It's a boy!

So, this came as little surprise to me, because I have sworn this was a boy from day one.

I just had a feeling, and the feeling was right.

Despite everyone saying I was wrong-literally dozens of people swearing up and down that I was wrong, mother's instinct wins out. Suck it up, all you non-believers. Moms just know.

Mr. W couldn't be more pleased with himself. You would think he spawned it himself and did all the work. Meanwhile, mommy is sitting here with the worst backache I have ever had in my life, feeling like I need to go to bed at 6:30.

I swear, this child is trying to chew his way out.

I keep telling Mr. W that his baby is eating me and he just doesn't believe me. The kid is coming out with a full set of teeth, if you ask me.

My son is already a chip off the old block. A huge pain in my back side.

Now comes the fun part. We get to decorate and buy cute little baby things, and then, we get to name the spawn.

Mr. W is insisting on several names he feels would be great, yet I only hear "pro-wrestler" when they are spoken. I tried to tell him, he is getting his mini-me, I should at least get to name it.

Now he is trying to fight me on that, too.

I can see this is a one way street here at the W household.

My opinion no longer counts. The testosterone is flowing fully and any chance of a peaceful end to my pregnancy is in the toilet.

On a happy note, I did get Mr. W to agree to let me take his credit card shopping for clothes to put on our little son. Granted, it is the one with a very low limit, but I will take what I can get when he's buying!

I also just realized it is no wonder I have been dying for blue Icees for months, now. The baby has been decorating my uterus.

Mr. W starts to worry...

So, normally, Mr. W is very good at calming me down in my most frantic and desperate moments, but as of late, he is becoming a bit impatient and worrisome about the day ahead.
Tomorrow is the big day I have been waiting for(and him too) for all these weeks.
The 20 week scan has finally arrived and I must say, if we had to wait much longer, Mr. W might have put me through an airport scanner just to see if he could have a peek at what is going on in there.
He is tired of the doppler. It will not suffice anymore. He needs proof that there is a little gorilla in there. He also is starting to voice his concern about having an ugly child.
"I sure hope our kid doesn't look like that", as he speaks of the grungy, dirty little long haired blond boy selected to play Michael Myers in the remake of Halloween by Rob Zombie. I tell him there is no way, and that why would our kid be blond like that, anyway?
He proceeds to point out that his nephews are blond and that he was blond himself as a child.
Fine, fair enough. I always wanted to be blond, why is this suddenly a curse?
Hell, I pay to have blond streaks put into my hair.
To be honest, when kids are little, there are very few that I would consider ugly.
With their clear, soft skin, and pretty silky hair, kids have what I wish I still had.
I assure him that no matter what, we wouldn't know the difference if our kid is ugly, anyway.
He seems fine with that answer.
He grunts at me that I will "get my little girl", like I am getting my way and winning a lottery.
I assure him that I have a feeling that this is a boy, and that he will have to wait and see. I then proceed to make him feel guilty by pointing out that if it is a girl, I will let her know that Daddy was terribly unhappy that she came out without boy parts.
This seems to shut him up.
He then throws a fit when a coworker who reports up to him calls his cell phone. He instinctively knows that he is calling off. He proceeds to have a minor fit about how he is not missing "his kid" because "xyz guy" won't bring his lazy ass to work.
I remind him that work will not shut down without him for a few hours and that he already let them know he would be out that day.
Mr. W is having a bit of nerves as we prepare for this historic event in our lives.
I have given up wanting anything other than a healthy child.
I will leave the rest of the worrying to Dad.

The baby is hungry...

Now, every woman I've known to be pregnant used this phrase to excuse their appetite. I will do it too. I am not too proud.
I have actually been pretty good with the eating thing. I have stopped eating first thing in the morning because that is what I am "supposed" to do. I am tired of all the damn pregnancy "experts" telling me what and when my baby needs to eat. I am not a small girl. I am pretty sure my baby could make it the rest of these months on the calories in my body fluids alone. I won't try to find out, I am just saying.
My point is, I am eating only when I am hungry because that is what my body is saying to me. "Let's not try to gain 40 pounds, let's just eat when the mood strikes." Watching several specials on the jumbo people who have to have a wall cut down to get out of their house may have something to do with this. Either way, I am doing fine, thanks. No need to say I am starving any fetuses.
I have found, when I wait to eat, I am also postponing the inevitable effect of my first meal of the day.
What does it do, you ask?
Why, it makes me hungry for the rest of my waking hours.
The other day, Mr. W was working at our city festival, known by most as the "Spring Fling" and lovingly referred to by Mr. W as the "Dirt Festival". The reasoning behind this has to do with the tendency of the first festival of the season to draw out the white trash in town for a big day of family fun.
It also draws out the pregnant women.
As I waddled around from the pretzel stand to the funnel cake truck, I noticed that there was an abundance of pregnant ladies, each gleefully snacking away on some fried sugary or salty treat coming from a greasy concession stand on wheels. Yes, the carnies all show up here and bring their "A game".
I managed to leave the house after not a bite to eat all morning and on a mission. Ironically, when I stopped to get cash at the bank, I could not help but to stop in Starbucks and get a Chai tea, along with some cookies so I could sustain the 5 minute car ride to the event.
It worked out OK, since it primed me for the pretzel truck, the fresh spiral chips, and the funnel cake I would be eating in the next few hours. I managed to leave with a sleeve of sugar waffles and a soft pretzel stashed for later in the evening. What did I eat Sunday? Lots of junk food. The baby likes it.
I managed through Monday without any outrageous meals, however, this morning, I did not quite make it until noon and decided to run off to Dunkin Donuts for an egg and cheese sandwich. When I got there, I decided to grab a box of Munchkins for tomorrow, and though I asked for a 25 box, the high pressure sales from the guy at the drive through was far too powerful to resist. "Only another dollar fifty for 25 more." Ummm, OK.
The baby likes donuts, too.
As I sit popping them into my mouth like peanuts, I am glad that there will be some left for tomorrow.
I also am feeling kind of sick and like I really need to eat a plate of vegetables.

Daddy is impatient

Mr. W and I went to grab some dinner yesterday and before we did, the fat kitty was going crazy after a few hours without, so we had to get him food. I decided we should run into Target, since it is across the street, and they have maternity clothes. Mommy is not fitting into normal clothes these days and another pair of shorts sounded like a good idea.
Mr. W waited patiently(at least for the first few minutes) while I looked to see what might fit my gigantic behind. Mr. W, much like a little child himself and not to be outdone, decided he needed to get shorts, too.
We wandered on to get the cat food, and then, as we made our way toward the paper towels, it happened.
I paused to show him the cute teeny outfits for babies, and we were off on a little wish listing spree.
Tiny little dresses and little pairs of shorts. Itty bitty bikinis, and baby sized baseball hats.
Of course, mommy was picking up girl clothes, but trying to find little boy clothes, too. Daddy, on the other hand, only picked up tiny boy clothes. Boy he will be in for some devastating news if mommy wins the battle of the sexes. Now, I'll be ok either way, but it sure would be nice to get another female into this house!(dog and cat are both boys, too)
In any case, finally Mr. W grew tired, since he was hungry, as usual, and pushed me out of the store.
In the car, on our way out of the parking lot, it started.
"Why don't we know what we're having yet?" "My friend (xyz, lmnop) is due the same day but they have known for a few weeks now."
Mr. W, with all the people he knows, has at least 2 friends that are due at nearly the same time as we are. I patiently explain to him, as if he were my very own 5 year old, that I didn't get to decide when my scan would be, the doctor did. I then go on to tell him that there are places where you can pay to find out early. This answer seemed to satisfy him, as surely Mr. W would not want to pay for something that he would get free in a few weeks.
The fact that we don't know yet is probably a great thing. After all, it is taking away precious weeks of shopping that I don't really need to do. It's been hard not knowing, but in another week and 5 days, we will.
The great news is, Mommy has already picked out a sweet little blanket for her little girl, and Daddy has picked out some ugly stretchy grey shorts for his little boy.
If he gets his boy, I will wish I had more time to find some clothes that I like, but I suppose I can always get him a bunch of Ohio State jerseys.

Our maternity section

So my sister and I were together for a road trip and some family things over the weekend. Saturday night we were tired from driving all day, and getting ready to grab some dinner. I go to put on a pair of pants that used to be my big and comfy pants, pre-parasite. Now, they are my tight and stupid pants.

Shopping for maternity clothes is just not fun for me. I could go on and on with what they do wrong, but I'll be brief.
To sum things up, I am not a sunken chested lady to begin with. Pregnancy does nothing to make the situation smaller. While many women are "excited" about their special new pregnancy boobs, mine have become two watermelons on the front of my chest that cannot be shoved into clothes of any normal size. That's right. Belly fits in the maternity clothes, giant hooters do not. On the other hand, half of the pants I try on seem to say "I am wearing depends, and I have been crapping in them for days on end."
Why the vast difference in sizes, I am not sure, but let's just say, there is a big one, and maternity clothes are sized for women who are normally flat with a giant ass.

So I am shopping with my sister, who has informed me that my pants are too tight(uh huh-trust me, I can tell), to try to find maternity clothes I can wear for the second half of this "miracle". After looking in a few places, I try to tell her that one of her favorite department stores does not have maternity. She insists, so we head into the store and are pointed toward the very top and far back corner of the building. How on earth could I have missed this, before? I think this is cruel, to begin with. Seriously, is it necessary to hide maternity sections and make a giant, swollen woman hobble across the store to find something to cover herself with? No, it isn't.

The shameful part is when we get to the top of the store, and are standing in front of "The Maternity Section" and still have to ask where it is. No joke, it was right there in front of us. All one rack of it. There was an ugly polyester blend pant in 2colors, and a shirt in 2 colors. To be exact, when we asked, the saleswoman pointed and said "do you see that maroon shirt?".

That's it. It comes in green, too.
After my sciatic nerve, back aching, tired footed ass waddled across the universe of the store, they present me with a choice of two pants, or two shirts.
When we came home to tell Mr. W about our trip, I suggested to him that the purpose of that maternity section was simply for the odd case of a pregnant woman peeing herself, splitting her pants, or having her nipples leak while she is shopping.
Marketing genius like this sends a distinct message to pregnant women. "You ain't gonna like the outfit, but it's dry, the seams are still there, and it comes in 3 sizes."
Woohoo.

The pregnant lady at the grocery store

Now, there is an important rule I try to follow before going grocery shopping. I always try to eat first, so I don't buy needless things. Simple enough. I also sometimes think I can get around this rule, and usually I can if it means I am running a quick errand and not really buying groceries for a week.

Today I screwed up. I went to the store pregnant and on a totally empty stomach from the night before. There was no self control to be had.

I ran to the store as I was planning on having steak for dinner and really wanted a big bowl of salad. Not the crap from the bag but a cut up, filled with fresh veggies, salad. I also wanted to buy a couple of big baking potatoes for our little feast. It all started with the corn on the cob.

You see, I decided to buy a few ears to fix along with dinner. Well, sitting next to the corn, was the strawberries.

The grocery, being cleverly advised by evil marketing people, had put shortcakes with those fresh strawberries to stop a pregnant woman in her tracks. In the cart they went. Now onto find some Cool Whip and we were set.

Not so fast. I was required to pass the bakery on the way to the freezers. I started picking up cupcakes and brownies and cookies and donuts. I ended up leaving with 2 packs of instant pudding, sugar cookies, donuts in a bag, and 2 containers of Cool Whip, among other things, like the vegetables I planned to buy.

Then the really sad part. I couldn't even make it home.
No dice.
I pulled out the biggest creme filled donut I have ever seen and ate it there in the parking lot like a fatty escapee from a Weight Watchers meeting.

This happened once earlier in my pregnancy when I came home from the store with about 6 or 7 different types of sugary sweets. I tried to tell Mr. W he needed to go to the store with me for the rest of this pregnancy, but today I was on my own without supervision.

On the bright side, my donut was delicious and I still have 2 left!

Grimace got khakis

I have always had a gut. That has been my downfall as far as my physique. It is the first thing that goes and the last thing that gets fixed. My rear, on the other hand has never been a problem. Until now.

Now, I realize that I am in week 17 of this glorious miracle, however, I had no idea just how fast my butt could expand. Just 1-2 weeks ago, I was wearing some drawstring cargo pants that are great during this time of year. They are light weight, and not quite shorts, but not jeans either. They are a "go to" in my wardrobe at this mid season point, and I have 3 pair.

So Sunday rolls around and I think I will wear these with a top I have for brunch with a friend. Fat chance.

Out of the blue, I cannot even pull these past the top of my thighs. I wanted to sit down and cry on my bed, but I didn't have time, as I had a friend who would be waiting. I ripped the tags off the old fatty maternity shorts and pulled them on for the first time.

They were wonderful. The only thing I have in my closet that would slide down from being big...God love those maternity shorts, they are a lifesaver. I am not sure why I was thinking I would get to 7 or 8 months without wearing maternity clothes, but I kind of was. Maybe because I have heard the odd statement here and there about "I didn't show until the end" or "I just went up a size for most of the pregnancy". I am here to tell you, the difference in those cargo pants and the maternity shorts was not a "size". A canyon maybe, a yard of additional fabric with elastic added, but a "size" it was not. It was not only the difference between splitting my pants in public, but it also allowed Baby W to breathe, or whatever it is doing in that amniotic fluid.

So I can say I made it 4 months. Almost 4 and a half, but 6, 7, or 8? Who are those people and where did they hide their fetus?

My baby is gifted...

My baby is so advanced. Well, I can't tell you how smart it is yet, but I can tell you it is growing so fast.
Now, I know when I came home when I saw the doctor last time, I let Mr. W know that baby was growing nicely as it had already gained 6 pounds(and I was...ummm....14 weeks?)
This week the baby has a new development I have noticed.
Teeth.
I keep having searing pains on my left side, and I just could not figure out what was going on. Then it dawned on me. I promptly advised Mr. W that his baby was biting me. He was quite pleased. How about that? Right here in the middle of week 17, our baby has teeth.

Ok, maybe not, but we had a very interesting experience with the doppler. I was lying still in the bed this weekend and trying hard to find the baby's heartbeat. Now, you will hear some interesting sounds in your belly. There is a swooshing noise that sounds like the ocean, which is the placenta. There is your heartbeat, which you can also pick up in various areas of your stomach. Of course, there is also baby's heartbeat which is about double your own, so it isn't tough to pick out. You also will hear a stomach growl and bubble from time to time.

However, this most recent listening event brought with it a new noise that nearly made me toss the probe across the room.

THUD, THUMP!!! BANG!!! For a minute, I thought something blew up in my belly.
Not much feeling on my end, so something didn't make sense. Then I remembered that Baby W can hear the doppler. Unlike before, when little chicken nugget was tiny and swam away, now, things are getting a bit more restrictive in there. The only defense the baby has against me and my noisy device to listen in with, is a kick or a punch.
My baby was hitting me. "Shut up, Mom, turn that crap off. I am trying to relax."

Oh yeah, that was pretty cool. Once I realized what I was hearing, I made a vow to listen in again soon so Mr. W could hear. He had already become bored and gone to the shower when it happened. Later that evening I proudly played the baby sonnet for Daddy...BAM, BAM, THUD. Again, Mr. W was pleased. He can just picture his little gorilla getting bigger and bigger.

Yes, there is a little caveman in there. Or a soccer star, or a boxer or something, but whatever it is, it is moving, and it is getting bigger. My parasite is becoming a threat.

Nesting is cruel

So, everyone talks about women and their need to nest during pregnancy. I know it gets more intense as the birth draws closer, however, there is a new motivation and inspiration to get things done that was not as strong before. I am noticing this already and what I am also noticing is how doing little things like an hour or so of sweeping and picking up do a number on my body that they didn't before.
This weekend, I was not exactly Superwoman, but I cleaned(thoroughly) our bathroom. The sink, the tub, the toilet, the floor basically everything but emptying out the cabinets, which also needs to be done.
I did some laundry, some picking up, spot cleaned the kitchen, and decided to get our back porch cleaned off. I also went grocery shopping. None of these were exhausting but they did require some bending and twisting.
Last night, I honestly couldn't even walk. I was holding myself steady on walls and furniture. Hobbling about like a little old woman. My lower back and hips hurt so badly I felt physically ill. I cried on Mr. W and told him if it didn't go away, I couldn't do this for another 23 weeks. I took Tylenol and waited as it did nothing.
I am happy to report that on waking today, I felt completely better.
Now, my thoughts are that staying busy and moving around and getting in some activity are good for a pregnant woman. If I just sit around, what else will I do but eat and swell, right?
I know they say not to get too much in, but just housework?
As this urge gets stronger and stronger, and I just get bigger and bigger, how am I supposed to "nest" without a pain management support group?
It really is cruel, that desire to get things done, how it drives you to making yourself feel so totally crappy. I guess I am going to have to try spreading chores out and be a little miserable everyday, as opposed to totally miserable here and there.
Nesting really is for birds.

I am so screwed.

So, based on some of the things I did when I was little, I have pretty much decided when it comes to raising a child, that I am screwed. For example, I remember putting my thumb on our car's cigarette lighter as soon as it wasn't red anymore, because I wanted to see if it was still hot. My mom took me to the store with her, and I ended up sticking my fingers in between the slots of a fan in the grocery freezer. I cried and cried, it hurt so bad, and my poor mom thought the tip of my finger would fall off. It didn't. I just lost my nail and it hurt really bad for a really long time.

Then there was this time, when my brother Tim took me on a bike ride across an interstate right after I had gotten the training wheels off my bike. OK, that was assisted stupidity, but it ended in bloody gravel, a hot bath, and tears. I survived but I remember Mom being horrified because she thought I would lose all my teeth. Oh, the things I did when I was little.

Some of them were pure accident. I broke my arm when I was running away from some dumb boy and fell over the top of the slide on the playground. I bumped my head over and over for many reasons. I knocked the wind out of myself when I was roller skating in the house and ran into the wall. Give me a break, I was probably only 4 at the time.

When I was older, I set the backyard on fire with fireworks. Nothing really explosive, but I didn't think much about the dry, dry summer grass that caught flames instantly. I had to put it out with a hose. I backed the car into the brick wall next to the garage more than once. I also ran into my dad's work bench with it on repeated occasions.

Hell, just a few months ago I caught my desk on fire because I left a candle burning. Mr. W now not only has to be mindful of me, but also a baby. If I had been born in the 90s, I would have likely been diagnosed ADD and medicated. Instead, without meds, I have grown up to be a very productive member of society that has a few more "oops" episodes than most. The years ahead should prove to be interesting.

Thanks to Mr. W, who grew up with siblings closer in age to him, I am scared to have any additional babies. He got hit in the face with some sharp garden tool by his brother when he was little. They set a pan on fire and buried it in the garden so their mom wouldn't find it. And I am well aware of all the lovely things I did to my brothers and sister. Primarily my sister, since destroying her stuff was way more fun.

Oh yes, it's the start of a long 18 years. This could get interesting.