Happy Father's Day

Mr. W got a bib and a card for Father's Day this year.

I am starting to figure out that having a kid is a lot like having an old car that you are more than willing to cover with bumper stickers, political messages, profound statements, and declarations of how cool you are.

For Father's Day, I decided to get little "Ricky Bobby" a bib reflecting the forced love of his Daddy that he will be born into.

Between clothing and pacifiers(which Mr. W insists on calling baby plugs), we will be adorning our baby like a little Christmas tree in homage of how awesome we are. He already has 3 or 4 Daddy outfits, and a Mommy outfit or two. This kid will be stylin'.

Last night I had the pleasure of having a little girl's night out with some friends for a birthday celebration, where I gorged on dinner from the Cheesecake Factory(perfect, because cheesecake was exactly what I needed), and then we hopped around and went to a few lower key bars.

Yes, the pregnant lady hit the bars last night.

We were laughing as I waddled past all the bachelorette parties looking at all the cute girls and saying under my breath..."if you think I look huge and miserable, just remember, I was you last year!".

The baby had 2 O'Douls last night, which he must have enjoyed, because he was moving all over the place. In fact, I got a good laugh when I realized that the bass in the last place we went was up pretty high and the little guy was just bouncing along to the beat. We can only hope he will have more rhythm than his Daddy.

Still no progress on the name front, though simple and boring is beginning to sound better and better.

I have a feeling I know what name is going to win, but I am not saying for sure, yet, because we may have a big moment of enlightenment here in the next three months.

Oh, that is the other big news today.

I am now officially 24 weeks pregnant. This could be calculated into 6 months, however, when one does this, they have to come to terms with the idea that women are actually pregnant for close to 10 months, and no one wants to think about that.

The other big news about the 24 week mark is what they call being "viable". However morbid it may be, this means that the baby's survival rate outside the womb has increased to a reasonable level and that any efforts to help out the little guy if he stops in early would be made.

Yeah, so it is morbid, but it is just one more day to break up 40 weeks of waiting, so check another little milestone off the list. Pregnancy can seem like it lasts an eternity. It doesn't.

It's the parenting that lasts an eternity.

Was it some really bad chili, or a baby?

Now that I have had a few good weeks of moving baby in my belly, I will revisit the shock and awe that was involved when I was watching the "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" show.
Seriously, what is wrong with these people?
Now, my friend Katey pointed out that everyone on these shows is pretty fat(not true, as there was one girl I saw in particular that was reallllly skinny), but I made a point to remind her that I am not a tiny girl myself. No, my kind of fat is not the kind that counts, at least in her opinion.
Good to have a friend who is blind to how enormous I feel.
She then goes on to explain that those people are large enough to think "maybe that is the 4 cheeseburgers I had for lunch not sitting well with me?". Good thing she didn't say the 2 cheeseburgers. Of course, she has been pregnant 3 times and knows that your appetite can sometimes surprise you with a bit of its own shock and awe while pregnant.
2 cheeseburgers? Sounds good, so what are you going to eat?
Although there is also the strange way I fill up so quickly, even though one minute I feel like I could eat an entire cake all by myself.
As the top of my belly, sitting rock hard and popped out for my once more impressive chest to rest on, I cannot understand how someone could really not know for a full 9 months?
I am not quite six months yet and I am pregnant as hell.

Opinions...Everybody's Got One...

Thanks to his Uncle Eric, the baby will probably still get called Thor, despite the desperate attempts by his mother to prevent such a sad thing. He has been littering my email with Thor pictures and warriors with weapons representing the legendary Thor. Attached is his latest project.

We went to dinner the other night with "so called" friends, who only added to Mr. W's plight to destroy the future of my baby.

Every normal name suggested was shunned, with options such as "Flash Burgundy" getting rave reviews. I was also told by Mr. W's friend, Jon, that he will be calling the baby Flash, regardless of what name we choose.

Good names were nudged out of the way for suggestions such as Spike, Gladiator, or Lui Kang and Raiden(from Mortal Kombat). Oh, it was an event filled with laughter for everyone with a beer in their hand. Mommy got to sit and endure the torture until deciding to join in on her own. I threw out some names such as "Mullet Nascar" and "Joe Dirt" before moving on to other great ideas like naming my poor child after hair band has beens from the 80s.

"Axl Rose W" and "Nikki Sixx W" and "Sebastian Bach W" were all thrown into the hat.

This started the group in new direction of naming the baby simply after someone who hit the media in the 80s. "Hulk Hogan W." , "Boy George W.", and Daddy's brilliant suggestion of "Sirhan Sirhan W."

When my poor little boy does have a name, he will have no idea of how many bullets he was able to dodge while sitting safely in the womb. On the other hand, how lucky this little baby is to have so many people interested in offering up a great name for him.

Mommy cannot wait until someone else is pregnant and she is having a cold one while coming up with her own creative responses.

On a side note, today is Mr. and Mrs. W's 1st anniversary. This is great news for Mommy and her son. It means they will be happily digesting a steak dinner tonight while avoiding the subject of names, altogether.

That All Depends...

In a thread from the beginning of my journey as "The Incubator", I mentioned the close and personal relationship that pregnant women have to develop with urine.


Yes, it all starts with peeing on a stick, and from what I can gather, for me at least, it will end up in cleaning pee off the toilet seat and the bathroom floor thanks to the new man in my life!


In between are a few years of the "Pee Circus" that this pregnancy and new Mommyhood has started.


I thought I would catch you up on the latest.


Only when you are pregnant, from the best of my knowledge, will you ever be beaming when you are told that your pee "looks good".
This was at my last Dr. visit, where I was asked to bring a cup of it in, from first thing in the morning(as early morning pee is the best, I am told), for them to have a look at.


I grabbed my keys and popped the wiped down specimen cup into my purse as I headed to see the doc. I have never been so happy to get something out of my handbag in my life.
They happily traded me for an empty one that now sits on the bathroom counter, awaiting the next visit.


It's a good thing they put a lid on this, as I am quite sure if they didn't, Mr. W would simply pop his toothbrush in it, thinking I had decided to redecorate the bathroom. Traces of toothpaste might give me some odd results at my next exam.


As Baby W has decided to poke me in the bladder on a frequent basis, my bathroom trips have increased. I hardly realized that this was possible, but it is. Worse than running water or the sound of any stream, is a tiny human bouncing about in your belly and using your bladder as a springboard. I hear it only gets worse.


Sometimes I think I urgently need to go, only to sit 10 minutes waiting for an eye-dropperful of urine to rear it's ugly head. By the time I pull my pants back up, I have to go again.


Thanks to the wonderful friends I have with children, I am learning more and more what I should expect over the next 17 weeks or so.


One friend, who shall remain nameless, told me how she didn't want to stop in a bad area of town to go, so she tried to hold it while she drove home. Ultimately, she peed her pants.
Her advice was "don't try to hold it".

I read someone else's story of thinking she peed her pants when her water broke.


Peeing can also go hand in hand with a sneeze or cough, and evidently, too much laughter.
Pregnant woman should all avoid colds like the plague, and comedies are not advised.
Watch or read something that will give you a good cry and let it leak out the other end.


Sadly, another friend told me that this didn't go away after she had her baby and dared me to try doing jumping jacks after giving birth.


If all else fails, there is always Depends. There may be a lot more diapers around the W house than I had anticipated.

Baby Shrek's Healthy Appetite

Now that the little guy growing in my belly has reached a size where Mommy can feel him moving, he is keeping me amused.
I have to be honest here, the first day that he really decided to do flips in there, it pretty much freaked me out.
It was a lot like having an alien being working its way out of your stomach. I was sitting with a client and it was all I could do to sit still. Every time he directed his attention toward his computer, I would shift in my seat.
The little dude was moving so much it was giving me something pretty similar to sea or motion sickness.
He hasn't had another day quite like that since, however, it's his patterns that I find so amusing.
You see, when Mommy eats something, it is only a very short matter of time until I feel the little guy in there doing spins, flips, kicks and punches. "Send more down, Mom!"
His fave so far was a sundae I ate the other night. He was very happy to enjoy the sundae and kicked me twice when I was done, I guess to kind of "shake the crumbs" out of my placenta.
Meanwhile his father was scouring the bottom of my sundae dish for any trace of fudge or whipped cream he could get his paws on.
Chip off the old block, no doubt.
He loves when I eat, and pretty much sleeps the majority of the rest of the day, although he just gave me a few quick nudges.
Being the "first timer" that I am, I am seriously wondering about when he grows to 6 or 7 times this size. Clearly my body will no longer belong to me, but to the parasite.
These are the times when I realize he will not just unzip my side and crawl out, but it will be a big production when he does make an appearance and Mommy will have some serious pain, both during and after this event.
There's got to be another way.
I cannot be the first pregnant woman who has contemplated this.

The Cat in the Hat

So, as a child, my best recollection of reading and my favorite books and stories were always by Dr. Seuss.

I decided to take it upon myself to decide how my baby's nursery will be without the input of Mr. W.

He said he liked The Cat in the Hat but doesn't remember the rest of the books all that well. He informed me that when he was little, he would pick out war books to read.

That is the dork that I married.

The idea of my little baby reading a war book is mortifying to me, and I have gone full speed ahead at infiltrating the house with Dr. Seuss books. I have burned the edges of the earth in search of all things Seuss, and have found some darling additions to my collection of odds and ends for Little Mr. W.

While scouring the internet I also came across this photo. I nearly peed on myself(another topic). Yes, you can read it all by yourself, but you can't spell it. Seuss is missing an S.

The sad thing is that Mommy is trying to relive her childhood right now, while reading all the tongue-twisting Dr. Seuss goodness to herself.

From Horton to Yertle the Turtle, and the Sneetches and Thing 1 and Thing 2, all the favorites will be gracing my baby boy's room.

Mr. W said "what if I wanted to do his room in monkeys or footballs?".

"What if?", I replied.

As we browsed the store yesterday, looking at all the things we will need, as I pointed out to Mr. W everything "my baby wants", he started to realize this is not his battle to win.

He picked up a black and yellow blanket about being a rockstar as I reached for a soft white blankie with a little brown teddy and he said "how about this one?".

"Not while my baby is my baby."

C'mon, Shrek, give Mommy a year or so. Then when he wants to play in dirt and eat bugs, I will have to accept the hand I have been dealt.

Right now he is my precious little baby boy and no Daddy, or war book or ugly blanket is going to take that from me.

I'll let my baby know when he is entitled to an opinion.

The first 6 months, at least, belong to Mommy.

A letter to my little boy

Dear Son,

Mommy is still hobbling around like an old lady today, after a week of being miserable. I don't think this is your fault. I think it is best to blame Daddy.
If he ever picked his clothes up off the floor, then Mommy wouldn't have to bend over so much.

Daddy is very excited for you to get here because he wants to teach you to act like a little monkey. Even if you think this is stupid, you should probably give it a shot, just to amuse him. Mommy thinks it is funny when Daddy does it, so it will make her laugh when you do it, too.

Daddy also really likes your hat that Mommy ordered online. Aunt Beth really likes it, too, and actually found it, first, so if you think it is silly, blame her. Mommy thinks you will look so cute in it that she will probably squeeze you really hard when she picks you up for a hug. Mommy does this to the dog, too, so don't feel bad.

Mommy and Daddy are also trying to pick a nice name for you. Daddy has lots of suggestions that may sound cool when you are 6 or 7, but when you are trying to get a date or a job, you will thank Mommy for intervening. No employer wants to hire a Vulcan, and no girl wants to date a Thor. Vulcan sounds a little too much like a Star Trek character to Mommy. It might be. I never liked that show. The dog has made a few suggestions, too, but we don't think naming you Chicken or Pig after his favorite toys would be very nice.

Mommy has already bought you some toys, some very cute little clothes, a cool quilt for your bed, and some books. Daddy said he wants you to have Mommy's brains, and Mommy explained to him that smart kids start reading early. Even if Mommy and Daddy have to read it all to you for a really long time, one day, you will point at a word and read it all by yourself. Then many years from now you will be able to spell and write, too, and you can come here online and write Mommy and Daddy a letter about how it is our fault how screwed up you are.

I keep wondering what you will look like and what you will sound like, and waiting is very hard for me, since Mommy is very impatient. Mommy doesn't like standing in lines or sitting in traffic, so the next 4 months will be going by slow. At the same, time, though, it has started to move faster because I can call you my son, and pick things out for you, and imagine how big you will grow. Daddy says you are going to be a giant. He is basing this assumption on you being our child, and male. If you look like a 7th grader in kindergarten, just remember that one day you will be very happy about this. Daddy, as you will see, was always the biggest and tallest on his team. He still is. Now, that makes Daddy very cool. It also means every little person wants to be his friend in case they get into a fight. Especially the mouthy ones. If you are big like Daddy, I expect your best friends will include at least one very puny, short, smartass kid. Just remember, if he makes Mommy mad, he's going home, and not coming over anymore unless Daddy is watching you.

Another thing Daddy is really looking forward to is having you around for the infamous Ohio State/Michigan game. Mommy already has your outfit ready. You will look like a real fan. Son, you are being born into this, and it is something you will learn more about as the years go by. You will learn to see a Michigan license plate and get annoyed that someone from Michigan is even driving on your roads. Not sure why this is. You will meet people from Michigan that are very nice. Even if they are Michigan fans. You will like them. It will be fine. At the same time, everyone unknown from Michigan is an enemy until proven to be your friend. Mommy and Daddy will both enjoy watching the games with their little boy, but Mommy has a feeling she will be spending a lot more time in the kitchen making snacks than ever.

Speaking of snacks, I can feel you moving around sometimes, now. You wiggle around when Mommy eats something. You were going crazy when Mommy ate a big plate of veggies the other night. I hope this means you were enjoying them, and not that you were trying to figure out where to find the drain plug in there. You will eat your vegetables. One day, when you are big like Daddy, you can decide to only eat meat and protein powder and supplements, but for many years, your digestive system belongs to Mommy, and will be eating every type of food.
Mommy also won't say anything if you won't eat lettuce. Mommy didn't like it until she was about 8 or 10. And soda? We'll get that out of the way. Daddy thinks it is the devil. Mommy enjoys them, herself. Mommy will probably let you have some when Daddy isn't looking, but you need to drink milk, water and juice while you grow. However, Mommy would never tell you that you can't have a Coke with pizza, if you want. The thought of any other drink just makes her stomach turn.

Oh, and one last thing. Mommy will tell you now that if you ever have a brother or sister, you need to share with them, and protect them. You also need to share Mommy's notes and letters to you and her journal. Mommy knows that you will keep her very busy, and they might not get the same attention during her pregnancy that she can give to you. Try to remember that if you ever think it isn't fair being the oldest.
Being in the middle and being the youngest have their fair share of disadvantages, too. Life isn't fair. It never will be. No one can have everything, so we have to really appreciate and enjoy what we've got. Someone else will always wish they had what you have and you will always find something else that you want. Mommy and Daddy will do their best for you, but we will always wish we had done x, y or z. You will do things you wish you hadn't. You will likely think of this while sitting in the corner when you are young. Some older people have to think of this while they are sitting in jail. Trust me, you will thank us for those trips to the corner and your room when you are not in jail.

Mommy and Daddy and and your Aunts and Uncles and Grandparents are all excited to meet you, so just keep swimming around in there, doing what you're doing and give me the occasional kick so I know you're getting fed, and we'll see you in a few months!

Love,
Mom

Take a couple Tylenol...or vitamins, or whatever

So I have been miserable for several days now. Really it all started on Thursday when my sciatic nerve started to act up.
Mr. W is convinced that his little spawn is using Mommy's back and sciatic nerve like a tiny punching bag. I am not so sure that I don't believe this.
It kept hurting on Friday, and I kept going as usual, but by Friday night the pain was making me sick.
Tylenol? I laugh at thee. It may be a great fever reducer and help out in a pinch, but when shooting pains are making you want to collapse with every step, Tylenol is more of a cruel joke than anything else.
I am a loyal follower of ibuprofen in most cases where pain is involved. It allows me to function when I am miserable, and usually at least improves whatever the problem may be. It doesn't always cure, but it helps.
Nope, off limits.
Not supposed to have any of that right now:(
So after 4 days of feeling worse and worse, 3 bouts of feeling like I am going to puke all over the floor or pass out somewhere, 1 incident in the grocery where Mr. W and the freezer kept me from hitting the floor, and one night where Mr. W had to pull me up off the floor so that I could go pee after falling when I tried to walk to the bathroom, I am getting a little tired of this crap.
They say when your sciatic nerve bothers you that you are supposed to keep moving. The problem is that the more I try, the more the nausea comes on and I want to faint or vomit.
Maybe the Little Monkey will roll over so that I can have my right leg back, or maybe it isn't his fault at all, and my stupid, mindless uterus is pushing everthing out of order back there.
I know two things, though.
1. I would be a terrible patient for chronic pain, because asking Mr. W to do stupid things like pick up something off the floor or help me stand or even run out for something because I don't want to chance going to the store alone, is really getting on my nerves(no pun intended).
2. Tylenol sucks