Brad Paisley made me cry (boy or girl?)

May 16th

So this was the big day--time to find out if this little baby was really a boy, as I have been dreaming day and night, or if it was a girl. Frank for some reason thought it was a girl, an idea which I did not encourage or humor in any way, as he can attest. We both felt so confident (although I'm sure I was more confident) that he even posed a very small bet to me. Whoever "guesses" (knows) correctly, gets to choose baby's first outfit before we come home for the first time, as a family. I agreed, assuring Frank that I'd still let him help me pick out our little boy's outfit, even after it was medically confirmed that I've been right for an entire 4 months.

I did not entirely relieve myself of my tutoring schedule on this day, and would have to make a couple of appointments in the area of the Dr.'s office two or so hours after the big ultrasound. To avoid Frank having to stick around and do nothing while I worked with my students, we drove separate cars to the tutoring center, and then I hopped in with him, and we were off.

But not before Brad Paisley made me cry.

I have been hearing this song for months, smiling madly each time it plays in whole or in part. I'd picture my little boy drawing on my walls or telling me he loved me for the first time and just smiiiiile, smile, smile.

But today...this day, this song made me so afraid that I was wrong--that I'd be having an adorable, latina-looking, dinosaur-loving girl instead--that I cried when I tried to sing along with it. I realized that not only had I totally sold myself on wanting a stinky little boy, but I was completely unprepared for the alternative. I had never seriously considered the idea that it was truly only a 50/50 shot. I was so excited and anxious that I just kept driving, hopeful and terrified, silently leaking tears until the final chords rang out.

SPOILER ALERT: IT'S A BOY!

This, is Theodore. Theo. My son.

No, those are not warts on his face, those are his little baby finger tips. Apparently, ultrasound can look through all kinds of things. He also has his mouth open, and that's his little tongue sticking out. That's daddy's nose, and my chin. He should be a lot plushier when he comes out all screaming and beautiful, but this was definitely my favorite picture of the batch, and I wanted to share it.

It was kind of funny when the Sonographer (apparently not just a tech) was telling us what he was--it went like this:

Lady: Well, that's pretty easy to see

One of us: Um..what is?

Lady: You're having a little boy. He's not shy at all--look he's got his legs wide open!

Me: (Slapping Frank's arm) AHHHH I TOLD(")YOU IT WAS A BOY(")!!!

Frank kind of had the reaction I think I may have had if he had been a girl (minus overt sobbing)--he was a bit taken aback, and had to process for a few minutes before getting really excited and yelling in the parking lot.

We called our parents and siblings and friends and squealed over how many of us (women) were right all along. My dad in particular had braced himself for another girl in the family, after having a peak of four women living in his house with no masculine reprieve for all of these years. I firmly believe he just didn't want to get his hopes up--but here's how the call to him sounded:

Me: Hiiii Daaaad

Dad: Hiiii Carrrr

Me: Soooo, we just had our ultrasound...and I don't want you to be disappointed but...iiiit's aaa BOOYYYY!!!

Dad: Wooow...Well, ya proved me wrong, I thought for sure it'd be 'like mother, like daughter', and you'd have all girls.

Me: Nope, it's definitely a boy.

Dad: All riiiight! Now I got someone to go fishin' with--enough with this girl stuff!

Me: Haha, you earned it, Dad.

The whole thing was awesome--not only to have great feedback about how he was growing, but to be spot on right with my intuition. They say all mothers have it, and it's stronger than most forces on this earth. Such conviction is a bit scary, because it's so impossible to ignore, but truth be told, if you can't ignore something, you obviously shouldn't. Heretofore--I like it. Gives me a feeling of natural preparedness--that even if I can't read every scrap of useful information out there, I'll still know what to do for my little Theo when the time comes.

This is truly becoming a richer experience by the day, and I realize now how people can so easily forget about (or pony up for) morning sickness and all this other crap for second, third and fourth children. I'm still just focusing on this one, but...I'm just saying.

Aaaand I'm sobbing again. Some Youtube idiot did something adorable to the end of this song, and now my keyboard is all wet. At least I cry over good stuff sometimes.

Mother's Day

Frank is the SWEETEST! I woke up on Mother's day to this spread out on our dining room table:

For those of you who can't quite make out the crayon--here's a better look:

My first thought was--AWWWWW.
My second thought was--well at least we caught the dyslexia early.
My third thought was--dang--this must've happened while I was sleeping! Well done Frank...well done.

The day was beautiful and sunny--we went to church, and then made our way downtown to Canton Dockside for a half-dozen crabs on the deck! YAY!!

Fun fact: If you're pregnant, you can eat crab, just don't eat the mustard. If you don't know what "mustard" is, then you clearly aren't worried about eating Maryland crabs anyway.

What sunny Maryland afternoon is complete without some Ritas! That was our next, impromptu stop, as we listened to the Orioles struggle through a game (but eventually win!) on the radio. After-effects here:

He bleeds orange too--GO O's!

So we made it home, and I had to work on a special, secret project--results of which I can show you in about 3 months. While I did, Frank whipped up a special dinner "a la" when we first met--Scallops with this delicious homemade balsamic sauce, topped with corn and cherry tomatoes--my favorite Frankie dish! (I only got a picture of it after I ate most of it, and it didn't look great, so just use your imagination.)

It was really nice to be treated special on Mother's day. I can't really say I was expecting much, if anything until Frank tipped me off during the week, but I'm very thankful that he was thoughtful enough to do everything he did. By the way, here's my belly, starting to pop!

What I really think after almost five months of being pregnant, is that if you're making daily, hourly decisions based on the well-being of your child--guess what? No one else is doing that. And after your kid is born, what are you doing day in and day out, but the same exact thing? As soon as you start taking those conscious actions, you are a mother, and anyone who says differently has never been where you've been. If it counts outside your body, it should count double inside--you feed it, keep it warm, talk to it, hold it, and love it just as much, whether you're throwing up at four weeks, or happily holding your baby in your arms at fourty-four weeks. That's how moms work.

Fellas--buy your lady some flowers, and say you're sorry that you get to stay the same size. Tell her she's beautiful. Admit to being relieved you don't ever have to give birth. Kiss her belly and say hi to your kid. Thank her for farting in the other room. It doesn't have to be anything crazy, but since she's already a Mom, there's no reason you can't already be a Dad, and the three of you can't already be a family. You're so much more important than you realize to the equation, even now.

Happy Mother's Day.



B for Boston

We went on a trip to Boston for a friend's birthday/5 year dream to be realized. She's been wanting to go to Boston for a weekend trip since we were all in school, and FINALLY, someone else planned it. We all gradually showed up to meet her in Beantown--pulling off the surprise for our very smart, fairly inquisitive friend in what I would consider the best secret plan I've ever been involved with.

Some flew, some drove--Frank and I took a Megabus. Haaaaaa. As one could assume, the most difficult parts of this trip were both the beginning and the end--a crowded and stressful beginning, and a grand finale that involved fireworks (aka vomiting). Regardless, we're going to focus on the positive here, because luckily, there was much more of that. After the 9-hour busride ended at 5:45am:

We (slept in the hotel lobby and then) toured Fenway Park,

toured the Sam Adams Brewery, (here is us after the tour--we are extremely tired from traveling and walking all day, not drunk.)

NAPPED (important, but not pictured)

And went to the O's/Sox game at Fenway that night!

It was OUTSTANDING. And that was just Friday.

Saturday morning, we followed this guy around Boston for WAY longer than we should have:

And hung out at a bar for Cinco de Mayo!

And YES, that is my delicious beer...which I had 2 of.

Non-alcoholic beer :)  [you may also notice a small, festive sombrero on my head.]

Which I drank with THIS:

A fluffernutter (peanut butter and fluff for you noobs) with banana and homemade kettle chips. Oh man, so delicious.

So as you can see, I was able to pull this all off in fairly normal strides. I may have sat about twice as much while walking, snacked about five times more, and peed about ten times more than anyone else in the group, but darnit, I showed the world that I'm pregnant, not dead! GO ME!

It was AWESOME to go on a trip with some old friends, explore some new stuff, and catch some baseball. My kind of weekend.

Of course, this trip would not be possible without the cart-spotting, water-feeding, shoulder-offering and bag-handing insight of the world's greatest husband. Together, we managed to keep the blood sugar level, the bladder at ease, and the Redsox at the bottom of the rankings. GO US!

The Snoooogle

I was introduced to a baby and mom consignment shop in Columbia called Greenberries. They have all kinds of used stuff--baby clothes, maternity clothes, bouncers, strollers, toys, and pack-n-plays, whatever people bring--and some unused, generally innovative or eco-friendly gear.

Frank and I opted to check it out on our day off--it was a lot of fun, and very un-scary compared to some stores. There are people with babies slung around them all over the store, and they're all talking to each other and bopping around going--ooh, this is neat. It's a well-organized space, and it has to be--it's full as it is, and you can see tons of freshly-dropped bags through a doorway in the back. It seems a lot comes in, and a lot goes out.

We don't need a whole lot right now--we're (very) slowly adding things to a registry on Amazon.com, and honestly, we're kind of holding out to find out what we're having (May 16th!!!) to put a lot of stuff on there. We've just really enjoyed looking at stuff together, but I did find one item I was fascinated with and wanted pretty badly--it's called a Puj Tub. It's a flat-storing peice of nice, light foam with these awesome coated magnets in strategic spots. You fold the corners in, and the magnets secure a nice, soft sink insert for your baby to lay in for a bath!

Back to what I do need right now: I'm starting to notice different kinds of strains on my body while I sleep--like when I lay on my stomach, it kind of feels like I'm laying on a lump of some sort (hmm...). Because of this, I tend to retreat to my back, which is not reccomended much at all past the fourth month, because apparently your own weight crushes a big vein under your uterus and blocks bloodflow back to your heart. No big whoop.

I need to train myself to sleep on my side, but it just hasn't been very comfortable as of late. Good thing I met my new best friend...the Snoogle. It was half the price it would've been online, and came with this cute little organic cotton bird cover.

If you think I was good at sleeping before...I'm like Olympic competition at this point.

A for Effort

As many of you know, we are currently in a rented house in Baltimore City, and will be moving to a rented space outside of the city June 1. Our landlord is a nice fellow, and has been great as far as landlords go, so we generously (I now realize VERY generously) offered to show the house for him the last 2 months we'd be living here.

It's been a big pain. It makes me clean my house when I'd rather sleep, and we've had various annoyances involving the trickledown effects of poor communication between real estate agents and the home owner. However, we've allowed it to continue.

We have three showings tomorrow, which means--time to spruce up the house. Again. Frank was historically the one to do the yardwork, but at some point when I started having a few days at home without him, it became something I enjoyed as well. It's been a rainy, and also busy couple of weeks, and so I will admit that even while feeling good, I have let the lawn slip away from me.

We use a push-mower, because we have this weird little 5 foot by 7 foot grass terrace in the front, and a fairly small, easy-to-mow yard in the back. After standard pick-up and chlorox wiping in the house, I started by hacking away at the now eight inch high grass on the terrace. While a bit slower going than usual, it wasn't a big deal. Then I started plucking (no joke) three-foot dandilion stalks from the mulch areas. This is the most overgrown our yard has been at any point of living here, but seriously, there must be something in the rainwater.

I came up with a pretty good-sized pile of weeds, hand-plucked the edges of the patch of grass, and moved on to the back yard after chatting a while with a neighbor. I figured the break was neccessary (I have been making a conscious effort to pace myself better lately), and that it'd help me to plow right through.

Well, I did have to plow, but I wouldn't describe it as "right through".

After grunting and sweating in the 5pm sun for what seemed like an embarassingly long time, the push mower's handle and my back simultaneously approached breaking in half--one due to a missing screw, and one due to the human self-sacrifice that is now my life. I was able to make one loop around the perimeter of the yard.

I conceited to the fact that finishing the small front tuft of grass closest to perspective buyers would be the closest the lawn would look to polished, threw the mower at the fence, and surrendered to the couch. Game over.

So, to review, here is a perfect analogy for what pregnancy seems like to most dummies (like me 5+ months ago) who coo about it, but haven't tried it, and what pregnant woman actually experience:

The picture-perfect front yard--complete with happy, rosy-colored roses:

...and the behind-the-scenes, tired, overgrown, gassy, irritable backyard:

I tried.

Beer and Ice Cream and Maturity

Based on my grumblings about the first trimester, I'm sure it's fairly easy to gather that I didn't miss drinking so much as I missed consuming calories comfortably in general. Now that I'm about a month into the second trimester, appetites have been relatively normal, and I have started to notice adult beverages--more notably, their absence.

Frank has had the occasional glass of red wine in the evening, which I don't mind whatsoever (forget "we're" pregnant. I'm pregnant, and Frank has to live with me, so he gets to drink.) This past weekend, I sat, sniffing the air, wafting the scent of Frank's Pinot Noir while we watched Hugo (which was awesome). I even snuck a little sip while he was in the other room.

Let's be clear though: I'm not the kind to think that one sip of wine would bother my baby. Frank is on the better-safe-than-sorry side, but after an adorable instance where he made two batches of pasta sauce because he was afraid the wine he put in the first one wouldn't cook off, he too has simmered on the idea that one drop won't spoil the batch. I'm not really down with the one-or-two beers rule, but I have to admit I'm starting to miss my casuals.

We went to our second Oriole's game of the week with two other couples, and no one felt awkward enough to not order a beer around me, which I was pleased with. I don't want people to change what they're doing around me in a social atmosphere...unless they're smoking, or yelling, or smell like turkey burgers. Sure, I wished I could order one of the new Natty Boh tall boys with the fancy Orioles can, but I was fine with drinking pure, unadulterated water.

Frank showed up straight from work in the top of the third, and went for his first round refreshments during the 4th. Before heading to the vendors, he decided that he was a reeaaaallly funny guy--like, hilarious--and asked me deadpan if I wanted a beer. Pointed to me and everything.

"Oh, yeah? That's funny? That's how you're gonna play it? We have five more months of this you know."
[Smiles smugly] "I'm sorry" [Giant toothy grin]
[Snarl]"BUY ME AN ICE CREAM."

I smack Frank in the butt as he walks away, shaking my head and smiling. Punk. I yell behind him, "I don't really want an ice cream, I'll just have a few of your french fries." (Perfect example of what I call a "flare and cool down", similar to putting glowing iron in a barrel of ice water. Furious one minute, taking a joke the next.)

10 minutes later, Frank gallantly marches back into sight, wielding a waffle cone full of Carvel's creamy vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles.

[Christmas Day eyes and smile] "GASP--Thank YOU!"

In truth, I really didn't think I wanted ice cream--it was heading for 8:30pm, and getting windy. But man, did I enjoy the crap out of that thing. It was SO GOOD.

As time went by, I approached the cone-nibbling portion of the program, and Frank reappeared with his food and beer. I thanked him numerous times in happy tones for the ice cream cone, which our friend Rob reported was a bit of a journey in attaining.

"Can I have some ice cream?" Frank asked.

Now, I have a decision to make here. It's going to happen pretty fast, but it's a decision nonetheless. Fact is, I am happy as a clam right now, and it is because of Frank. This ice cream was to make me happy, but also partially to make him happy. He encroached a line with that comment. I have been generous and unflinching when my husband wants to have a drink with his friends, at this point having driven him home uncomplaining on a few occasions. I have been teased. I will not let it go without a counter.

"Hmm, can I have some of that beer?" I reply.

Frank turns to me, beer in hand, and slugs half of his beer within six inches of my face, making sure I understand how much he's enjoying it. I over-enjoy the rest of my ice cream, and make sure to tell him four times that the piece of cone I left on his tray has glue on it from the paper wrapper, so he BETTER NOT EAT IT. You know, 'cause it had glue on it.

Yeah, we're super mature and we're gonna teach our kids how to share and stuff.

You can drink around pregnant ladies, just don't rub it in their faces.
You don't wanna see that "flare" part.

Pregnancy's toll as of Week 17

So there are a lot of things that happen to a woman's body while she's pregnant, starting with the very first day. Some things show up and stay, others pop in for a week, and others we're unsure whether they were really there (because we'd like to think we imagined them). If you're not into science fiction, you may find this list more horrifying than interesting or funny, so be prepared. I'm going to catalogue (almost) everything I've experienced so far from head to toe.

Head Hair: Not the scariest to start on--looks awesome and is growing well. Looks redder without having used dye.

Body Hair: Terrifying. Grows at rates exponential to pre-pregnancy, revealing my Greek heritage, rather than allowing me to keep my previously expressed Irish traits.

Skin: DRY. So dryyyy. Eczema patches behind my knees, itchy scalp.

Brain: In constant flux. Psychotic, vivid, nightmarish dreams, frequent headaches, reeling thoughts, forgetfulness, rage, pleasant daydreams, dizziness.

Eyes: Crying. Lots of crying. Eyes are also able to accurately detect adorable children under age 2 and women with pregnant bellies from an uncanny distance. Stroller brands and models are easily recognizable.

Nose: Faucet-like running of the nose started 17 weeks ago (40% of all pregnant women have congestion or runny nose for their WHOLE pregnancy). Also, I am a bloodhound. I can smell potato salad in a sealed container wrapped in a paper bag from a room away, or my neighbors cooking hamburgers while inside my house with the doors and windows closed. However, I can almost never smell my own farts.

Mouth: Gums bleed easily while brushing. Excessive spit and night drools. Unpredictable. Tongue is unreliable as a reference to "what tastes good". Talks a lot while crying. Talks while sleeping. Laughs uncomfortably in maternity stores. Dreams of kissing baby.

Ears: Enjoy informational podcasts on Pregtastic.com.

Neck and arms: still skinny, wrists feel achy after computer work.

Hands: Like to blog to provide therapy for the brain. Nails are growing long and strong.

Boobs: Huge and painful with darkening...spots. Fit uncomfortably in two underwire bras, and not at all in my other five.

General Trunk Area: Plagued by pulling, cramping sensations on its surface, often "the feeling your abs are slowly being ripped apart". Does not respond well to sudden movements due to "round ligaments", which slowly torture pregnant women while they hold on to their last days of solace in their skinny ankles. Think thick, restrictive, internal bands chaining your inner groin to your hip flexors, that seize when you sneeze, or laugh, or roll over in bed.

Back: Generally uncomfortable and tense. I think I experienced a fraction of what "back labor" is like while I was pooping once.

Stomach: Nausea, vomiting, voracious growling, small capacity, high maintenance. Not to be confused with "belly".

Belly: Embryo turning to fetus inside, now slightly distended. Likes to be touched by myself and my husband, but is shy around others.

Bladder: Frequently full, frequently emptied.

Bowels: Full of bubbles, frequently emptied.

Butt: Sitting for a long time on any surface makes my tailbone KILL. Don't know why.

Lady Stuff: Heightened awareness. Mildish cramping or contraction-type feelings cause short internal tailspins and then go away.

Legs: Often feel like I ran a half-marathon 2 days ago. Achy, and in constant need of stretching.

Ankles: Still there

Feet: live in constant fear of getting 1/2 to a FULL size bigger due to ligament loosening and general bad luck.

Body: Generally tires after about 1/3 of the "to do" list. Can walk for about an hour before sitting, but can't stand in one spot for 10 minutes without feeling lightheaded. No, I don't lock my knees. Doesn't like to bend over. Succumbing to itself slowly after multiple episodes of doing too much and seeing spots. Prefers fleece muppet blanket while napping for three-hour bouts.

I generally wake up and inspect my body for the next bizzare thing this process will inflict upon me. I found it this morning, but I'm not gonna tell you about it. It's getting creepy, and I don't even know how to classify what it is.

And if you think all of this is bad, you should hear about some of the things I torture myself with reading. Stuff happens to pregnant and laboring women that is unspeakable. I've actually promised myself to stop reading that kind of stuff. All it does is make you feel like a mild to moderate hypochondriac, and it seems to me that no matter what you tell your OB, they won't be surprised, and they'll tell you it's totally normal, so don't bother, unless your OB works at this office:

Let's just say, once you read about 2 sentences about "stage 4 tearing", you decide that you're just gonna pray instead of being informed. Let's just say, I pray a lot.