Ain't that a kick in the pants!

So, Shankapottamus (that is what Nicole and I have been calling the squatter.  I guess I should explain that.  We were at the doctor's one night and I called the baby "it" and I thought the doctor was going to take my head off.  She insisted that we come up with a name to call the baby until we knew if it was a boy or girl.  So, then we had to figure out what to call mini-me and we were watching t.v. when one of those E-trade commercials came on with the talking baby.  I love those commercials!  Anyway, it was the one where the baby is in a locker room with an older gentleman after a round of golf and the baby starts telling the guy about the rules of golf and that he should stop his complaining and then he calls him Shankapottamus.  That's where the name came from and it stuck.  Sorry, kid, but that's really the story. But I have already digressed...again, sorry).  Where was I? Oh yes, So, Shankapottamus is in there, growing away and attempting to knock down more walls to make an even bigger space for him/herself.  At this rate, the kid is going to have more square footage available in my uterus than we have in the house!  Anyway, Shank has been kicking things up to the point where you can occasionally see my clothing move while I'm just sitting there hanging out and making the case for me to start thinking about soccer scholarships for colleges. 

Well, earlier in the week, Shank wasn't moving as much as normal for a few days in a row and the doctors had told me to give them a call if something like that happens, so I did and I spoke with a receptionist who took down some information and put me on hold.  After a few minutes, she came back, asked me a few more questions, and put me on hold again.  Then she comes back on and says, "You need to go to Labor and Delivery right now."  Now, seeing that I was at work, I said, "Wait, right now?"  And her reply, with a tone of disbelief was, "Uh, yes.  Right now".  Ok, so normally, I try not to overreact, but the fact that I was being ordered to Labor and Delivery by a receptionist was a bit more than I was ready for at 10 am on a Monday morning.  So, with rising panic in my voice, I call Nicole's classroom from my office and explain that the doctor wants us to go to the hospital ASAP.  Within minutes, we were out the front door and being shuttled to our car in the employee lot by Nicole's supervisor as the two of them start discussing the best way to get to the hospital (my thought is let's go by car and drive as fast as we can).  Anyway, long story short, we get to UConn, we immediately get taken in and hooked up to fetal monitors to hear the heartbeat (which was fine).  After about 45 minutes of that, the doctors decide to do an ultrasound to check for movement and there, sucking a thumb, is Shank.  We can see the heartbeat, watch the breathing, and we can now see that Shank is no longer in the breach position.  While it was nice to see Shank, the doctor starts talking about how she is looking for certain markers and Shank has achieved a score of 6 out of 10, but she wants to go for the whole 10 which requires Shank to move a bit.  So, reminiscent of an earlier ultrasound, the doctor starts punching and poking my belly to get Shank to move and...nothing.  Still just sitting there sucking a thumb.  A little more poking, some verbal encouragement from the doc and...still nothing.  Being a persistent professional, the doc keeps working to help Shank get a perfect 10, so she keeps poking and we finally get to see some movement.  Anyone want to venture a guess as to what that may have been.  I'll give you a hint...it was very similar to the other ultrasound story I told....don't remember?  Ok, Shank, while sitting there every so freaking cute, decides to give a slight ass wiggle to the doc and go back to just hanging out.  "Well, that's enough for me!" the doc chuckles and tells me to go home and rest.  No problem.

So, I go home, call out for the rest of the day, call out of my other job, and relax on the couch.  Well, I guess Shank had just been spending a few days chilling out to save up energy because now, for the next several days in a row and usually mostly during the time when I would normally be sleeping, Shank is up practicing bicycle kicks and using the new Soloflex system that was delivered in the middle of the night.  Now, seeing as Shank has moved into position quite nicely, he/she has more accessibility to the area immediately surrounding my bladder.  What this translates into is that at certain times of the day, I am overcome with an urgent need to pee which lasts about 1 second before passing.  Usually, I can handle this without a problem, but one morning, at work, Shank kicked the bejesus out of my bladder and I was ABSOLUTELY convinced that I was going to piss myself right there in the mail room in front of about 3 co-workers.  "HOLY CRAP" I shouted as those around me looked at me with concern only to have me explain, "Sorry.  Thought I was going to piss my pants".  Thankfully, the women in the room could relate and didn't look at me as if I had been using some of the students' meds without permission.  Then, later that night, Shank must have gotten mad at me for revoking his building permits and turned to face my backside.  As I lay there trying to go to sleep and being super hypervigilant about trying to feel for movement, Shank literally starts KICKING ME IN THE ASS!!!  Can you believe the punk?!?!?  I swear.  You all mark my words, once this kid is born and the doctor turns to me and says, "It's a ?????  Do you want to hold your ?????"  My response is going to be, "First, Shank has to do a 5 minute time out for kicking my ass!"  And, I hope Shank enjoyed the opportunity to kick my butt, because that will be the LAST time it happens without me returning the favor.  Do you hear me kid?!?!?  I'm not kidding!!!

Surprise!

Ok, so the weekend after Thanksgiving weekend, Nicole's family and my family got together and threw a baby shower for us.  Now, some people have been speculating that I knew about the shower ahead of time, and to some extent, that is correct.  I knew there was a shower coming, but I didn't know when or where it was going to be.  Now, I was absolutely CONVINCED that I had figured out that the shower was going to be on a Sunday afternoon.  "How?" you ask.  Well, Nicole has never been that great at keeping secrets, or least keeping surprises.  She's the kind of person who gets so excited over gifts she has bought people that she gets this ridiculous Cheshire Cat grin that begs the question, "What the hell is she hiding?"  Anyway, that is the rationale behind why I did not let her seek the ultrasound to find out if it was a boy or a girl.  There's NO WAY that secret would have been kept until d-day (aka delivery day).

Sorry, I strayed for a bit.  Let me get back to the story.  So, I started suspecting that the shower was going to be on Sunday early on the week before because of one question that Nicole asked me.  Now, before I tell you what the question was, I will tell you that it was a harmless question in and of itself and may not have triggered a whole lot of red flags in another context, but, for me, it was as if all the red flags, bells, and whistles in the world all got set off at the same time.  "What was the question?" you ask (and tough if you didn't ask, because I'm going to tell you what it was anyway).  The question was, "Do you want to go to brunch on Sunday?" DING.  (Bell one).  First of all, she asked me this on a Tuesday.  That is far too far in advance for us to be making plans to do anything unless it involves more than just me and her.   "Brunch?"  "Yeah, sure.  Brunch will be fun!" DING (that's number two).  Why would that be bell two?  Well, a couple of reasons.  One, we have never, in the whole time we have been together, ever gone to brunch with the exception of when her family took everyone out to celebrate her getting her masters degree.  Two, brunches are often done in a buffet format and, as much as I enjoy a buffet (even more so now that I'm pregnant), Nicole absolutely hates buffets.  And then there was the question of, "So, what are you going to where to Brunch on Sunday?"  DING! DING! DING!  This was a crazy amount of bells and whistles and flags happening in my head now which almost made it difficult for me to think.  First of all, we had no idea where we going to go to brunch, so how in the hell am I going to know what I'm wearing.  Secondly, brunch is still several days away.  Now, while I love Nicole immensely, planning things in advance is typically not one of her strong suits.  Finally, Nicole is fully aware, as I'm sure most of you are as well, that I have absolutely NO CLUE what I am going to wear from one day to the next (probably because I'm such a slave to fashion.  HAH!  That one even made me laugh!), never mind what I'm going to wear to "brunch" five days from now.

So, with the evidence mounting against Sunday, I started to get really cocky and started making smart ass comments to her about Sunday's "brunch".  With each question, I would chuckle a little to myself  and a little out loud and Nicole would make this pouty face as if to say, "Oh crap.  Did I let that slip?"  Now, the reality of the situation is that the shower was not on Sunday at all, but on Saturday.  That day, I was expecting to go to a friend's baby shower as she is due 4 weeks after me and the invite said the shower was going to be at the same place where her bridal shower had been, so it made perfect sense in my head.  So, when we got to the hall where CARA'S shower was supposed to be, we started walking down the hall and I spotted Nicole's best friend from college, Meredith, who was sitting next to her mother.  At that, I turned to Nicole and said, "You son of a bitch" in the most loving way possible.  As we turned the corner, I saw my mother standing there next to my sister-in-law and niece and again turned to Nicole and said, "You really are a son of a bitch" (again in the most loving way possible).  The rest of that day is a bit of a blur, but I do know there was an open bar AND I WASN'T EVEN ABLE TO ENJOY IT!!!!  OH THE HUMANITY OF IT ALL!!!  Anyway, for those of you who might be interested, my brother compiled a video of that day and has posted it on you tube.  Just search, "Jen's baby shower" and "chrisa65" and it should pull it up.  Oh, and for an added bonus, you'll be able to see the exact reason why I am not able to put on my socks without assistance anymore. 

Pop! Part two

So, I haven't written for a while and I do apologize for that, but now I have quite a few things that I need to write about, so there will probably be a few posts coming up in relatively quick succession.

Ok, so let me start with the first thing that has been on my mind.  First of all, I know I have written before about people guessing if I am going to be having a boy or a girl.  I still say that it's a boy, but whatever.  Anyway, there are all kinds of old wives tales out there that are supposed to help you predict what you're having.  There's my favorite - the one about stealing the mother's beauty, which I've already addressed as some people have already commented to me about that...bastards.  Then, there's the other one about spread.  I know I have already written about spread in an earlier post, but apparently, I am continuing to spread quite readily because more and more people at work have been coming up to me either telling me that they are CONVINCED I'm having a girl (hmmmppphhh) or that they think I am going to deliver early.  Now, I don't know how you guys interpret that latter comment about delivering early, but I tend to interpret it as, "My, your ass is getting bigger by the day!"  Along with that have been more comments such as, "Wow!  You're even bigger this week" and the all time favorite of "I think you've dropped" which translates into "Holy crap.  How much bigger can you really get before that kid pops out?!?!"

Now, I had been thinking that I was doing pretty well.  My maternity pants have continued to fit (after that debacle of the shrinking pair that didn't fit my butt after a week), my weight is relatively stable with only the weight gain the baby should have, and I am still able to wear some of my shirts that I have had all along (granted, they are not able to cover the gut as well as they used to, but THEY FIT, DAMN IT!)  I think I finally had to come to the realization that I was, in fact, growing into only a house, not a whole housing complex, when I got up one morning and went to take the dogs out and dropped one of the leashes.  This, in and of itself, was harmless, but I knew there was a problem when I couldn't reach all they way to the ground to pick it up without bending at the knees.  "Oh My God! I think I just became an 80 year old man!"  To make matters worse, later in that SAME week, I wanted to put my socks on and couldn't do it without grunting, rolling backwards onto the bed, and shamefully whining for Nicole to come and help me get them on.  Then, to make matters even worse yet (yes, they get even worse yet) I had my first experience of having difficulty getting off the couch without grabbing on to things or having someone help me up.  This is becoming a bit ridiculous.  I think it all became readily apparent to me how bad things were when, earlier this week, I was sitting on the floor talking to one of my students who was having a particularly bad day, when it was time for both of us to get up and leave the area we were talking in.  Only problem?  Yeah, you guessed it, couldn't get up from the floor.  I pathetically looked at the kid and said, "Ok, now that you're feeling better, I need you to do me a favor".  With that, the kid, who's about 9, quickly stood up and said, "I'm on it!" and reached out his hands to help me get up from the floor.  Pathetic.  Oh, and I need to make a correction from an earlier statement.  Apparently, I am NOT an 80 year old man, but rather an 80 year old with a fake hip and two artificial knees.  And the scary thing is that I still have quite a few weeks to go.  Oh boy...or girl. 

My Spidey Sense is tingling

So, all through my pregnancy people have been asking me how I have been feeling.  At this point, I feel pretty good, but I am also entering my final trimester at this point and understand that things will go down hill from here.  First of all, I want to say one thing about all those people who talk about pregnant women glowing.  That's a freaking JOKE!!!  People don't glow.  I think that "glow" is actually a look similar to something like jaundice which comes from feeling like utter crap for such a long period of time.  I even asked my doctor about the whole glowing thing and she agreed with me that statement is a freaking farce!  Secondly, a bunch of people had been telling me that my second trimester would be great and that I will feel the best I have ever felt during those months.  Again, that's a freaking LIE!  Why are all these people lying to pregnant people?!?!  Granted, I feel better now, but is this the best I've ever felt?!?!  HELL TO THE NO!!!  Can I eat without booting every 10 seconds?  Yes.  Can I stay awake and functioning for more than 8 hours?  Yes, barely.  Is this the best I have ever felt? Uh, no.  I would have to say I felt better, um, maybe 21 POUNDS AGO!!!  I am slowing approach the point of needing a crane to get up off of the couch and having my own gravitational pull for any objects that happen to be orbiting me.  Of course, this includes Kit Kat bars which may help account for the 21 pounds, but we'll just overlook that fact for a moment if you don't mind. 

The thing which has been happening to my body as of late which is more annoying than anything else is that my sense of smell has significantly heightened.  Normally, this might be kind of cool, but let me remind you of a few things.  First, I work in a school and, as we all know, kids are smelly.  So, lucky me, I get to smell them that much more intensely than I did before.  WOOHOO!!!  Second, I have two small dogs and while I bathe them regularly, they do have a tendency to stink and to pass the most amazingly disgusting odors from their bodies that I have ever experienced.  I mean, if pregnancy was going to come with the ability to heighten my senses and give me super powers, why couldn't I have some cool powers like x-ray vision, super human speed or strength, or the ability to fly or something?  Why the sense of smell?  And if that isn't enough, with the sense of super smell also comes the increasing frequency and intensity of my own ability to pass gas.  Yes, that's right.  The irony of the super sense of smell comes the fact that my body will now produce the most grotesque odors it has ever produced and I am forced to experience them in a way that only those around me should have to experience.  It's sheer and utter cruelty I tell you.  I still wish I could cash in for a different super power.  Maybe something like the ability to eat as many Kit Kat bars as I want without gaining weight.  THAT would be spectacular!!!  

Hi! I'm Tom!......Hi! I'm Tom!

Have you ever seen the movie 50 First Dates starring Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler?  If you've seen it, I apologize for this little intro, but for those of you who have not seen it, here's a little synopsis.  Drew Barrymore is a woman has a car accident and, as a result, suffers a head injury which does not allow her to form any new memories.  One of the other people she meets during the course of her treatment is a guy whose memory only lasts about 10 seconds before he's back to square one, Ten Second Tom.  So, today's post is inspired by Tom because I think I am suffering from some type of brain injury which is affecting my memory...no, wait.  I guess that is not a brain injury messing with my head, but more of a uterine user.  Now, I don't know why everyone says this is supposed to happen, but apparently the memory of a pregnant woman is something that disappears quite rapidly...along with my waistline, my beauty (apparently), and any semblance of being able to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time (I am even worried that 3 hours might be overshooting it a bit...Damn).

Ok, back to what I was talking about...what was I talking about again?  Oh right, my memory.  Now, as some of you may know, I already have the memory of a 70 year old who has had too much to drink...for the past 50 years.  I already need to have my life down to a routine in order to function.  I keep my wallet in the same place, all of my cards in my wallet in the same order, my phone, car keys, work items, etc. in the same place.  If something is not in the place where I keep it normally, then I have absolutely no idea as to where I should be looking for it as I have no idea as to where the hell I may have put it.  At work, this means I keep my schedule in my pocket, I ask people to page me if I'm not in the right place at the right time, and I should buy stock in post it notes.  Now, with this pregnancy, I am suffering from early onset dementia and, as far as I understand it, things only get worse from here.  I am afraid that by the time the baby is born, Nicole is going to have to be bathing and feeding both of us as I will have no freaking clue how to do those things, never mind even figure out where the hell it is that I live!!!  I swear this kid better be incredibly intelligent because I have lost about 50 IQ points already which is why this last blog entry has been so long in coming.  Really.  I mean it.  I have had a lot of ideas of things that I have wanted to blog about but, shockingly, I can't freaking remember what it is that I have wanted to blog about when I sit down to write it.  So, with that being said, I am going to be making notes about the things I want to blog about.  The only thing I will have to do is remember where I put those notes once I write them.  Hi!  I'm Tom. 

You asked for it...

Well, many of you have been asking for the pics of my belly and so here we are.  Given the fact that, as mentioned earlier, I am growing larger by the second, I decided to embrace the spread (as much as one can embrace something that large) and incorporated it into my Halloween costume that I used for work today.  The only problem I had with this costume was that I was having immense difficulty trying to see if the eyes, etc. were positioned correctly because they were held on with velcro and many children took great joy in plucking the eyes off of my jack-o-lantern, so repositioning was interesting as both pieces of the velcro came off with each pluck.



As you can see from the picture at the right, my stomach sticks way out past my boobs.  Wait.  I guess that's not a totally new thing for me, but at least now I have a reason for my stomach to stick farther out.  Wait.  Forget I said that.  That could be embarrassing. 

And, with this final picture on the left, you see me holding up the bottom of the squatters current digs.  That is a position I have become quite familiar with for a couple of reasons.  First, while my abdominal muscles (as pathetic as they are) are working to keep this high rise up near the boob region, gravity has other thoughts.  In order to address that, my maternity pants, the ones that fit anyway, have the big tummy panel that goes all the way up, again, to my boobs.  I swear, I could make those things into body suits if I pulled hard enough.  Of course, it might trigger a significant case of camel toe (I'm not explaining that one.  If you don't know what I mean, look it up), but it's quite an entertaining visual.  No, I will not be posting pictures of me attempting to make this into a body suit.  Secondly, I often put may hands in that position, because I am pretty sure that my squatter, during the construction process of putting on the addition to my uterus, has rented a jack hammer and is furiously working to knock out that portion of my body.  A couple of times, I actually thought the work was going to knock me off my feet and, no, Sandy, the baby has not yet kicked me in the crotch, although I can hardly wait for that to happen.  I think I would enjoy that about as much as being audited.

Objects in mirror are larger than they appear

Ok, so all along I have been thinking that I am having a boy.  First of all, I just have a feeling it's a boy...I don't know why.  Then, I have been feeling as if I am carrying all in my belly region and that there hasn't been much "spread".  Now, I think that lends credence to the fact that it could be a boy because I have always heard that boys carry largely like a basketball and you can't really tell from looking at the mother from behind if she's pregnant or not because her fat doesn't spread all around her body.  Up until this week, I was feeling like I was all belly because my face hasn't really changed, my rings fit the same, and my body seemed to be mostly the same except for the mini me in me belly.  Now, if you noticed, in that last sentence, I said "up until this week".  Let me tell you why.  I had bought some maternity pants about 2 months ago for work and I hadn't yet gotten the last two pairs hemmed, but I was needing them done, so I asked Nicole to finish them.  So, I tried them on and, when I put on the first pair, it felt strangely tight around my ass region.  I went in to where Nicole was sitting and I said, "these feel really tight!"  I would like to say that her reply was reassuring and made me feel better, but it went more like this.  She saw me and her face contorted a bit and she said, "huh".  "Huh?" I replied.  She asked me to turn around (which I did) and again she went, "huh".  I spun around and she said, "Try bending over".  "Why?  Because you want to see if they're going to rip when I bend over?!?!"  At that point, I would like to say that she said something more supportive, but she kind of chuckled at me and didn't really say anything, but dind't really stop laughing either until I started crying.  Yes, I said I started crying.  DAMN HORMONES!!!  At this point, she said she would fix them, but, folks, the only way she can fix them is if she shaves about 6 inches OFF MY ASS!!!  So that experience had me look at things in a different light.  I began to realize that maybe there is a little more fat on my body (especially my back side) than I was willing to admit.

The next experience that made me reconsider how big I may be getting was what happened with some of Nicole's students.  Now, for those of you who don't know, Nicole teaches in the same school that I work in and she teaches the funtional skills high school class.  That means that most of these kids read on like a first grade level and need things presented to them in the most concrete terms possible.  In other words, if you ask these guys what state they live in, they will probably answer something like, "Uh, Hartford?"  So, one of Nicole's students walked past me in the hall, looked at my belly with her eyes bulging, and said, "Dr. Jen, do you have a baby?"  I told her not yet, but I was growing one and she smiled and kind of just walked away.  Later that day when I went into her classroom, one of the other kids says, "Hey! A baby?"  "Yes, a baby.  Just not yet".  Then, one of Nicole's favorite kids (who often chuckles in his seat as he replays in his head the last Tom and Jerry cartoon he watched the night before) was asked if he had heard that I was goign to have a baby.  He looked at me a bit confused and said, "There's a baby in there?" and I said yes.  Then, Nicole's assistant teacher, LaShintia, asked the student what is the appropriate thing to say to someone who has just told you they are pregnant.  He looked at her completely baffled for a moment, took a second to mentally scroll through his list of polite responses, and replied, "You're welcome".  At this point, folks, I tell you I had to leave the room temporarily because I feared  may lose bladder control from laughing. 

Those interactions, as well as the fact that I keep bumping in to things, can no longer put my socks on without grunting, and can not pick anything up from the floor while sitting in a chair have all led me to believe that I may not be carrying my weight as well as I had thought.  So maybe this is a girl making herself comfy in there.  If that's the case, then I start to worry about that old wives tale of "a girl steals her mother's beauty".  Thankfully, no one has said that one to me yet...Oh wait...I forgot...someone already has.  Thanks, Fatima!  Be-atch.

It's a .................

Hello, again! It's Nicole.  We are 22 weeks!  We had a doctors appointment on Friday for another ultrasound to look at the baby's heart.  As we were walking down the hall to the ultrasound department you pass the labor and delievery.  Well we passed a new mom, well I think it was a new mom, she was being pushed towards the exit with a carseat on her lap, and as we passed the seat, Jen and I both looked in and saw this little tiny head all bundled up.  I thought I can't wait, then Jen said, "I wonder if we have to provide the hat?  Is that another thing we have to add to the list?"  It was kinda funny, typical Jen, always worring what we have to do. But then, I think that's when it hit me, in a few months that will be Jen and I.  I kinda freaked out a little bit.  This little person it going to depend on us for it's every need.  Not that I didn't know this before, but it just seemed so far off.  But now that we are over half way there, it's kind of slapped me right in the face!  There's so much to do and it's not like I can forget about it because Jen keeps telling me of all the things we need to do.  Who knew that I would be the calm one in this situation and that I'd be reassuring her that everything would be ok. 

So we go in for our ultrasound appointment and I knew from the last one that that baby would resemble a baby and not an alien and that maybe, just maybe I would be able to sneak a peek to see if it is a boy or a girl.  Before the tech could even introduce herself, Jen so RUDELY interrupted and said, "We don't want to know".  Now I'm not hormonal or anything, but I did want to slap her at that point.  Anyway, the tech avoided that area at all costs and in my head I was thinking, "Well, the doctor still has to come in and look, so I still have a chance".  So, the doctor came in and took a look at the heart, the limbs, counted all the fingers and the toes (which, by the way, 10 of each, so we're good to go) and then he said the words, "I have to check between the legs" and before I could strategically position myself away from Jen's reach, she mama slapped me right across the eyes and pretty much embedded my glasses into my skull and said, in her very loving tone, "Don't you dare, Nicole!"  So, a few different times in the appointment, the doctor told us to look away and each time he did, in came Jen's hand for another mama slap.  However, I did some pretty good maneuvering and I am happy to tell everyone it is.......................wait for it................I have no idea.  I couldn't see anything other than Jen's fingerprints on my lenses.  Sorry Julia, I did my best, but I got nothing.  So now we really do have to wait because we won't have anymore ultrasounds unless there is a problem, so we won't be seeing him until his birth day....or her birth day.................or did I see something?  Hmm.........

You must be this tall to ride this ride

I started this school year being one of 4 women who are expecting (and when I say "expecting", I'm sure we all know I'm talking about having a baby and not some other weird thing like, expecting to have pasta for dinner or something...although, pasta for dinner does sound pretty good. Sorry, I need to focus. Back to my story). The first woman, Megan, was due in September, the next woman, Rachel, is due in November, Heidi is due in January, and I am due in February. This situation created a special bond between us  as we shared our stories with each other and talked excitedly about the movements of our mini tenants(or, at least I think it brought us all a little closer. Screw them if they don't feel the same way!). As Megan's due date approached, I found myself checking the parking lot each day to see if she had made it in to work or if there would be a message on the office white board announcing her absence and reporting the birth her baby. Finally, the day came when her car wasn't in the parking lot. I excitedly entered the building and saw the message that she had, in fact, had a beautiful baby girl. I happily smiled and talked about the happy event with my coworkers.

And that's when it happened. As I sat there thinking about Megan and her family's newest little member, it occured to me that now there are only 3 of us still waiting to have babies. Suddenly, I was overcome with that same sense of fear...nay, TERROR, that I had at the end of my first ultrasound. Have I not told that story? Ok, here it goes. We had our first ultrasound relatively early on in the pregnancy with the purpose being, essentially, to verify that it appears to be a viable pregnancy and not something else (e.g. an ectopic pregnancy or bad tuna). In that first appointment, the tech happily showed us the first images of our little bundle who, at that time, just looked like my breakfast or some other thing that was sitting in my belly region. The only reason I actually believed that what she was showing me was actually another person and not the remnants of a bagel was that this little lump of grey matter had a distinct hearbeat. That really made it clear to me that there is, in fact, another person in there. As Nicole and I walked down the hall to head out of the hospital I felt my first wave of terror emanating from the all too real issue that this heartbeat was going to grow into a mini-me that was then going to make its grand entrance via my...my...oh, it even pains me to say it...my vagina, my hoochie, my choch, my pooter, my...perhaps I should stop there as I have many other names for it, but I'm not sure what the age group is that's reading this out there. So, yes, the terror set in at that point for the first time in my pregnancy. As that realization slapped me in the face like a dead fish wrapped around a cinder block, I actually froze in my tracks which caused Nicole to turn around and worriedly ask what was the matter. When I explained the birthing process and how that thought was now directly responsible for contorting my facial features, she was so supportive with a reply of "It's a little late to think about that now, isn't it" and capped off this ever so comforting statement with small chuckle. Funny, but that moment also marked the first wave of hormones rushing through me as I felt the overwhelming urge to punch her square in the gut. In what would be the first moment of many, I restrained myself and, instead, simply resumed walking to the car.

Now, with Megan having had her baby, I was again hit with that wave of terror. Only this time, it was a bit more intense and as I looked around at my co-workers, I spotted that same look of terror fueled by realization in Rachel, the poor sap who's next on the list to have a very tiny person mistake the most sensitive parts of her anatomy for an emergency exit. In my sudden shell shocked state, I went up to her and tried to explain what I was feeling which is what I will do for you all now. Essentially, it kind of feels like going to an amusement park and being super mega excited to ride a new rollercoaster. You wait in line and talk with your friends about how awesome it's going to be and everyone gets more excited by the minute, and then, as your turn gets closer and you can actually see people getting into the cars, hear the clicks and clacks of the ride, and the screams from the poor saps at the top of the first crest, you suddenly realize you HATE rollercoasters and that they scare the crap out of you (which I hear actually happens during childbirth!). As you stand in line surrounded by all these other people who have already been on the ride before and, for some reason yet unknown to me, have actually voluntarily gotten in line to ride it again, you try to figure out your exit strategy..."Maybe I can fake being sick and I can't go on the ride" or "Maybe I can fake being too short to qualify for the ride" and then you see the faces of those around you and you know they are thinking, "Just suck it up and get on the ride! Stop being a pansy!" The only problem is all of these people who have already gone on the ride are LYING!!!! They maybe liked how they felt after they got off of the ride, but when they were being dropped from 5 stories in the air, none of them can tell me they didn't feel sick and weren't trying to figure out how to get the hell off the ride in one piece! So, as I'm sure Megan is now enjoying the after effects of the ride, I am still trying to figure out how to fake being too short to ride the coaster. I'm a little worried, though, because I don't think I can pull that one off. I just hope the poor sap who has to sit next to me during the ride (Nicole) is prepared for my kicking, crying, screaming, digging my nails into the safety restraints (aka her hands, arms, or any other part of her body I may be able to grab on to...she may need some personal protective equipment like from a bomb squad or something), and potential return to booting. Hmmm...Perhaps she should wear a rain poncho...

Quilt shop...

Ok, so some of you read about the quilt shop hop trip last weekend that I went on with Nicole, her mom, and some of her mom's friends. I believe that those of you reading this are fully aware of how I feel about shopping and quilt shopping...Well, ok, first, it's a misnomer because we weren't actually shopping for quilts, we were shopping for materials to make quilts with. Now, one of the reasons I am not a fan of the pastime known as shopping is that there are plenty of other activities I'd rather be doing. One, for example, involves very hot pokers and my eyes. Another reason is that I am extremely cheap and do NOT like spending money and what I came to learn rather quickly was that the process of making a quilt is a timely and costly one. So, while I can appreciate the beauty of the end product, it costs much more to get to that end product than one might think. Another reason I am not a shopper is that I am notoriously bad about matching colors. Now, women are not typically color blind and, while I can see colors just fine, I certainly did not inherit the gene that allows me to tell which colors match. So, when I have to go shopping for clothes, for example, I am likely to buy whatever is on the manequin because then at least I know it matches. Does anyone remember Garanimals? It was this company that made clothes for kids and had color coded animal tickets on every item and all you had to do was match the color coded animal tag to see what outfits went together. Unfortunately, they don't make those anymore, but I would spend a FORTUNE for someone to bring those back...not only for kids, but also for adults. And, I'm sure the unsuspecting independent contractor taking over my body would also appreciate those so that he (or she) can rest assured that his clothes match.



Ok, ok, ok. I have digressed. Back to the reason involving color matching. Part of the allure, I think, of quilt shopping is that the avid quilters head into each shop with a pattern for a specific item they want to make and then they have to find the materials they want to use for that pattern. Now, I don't know how familiar many of you are with quilts, but they are fairly intricate involving many colors and patterns. So, while Nicole and the other quilters are anxiously sifting through material and trying to come up with matching fabrics, I am desperately seeking out the free snacks in every shop because I know that, if Nicole asks me for help in picking out a fabric, she will sorely regret that decision once she gets to the final product and says, "Whoa. Uh...nice choice of colors, Jen. Thanks for helping. In fact, you did such a nice job, you don't have to help me pick out fabric ever again!" Wow. That is kind of my own little quilt fantasy happening there, isn't it. Anyway, you can well imagine that a whole day of looking at fabric and then trying to match the colors into a final product that I just can't even picture in my head takes its toll on a person. Thank goodness for the plethora of free snacks. And, yet, if Nicole were to ask me to go with her again, I would. Why? Because I'm a sucker and that's what you do for the people you love. At least, that's what I hear.

To quilt or not to quilt

Hi everyone. This is Nicole. At the request of my good friend, Meredith, I will be contributing guest spots to the blog every now and then. I am just warning you...I'm not as funny as Jen, so please read this with low expectations and no one will be disappointed. So far, this whole pregnancy journey for me has been filled with mixed emotions. For example, happy, worried, holy crap, I'm going to be a mom, will everything be ok, and think of all the things we can buy! As you know, Jen hates shopping...any kind of shopping. So, today, we took my mom and two of her good friends on a shop hop...a quilt shop hop. Yes, I said quilt shop. That's right, I'm gay and I like to quilt which has caused my DICO score to plummet (more on that to come in another post). As some of you already know, I LOVE to shop. Any kind of shopping. Malls. Outlets. Craft stores. If it's got a sales sign, I'm there. Now, for those of you that don't know what a shop hop is, you travel around CT and go from quilt shop to quilt shop looking at a variety of patterns, materials, books, machines, gadgets, and anything else you could possibly need to make any type of quilt, wall hanging, bag, pillow case, apron, and virtually anything you can imagine. My mom, her friends, and I all had a blast and Jen...well, Jen drove. Thanks, Jen. Most of us rated the shops based on the quality and variety of the patterns available while Jen rated the shops based on the quality of the free snacks available. Each time we entered a new shop, we would get our passports stamped, get our free strips of material, and excitedly start looking through the bolts of fabric to make our projects sing. Jen seemed to disappear almost immediately in each store and would later be found critiquing the cookies, granola bars, chocolates, and other treats she had found tucked away in each store. She usually did not surface until she found the food and, once she did, she was gone for a while. By our 6th shop and 6 hours into the trip, she was desperate for some Tums, which my mother had actually packed with Jen in mind.

With my new quilt treasures in hand and some other material I had found before, I am aiming to make a quilt for our little one on the way. As a beginner quilter, I am still not very good at judging the amount of material I need to make a baby quilt, and, as my mother has informed me, I have already bought enough to make a queen sized quilt, curtains, a bed skirt, baby bumpers, and a few other things. Oops. I hope the baby likes Classic Pooh because he/she is going to have tons of things in his/her room made with that material right through his/her college years. So, with all of this material and all of these projects ahead of me, I will be spending a lot of time in our craft room making all sorts of doo dads. I will keep you posted on my progress and maybe I'll post some pictures. And with that I say, quilt on, my friends. Quilt on.

Oh boy (or girl)...

To the left of your screen, you can see the first internet pictures of the squatter living in my uterus. This picture was taken at our 18 week level 2 ultrasound where they can essentially see EVERYTHING. When I say everything, I mean they could see the various lobes and ventricles in the brain, the spine, the kidneys, the bladder, all the bones, the lips, etc. Essentially, the purpose of this appointment is to make sure that everything is developing as it should and to identify any issues that may be present. So, this picture that you see was taken at the very beginning of the appointment while this little person (gender to remain a mystery until it pokes its bottom half out of my womanly parts, but for purposes of conversation, we shall call it "he") was laying on his back. So, the tech was chatting and measuring bone length, checking brain development, eye sockets, etc. when he suddenly decides to roll over. Oh, how cute. Sure, but now, we can't get a good shot of his heart b/c his spine is casting a shadow over the area they need to examine. So, the tech, being a very patient woman, decides she will do all of her other measurements first and then come back to the heart. Now, his hands are going and his legs are going, but he's not really feeling like rolling over again, so the tech decides to call in a doctor to see if the doctor can get him to be more cooperative. Great, my kid is already being oppositional. So, the doc comes in and starts tapping my belly a bit. Nothing. So, he taps a bit harder. Nothing. So, now he decides he really needs to demonstrate what he has been doing with his gym membership and starts using my belly as his own personal puching bag to get the kid to roll over...and...VOILA!! The kid sticks his ass in the air, essentially mooning the doc, and goes back to laying on his belly. With that, the doc realizes he is not going to get my underdeveloped child to cooperative and my child has successfully won his first power struggle with an adult. If this is a sign of things to come, God help us all.

The Three Fs

It's been a while since I've posted a new blog and I'm sorry about that, but I do have things to share. Some things I have shared that many people would prefer I didn't, but that brings me to today's rant.

As many of you probably already know about me, me and my digestive system have a long and troubled history. Being the overly stressed psycho that I am, I began developing ulcers and other random stomach issues way back in elementary school. I thought, that by this time in my life, I had pretty much learned to manage all the crazy symptoms my body would share with me, but I had forgotten about one family curse that was still hunting me down. You see, each time I would go to the doctor with a stomach pain complaint, the first question I would be asked was, "Have you ever had your gallbladder checked?" Now, to most of you reading this that may seem like an ordinary question, but to me and the other Andrades out there, that's a fully loaded question because that is the curse that comes with being an Andrade. Someday, somehow, when you least expect it some little sac of green fluid in your belly, which is completely useless I might add, is going to come back and bite you. So, each time I was asked the dreaded gallbladder question, I cringed hoping that I would be the one to dodge the Andrade curse (for those keeping track at home, of the 10 Andrades in my immediate family, I believe only 3 of us still have our gallbladders and the only other two, besides myself, are my younger cousins Mark and Alex (keep alert, boys, the clock is ticking!)

Why do I bring on this rant now? Well, it appears that something in my digestive system has decided that it does not appreciate sharing its space with my new tenant and, as my tenant has relocated many of the other long term residents of Digestive Arms (that's what I'm calling the huge tract of land (please note the Monty Python reference) that the little man (or woman) has taken over), I believe those residents are teed off and are protesting outside of City Hall. While my issues are on the left side of my body and not at all the correct location for my gallbladder, my doctor has informed me that my gallbladder may be the medical equivalent of a ventriloquist throwing its bile around different areas of my body to throw off investigators. If it could only use its powers for good!!! So, it's either my gallbladder, my pancreas (which could be in kahoots with my gallbladder - those bastards), or my liver. While I can understand why my liver and pancreas would have wanted to start a revolution against me while I was in college, at this point in my life, they are living large and have nothing to beef about other than being relocated temporarily. So, I essentially have to wait and see what my docs have to say about my pissed off body and hopefully they can steer me back to the light.

Now, I realize many of you may be saying, "Geez, Jen. That's a little melodramatic, isn't it?" To that I reply, NO!! It is NOT melodramatic and let me tell you why. Every time I eat, I get, what I affectionately refer to as, Pitchfork Man, working his magic in my gut which is making eating a highly unpleasant prospect for me. That, in and of itself, is a tragedy for me. But what makes it infinitely worse at this point in time is that this is FAIR SEASON!!! Which means that all of the wonderful fairs and food festivals are about to kick off and HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO ENJOY FAIR SEASON IF I CAN'T EAT TONS OF FRIED CRAP AND OTHER STUFF THAT IS ABSOLUTELY NO GOOD FOR ME?!?!?!?!!? OH THE AGONY OF IT ALL!!!!! I swear that as soon as this kid is born, he/she is in for a time out RIGHT OUT OF THE GATE!!!

Oh, and for those of you who may be wondering what the title of this entry refers to, it is generally the rule of thumb used by medical and lay people alike to diagnose a gallbladder issue...forty, fat, and - the thing some of you wish I would stop sharing - ...I'll leave that one to your imaginations*.

*Be grateful this post is not brought to you in smell-o-vision. (smell-o-vision? is that possible?)

Eating for how many?!?!?!?

I've mentioned in a previous entry that I have put on about 10 lbs since I became pregnant which some of you may be saying to yourselves, "Well, that's ok". Sure, but let me put it into perspective for you. Since, as I have also previously mentioned, I enjoy eating and am a self-proclaimed foodie, my omniscient (and not at all self-serving) insurance company has suggested that I gain a maximum of 15 lbs due to my starting BMI (I think that stands for Big Macs Ingested). Which means that I can gain 5 lbs over the next 23 weeks. Are you kidding me?!?!? I gain that much when I don't have a little person adding a studio apartment to my midsection!!! I'm sure I can gain the last 5 lbs by my next blog entry!!!

On the flip side, however, I have had a few people tell me that they have gained 70, 80, 90, and 100 lbs with their first children. That's for one child?!?! Are you kidding? And, people, you should see the women telling me about this. They are not overweight by any stretch of the imagination. So what the hell does that mean for people with high Big Mac whatevers?!?!WHAT?!?!? OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod...LIARS!!!!! That whole eating for two thing is a LIE?!?!?! YOU BASTARDS!!! OH THE HUMANITY!!!!! Here I was all excited about that whole prospect and I don't even get to eat for 1.5! You want to know why? I'll tell you why? Apparently, you only need about 300 extra calories a day to support the little womb developer making a game room in your uterus. Crap. Way to burst my food bubble. AND LET ME TELL YOU THE WORST PART ABOUT ALL OF THIS MYTHOLOGICAL LICENSE TO EAT FREELY...EACH WEEK IN THOSE DAMN PREGNANCY BOOKS, THEY COMPARE THAT GROWING INTERIOR DESIGNER TO A DIFFERENT FOOD ITEM!! Twisted, sadistic, editorial bastards. And, for those of you playing at home, this week we are an avocado. Hmmm....guacamole.

Ok, so basically, all this means is that I need to be careful about my weight and how much cake I eat, right?...Wait! What?!?! NO CAKE?!?!?!? ARE YOU KIDDING?!?!?!?! Ok. Ok. I can do this. How about just a donut hole. That shouldn't really count, right? Just one. I mean, it's the part of the donut they are going to throw away, right? That can't be worth any kind of calories if they are just going to throw it away. Right? Fine. So my logic is a bit flawed, but I have some advice for you. Don't make me hungry. You wouldn't like me when I'm hungry.

Morning sickness?!?!?!

Now, I am going to be 16 weeks tomorrow and haven't been sick in about 10 days, so I think it is finally safe for me to talk about this topic. Morning sickness. Ok, so I want to know what sick and twisted mind came up with the term "morning sickness". First of all, that is a complete freaking misnomer. Why? Because it doesn't limit itself to mornings. Oh, hell no. It can happen in the morning, afternoon, evenings, middle of the night, dawn, dusk, or whenever the hell it wants to. So it should really be called "Whenever the hell the mood strikes sickness". Maybe I'll start a petition to have that changed. Who would I talk to about that? In any case, whatever this little embryo is doing in there it sure did churn up quite a storm. Let me start from the beginning with this one because it is quite an ordeal.

My first boot (aka puke, yak, vomit, spew, prayer to the porcelin goddess, or act of regurgitation - please select your favorite phrase and use it in place of boot in the future) took place at work in the middle of the afternoon in early June while I was facilitating a petting zoo activity for the kids. I was casually eating an apple, making sure the staff and the unsuspecting animals were prepared for the onslaught of overly excited, touchy feely kids, when I began to choke on a small piece of apple. When I say small piece of apple, it was more like a piece of the skin that had stuck to my throat and was just kind of pissing me off. So, I began coughing. No big deal. Cough. Still stuck. Cough a little more. Still stuck. Better cough some more. Oops! I have triggered a bit of an involuntary coughing fit now. Wait?! What's this? What's happening? I don't under...BOOOOOOOOOOOOT! Actually, it was more like projectile booting clear from one side of the petting zoo trailer to the other (No, not lengthwise. I'm not THAT good a booter). I remember looking at the pile of my used up apple and thinking, "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!?!?!?"

Little did I know that one projectile would be the first in a long line of incidents that would be wholly unpleasant. On the bright side, however, I was convinced my abs were going to be slamming!!!! Yeah...not quite. It was a moment of nutrient deprived insanity. There would be many more of those to follow. So many more, in fact, that I decided to keep a list of all the places that I graced with my increasingly impressive booting skills. I guess this would be a good time to share that list with you. I don't know if this is actually entertaining to anyone else but me, but I don't really care...I lie. I do care, but I'm going to publish the list regardless of what you all may have to say about it! Please note that any place I was sick in had absolutely nothing to do with the food, but had more to do with the little squatter taking over my body, so I hope no one misintreprets this list to mean anything else other than I had a terrible case of "Whenever the hell the mood strikes sickness (formerly known as "morning sickness"). Ok, here goes:

Work - the black top; the back parking lot, the nurse's office, and the parking lot behing Stop & Shop;
Home - of course, but always in the bathroom (thank God);
my parent's house - again, only in the bathroom;
Nicole's parent's house - bathroom (any house is in the bathroom unless otherwise specified);
The Hudson Hotel;
Le Parker Meridian hotel lobby bathroom;
the new Yankee stadium;
Nicole's Aunt Pat's;
some pub in Stamford;
Penny Lane Pub;
Bistro 52;
the Wood 'n' Tap parking lot (I didn't eat there. Hell, I didn't even make it out of the car);
Newington Pizza parking lot (again, didn't even make it out of the car);
Chili's parking lot (still in the car);
Margaritaville;
Mohegan Sun;
The Woodwinds;
West Farms mall parking lot;
John Harvards;
East Robbins Ave;
the Berlin Turnpike.

I think that's the whole list, but it is possible that I missed a few places that were so lucky to be able to re-view my nutritional intake. The kicker behind all of this, however, is that despite all of this regurgitation, I HAVE STILL PUT ON 10 LBS!!!!!!! That's just so wrong on so many levels I can't even begin to put it into words...uh...well, I guess technically, by writing it I have already begun to put it into words, but whatever. You know what I'm saying. GIVE ME A BREAK, OK!!! I've only recently been able to keep down solid foods!!!!


Oh, and by the way, for those of you who have successfully posted comments on here, would you be so kind as to let me know how that was done because I have had several people say they can't figure out how to do it and I'll be damned if I can figure it out. Again, only recenlty been able to eat solid foods...ok?

Pop!

Ok, so I went to get dressed and realized that my shorts, which had been quite comfortable and slightly big up until recently, were now feeling as if I had just consumed a large sausage pizza and 5 whoppers with cheese in one sitting. Hmmmm....whoppers with cheese.... Oh, sorry, I lost my train of thought there for a minute. Where was I? Right, shorts. Too tight. Yes. So, my shorts are too tight which means it is time to engage in one my most dreaded activities...shopping. NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! I don't wanna!!!!!!!!!! You can't make me!!!!!!!!! With that, I am having thoughts of barricading myself and my dogs in the bedroom so that no one can get to us and I can watch t.v. and have my air conditioner. Hmmm....wait, though. No snacks in my room. That's a problem. Then, in the midst of my great escaple plans, Nicole and our friend, Anna, come up with a great motivator..."All you have to do is find 3 pairs of pants for work and then we can go eat". BAM! "I'm driving!" I shouted as I ran past to the car.

Now, as we know, I am not a shopper and clothes shopping is perhaps my least favorite activity ever invented. Even more detested than electrolysis...on the lipline...without lidocaine...Yes, that's how much I hate clothes shopping. Ok, so where do pregnant women on a budget shop? Why, Old Navy of course! Of course the maternity section at Old Navy consisted of 2 racks and a couple of shelves of jeans. Most of the sizes were 2, 4, 8 and to that I say, um...you all need to add a number to that. Now, I know I am not exactly a sfelt diva, but I have no sympathy for skinny bitches. As I like to tell people, there are two kinds of women in the world: those who know about chub rub and skinny bitches. Me? I am close friends with chub rub, so a size 2 is not even going to fit my calves. Ok, so I found a pair of jeans there that were sooooooooo blue that I would have easily blended in to any restaurant serving an early bird special in Florida in November. Yes. That blue. And two pairs of pants that had a zipper which was probably about a 1/4 inch long which meant that my granny panties (shocking, no thongs on this chick) were sticking out the top of them.

Ok, so Old Navy was not going to be the place. Now, I have never really paid much attention to maternity sections in stores or stores that specialize in such a clientelle, but apparently, there a lot more of them than I ever thought. I say this, because about 300 yards from the Old Navy is another shop called Destination Maternity which is two maternity shops merged into one space. Kind of like my uterus at this point...2 people using the same space. Ha! I crack myself up. Ok, this store is a bit more realistic with clothing. Zippers are full size so my underwear can remain covered all day (that's a big plus for me), the waistline is a little bit higher than the other pants I had tried on, so I don't have to pull them up so high that I develop an embarrassing case of camel toe (if you don't know, ask a friend who knows about chub rub), the pants have pockets that will actually allow you to fit something in them without ripping the pants off your leg, and the colors actually occur in nature. So, I not only met my quota here, but actually surpassed it. Can anyone say BURRITO TIME!!!

The Wall

Ok, so we have started the process of registering for stuff that we are told the baby is going to need. Now, that sounds like a fairly straightforward prospect on the surface of it, but I am here to tell you that it is all a lie. First of all, the people telling you what you are going to need for the baby are usually the retailers selling those things and, as my brother loves to say, you don't ask a barber if you need a haircut. For example, Babies R Us (which will hencefore be known as The Store) has put together a whole booklet listing out the various things you "need" for the baby; things like a wipe warmer, a weather shield, and neck wings. Now, while the wipe warmer sounds like a lovely thing that I would love on a cold winter morning, I have absolutely no clue what the hell a neck wing is or what type of weather the shield is supposed to shield the baby from. Oh, and for those infants that are particularly motorically skilled, The Store suggests adding a Wii to the registry.

So, to make the whole process a little less daunting, The Store has organized their merchandise according to various categories (e.g. infant care, baby gear, diapers, nursery items, yadda, yadda, yadda). And, as excited parents to be, we entered the dragon blissfully unaware of the hell that awaited us. Now, I'd like to say that we went in there with a well formulated game plan. I mean, we had done our research on Consumer Reports, talked to our friends about what items they thought were helpful, and had our ideas about what things would be helpful for us to have in our home. Here's a rough idea of what our game plan was: 1) we need baby bottles; 2) we need onesies; 3) we need a car seat; 4) we need a crib; 5) we need diapers. There's probably other stuff, too, but that should be a good start.

Great! Let's start with bottles.......Ok, bottles. Aisle 1. ALL of Aisle 1. Bottles, bottles, everywhere and I can't have a drink. Glass bottles. Plastic bottles. Big ones. Small ones. Straight ones. Curved ones. Even some that are supposed to resemble my tits. Essentially, there was a wall of bottles, pacifiers, and nipples. Ok, don't panic. Let's move on to step 2. Onesies. Now, onesies are in a section called Layette. What the hell does that even mean?!?!? Why wouldn't they just call that section, oh, I don't know, CLOTHES?!?!?! Ok, so let's get back to it. Onesies. There are short sleeves, long sleeves, ones with mittens and ones without. Mittens? Anyway, let's just pick a size. Here, newborns, 5-8lbs. Well, that's all well and good, but what if this baby likes to eat like it's mama and comes out a bit bigger than 8 lbs.? Is my child already into plus size baby clothes? Hence begins my internal dialogue, "Ok...no need to panic...breathe...breathe...go to your happy place...ok, forget that your happy place includes sushi and beer...DAMN MY LOVE OF RAW FISH!...go to another happy place..." Let's move on to number 3...car seats. Ok, ok, I can hear you all smirking as you read this and saying, "dumbass. I hope you know if you want a travel system, rear facing, 3 in 1 convertible seat, or something else!" Ok, so I know that now. It was at this point that I sat on the floor in the middle of the car seat aisle and handed the phone to Nicole to call our dear friend Watson and ask her about what the hell all of these seats are supposed to do.

So, needless to say, my friends, that is where I hit the wall. I'll try to go back again and keep adding to the list, but this time I will go armed with the very detailed excel spreadsheet of needed items that Cristina was so gracious to pass on to me. Holy hell, my friends. Holy hell.

Let the games begin...

For those of you who don't know, my partner and I are expecting our first bambino(a) in February. While that statement in and of itself may be surreal to some of you, here comes the real kicker...I am the one carrying first. For those of you who know me, you understand why that's the real kicker. For those of you who don't know me, let me sum it up this way...I'm definitely the guy in the relationship. I like to drive, eat, and mow beautiful lines into my lawn. I absolutely HATE shopping for anything (other than food). I don't do makeup, dresses, skirts, or hair products. Give me comfortable shoes, shorts, and a t-shirt and I'm a happy, happy girl. As I like to tell people, my DICO score is pretty high (the explanation of the DICO score is a whole other blog that you all will just have to wait for with baited breath).

So, with that brief, rambling, and relatively incoherent introduction out of the way, let me tell you what the purpose of this blog is. I have found that the things that happen in my own mind are extremely entertaining to me on a whole. Typically, I have my own party happening in my head at any point in time which is highly entertaining to me. With this whole pregnancy thing, my mind has gone into overdrive. Not just with things that are entertaining to me, but also with things that are wholly disgusting and unnerving to me. For example, as I mentioned above, I am the guy in the relationship which also means that I don't cry at movies, books, or greeting cards...no matter what time of the month it is. However, since the miracle of life has blessed my uterus, I have found myself crying at the most RIDICULOUS times. You don't believe me? Ok, try this on for size. I cried, no, I completely BROKE DOWN IN RACKING SOBS at an episode of...ready...wait for it...wait for it...The Deadliest Catch. Yes, the crab fishing show. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT ALL ABOUT?!?!?!?!? Again, highly unnerving.

And that is the purpose of this blog. To clear my head of all this crazy crap that is now swimming in there with all the other entertaining bits. Well, that and to keep people updated who want to know about what's going on with me b/c I'm not the best talker...shocking, I know based on the length of this supposedly brief introductory post.