75 days to go

I made it to week 29, only to have more reasons why I am ready for the next 10 weeks to move along. Last night I was lying in bed, contemplating whether it was less evil to endure the heartburn or to get up and find the Tums, thus exposing myself to the gloriously disabling lower back pain that now comes along with lying down.

Mr. W is on my last nerve complaining about his own ailments(his back, his hip, his ankle, his foot, his leg...Jesus). He has brought this all on himself with his softball and weightlifting, and to be honest, I can't hardly stand to hear him talk about it. I just want to shake him and tell him he has no idea. I think if I could live in a cave right now, I would. It's amazing how very bitter I am becoming.

All I can say is that I am looking forward to an end to this. The pain and, to top it all off, feeling like I have to pee on the floor with every step that I take are jumping up and down on my last nerve. I will leave out the details of the mattress sitting halfway between my kitchen and living room, the piles of laundry Mr. W keeps throwing on the sofa(since they fold and put themselves away), the box springs that are stacked against the closet door in the other room, the office that needs to be ripped apart, and the fact that my baby has no place to sleep or call his own yet, other than some space on the top of Mr. W's second dresser. Yes, his second dresser.

It isn't any emptier than the last time I wrote about it. He hasn't thrown out one stinking thing that I know of, and today, I jumped online to take a peek at our registry.

I quickly noticed that Mr. W, who had the job of scanning everything, which should have been his only contribution to the efforts, had decided to put sooooo many funny things on the registry.

Let's see. Similac, toddler sized Transformers pajamas, infant sized sandals for our baby who will be born in October, a "foam bullet" gun, a Nerf football...yes, I was highly annoyed and not even lightly amused by his antics.

I probably sound like a hateful pregnant woman right now. I probably am. I am losing my patience with everyone and I am starting to feel exceptionally crappy, which isn't helping the situation. Mr. W will likely be coming home to a hateful woman today, and he has no idea.

Mommy is losing her sense of humor.

Another thing no one mentioned about pregnancy.

Where will we put the baby?

Can't he just sleep in a drawer? This was what Mr. W asked when I stressed that we needed to get moving on clearing out a space for our little human. Mr. W is not a big fan of cleaning, and he is more than certainly not a fan of parting with any of his beloved things(most of which are simply useless in day to day life). Sure, I replied, but it has to be one of your drawers, since I have 4 and you have 12 or 15 total. Actually, now that I am counting, the number is 14 to be exact. 14 drawers of clothes the man has, and he still has laundry all over the place, laying on the guest bed, piled in the laundry room, sitting in hampers and YES, believe it or not, actually hanging out of his 14 drawers. He then tries to rationalize his thoughts that since the baby will only need a dresser and his crib and a place for toys, that surely he can leave his dresser in the baby's room. No, not happening. Time to let it go, big papa. No one here is homeless right now, no one is freezing, and no human can ever wear all the clothes that are cluttering this house. He even has tshirts from high school. Yes, high school. Mr. W will be 34 in 10 days and he actually has 16 year old tshirts which he seems to think that he needs. Mrs. W has moved several times at this point in her life, and has also invested some time in cleaning her closets on more than one occasion. Now, I will admit, I have more that needs to go, but this is just the tip of the iceberg. Mr. W needs a serious reality check. I informed him that if one of the home fix up shows ever came to film here, they would throw out about 90 percent of our shit. That's what it is folks, mostly just shit. The reality is, just the things we actually USE take up more space than we have. It is time to say goodbye to anything that doesn't fit on that list. It doesn't help that Mr. W was raised to never throw a thing out. I got news. Neither was I. I had to get over it. While it may be hard to part with things at the time, I have found that 99.999% of the time, when it hits that bag and goes to Goodwill, I never think of it again. Oh, it is going to be a long 12 weeks for Mr. W. From saying goodbye to so much junk and lugging what he cannot part with up into the attic, he will be a broken man. I am just hoping that the arrival of his son will help him realize that "stuff" just isn't all that important. I am all for him saving whatever is special. Put it in a box, and lug it up those attic stairs. My guess is that after a few trips, suddenly, things will be put more into perspective and he will begin to see how many wonderful items he has that he really doesn't want or need. As he is off playing softball, and my nesting instincts start to kick in I can almost feel the evil grin and laugh rising up from the baby in my belly. Move over Dad...there's a new man in the house.

Things that people don't tell you before you get pregnant...

I know this was a topic I promised to revisit, but now I feel like I am learning some more things that deserve to be said.
My primary area of concern right now is that no one mentioned to me that morning sickness can return or finally rear its head in the third trimester.
Yes, I had the pleasure of vomiting for the first time since being pregnant just days ago, and have felt like I needed to more than once since then. In fact, right now, I am wanting to just lay down to make the nausea go away.
I made it all the way to 27 weeks without facing the toilet head on, and now, here I am, for the first time in months, unable to eat anything but a fish sandwich with ketchup and wondering where it went wrong?
Yes, even the old days craving has returned. Other than this, the only thing I can think of that I might possibly want to eat right now is a blue icee or some chocolate.
What the hell?
Really the only difference from this and about 15 weeks along is the tiny human kicking me in the gut. Well, that and the only clothes I can wear now are stretchy and nearly transparent because of the hot flashes. I can go from zero to about 25 degrees too hot in all of about 60 seconds.
The amount of sweat I seem to be able to conjure up within a minute or two is unreal. You would think I just had a great workout when all I might be doing is shopping or moving some laundry or even sitting in a room with a closed door.
Now I have heard of hot flashes and felt something similar when ill before, but this is just stupid.
I find myself thinking back to the days when women wore heavy layers of clothing all year and had no central air. Some people still don't. I think all those people deserve a blue icee machine.
I almost fear that something is wrong because my finger is not swollen today and my wedding ring just rolled around my finger on its own. I am not complaining, because I am getting a big hearty kick to thank me for eating that fish sandwich with extra ketchup.
It almost makes me sick to talk about it, but it tasted great.
Another thing I have recently been told is that one may experience severe headaches and a backache from the glorious treatment known as the epidural. How can something so right be so wrong? I do think I will probably just take my chances.
I got a list of 3, maybe 400 local pediatricians from the OB when I was there last week. He said it is time to try finding one so my baby will not just get a "hospital doctor". Without using so many words, he basically told me that these are like little trolls who live under the hospital bridge(or cafeteria), climb out to inspect your baby and try to steal their breath after they are born, and then are never seen or heard from again, until they return decades later to bargain for their soul. I guess Mr. W and I will have some phone calls to make.
I had the pleasure of taking my glucose challenge test yesterday, and despite some advice from other moms, just ate a normal breakfast and lunch, waited a couple hours and went in to drink the crap and wait. Oh pancreas(I think that is where insulin comes from), don't fail me now. Sitting there for one hour was torture. I cannot imagine the boredom involved with sitting in that lab for three hours. At the same time, not really wanting to trick the test(hey...if it ain't working, I would rather just know), I would prefer to have accurate results. I will keep you posted in the event that I am a lucky winner of the 3 hour test, or GD-if so, I am sure more posts will follow, as I imagine a filet of fish and ketchup would not be included in that diet.
Just a few other things I hadn't been warned about would be the shifting of all my fat(to be specific, I feel like I have a belly full of baby, on top of a saggy kangaroo pouch), constant lower back pain, and less then desirable skin changes which can include acne, new moles, skin tags, hypersensitivity to the sun, and many other joys beyond stretchmarks.

Well, if you do come home...

Today was a long day at work, and tomorrow will be, too. I think every day will be for awhile. Maybe forever.

I think I was meant to be born into wealth, or at least, just stumble upon wealth. I bitterly turn on the tv to see stupid reality show people living the good life just because someone follows them around with a camera. I can do that. Bring on the camera and give me money. I promise, I will keep you more than entertained. If nothing else, I should qualify for some CMT redneck show or something like that. I can cause a scene with the best of them. I can start arguments, mouth off and certainly drop more than one dry smartass remark after the next.

No one wants to watch some lady living in Ohio. I guess it's just too normal. I think you have to live somewhere interesting or be related to someone famous or have an absurd amount of kids in order to truly qualify for a series. I think I might try to brainstorm on this and think about how to market myself. There has to be something interesting about me. I just need to figure out what it is.

On a side note, Mr. W played softball tonight which means he is out of my hair for a bit. While I was nagging him about staying out too late he finally responded by saying maybe he just wouldn't come home. Obviously, I can't be bothered by his wit right now. I simply replied..."well, if you do come home, bring chocolate."

I sure as hell wish I had another one of those 5th Avenues.

I get to take my glucose test this week, which I have heard only rave reviews about...er, not really. From what I understand, you go in, drink some nasty sweet stuff, sit for an hour and have your blood drawn. As if sitting for an hour in the damn lab wasn't bad enough, having your blood drawn at the end seems like a little slap in the face. Then, from what I hear, there is a great chance you will fail this test which qualifies you to spend half a day at the test center. Doesn't that sound funny?

Where are the cameras?

90 days to go

And the baby wanted a 5th Avenue bar today. I am here to tell you that no candy bar has ever tasted as delicious to me as the 5th Avenue I decided to indulge in after my physical therapy appointment today. I stand firmly behind the idea that 5th Avenues are a world away from a Butterfinger. Just like the most loyal Coke or Pepsi fan, I not only taste a difference, but I taste a difference to the point where I will not even eat a Butterfinger.
They just suck. The peanut butter stuff is too tacky and hard or something.
It tastes like peanut brittle inside chocolate, where a 5th Avenue is like finely placed layers of crisp peanut butter toffee or something. Yes, it is different.
The baby and I both know it.
That is all I have to report today.
That, and the fact that the physical therapist said "it must be pretty exciting knowing that you are getting close to the end of your pregnancy". I said "Yep, it sure is." I am ready for this to be over. The novelty has worn off.
I am thankful that it has been pretty easy up until now, despite the peeing all the time and constant hunger, waddling, sciatic nerve problems, indigestion, sore boobs and a few other things, it hasn't been bad, but I have to say, I am ready to have a go at the kid that has been kicking me for 6 weeks.
On the way to get Dairy Queen tonight(my second dessert), Mr W. said to me again "I hope our kid isn't ugly." I notice that he seems to be pretty worried about this. I worry that the baby is OK, and he seems to mostly worry that the baby will be ugly.
I remind him that neither of us are that ugly(at least in my opinion), and decide to leave it at that.
Let's just hope that Baby W doesn't inherit Daddy's lousy self image issues or the counseling will seriously dip into his college fund.

How cool can my baby be?

I am 27 weeks pregnant, today, which means I have 91 days to go.
This translates into 13 weeks if you are bad at math.
I got a call from my friend Becky today to scold me for not posting enough blogs for her reading pleasure. I had to explain that I really don't have much time to post with all the trips back and forth to pee.
Seriously, though, today Mr. W and I went to Target to register for the baby and also to claim the free gift card that came along with registering.
That is how Babies R Us lured me in, too. Anyone else out there offering a free gift card, I will happily add some of your crap to my wish list for the baby Shrek. He'll be so pleased if he ends up with 3 of everything. That means he can poop, pee and spit up on all of it, and at least twice, we can just throw the stuff out.
OK, maybe not.
Anyway, I also pointed out my edema to Daddy today who was happy to agree while reminding me that "my leg used to get smaller where my knee is". Thanks. In all honesty, I don't think it is that bad.
Since I proclaimed that my baby would be a boy before the rest of the world, I have my next prediction. I think this baby is going to show up early. Now, I have said I have a feeling about the 3rd of October, however, it wouldn't surprise me if he rears his head even sooner than that. Mr. W asked why I felt that way and I told him because I already feel like there is a bowling ball in my pelvis. Surely he will drop out sooner than later. Of course, it would be more like me to be one of those girls who goes 2 weeks beyond her due date. If that is the case, Mommy will be snacking on Reese Cups and other Halloween treats all the way to the maternity ward.
While Mr. W and I were out yesterday, we noticed that the Christmas ornaments are already going up in Hallmark. "Can't I please have my baby first?" I said to Mr. W. Why we are seeing trees and garland in July, I don't know, but I saw on the news that Sears is going to bring this about as well. Let's not just commercialize Christmas, let's do it for the entire second half of the year and most of the summer. What happened to pumpkins and turkeys? And football season?! I feel a wave of panic as the year is being ripped away from me.
Speaking of commercialism, one thing I am a big fan of is handbags. I always have been, even as a kid. Maybe because size just isn't that big of an issue. Maybe because I feel a little more daring with accessories than I do with my clothes. Not certain. Anyway, I have always said when I had a child, I would need a fierce diaper bag, and not one that has puppies or kittens or duckies or any of that crap. No Disney for my baby. My baby needs style. My baby means business.
So as I am in the store today, an idea strikes me, and though I had it in my hand and was nearly ready to take the plunge, I hesitated and tried to ask myself "what would my baby do?".
See, in my hand and ready to rock my baby's diapers and bottles and snacks and changing pad was a fully studded Ed Hardy bag.
I should add that my first instinct has always been Burberry on this. After considering the price and the lack of options in a quality brand with a similar plaid print, I was struck with the thought that my baby might think the Ed Hardy bag, completely covered in metal studs, was really cool. I had it in my hand and was going back and forth, and then I remembered reading something about people giving their kids names (like Ernest, for example) and basically saying "giving your baby a name like this means that they will have to be very, very cool to overcome it". I started to wonder if I would scar my child with the Ed Hardy tattooed studs. I am still not convinced that I made the right decision by setting it down, but, much like with his name, I am just not quite ready to commit.
Speaking of names, the latest horrible name suggested by Mr. W is Maximo. Maximo? MAXimo?! Are you kidding me? You want to name our baby after something that sounds like a drain opener or a scouring agent.
One more reason why Mr. W's opinion counts less and less every day. The Ed Hardy diaper bag, my kid can probably overcome. Maximo? I don't think any one's kid could overcome something like that. That is nearly as stupid as naming your kid Apple. But wait, someone already did that.

Florida in summer

One thing that I am starting to find pretty funny is the way that this tiny human can go from laying very still, allowing me to forget that I am pregnant at times, to squirming so much that I feel like he is going to rip a hole in my side or my back and climb out.
I have to report that overall, here in week 26, I am still very much comfortable the majority of the time, provided I am not walking around too much and the temperature is OK. I agree with the masses of pregnant women who say that being pregnant in the summer sucks.
I would follow up that statement by saying that it really isn't all that horrible if you are here in the northern states, however, after a trip down to Florida to see Grandpa last week with Aunt Beth, I am starting to define a pretty distinct line between being hot and feeling like you are on fire.
Now, Aunt Beth is a sun worshipper, and I enjoy the sun myself at any other time, however, when you feel like a hot air balloon and your skin is far more sensitive to burning(still not sure what causes this), Florida in July feels darn close to the gates of hell.
There is just no good place to escape the heat, other than the freezers in the grocery store. Needless to say with loosened ligaments making my back and knees feel like they would give out at any random time, walking through the grocery store was not much fun, either.
A cot right there in front of the ice cream and TV dinners would have been great.

I noticed that I was very tired when we first arrived and catching up on a lot of sleep really helped me to feel better and kept the joint and muscles issues down to a barely noticeable issue by the time I left. I also noticed an interesting pattern with Aunt Beth and Grandpa. As I started to get some energy back from relaxing over the week, they both started to get more tired.
Aunt Beth had to spend her energy picking up her virtual paycheck(another post) and Grandpa, well, he must have just been worn out by how much fun he was having with his wonderful daughters. Either way, the beginning of the week consisted of them asking me why I was laying in bed at 10 pm, while the end of the week found me sitting on the sofa while they were snoring in the recliner and love seat by 9:30.

The baby liked the pool and all the junk food he got to try out that week. His favorite was the brownies, donuts and ice cream. I made sure he got a dessert every day. He was happy about that and started his wiggle dance right about the time I was passing out for the night.

One thing neither I nor the baby liked was my near death experience in the pool. I almost drowned while standing in water that only came to my waist or so. OK, so I don't have one right now, but where my waist used to be. Not sure how it happened other than probably from breathing in water while laughing. It scared the hell out of me because I literally couldn't breathe for close to 2 minutes I would guess. Right when I was starting to realize I was going to black out, I was able to get down on the ground and cough up some water and spit. That seemed to open up the pipes for some air, so that is great news, because otherwise I would not have been so lucky. I let Aunt Beth and Grandpa know that they were a huge help. Talking to a person who can't breathe doesn't do much for them. Aunt Beth gave me a trash can to cough into. (if you are going to choke to death, please do it in this trash can) Grandpa didn't notice because he was busy looking for 10 down on a crossword puzzle and then later reassured me that he was waiting for me to turn blue to do something. That made me feel much better. By the time I am blue, you can bet that I would not be capable of helping myself at all.

Being that I have had several emergency medical training courses in the past, I can honestly say the one time it doesn't help much, is when you need to help yourself.
So, Baby W, no worries. Mommy was able to save us both this time. I just hope that doesn't happen again, because it was really unpleasant.

Note to self, try to only swim when there is an EMT present.

Baby W will miss out on the King of Pop

Mr. W couldn't care much less about Michael Jackson, but Mrs. W grew up wanting to be able to dance like him. The only 2 albums(and I mean LPs, another thing Baby W will never get to experience) that I remember wearing out by playing them a million and ten times as a kid were Thriller and the Grease soundtrack. Grease got set aside when Thriller came out, and I remember my mom making me a glove with sequins on it so I could pretend I was half as cool as MJ.

Mr. W, Grandpa, and Uncle Eric are not nearly as sad about this loss as Mommy and Aunt Beth. I think maybe I also find it to be sad because Elvis died when I was only a year old, so I don't remember ever getting to watch him live. I do, however, vividly recall watching MJ perform Billie Jean on the Motown 25th Anniversary Special. I also very much recall watching him sweep the Grammys in 1984.

Now, granted, Michael Jackson has been out of the spotlight for several years but even the videos of him dancing and rehearsing the day before he died still scream "I demand your complete attention". I tried to argue his greatness to no avail with Mr. W, only to finally explain to him that Michael Jackson will always be ten thousand times more talented and entertaining to me than Pete Rose. This didn't make him agree with me, but it finally shut him up and allowed me to watch the memorials and videos of him in peace without additional Mr. W commentary.

This all goes back to my biggest wish for my son. He can be a carbon copy of his father, and if he takes nothing else from me, please just let it be my taste in music.

While Mr. W is not around, I plan on playing Thriller and Off the Wall and all the great Jackson 5 hits for my baby. In fact, he was jumping around to "Bad" when it was on the tv just a few minutes ago. I bet you I might even be able to find a little sparkly glove for him online if I look hard enough.

I know there are a lot of people who think he was a horrible person and a criminal because of the charges brought against him. I can't argue much with those people except for that he was never found guilty. People can say what they want, but many many celebrities have been and continue to be found guilty of crimes they commit. I do agree he was guilty of being odd. There is no question there, but to some extent the media and the fans made him into what he was. Most of us can never even fathom the idea of not being able to cross the street or even use a public restroom without being escorted by security. In honesty, everyone I can think of who does know that kind of fame seems a little weird in one way or another. This guy lived his entire life like that. Not from the time he was 20, or even 15. He developed his personality under a microscope of cameras from every angle.

I think the big question I have now for Baby W is, who will be his Michael Jackson, or his Elvis?

I just can't think of anyone out there that can fill that type of void.

Anyone who thinks it will be one of those kids from High School Musical need not reply.