Wednesday, March 5, 2014
5:30 AM: Tim’s alarm goes off, but he’s not there to start his usual round of hitting snooze every 5 minutes for 40 minutes. Alexander woke up several times in the night complaining of bad dreams (we will not be reading Where the Wild Things Are at bedtime again), and around 3:00 Tim gave up and slept in Alexander’s room with him for the rest of the night…or morning, I guess. I lay in bed, trying to summon the energy it will take to haul my massive self over to Tim’s side of the bed to turn off his alarm, but apparently it snoozes itself automatically because eventually it stops. Five minutes later the alarm goes off again. I continue to ignore it, alternating between trying to get a few more minutes of sleep (my alarm doesn’t go off until 6:30; you can imagine how pleased I am to have Tim’s alarm waking me up an hour earlier than necessary most mornings) and contemplating how I’m going to wake Tim up without disturbing Alexander, who is finally sleeping.
6:00 AM: Turns out I needn’t have worried about Tim waking up on time, because I hear Alexander ask for milk over the monitor. I flick the screen on and see Tim getting out of Alexander’s bed. A few minutes later, they appear in the master bedroom doorway, and Tim deposits Alexander and his sippy cup in bed next to me, and stumbles into the bathroom to take a shower. We don’t say much to each other; there’s no need. It’s been a long night, we’re not morning people, and we’re both exhausted. I try futilely to get a few more minutes of sleep while Alexander drinks his milk, but all too quickly he’s holding his empty sippy cup in my face saying “That was good!” And then he’s climbing all over me, ready to play.
6:20 AM: I give up on sleep and take a shower. Alexander comes into the bathroom with me, but soon he’s starting to throw my shoes all over the closet, and when I tell him to stop, he refuses. Tim’s still getting dressed, so he helps corral the kiddo, kisses me goodbye, and takes A. to the playroom to hang out while I get showered and dressed.
6:33 AM: I get out of the shower and hear my alarm going off on my nightstand. I turn it off, wondering why I even bother to set an alarm, seeing as how I rarely get to sleep til 6:30 most days anyway.
6:34 AM: From the playroom down the hall I hear “Daddy! DAAAADDDDYYY!!” I can hear Tim downstairs making his breakfast and getting ready to head out the door, so I go ask Alexander what he needs. “I need Caillou!” I hunt around for the remote, then sit on the couch for the few minutes it takes to start Netflix and scroll through the menu to find the requested show. Alexander giggles and asks “Why you wearing this towel shirt, Mommy?” and I explain that I just got out of the shower and still need to get dressed. The show starts, and I leave Alexander sitting on the floor, happily singing along to the opening song.
7:00 AM: Once I’m finished getting dressed, putting on makeup, and drying my hair, I head to the playroom and start negotiating with Alexander about getting him dressed. He holds up his magnadoodle and requests I draw an elephant. I tell him I’ll draw him an elephant after he gets dressed, but he doesn’t want to leave the playroom. We eventually agree that I will bring clothes into the playroom and he can get dressed in there, which I’m happy to do because it means I get to pick his clothes instead of waiting five minutes for him to select undies, waiting another several minutes for him to pick a pair of pants, then holding him in front of his closet for another five minutes while he decides on a shirt. I quickly select some clothes and start getting him dressed, all the while assuring him that he cannot stay in his pajamas today, much as he’d like to. “Can I stay in my jammies just a few more minutes?” Nope, time to put your jeans on. “But can I stay in these just a little bit longer? Pretty, pretty, pretty please?” Sorry, bud, jammies off, jeans on. Once he’s dressed, I draw him an elephant, as promised. A deal’s a deal.
7:10 AM: We head downstairs, and I pop a couple waffles in the toaster. Alexander asks for a banana (“I want a banna!”), so I let him pick which one he wants and peel it for him. I make myself a peanut-butter-and-jelly waffle sandwich and enjoy a couple quiet minutes while we both eat. Then it’s time to wrestle shoes and jackets on — it’s a struggle to get A to hold still long enough to put his shoes and jacket on most days; today he’s busy hopping “Like a kangaroo!” and trying to flip his mini armchair over to make a cave. I plop down in a chair and struggle to bend over far enough to tie my own shoes — my 34+ week belly is making this sort of task pretty cumbersome. Just as I’m opening my mouth to tell Alexander he needs to try to go potty before we leave, he announces “I need to go potty!” and races down the hall to the bathroom. Great timing, kiddo.
7:20 AM: I buckle Alexander into his carseat then gather my purse and the dog, and we’re out the door. Today Smalls is coming with us because I have to drop her off at the vet for her semi-annual checkup and teeth cleaning. Alexander is delighted to have her in the car with us and talks to her the whole way to daycare. “Smalls is in hers seat! But Ben is not. Ben staying home.” “Smalls is happy! Her is a happy girl.” “Lookit all the cars, ‘Malls! You don’t have to be afraid. It’s just the cars driving on the road.” “*Gasp!* A blue truck! I’ve never seen a blue truck ‘afore.” Usually he spends the drive to daycare watching for “Boo-mint Trucks!” (cement trucks), but today Smalls has all of his attention.
7:30 AM: We pull up at Linda, our daycare provider’s house — “That’s Ninna’s house!” — and I take Alexander inside. After giving Alexander a big hug and kiss goodbye, I go back to the car and drop Smalls off at the vet before heading back home. Now that Alexander’s not in the car, I turn on my current audio book, The Dream Thieves. I’m enjoying the book quite a bit and am glad to have a little extra driving time to listen this morning.
8:00 AM: I get back home, pausing for a few minutes in the garage to listen to the end of a riveting scene in the book. Ben greets me at the door happily, though I think he’s confused about why I haven’t brought Smalls back home with me. I log on to my work computer and sort through my emails. I thought I had a conference call followed immediately by a webinar training this morning, but I see the conference call has been rescheduled to next week, so I have a little more time than expected to get my own work done before the training. I touch base with a couple of coworkers about our plans to meet for lunch after the training, then settle in to do a couple hours of editing.
8:00 AM to Noon: Work, work, work, with occasional breaks to put on a load of toddler laundry (after which I add detergent to next week’s grocery list), make coffee (I’m relieved to remember Tim did the dishes last night so my favorite travel mug is clean; I still use a travel mug even though I work from home since I’m a slow coffee drinker, and the travel mug keeps it warm longer than a regular mug), have a snack (I’m craving protein after my sugary breakfast, so I toss some buffalo chicken tenders in the oven. At 10 AM. Shut up, it’s totally a normal mid-morning snack), and check Twitter and Facebook. Work’s not super busy this early in the month, but I’m working on a project for another department while my main workload is light, and I have a company-wide training session at 11:00 AM, so the breaks are few and far between.
12:05 PM: I meet up for lunch with a few coworkers (the handful of us who were lucky enough to keep our jobs and work from home after company-wide layoffs resulted in our local office being shut down at the end of January) at a new-to-me Vietnamese restaurant. The restaurant is okay, nothing to write home about, but it’s nice to see my coworkers face-to-face and have an actual conversation instead of just sending emails back and forth.
1:00 PM: The restaurant we ate at is just down the street from Sprouts, an organic grocery store, so I swing by there on my way home to pick up some of their frozen chiles rellenos for dinner. Tim and I both love these rellenos, but we don’t make it to Sprouts very often, so eating them is a rare treat. Today is the last of three long days of Tim proctoring state-standardized testing, and I know he’s worn out from it, so I’m excited to surprise him with one of his favorite dinners tonight. The grocery store is crazy busy, considering it’s the middle of a week day, and I do my best to get in and out as quickly as possible, then head home to finish my work day.
2:10 PM: Just as I’m getting to the point in the day where I start to fret that I haven’t heard from the vet and wonder if I should be worried, the vet calls to tell me Smalls is finished with her teeth cleaning and recovering well from the anesthesia. They’d like to keep an eye on her for a couple of hours, which is standard procedure, so we arrange for me to come pick her up at 4:45.
2:30 PM: My boss calls and we chat for a bit about work, kids, and pregnancies (she’s due a few weeks after me). It’s so nice having a boss whom I not only respect but also count among my friends.
2:58 PM: The internet goes down, because of course it does. Luckily, just as I’m about to trundle down to the basement to unplug and re-plug in the router (sometimes that helps), the connection flicks back on again.
3:03 PM: Ben’s incessant barking alerts me to the fact that it must be 3:00-ish and therefore the end of the school day at the neighborhood school. He’s going to bark at the kids walking home on the path behind our house for the next 40 minutes no matter what, so I let him out the back door so he can run up and down the fence, barking to his heart’s content, and I can continue to work in peace. Sorry, kids.
3:05 PM: Work’s still not busy, so I work on finalizing the details of my maternity leave…as much as I can, anyway, given the multitude of unknowns I have to work around. Since I plan to work right up until the baby is born, I obviously don’t know the exact date my leave will start, but my manager and I have been through this before, so we have a pretty good plan in place to distribute my workload to the rest of the editing team at a moment’s notice if need be. On top of that, though, some major changes in my company — both recent and soon-to-come — mean that my insurance benefits and paid time off may (or may not) be changing sometime before (or soon after) my leave begins. So I plan as much as I can based on my current benefits and PTO allotment, take a lot of deep breaths, and remind myself that there’s only so much I can control and everything will work itself out somehow.
3:30 PM: I’m hungry again (still, always) so I go rummage in the kitchen for a snack (cookie or granola bar? better go with both), then quickly put away the load of toddler laundry I washed earlier, depositing a pair of too-short jeans he wore earlier this week into the box I keep next to the dryer for clothes he’s outgrown. Putting Alexander’s laundry away goes much faster when he’s not around to “help,” and it’s only a few minutes before I’m back at my desk.
4:15 PM: I hear the garage door open, which means Tim and Alexander are home. I keep an eye on my office window eagerly anticipating one of my favorite parts of the day: watching the two of them walk hand-in-hand to the mailbox down the street. Those two are stinkin’ adorable. But apparently they’re not getting the mail today, as they immediately come inside instead. Oh, well. I head down the hall to say hi to them and find Alexander crying in the time-out chair. Apparently he was a stinker all day at daycare and then wasn’t listening to Tim when he picked him up. So that’s why they didn’t go get the mail. Meanwhile, Tim sees the chiles rellenos defrosting on the counter and is pleased. Tim and I briefly discuss our days and he fills me in on Alexander’s daycare shenanegins. Alexander promises to do a better job listening, and he’s allowed out of time out.
4:20 PM: As soon as A. gets out of time out, he asks to go outside and go to the park. Tim tells him they can maybe go to the park if Alexander can show him he can be a good listener. “But I need to go to the park!” Alexander protests. After a few minutes of debate, Tim offers Alexander a deal: If they go upstairs and clean the playroom, then they can go to the park. Alexander reluctantly agrees, and they head up to the playroom while I go do a few more minutes of work before leaving to pick up Smalls from the vet.
5:00 PM: Smalls and I are home from the vet, and Ben is overjoyed to see his little sister again. I log back in to my work computer to see what I missed while picking Smalls up, and am pleased to see the email reminding me that it’s payday. I do a bit more work before going upstairs to hang out with my boys in the playroom.
5:30 PM: Alexander and I play while Tim talks to his sister on the phone. Alexander’s in a much better mood, and we have a great time together. He has quite the imagination, and it’s so much fun to watch him pretend as he plays. The boys never did make it to the park; Alexander finished cleaning the playroom, but then Tim’s sister called, and he was on the phone with her until after the sun went down. Still, Tim tells Alexander what a good job he did listening and cleaning the playroom, and promises to take him to the park tomorrow.
6:20 PM: We all go downstairs, and Alexander drinks some milk on the couch and watches cartoons while Tim and I fry up our rellenos.
6:45 PM: We sit down to dinner together, even though I know it means Alexander’s 7pm bedtime will need to be pushed back a bit. I’m not sure if he’ll like a chile relleno, so I put a few bites of one on his plate along with some apple slices and Spanish rice, which is usually a favorite. He ignores the rice completely, eats all of his apples, and begrudgingly tries one bite of relleno before declaring that he doesn’t like it. I’m more than happy to finish off his uneaten relleno because he’s crazy and it’s delicious. After dinner he runs around the table tickling everyone — Daddy and Mommy, and even Smalls and Ben, who begrudgingly tolerate it — and then he and Tim make a game of crawling upstairs together to go brush his teeth and get ready for bed.
7:15 PM: The toddler bedtime routine at our house looks like this: I lay out jammies and a pull-up while Tim helps Alexander brush his teeth and go potty. Together, Tim and I wrestle a very squirmy toddler into his PJs, then Alexander picks out two books to read with me in bed. He asks for “The Monster Book,” a/k/a Where the Wild Things Are, but I tell him that book’s not in his room, and we have to pick books that are in his room. Luckily he doesn’t press the issue, and instead picks two books about being a big brother and getting ready to welcome a new baby into the family. After reading, he asks to go potty again, so I take him but tell him after this it’s straight to bed. Of course, as soon as we get back to his room, tun the lights off, and turn his star nightlight on (the nightlight has three color options, and he loves picking which color to turn on: “I’m gonna pick! Purple stars!”) (He always picks purple), he asks to go potty again. He’s learned that he can use going potty to delay bedtime, and I’m not playing his game tonight. I tell him no, which doesn’t go over so well, but eventually he calms down and settles into bed. “Lay next to me,” he requests, as always, and I do, as always. Out of nowhere, he throws his arm over me and declares “You’re my best friend!” and my heart immediately melts. I tell him he’s my best friend too and I love him very much. “No, you just a friend,” he says, to which I can’t help but laugh. Could this kid get any better? We cuddle for a few more minutes, trading hugs and kisses in exchange for me staying with him “Just another minute.” Eventually I get up and leave, pausing at the door to tell him, “Goodnight, Alexander. I love you.” “Goodnight, Mommy. Wuv you too.”
7:45 PM: I come back downstairs to find Tim on the couch watching a house-flipping show in which I have zero interest. I work on drafting this post while he finishes the show, then we watch the season 2 finale of House of Cards, followed by the latest Modern Family to lighten things up a bit. This is our time to unwind together, and we are happy to veg on the couch with a couple of good shows before succumbing to our own exhaustion and going to bed.
9:40 PM: Teeth brushed, face washed, in bed. Tim and I spend a few minutes talking about our days, as usual, then I heave my giant self over to my side of the bed, arrange various pillows around my belly to help me stay comfortable (a nearly impossible task these days), and drift off to sleep, hoping Alexander will let us sleep all night. (He doesn’t, choosing instead to wake up every few hours complaining about having a stuffy nose and wanting to go to the park. Apparently he’s decided that sleeping through the night is overrated.)
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.