City's way of letting me know that they've bequeathed ownership of the plaza to me personally, and I can now start charging people to use it. I am thinking about setting up a toll booth around the grassy knoll and fining vendors who pronounce Dealey "Daily". Any funds generated from these pilot programs can help offset the cost of Thor's daycare.

Sounds good, right?

Except I really just called the city back, reminded them that the plaza was...ahem...theirs and that they - not me - were in charge of handing out permits to vendors.

And that is when I was informed that the city had been referred to me.

OMG! By WHOM?!?!

All this is made even more fabulous by the fact that I have absolutely nothing to do with the plaza and work in a museum on the other side of town (which also has nothing to do with the plaza).

Had I been thinking clearly (i.e. not concentrating all my efforts on not laughing in this woman's face) I clearly should have told her to call 3-1-1. Wouldn't that have been poetic justice!

So, how's that for a weekly update?! Can't breathe, my PayPal account is haunted by my recently deceased grandmother-in-law and the City of Dallas thinks a museum educator knows more about vendor permits for their own city plaza than they do.

It has been a banner week for the mildly uncomfortable and utterly ridiculous.

Yet another unattractive side of pregnancy...

2011-11-13T22:21:00.004-06:00

Yes, that is my leg. Actually, no. It is my giant thigh.

As if the weight gain, cankles and the belly aren't enough, the pregnancy induced varicose veins are just icing on the bleeping cake. It looks like I have a series of bruises all up and down my leg, and one of those areas (which is the size of a silver dollar, by the flipping way) appeared some time between bathing the dogs this morning and taking a shower tonight.

What is it the teenagers say on Facebook? FML?

Yeah, exactly.

Granted, my genetics and history of bad veins pretty much guaranteed that all the treatments, surgeries and therapies I've endured over the years to fix my incompetent values would be undone by pregnancy. Still, it is hard (and a little depressing) to watch.

I keep trying to remind myself how bad it WOULD HAVE been had I not had all of said treatments, surgeries and therapies. I would be in agony right now. But the idea of starting over after Thor's arrival kind of makes me want to cry. Support hose are not my friend.

I guess I shouldn't complain. Thor is healthy. I am healthy. And at least my vein issue was caught early and is treatable. I guess my real concern is for the baby. I just hope he inherits Trevor's circulatory system!

Oh, and his hair. Definitely hope Thor gets his daddy's hair...

An afternoon hike in Cedar Hill State Park and the Penn Farmstead...

2011-11-13T22:00:00.032-06:00

I asked for proof that Haskell was still alive...

2011-11-12T22:50:00.001-06:00

And, well, I got this:

(Poor Haskell)

Grammy Pammy and Amy discover Photo Booth for Mac...

2011-11-12T21:58:00.022-06:00

It started out innocently enough...

And then we got into the effects...

I call this the "finger series"...

And then someone thought it was a good idea to add a magnifying glass as a prop...

Add a little drama...

Then Zeus got into the action...

There was a brief moment of sanity while we all posed for a picture for the boys at the ranch...

And then it got just plain weird...

Finally, it fun was concluded with the "Grammy Pammy is a siamese twin" series...

The End

Checking out the fall colors...

2011-11-12T18:48:00.020-06:00

A short, 2.5 mile hike through the Dogwood Canyon Audubon Center in Cedar Hill (we tried both loops):

Old hunting cabin

The ghost of Grammy Pammy

Oh holy creepiness...

A good day!

An update on Trevor's boys weekend...

2011-11-11T19:02:00.005-06:00

Trevor took Haskell to the ranch for the boys-only weekend, because...well, Haskell is a "boy" and Trevor was insistent that the little, dumb dog get to participate in whatever activities are on the agenda for said boys weekend.

It all sounds like a recipe for disaster, no?

I only agreed to let Haskell go, because Trevor was so excited about taking him. My one request, though, was that Trevor not take Haskell on any activities that involved guns or shooting (i.e. target practice or hunting). It had nothing to do with Haskell getting shot, and everything to do with how fast that little, dumb dog can run when scared.

See, the flight instinct is very strong with Haskell. As for the fight instinct? Yeah, not so much. Again, this is a dog whose first line of defense (when flight isn't an option) is to drool excessively. He would make a terrible and somewhat pathetic superhero.

(But you know he'd totally wear a cape. That is just the Haskell way.)

Anyway, I just kept imagining a gun going off and Haskell running blind and hysterical through pasture after pasture until no one - especially Haskell - knew where he was anymore. It would be a miracle if we ever found him again.

So, of course, what is the first thing Trevor takes Haskell to do today?

Yep. He took him to shoot targets at the creek. This elicited the following text message from my husband:

"So far we have learned that [Haskell] doesn't like gunfire."

Apparently, Haskell's reaction to gunfire surprised Trevor. Which surprises me, because...well, I TOLD HIM SO.

Shock and awe, I tell you. Shock and awe.

All this has me very confused as to why I even bother telling Trevor anything.

Luckily, Trevor had the foresight to hold onto Haskell. So when Haskell (oh-so predictably) freaked out at the sound of the bang, Trevor was able to keep Haskell from fleeing the county at a wide-eyed doggie sprint.

Trevor also reported later on that it took him quite a while to calm Haskell down, and he ended up having to drive my dumb, little dog all the way back to the ranch house and away from the gun range.

I'd say I was shocked again, but that would be a little overkill on the sarcasm, don't you think?

One day down, two more to go.

On blood and muumuus...

2011-11-10T23:28:00.007-06:00

Since Trevor left for his boys weekend at the ranch this evening at 7 PM, I've managed to write ZERO thank you notes. However I HAVE managed to cut my finger while flossing and somehow make my left nipple bleed.

No, not at the same time. And, no, not on purpose.

And to be perfectly honest, I have no idea what was going on with my nipple.

While you contemplate my amazing ability to inadvertently injure myself in Trevor's absence, here is a picture of my sister wearing the pink muumuu my college friends gave me as a gag gift over the summer:

Obviously, I didn't appreciate it enough in all of its pink and puppy dog glory.

(Or, maybe I just didn't have matching pink slippers and
a poodle in a pink sweater to complete the outfit.)

I am only writing this because Trevor told me to...

2011-11-08T22:31:00.003-06:00

Dear Halley,

Trevor insists that your fiance also said you looked like a fat, old man. According to my hubby, that somehow justifies his comment to me the other night. Like all women start to look like fat, old men when they are in the final stretch of pregnancy, and it is their significant other's job - nay, DUTY - to point it out.

Seriously. And he just dared me to write you to confirm this insane assertion of his.

He may be beyond help at this point. Because what sane man maintains his position that he was somehow correct in making such a statement in the first place? Or rather: What woman doesn't love being described as a "fat, old man" when 8 months pregnant and already feeling a little insecure about being roughly the size of a whale?

(Yes, Trevor. That would be sarcasm.)

In other news, I would like to point out that everything I write about is true (according to me). And, as far as I am concerned, I do not embellish, exaggerate or otherwise fabricate the stories that I post here. Especially as they relate to Trevor, because - let's face it - I couldn't make up the stuff that boy does or says. I'm just not that creative. Which is to say everything in THIS POST is absolutely true. Especially the parts about him telling me that I look like a fat, old man and refusing to let me anywhere near his new car if there is a chance I might be leaking amniotic fluid.

He also said the bit about "who will take care of the baby". But since he doesn't seem to be contending that at the moment, I'm not spending a lot of time dwelling on it.

I would also like to point out that hole-y shorts that you've had since high school (that are awesomely soft and perfectly broken in) are completely acceptable to sleep in. I know because I also have a pair and they are awesome. Trevor mocks me, but he has underwear that look like they've been mauled by a pack of rabid alligators, so he hardly has room to talk.

Oh and by the way: Trevor can't count to 16. Just ask him why he is currently behind in his football pick 'em pool. It all comes down to week one.

Yeah. Exactly.

Anyway, hope all is well with you.

Talk soon,
Deals

When I wear dresses, people say I look more pregnant...

2011-11-07T21:22:00.017-06:00

But don't take my word for it!

This first group of photos was taken on Friday before work (don't worry, Halley. The black top is just underneath the fleece sweater. I'd hate to ruin the illusion that it is the only maternity top that I own):

This second group was taken before my shower on Sunday:

And, no. That isn't a maternity dress. I've had it for several years and it is just made out of an exceptionally forgiving material that allows my eight months preggo belly and size F knockers to (somehow) squeeze inside.

In other news, one of the members of the janitorial staff at the museum stopped, stared at me and asked if I was expecting today. Granted, she sees me several times a week, so it isn't quite the same as a stranger walking up to me at the grocery store and asking when I am due. But it IS the closest I have gotten to it so far.

On the plus side, I haven't had a single stranger touch my belly. I think it is just because they aren't sure if I am pregnant or just fat.

On the down side, I don't get any sympathy either. Especially when I am pathetically winded going up flights of stairs. People around me just think I am out of shape. They don't realize I have a kiddo pushing on my lungs because he thinks it is hilarious.

The bizarre high of an (almost but not really) stranger asking if I was pregnant was quickly shattered, however, when my intern from last fall stopped by to volunteer this morning and had absolutely no idea I was pregnant. She just thought I had gained a few pounds since she last saw me.

Speaking of which, I've actually gained 25. Which is depressing. The doctor insists I am right on target, though, so I am trying to keep my chin up. Even if my husband thinks I look like a fat, old man.

(No, Trev. I have no plans on letting THAT one go anytime soon!)

I AM starting to get really tired, though. Maybe it is just because I had a long weekend. Or maybe being at the tail end of this whole pregnancy thing is starting to wear on me. Either way, I feel like I am spending an exceptional amount of time every day wishing I could go home and take a nap.

And then my trainer got on me because I only burned 700 calories at the gym this evening (I've been averaging 1,000 to 1,500 a workout). I just can't win. Although, I WANT to burn more calories because I've been craving sweets lately like you wouldn't believe. Seriously. When I'm not thinking about napping, I'm envisioning tootsie rolls, chocolate covered almonds and vanilla petit fours. This can't be good for my (ever expanding) waist line.

Sigh...

This whole pregnancy thing isn't for suckers. Just FYI.

Top three reasons why Trevor is currently uninvited to the birth of his son...

2011-11-05T19:35:00.002-05:00

I was starting to brainstorm ideas for my sister's bachelorette, and one of them would (possibly) require me to go out of town for a weekend in February or March. Trevor's response? "You can't do that! Who will take care of the baby?"

Me: "That would be you, Trev."

Trevor: "But who will FEED the baby?"

Me: "Again. That would be you."

Trevor: "But I can't do that!"

Me: "Yes you can. Because you are THE FATHER."

He told me I wasn't allowed to ride in his new car if I went into labor. Why? Because I might leak. He later amended this statement by saying we could either take my car or he would consider putting a trash bag down to protect his leather seats in the event that my water broke.

While getting dressed for bed he told me I looked like an old, fat man. Not pregnant and beautiful. No, no. Like an elderly dude with a giant beer gut. Because my hubby knows how to make a girl feel special at the end of a long day.

Since Trevor is currently a contender for ~~father~~ husband of the year, I've decided he is on a need-to-know basis when it comes to the whole labor and delivery thing.

And I am only sort of kidding.

I mean, obviously.

Can you blame me?

HELP! Mystery present for THOR!

2011-11-02T22:22:00.004-05:00

Trevor and I received this fabulous onsie from Cafe Press in yesterday's mail:

Unfortunately, the package arrived without a hint of who sent it to us! We would love to thank you properly, so if you sent this little piece of awesomeness our way please let us know!

Rational thinking versus, well, not...

2011-11-02T22:11:00.004-05:00

The house behind ours is back on the market after only four or five months since the current owners moved in.

Neighbor Becky wondered if they got transferred to another city or if the property taxes or sudden unemployment was a factor in the quick turnaround.

These reasonable explanations kind of caught me off guard. Why? Because my mind immediately jumped to whether or not the house is haunted.

Obviously, this is a sign that I need to stop watching scary movies.

It may have been a bad summer, but my garden (somehow) survived...

2011-11-01T21:30:00.001-05:00

Photo post of my resilient plants after the worst summer on record.

(I wanted to capture all the colors quick before winter happens and everything dies back until spring. Bear with me.)

My gardenia has two (small) blooms in dog run.

Azalea pulled through.

I even have tomatoes!

Note to self: Esparanzas do REALLY well in Texas.

As do lantanas (blurry plant in front)

My rose bush is back from the dead!

Orange zinnias.

Pink zinnias.

I have a soft spot for zinnias (in case you can't tell).

Female pistache is starting to turn.

Impatients that I had - literally - given up on over the summer.

Terrible photo but I love this color combination.

Mr. Mockingbird.

Big yard. Swoon.

My patio.

I imagine a swingset in the near future.

Pansies!

Oleander
(the one I rescued from my grandmother's back in 2005 kicked it last February)

Did I mention I love zinnias?

Seriously. Esperanzas are awesome.

I love our yard!

Happy Halloween...

2011-10-31T22:16:00.002-05:00

Scared yet?
Because you totally should be.

I am a self described wimp when it comes to horror movies...

2011-10-30T22:41:00.001-05:00

...but my sister always wants to go to dinner and a scary movie for her birthday.

My solution?

Hide behind a hooded sweatshirt for most of Paranormal Activity III, and have Trevor give me whispered play-by-play in the theater.

The result is the ability to dream peacefully after watching said scary movie, while - ironically - my sister is forced to sleep with the light on.

I might not know MOST of what happened on screen, but I am well rested. I consider this "winning". Especially in the face of my exhausted (and still slightly terrified) sister on Sunday afternoon.

Awesome.

Pregnancy has done nothing to make me more rational...

2011-10-28T22:19:00.001-05:00

Gosh. I am so behind. The State Fair ended and apparently so did my ability to write and think clearly.

Actually, I've been ill, but I can't really blame that because I didn't know I was sick until the doctor told me at my appointment on Wednesday. Apparently, I have a bladder infection. Or, rather, I have HAD a bladder for awhile and no one told me. I don't know why, but I got the impression that I've had said infection for at least two weeks. Possibly a month. Either the infection wasn't that bad at earlier appointments, or the doctor thought it would clear up by itself. The nurse had mentioned to me that they had found blood in my urine and signs of an infection at my prenatal visit on October 12th, but it was just something that they were monitoring. The doctor didn't seem to be concerned. At least he wasn't until this last Wednesday when suddenly the amount of blood and level of infection made him start to act nervous, prescribe antibiotics and start describing the signs and symptoms of a kidney infection.

So that was fun.

I've never had a bladder infection before, but apparently there are often no symptoms of said infection in pregnant women. Except, you know, frequent urination, but since that is also a side effect of being eight months pregnant it never occurred to me that I was sick. I find all this fascinating since I've heard bladder infections for the not-knocked up are pretty painful.

Also, bladder infections are common among those with child. Something about several pounds of baby causing urinary reflux. I dunno.

In any case, I have been feeling rather worn down lately. Almost as if I was about to come down with something, but my body just hadn't gotten around to it yet. So, I guess the bladder infection explains a lot.

Of course, since I am neurotic, I almost refused to take my medicine. I've just grown accustomed to not taking any meds except my prenatal and the occasional Zyrtec. Getting an infection while pregnant made me feel like a failure as a mother. I called Trevor in tears from the pharmacy because I didn't want to take the antibiotic.

He told me I was being silly, and a kidney infection would be much worse.

I also cried to the pharmacist and had her double check that the meds were safe for Thor. She promised they were and also reiterated that a kidney infection was *seriously* no picnic.

But I wasn't convinced yet. I also googled the name of the antibiotic and read for myself that it was safe to take during pregnancy once I got home. Then, just to be sure, I checked online what would happen if I, say, didn't take the pills. And, well, apparently a kidney infection is something I don't want to screw around with.

Who knew?

So, I have been taking my medication like a good girl.

Bother.

Apparently I have trust issues when it comes to my doctor. Trevor says I deserve it since I chose my OBGYN because he let it slip during our initial interview that he didn't like Rick Perry. I stand by my opinion that this is an important qualification for the individual who will help bring our first born into this world.

Of course, now that I know that I actually have a bladder infection, the swollen lymph nodes in my groin make more sense. Part of me thought it was normal to have some swelling down there (Hey, Jenny McCarthy mentioned it in her book!), and the other part of me was sort of convinced I was developing man balls. I'm just rational that way.

In other news, my doctor now has me counting movements, nudges and kicks. I have to log ten of them in the two hours after I finish dinner or call the office immediately. This doesn't sound stressful unless I mention that dinnertime usually coincides with Thor's evening nap. Hence, I generally wait an hour before inducing fetal movement with the cunning use of an intentional sugar high. I drink orange juice, eat a cookie or piece of chocolate, etc. On Amy's birthday I even had Trevor bring me a spoon full of birthday cake icing. This can't be healthy. In my defense, though, neither would the panic I would experience if I didn't get my ten movements in two hours and had to go to the hospital.

Take if from me. Pregnancy is nothing less than nerve-racking.

Same goes for bladder infections.

The End.

It doesn't look good for Game Seven...

2011-10-28T21:33:00.001-05:00

...but Haskell is still sporting his jersey...

...and is behind his Rangers 100%.

Teddy and Game Six of the World Series...

2011-10-27T22:26:00.002-05:00

His hopes were high, but - after watching 11 innings and coming so agonizingly close - it just wasn't meant to be.

Doh!

Eight months and still looking more fat and less pregnant...

2011-10-27T22:05:00.002-05:00

I had lunch with a high school friend today who has the same due date as I do.

And, well, no one would think twice if she parked in the expectant mother parking space at Whole Foods.

Me on the other hand? Yeah, my lack of a significant (or obviously) pregnant belly apparently made said friend feel like she needed to eat a salad for lunch.

Even among friends I am an outsider.

Le sigh...

Thor's First Baby Shower...

2011-10-25T19:03:00.015-05:00

The shower was held at Melissa's house on Sunday at 11 AM.

The theme? Books for the baby! Isn't that awesome?

And, yes. I am stealing all the following photos off of Mel's facebook page (THANK YOU!):

The living room.

Cake balls, quiche and fruit.

Ginger muffins and salmon spread sandwiches.

Book banner.

Party favors (Hersey's dots are fabulous, by the way).

We played the string game...

...and I learned that most of my friends are a$$hats. Anni's was long enough to stretch floor to ceiling, Gretchen's was longer than she was tall and Kelly just kept pulling string out like it was going out of style. The smallest string won, thankyouverymuch!

Then Anni translated books into Spanish and read to Susie (who speaks English).

Photo with the fabulous hostesses.

I even let them touch my belly
(they deserved it).

Photo with Grammy Pammy and Auntie Amy
(who won the string game and used it as a reason why she deserved to grab my stomach).

Now Thor just needs to learn how to read!

~ The End ~

Foggy Monday morning...

2011-10-24T22:49:00.005-05:00

Goodbye Sandy...

2011-10-23T20:57:00.003-05:00

After ten years and nearly 200,000 miles, Trevor and I said goodbye to "Sandy" the Chevy Trailblazer.

It was a sad day for me, because I am nostalgic. Trevor and I started dating just a couple of months after he purchased Sandy, so, in a way, the car will always remind me of the early "us". We went on our first date in that car (Trevor still insists I only started dating him because I was swept off my feet by his new ride). We have been on countless road trips to the ranch and Durango in that car. We were an engaged couple in that car. Homeowners. Newlyweds. I even spent the last (nearly) eight months being pregnant in that old champagne colored SUV. Funny how an inanimate object can represent so much personal history somehow. It was hard to say goodbye, and I made Trevor promise to take a few last photographs of Sandy in the driveway before he took her for their final ride together on Saturday.

Trevor, on the other hand, was excited. Because he got a new car.

Out of respect for Sandy, I won't blog about Trevor's new car yet. He hasn't named it, and so far I've only been irritated with all the newness.

Actually, no. I've been irritated with Trevor because he is being a little anal with his new ride.

Thanks to Halley, I'm not allowed to drive the new car. Something about pregnant women and questionable driving. This may or may not also be the reason why I've only been allowed to ride in the car ONCE. And that was in the backseat.

Secondly, it took Trevor 30 minutes to park the new car in the garage because he was so worried he was going to hit something. This might be a rational new car owner thought if it weren't for the fact that my mother was helping to spot in the front and I in the back. Despite all this, however, Trevor STILL managed to not pull in the garage enough to allow the door to close, and had to back out and start over.

And, yes. Our garage is plenty big for both our vehicles and is recently cleaned out and free of any obstacles or debris.

Then it had to go and hail last night, which Trevor took personally EVEN THOUGH his new car was safely tucked away in said clutter free garage.

But the best was this morning. We took separate cars to Sunday School because I had my first baby shower at 11 and Trevor was going to the Cowboys v Rams game. Trevor left about five minutes before me with all the Sunday School materials, but I still managed to get there nearly TEN MINUTES before he did. Trevor blamed it on "traffic", but my sister later passed him on Mockingbird going 20 mph. Apparently, having a new car has turned Trevor into the driving equivalent of a ninety year old blue hair.

I keep threatening to spit in it just help muck it up a little so he can get over it already.

Which again might explain why I'm not allowed to go anywhere near his flawless new vehicle.

Miss you, Sandy! You were fantastic, loyal and surprisingly hearty regardless of your advanced mileage. Plus, the dogs and I were allowed to ride in you which is more than I can say for your replacement.

At this rate I'll have to drive myself to the hospital when I go into labor. A) Trevor would never let me near his new car if my water might break inside it, and B) At the speed he drives the new car, I would be forced to give birth by the side of the road. Trevor would never be able to drive the FIVE MILES to get to the hospital in time! That would require him to go faster than, say 3 miles an hour and he might hit a pothole or something.

If only I were kidding...

Photo recap of girls day at the State Fair of Texas...

2011-10-22T22:44:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning at Lake Ray Hubbard...

2011-10-22T22:30:00.000-05:00

We found Thor's hammer...

2011-10-22T22:23:00.000-05:00

And then my sister threatened to give me a fake c-section with a foam sword, because she wanted to be an aunt, like, yesterday.

THE END

For Phil...

2011-10-21T11:31:00.009-05:00

...in response to his commentary to THIS POST:

Better?

I mean, really: Are cardinals all that intimidating? I guess I don't get why multiple professional sports teams want to use them as their mascot. Panthers, yes. Giants, yes. Kings, yes. Cardinals, no.

Because cardinals are happy little birds that eat at my feeder in the springtime.

IF the Rangers lose another game, though, feel free to pose your cat, Sawyer, sticking his tongue out at a Rangers NHL jersey. Turnaround being fair play and all that stuff. ;P

Guess who just got his celebratory sip of beer?

2011-10-20T22:37:00.005-05:00

Haskell LOVES it when the Rangers win.

Take that Cardinals!

Next week I will probably blow off Paul McCartney, because I'm cool that way...

2011-10-20T20:18:00.010-05:00

From: Becky
Sent: Thursday, October 20, 2011 9:06 AM
To: Deals
Subject: thanks

Deal[s],

Thanks again for going with me last night. Hope you had a good time.

Becky

From: Deals
Subject: RE: thanks
To: Becky
Date: Thursday, October 20, 2011, 11:17 AM

It was FUN! I really enjoyed it.

Nora is mad at me because she said that you said that Don Henley was there last night. As in the Don Henley from the Eagles. I assumed it was just someone else named Don Henley, and for that Nora is no longer speaking to me. Was it really Don Henley? As in THE Don Henley. Please clarify.

Deal[s]

From: Becky
Sent: Thursday, October 20, 2011 11:22 AM
To: Deals
Subject: RE: thanks

Yeppers girl. You were almost standing beside him near the door during all the speeches. He was less than 6 feet from you!

Well, sh*t.

In my defense, it seemed more likely that I would be in the presence of some guy that just happened to be named Don Henley than the actual Don Henley.

Becky told me today that she was impressed that I could be so nonchalant in the presence of such a big name celebrity.

And, well, now that I think about it, I DID think it was a little odd that Becky kept pointing at this guy standing more or less next to me and mouthing, "That's Don Henley, Deal[s]. DON. HENLEY".

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don Henley. I get it. That's a guy named Don Henley. Awesome.

(I've never been very observant.)

But, really, it is all good because I got to pet a baby alligator at the same event:

His name was "Gator" and he would close his eyes when you scratched in just the right place behind his ear. It was adorable, unlike my apparent squintiness at the time this picture was taken.

A cute baby alligator totally makes up for the whole Don Henley thing, right?

Anyone?

Almost as if Moo is checking in somehow...

2011-10-19T21:07:00.002-05:00

My aunt Mimi found this letter stamped but never mailed in a pile of Moo's old papers, so she scanned it in and emailed it to me.

It must have been written back when I was in college and still playing rugby.

Finding this letter in my inbox this morning totally made my day. I never thought I would have the opportunity to open another one of Moo's fabulous notes or cards ever again.

Funny how something so small can mean so much!

(Miss and love you, Moo! xoxox)

Big Tex made me do it...

2011-10-18T21:35:00.013-05:00

Yum.

Mmmmmm...

Before you get all excited, though, Fletcher's has a turkey corn dog this year.

Note: Thank you, Trevor, for pointing out that the last photo could be viewed as "erotic". Yeah, right. Because nothing says sexy like a knocked up woman in her third trimester taking a bite of a corny dog covered in mustard the color of baby poop. I mean, seriously. That is just not the stuff fantasies are made of. Plus, I was just trying to prove I was actually the one eating said corn dog. Because you are a typical non believer when it comes to stuff like this. The end.

It was bound to happen sometime, right?

2011-10-17T22:33:00.008-05:00

On Saturday night I rolled over when Trevor got home from the Ranger's game and heard a audible "POP" in my abdomen followed by a searing pain. It was all focused on the area right below my sternum; where my rib cage comes together above my stomach.

At the time I was pretty sure I was dying, but the pain actually subsided quickly and I wasn't even sore the next day. The weird thing is that I suddenly seem to LOOK more pregnant, and I have had several people comment on my baby bump since then. I guess the popping sound and pain were just my abs pulling apart to better accommodate el nino.

Or maybe Thor really does have a hammer in there.

In any event, I figured it was time to take another batch of belly pictures. My apologies in advance to Halley for taking the pictures myself and for wearing my usual black maternity t-shirt.

Depending on which due date you are using, I am either almost 30 or 32 weeks: