Enough bitching.

I've been a whiny brat for the last couple of days, and for that I apologize. I blame the barometric pressure.


There are lots of good things about being pregnant, and I should concentrate of how damn lucky I am.


* My rack looks GREAT.
* Maternity pants (with the elastic belly band) are wicked comfortable.
* My hair has grown at least three inches since I got pregnant.
* Prenatal vitamins are magical for the nails.
* Most people love the thought of babies.
* Men get kind of goofy and awkward and cute, and women get all googly-eyed.
* Shopping is an absolute necessity.
* I have come up with utterly brilliant food combinations in my altered state of mind (Bacon goes with EVERYTHING.)




I forgot to mention that we had an appointment with the Nurse Practitioner on Monday morning. There was an utterly terrifying moment when she had to search a bit to find the heartbeat - but all is well.

She didn't say anything about my weight, so I guess I haven't chubbed out too much. My blood pressure is normal.





Three days til the ultrasound! Imelda? Bruno?

Only time will tell.

Eureka!

I've finally figured out what has been chapping my ass about this whole pregnancy thing.

It's an unbelievably personal experience, and yet it's right out there for the world to see and examine and comment on. So far it's been mainly tame, but as I start to show, the more people feel the need to give advice, or call me "Mama", or constantly ask how I'm feeling.


I know that last one is out of concern and whatnot, but what are the odds that I'm going to tell them the truth?:
"Well, constipation is still a problem, and my nipples hurt like a mofo, and the baby's kicks are stronger now and make me want to vomit. I get migraines almost daily, and Tylenol doesn't help one bit. Oh, and I'm tired all the time. All the time. Thanks for asking!"

What I actually say (one thousand times a day)
"Oh, I'm doing well - just truckin' along!"



I'm so happy about this baby. I'm thrilled to bits that in four days we'll know whether we'll have a daughter or a son in July. I just think I make a terrible pregnant woman.




More Things You Shouldn't Say to a Pregnant Woman:

"Wow! You really look... pregnant!"

"Get lots of sleep now while you still can!"

"You aren't planning to go back to work... are you?"

"You're finding out the sex? Why? Let it be a surprise!"
(Alternately: "You aren't finding out the sex? Why? Are you stupid or something?")

"Just wait."

Belly @ 18 weeks

For the record, I have no face in my belly pics because I take them with my iMac camera. Getting anything more than what you see requires the moving of furniture, and more importantly, me running and clicking the mouse to take the picture, then getting back into position in three seconds. Yeah, no.

Seventeen weeks down...

Twenty-three more to go.


Give or take.


All of this is alternately going superwickedfast and unbelievably painfully slow.



Right now all I want is for the weeks to fly by, for it to be summer. Then I can have this baby and no one can be mad at it.

Albertville Outlet Mall...

is the devil.

Me and two of my knocked up friends made the trek up to Albertville to shop for teeny clothes (for the babies) and giant tent clothes (for us).

We were very successful - too much so, maybe.

It was brilliant fun, and I have a whole mess of cute-as-hell things to dress the Webbean in.

The name game

At some point, we have to name this thing. The Android and I have chosen not make such a big decision until after we get to know our kid - at least for a couple of hours.

We have names in mind, but what if (God forbid) our daughter doesn't look like a Gertrude? What if our son doesn't have the ears to pull off Milfred? You can understand the dilemma.

Another option is to go back to the system we used for naming our two cats. When we got Lucy we were living in a house with three other people - Zosia, Rockstar and Robot. We all sat in the living room and watched her play, and cuddled her and threw out possible names. She was almost "Charlotte" until "Lucy" won out - all five of us were going through a Sex and the City phase. A few months later we got Finn and we did the same thing. He was nearly Magellan. Finn was just cooler, though.

So, yeah. I may invite those three lovely people (who I'm still good friends with, in spite of living with them for two years in increasingly cramped quarters) into my hospital room where we will pass the baby around, cuddle her, watch him sleep, and come up with the most perfect name ever.





On a similar note - we have decided that if the kid is a boy he will have the Android's last name, and if it is a girl she will have mine.






I can't wait to tell the in-laws.

Ew ew fucking EW!

People EAT the placenta!

Oh, yes. They fucking eat it. Or they take it home in a little jar and they bury it by a tree or some such nonsense.



And the umbilical stump. It was terrifying enough when I found out that the stump has to STAY on your baby until it falls off (thank you, Sex and the City.), but people actually KEEP it! They tape it into the baby book! They like, carry it around with them! I read somewhere that some woman was holding on to her daughters because she knew that her daughter would want to see it one day...



Here's the thing. Placentas and umbilical stumps? They are nature's medical waste. There is no good and non-gross reason to keep that shit, so GET RID OF IT.


The more I learn about this childbearing thing the more I want to hire someone to go ahead and take over for me for the next five months.






I think that when this is all over I'll print out all of these blog entries and put THEM in the baby book. Way better than an umbilical stump, no?

But... they're my BOOBS!

I just spent some time on the La Leche League website. I'm trying to psyche myself up (or psyche myself out of? It remains to be seen...) for breastfeeding the Webbean.

I just don't know. I mean, it makes perfect sense to breastfeed for as long as there are actual benefits for the baby - nutrients and whatnot. I just can't understand these women who whine about their two year old child weaning himself, and talking to her LLL cronies about how to LURE him back to the breast! What the fuck? Give the kid some chicken nuggets and call it a day!



I read a bunch of the stories and they just seem so... self-satisfied. Good for you. Your boobs leak a magical substance that will make your child a superhero. Whatever.


I still say if you're old enough to ask for it, maybe you shouldn't get it anymore.

Belly Pics.

Here are pictures of my midsection at weeks 12 and 16. I guess I'm showing a little, huh?

Cool.

Can you DO that?

Yes I fucking can.


Maybe I can't smoke (and believe me, I've been CRAVING a smoke.), or drink, or shoot heroin, but I CAN drink coffee, dye my hair, and eat the occasional tuna sandwich.

Bite me.



Here's a tip from me to you: Unless you are a doctor (and by that I mean an obstetrician that has been hired by the pregnant woman in question), do not tell a pregnant woman what she can and cannot do. DO. NOT.




In actual baby news - nothing much. The Webbean is still dancing up a storm between the hours of 5pm and 11pm every day. It's kind of nice, but it also makes me a little pukey. I can only imagine what will happen when this thing is punching me in the lungs for weeks on end.

I'm getting bigger, too. I already had a belly, so it's hard to tell, but I can't suck my gut in quite as far as I used to.

We're steadily collecting baby things - they all reside in the crib for now. It's a really useful storage unit. Also, piling things in the crib means that the cats can't sleep in there. For a few days they were SURE that we had bought a pretty new bed just for them.

We have another NP (nurse practitioner) appointment in two weeks. I get to be weighed again (Bitchin'. Especially after a week of cruise food.), but I don't know what else they are going to do to me.

Oh, and our "big ultrasound" is March 3. I shall put up a poll and the three people who actually read this blog can vote on whether I'm having a boy or a girl.