Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Marsha, marsha, marsha

It's a girl! Another sweet baby girl. I can continue life without confronting my phobia of baby penises.

I had actually gotten myself psyched up enough to be ready for blue frosting that I had a tinge of disappointment. I had found a place where I could be excited for a boy and all the "different" that would bring. People with boys seem to like them okay, most of the time.

There are already those who tell me I can try for a boy the next time. The next time! Who suggests such a thing to a woman who is only halfway done with a pregnancy? Who is only a few weeks removed from misery on either end? Crazy people, that's who. My own husband even. I like how this baby is getting skipped over already, is not even the middle child yet but is getting treated like it. She's not even done growing toenails and we've moved on to her hypothetical baby brother. I haven't ruled it out, yet. I'm getting too old for our current childbearing pace, however, and would have to work the turnaround a little quicker next time. We'll see. I know plenty of people who declared they were going to have a million kids and then got themselves spayed and neutered after the second one was born.

I took some pictures of the big cupcake biting-into, but the light was bad and the pink didn't really show up and I haven't upgraded to Mountain Lion so my iPhoto is all screwy, etc. My super-sweet girlfriend responded to the picture I sent with the text "looks like a big pink gash," so there's a visual for you at least.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

At least they're not cake pops

I've really enjoyed Beyonce-ing this pregnancy. It is much more fun to up and show up with a baby bump than to make a grand announcement and try to smile all demurely like the Virgin Mary or something. I guess, minus side, people tend to feel like they are inconsequential and get all hurt insides-feeling about it. I guess maybe it is my small act of rebellion against the culture of over-sharing in which I normally am an active participant. And whatever, I act like I kept quiet but I didn't, really. I still made the facebook announcement. But I sure as shit did not do so with the cutesy picture of me and a jar of spaghetti sauce. Prego has always been my least favorite word, anyways. 

Let's see, what else, how else can I try to offend people who possess a genuine interest in my life. I have my big 20 week ultrasound tomorrow. We're having the gender written down and I'm having cupcakes (YEAH, I SAID CUPCAKES, LAYNE) made with the appropriate pink or blue filling. That way we can be surprised together as a family at Mo's birthday dinner tomorrow evening. He didn't want the responsibility of having an appropriate reaction cutting into a cake, so we decided to let everyone focus on their own little cake. I'm excited yet terrified it's going to be blue. But then. At least blue means I get a whole bunch of new stuff. Because what is the point of having babies besides getting stuff, right? 

Speaking of gender, I have noticed an outcropping of people who feel the need to say, "we will be finding out the SEX of the baby. We will find out his or her gender when he or she identifies as one or the other." I want to make jerk-off hand motions at these people. And sometimes do. 

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Lede safely buried

I have a laurel hedge outside my kitchen window. It separates our house from the very close next door neighbor's house.  I would take a picture to demonstrate the view, but I have just become aware how dirty the windows are, as tends to happen around this point in the spring every year. That, and the dog food container with the broken lid we haven't replaced since it broke several months ago is on the window sill (it's a bay window) and the wall is still not repainted from the renovations we did last August. Nothing like the idea of sharing a peek of your home with others to make you realize that your home is a disaster.

We've been thinking a lot about the disasters we ignore on a daily basis and the ways we will right them, because I've gone and gotten myself knocked up again. It actually happened quite a while ago, right around Christmas. I should have known when I woke up on New Year's Day NOT feeling like I'd been out drinking champagne all night that it was happening again. But it took me another five days before I decided to test on a whim and, voila! Pregnant.

I spent much of January and February trying not to die. Not literally, but it was tough. The husband had a busy travel schedule, including the part where he went back to New Zealand this year and we stayed home. That happened to be about weeks 6-9 of my pregnancy, otherwise known as the weeks in which consciousness is most painful. Marlo ate a lot of whatever the heck she wanted for dinner (mostly apples and peanut butter) and I did a lot of sleeping through Sleeping Beauty.

Then, toward the end of February, I caught a cold. I had this cold until, oh, about a week ago? I went to the doctor three times, got a chest x-ray, two rounds of antibiotics, you know, all the stuff that you really want to do while incubating a fetus. Finally I'm down to one coughing fit a day, and then the pollen count spikes. So now I'm back to sinus pain and general malaise, and I'm ever so happy about it.

This pregnancy has been way more uncomfortable so far than I remember the first one. I also feel like I'm about a month ahead, discomfort/largeness-wise, but I guess that's pretty common the second time around. And really, I was just checking in on my blog posts from last time and I think realistically I'm a week or two bigger. I posted at 19 weeks the last time that I needed to go shopping for maternity clothes, and this time I put on my maternity jeans for the first time last Friday, in the middle of my 18th week. It felt so good I wondered why I waited so long.

And now, you're caught up. More details forthcoming.