So, it turns out I accidentally went a super long time without writing anything new over here. Stuff kept happening that I kept wanting to write about, but then other stuff happened and I got distracted and then I couldn’t decide what to write about and then suddenly it had been 2 months. Ummm…sorry about that. Anyway, who’s up for a quick recap? Ready…set…bullets!
- To pick up where we left off, SangriaBaby still has the same name he did 2 months ago. I think it’s safe to say we picked a winner. But we’re still not telling what it is. Luckily, he has about a million nicknames already, so we are not without adorable things to call him around other people. My parents usually call him Tiny Tim (for obvious reasons), but lately have started calling him Zachariah (kind of an inside joke). At the dance studio, he’s Baby Mack (our performing group is called the Mack Divas, and we each have our own “Mack” nicknames…mine is Big Mack [again, obvious reasons]). My boss calls him Fred Astaire Jr. Another woman at work just calls him Junior. To my sisters-in-law, he’s Pablo. Tim’s parents alternate between calling him Little Peep and Tiny Dancer. I can’t wait to see which nicknames stick after he’s born and what new ones we come up with once we finally get to meet him.
- I’ve been so focused on all things baby lately that I totally forgot to tell y’all when we finished landscaping our back yard. And, you guys. It is so gorgeous. 90% of the credit goes to Tim, who spent his entire summer vacation digging and planting and sprinkler system-ing and mulching and sodding. I helped with the sod a little, but he and a few of our very generous friends did most of the work. After fighting for 6 summers to make our mess of a yard at the old house somewhat presentable and still not being satisfied with it, I can’t tell you how nice it is to have this yard finished and beautiful and requiring only basic maintenance in the summers to come.
- In also-yard-related-but-totally-deserving-of-its-own-bullet news, we also managed to build a spectacular deck this summer! And when I say “we,” I of course mean “Tim and my parents,” because once again I didn’t help much beyond providing moral support. We weren’t anticipating being able to build a deck until next summer, but we managed to find room in our landscaping budget this year, and I am so glad we did. Spectacular as the new house is, the one thing it was missing was a nice place to sit outside with a cold beverage and good friends. Thanks to about a week of hard work from three of my favorite people, we now have the nicest deck (and yard, in my humble opinion) in the neighborhood.
- Tim finished the bulk of the yard work about a week before his summer ended, and he spent that last week of summer playing with his new grill that has a built-in smoker. That week, I came home from work every night to a different smoked meat, and every day was more delicious than the last. We’re hosting Thanksgiving dinner this year and seriously considering smoking the turkey.
- I am having a small love affair with Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches.
- We had a couple of truly wonderful baby showers thrown by the most amazing family and friends. This child is so loved and spoiled already, and it warms my heart to know he’s going to grow up surrounded by so much love.
- One thing about pregnancy that has caught me by surprise is how uncomfortable I am going to the liquor store. I feel like I need to walk around announcing “It’s not for me! It’s for my husband/friends/deck builders! Stop judging me!” I can’t remember the last time I felt so self-conscious, and I don’t like it.
- We’ve been working hard on the nursery, and it’s officially the cutest room in the house. But that’s a topic for another (picture-filled) post. Which I will hopefully write sometime after we get all the finishing touches in place but before the room explodes from having an actual baby in it.
- I’m still dancing a couple hours a week, but I’m officially done performing until after the baby arrives. I danced in my last show about a month ago, and it was pretty much the best thing ever. We dance at a lot of local community events, so there’s not always a guarantee that we’ll get a decent stage or an enthusiastic audience, but this particular performance was in a real theater, on a real stage, with the most incredible audience. They were there to see live music in tribute to the woman who ran the local Cotton Club 50 years ago, and we got to come on stage during a 30-minute band break. We had no idea what the audience would think of a bunch of white girls tap dancing, but (excuse me while I brag a moment) they freaking loved us. It was the best performance we’ve had in a long time, and it felt incredible to go out on such a high note.
- Remember the dogs? They’re still adorable (laser eyes and all). And completely oblivious to the fact that their entire world is going to turn upside-down in about a month. (And here they thought moving to a house where they’re not allowed on the couches would be the most traumatizing event of the year.)
- In conclusion, here’s The Baby Bump at 35 weeks. At my last appointment, I was measuring about a week ahead of schedule, so either the boy child is going to arrive a little early (we’d be okay with that), or he’s going to be rather large (less okay with that). Let’s keep our fingers crossed for the former, shall we?
I compiled this post bit-by-bit over the last several weeks, so I apologize in advance if it’s a bit disjointed. Also, it kind of turned into a doozy of post, length-wise, but I’m too lazy to break it up into several posts. Enjoy!
February: We’d been working on Project: SangriaBaby for a few months, and it had gotten to the point where I put off taking a pregnancy test as long as I could stand it each month because I dreaded the disappointment that came with seeing yet another negative result. Not that 4 months is all THAT long to be trying to get knocked up (it’s actually not long at all), but it still felt like a long time.
At the beginning of February, I was prepared to wait until mother nature gave me her own negative result, except we were headed to my parents’ house for the weekend, and I kinda needed to know whether I could drink or not. So I took an early-result test and, as expected, it was negative. I still played it safe, just in case, and fibbed about having a cold that weekend to get away with drinking no more than 1/2 a glass of wine without raising too many suspicions.
For the rest of the weekend and into the next week, I was pretty positive that mother nature was moments away from giving me the all clear to dive into a bottle of wine, but by Tuesday I’d started to get the teeniest bit hopeful. I wasn’t about to admit it out loud, but a tiny part of me latched on to that thing I read that one time about early pregnancy symptoms being remarkably similar to PMS. I was hopeful, but I also resented that feeling of hope, because I was pretty sure if I indulged it I would only be all the more disappointed in the end.
Still, my curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to take another test Wednesday morning. Tim was as accustomed to the negative results as I was, so rather than wait with me for the results, he went downstairs to make breakfast, planning to come up in a few minutes after the test had time to do its thing.
The test turned positive before I could even finish washing my hands.
I stared at it in shaky disbelief for a minute before finding my voice and yelling for Tim to come upstairs. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words, so I just held out a shaky hand with the positive test in it for him to see for himself. Then I hugged him and cried and hugged him some more.
And then I had to go to work and try to concentrate on something other than the gigantic, life-changing piece of news I’d just gotten. It was a long, long day. I spent it alternating between terror (I’m so not ready for this) and excitement (It finally happened!). It was all I could do to keep the first words out of my mouth from being “I’m pregnant,” every time someone came to my desk.
Somehow I made it through the day. I had Tim pick up a different brand of pregnancy test on his way home –in case the first one was lying– and this time we both held our breath and didn’t dare tear our eyes away from the test for the full two minutes it took for the positive result to appear. (Longest two minutes ever.)
And then we cooked up a big batch of mozzarella sticks to celebrate. (Obviously, along with pregnancy comes the freedom to indulge in fried cheese completely guilt-free.)
Here I am at 5 Weeks, 2 Days. Please excuse the messy hair, as my adorable photographer was too polite to suggest I fix it before we took the picture.
March: The first time we went to doctor, around seven weeks, I was on edge all day, nervous she would tell me I’d imagined the whole thing. Between my phantom pregnancy fears and Tim’s general dislike of doctors’ offices, it was a pretty long, tense wait in the waiting room. But then we saw that tiny little blob with its tiny flickering heartbeat on the ultrasound monitor, and suddenly we felt much better. The situation was starting to feel a bit more real.
It finally seemed real enough that we could tell our families and close friends. So far, telling people the Big News has been the most fun part of being pregnant. People’s reactions have been priceless — from my in-laws’ expressions of pure joy when we told them they’re going to be grandparents over Skype, to my parents’ hugs and tears, to my brother’s “Really?!“, to Tim’s sisters’ “Shut up! I cannot believe you just said that!” Perfect reactions, all of them.
The more people we told, the more the idea transitioned from the abstract to the tangible. And yet, sometimes the idea is still pretty abstract to me. I haven’t been terribly sick, aside from a bit of nausea that springs up if I let myself get too hungry (I converted one of my desk drawers at work into a pantry full of a variety of snacks to stave off the hunger/nausea), and most days I just feel really bloated. I can’t tell you how excited I am for the day I actually start looking pregnant instead of just chubby.
Here I am at 8 Weeks, and while it may look like there’s a bit of bump starting to show, I can assure you that is nothing but The Bloat, comprised mainly of breakfast burritos and fried cheese.
Most of the time I think I have my emotions pretty well under control, but then the most unexpected things will set me off. I was barely 10 weeks along when we watched the series finale of Big Love, and let me tell you, my emotions definitely were not under control that night. Usually when I cry at movies or TV shows, it’s more of a tears-silently-leaking-down-my-face kind of cry than a full-out-crying cry. That particular Sunday night was a full-blown sob fest. I turned into a snotty,blubbery mess, complete with ugly snort-sniffle-hybrid noises (snorfles?) while Tim somehow found a way to comfort me without laughing at the crazy emotional pregnant woman I’d suddenly become. It was not one of my prettier moments.
At the end of March, we went back to the doctor for another appointment and another ultrasound. That was, hands down, one of the most amazing things I’ve seen to-date. No longer were we looking at a tiny blob with a flickering heartbeat. No, this time we actually saw a little tiny human being, dancing around and waving his/her arms and legs all over the place. It was truly incredible. And also crazy to think that our little guy (or gal) is dancing around in there and I can’t feel it at all yet. Still, I’m awfully impressed with our tiny dancer, shaking his or her groove thing in there.
April: I finally hit the 12-week mark, and finally spilled the beans at work. I called my boss first, since the way gossip can spread at my company, I didn’t trust a little detail like her working in a different state than me to keep the news from getting back to her if I told anyone else first. She reacted in the best possible way, and even called me back several times that day to tell me how excited she was for me. (Have I mentioned that my boss is awesome?)
I spent the next week letting everyone else at work know and, of course, finally telling the Internet the Big News. It’s such a relief not to have to keep it a secret anymore. I no longer have to censor my Facebook and Twitter updates, and I can finally leave the comments I want to leave over at OPH’s blog. (Seriously, you guys, it was killing me not to comment with a giant “ME TOO” on all of her first trimester pregnancy posts.)
13 Weeks, with maybe a little non-cheese-related bump starting to show. Enough of one, anyway, that I finally caved and bought my first maternity pants over the weekend. (Also: New haircut!) (Also, also: Ben!)
So, there you have it. One trimester down, two to go. To answer the most common questions I’ve been getting:
1. I’m feeling mostly better, though occasionally I still have random nausea-filled days. (And occasionally I have days when I find myself awake at 2am eating string cheese because I’m so damn hungry.)
2. Tim is just as excited as I am. (It strikes me as a little weird when people ask me what he thinks about my pregnancy — especially when they ask it in a way that implies he might not be excited. Why would he be anything other than thrilled? He was just as much a part of making this happen as I was.) He’s taking extra wonderful care of me, rubbing my feet after dance class, making breakfast burrito runs every weekend, and feeding me all the mozzarella sticks my heart desires. Basically, he’s the best husband a pregnant woman could ask for.
3. SangriaBaby is scheduled to arrive on or around October 15. Yes, this means I’ll be pregnant all summer. But I will also be living in a neighborhood with a pool, so I’m not concerned. And it also means I’ll have all winter to wear frumpy sweaters and other bulky winter clothes while I work off the baby weight. So, it’s all good.
I know some of you have already seen this on Facebook, but it is simply too cute not to re-post.
As a bonus, I give you the Kid Quote of the Day from Tim’s first day back after Christmas Break:
Kid: “Are we going to learn about the Boston Tea Party?”
Mr. Tim: “Yes.”
Kid: “But I hate Sarah Palin!”
. . .
In other news: Happy Birthday, Gary!
She’s just a little girl dog…who snores like an old man.
Tim got the dogs a new present, and so far they are very confused about it.
During the summer, when we have the doors and windows open so we don’t melt into puddles of goo on the couch, we are constantly peeling ourselves off the couch to let the dogs in and out. They hear a noise outside and need to go bark in the yard. Then they realize they’re outside and we’re inside and they want to be with us so they need to come in. And then they hear a noise outside and need to go bark in the yard. And, repeat.
Fun as it is to go through this cycle approximately 1,000 times/night, Tim decided to put an end to it and install a doggie door in our screen door. They’re very skeptical of the contraption, naturally, and so far refuse to go though it unless we hold it open with a piece of cheese on the other side. The concept of pushing through it themselves is downright terrifying. Nobody is surprised by this.
I’m sure that in time they’ll figure it out. They’ll be desperate enough to go outside and bark at a noise that they’ll just run though it (much like Smalls tried to run through the screen pre-doggie-door yesterday afternoon) and realize all the freedom and joy that come with the doggie door.
Until then, I expect there will be a lot of coaxing on our part, and a lot of cheese eating on their part.