I'm Pulling the Card!

Yup, it's time and I'm unabashedly pulling the pregnancy card. (this implies that I haven't been doing that all along, which I have, and if you have something to say about THAT, may I suggest you wear armor or stand far, far away).
So a big F@*& you to the lady sitting on her ass in the lobby, playing on her phone as I tried to open the door with my hands full (so what if it was full of the giant lunch I ordered - there were veggies!) and proceeded to drop half my lunch and then need to put the other half down to gather the whole thing again, and then stand and attempt to open the door again. The doors are glass and you were two feet away...I know you noticed and it would have been nothing to you to open the door.
Another big, fat boot up the a$$ of the c-bag in the electrical vehicle who nearly hit me this morning because I was pulling over for the fire engine and she wasn't - because apparently the cloud of smug she was driving in made it hard to see or just puts her above the law altogether. And then she gave ME a dirty look. As Auntie G pointed out...it would have been great if her little tonka sized truck had bumped my car and I could have stepped out with "the card." Who runs into a pregnant lady while not stopping for a fire truck?! Your electrical vehicle just turned into a baby killing machine...are you happy? Oh well, no harm, a swift flip of a chubby, swollen bird, no foul.
And to the man who broke into a mini-sprint to get into the sandwich line, when I was the ONLY other one vying for the spot - you won. It's not that I can't run, it's that I just didn't. You look stupid. I look pregnant and I look this way because I did something that I bet happens VERY rarely, if at all, in your sad little life of firsties, no cuts, and no tag backs. Black out forever. I bet you and the guy who watched me walking toward the elevator and pushed "door close" play D&D together into the wee hours of the morning.
And to be honest, it's not really a pregnant thing. I mean, I love the little smiles or niceties I get because of my round belly - it's just a matter of being humane, to anyone. I am still holding doors and the elevator for people - it takes barely any effort and you never know if one act of kindness will really make someone's day.

Name That Game

We've begun a new game. It's played at exactly the point at which I decide I'd like to lie down to sleep or at least listen to my hypnobabies tracks and relax. (Sometimes it's apparently appropriate while I'm working at my desk or have just begun driving somewhere). This is important, as the 1/2 hour BEFORE that time that I usually interrupt Booja's Law and Order addiction to try to make her feel the baby kick is when we play the very, very still game. The hour later when Mr. P gets home and tries to feel the baby move is the time for the "shy" game. But the new game is REALLY fun. Luckily we found an illustration as to how it's played...and all you other 24 week fetuses seem to figure it out even if your eyelids are still fused shut.

How it's played is the mommy relaxes as much as she can - for what purpose, it's unclear - as sleep is obviously something that happens anytime, anywhere. Before this, the mommy has probably made a trip to the bathroom...but that's the cool part of this game, it doesn't matter!! The baby takes their stomper (see picture) and does a dance much like that random chick that used to dance on stage while Arrested Development performed (if this reference doesn't add up, see the progression of the chick in jean shorts here ). Even though the baby in this game is a little more than a pound and suspended in liquid, the force somehow equals that of a 12 elephant stampede. What is the objective of this game you ask? I'm not quite sure, but I'm starting to think it's the fun ride the baby gets when the mommy has to jump up and run to the bathroom...over, and over, and over again. Fun game.

Nice Weather for a Duck

It has been storming incessantly (and for California, that means it rained for something like nine days straight, and most people wanted to build an arc out of shock). My dad said one day that it was "Nice Weather for a Duck." I promise, this will tie in soon.
I personally loved the weather...the cooler it is, the less I puff up and sweat - notice I said LESS since I could sweat in a snow storm at this point, I think. I DOUBLE love the rain, because - although most errands and other activities are fully possible in the rain, it still has become a great excuse (along with growing a HUMAN) to lay in bed and stay in jammies. (I know, still waiting for the point - don't rush me, it takes like 10 minutes just to tie my shoes!)
So Auntie G...she is, by the way, baby's Auntie G, not mine. She is on my "most loved shit list." She has seemingly sailed through 3 pregnancies. Not that they have been particularly easy...she's had odd test results, food aversions, sciatica, sickness, other demanding kids to work with, and even a blood clot. However, she made it look so damn easy!! She wasn't shy about sharing details...TRUST ME - she just takes things in stride. Maybe that's why we get along so well...we are OPPOSITES in that regard. So since before I got pregnant she's been mentioning waiting for me to start the "waddle." Yes, like a duck - starting to see how this comes together?
Apparently with the first of her 3 kids she started to waddle around 10 weeks (or that's how I heard the story). She can't wait for me to start waddling, so I've been very aware of it. Someone at Jazzercise said I was waddling...and no, Auntie G, I wasn't. I was walking uphill...or trying to pick a wedgie or something. In fact, I am rubbing my chubby inner thighs raw and sqeezing a diamond out of coal in my butt cheeks in order to NOT waddle:) So unless you catch me at the 1am (or 3am or 5am) pee in the middle of the night - I'm determined not to waddle!!:)
See? raining - ducks - waddle. It all worked out. Why? Cause I'm the mom and I said so!

Where's My KID?! (And Who is WES?!)

So my pregnancy (just like my wedding planning - if you kept up on THAT fiasco) has been riddled with dreams. Up until now they mostly focus around anyone I've ever met in my entire life in situations that most people couldn't, well....dream up. I'm pregnant in most of them, but it's of little consequence, except the dreams where I realize I've been smoking or drinking.
Three nights ago, that all changed. I had a dream that we went to the baseball games of Auntie G's boys. In the stands sat pretty much everyone who I would ever let take care of my baby...all the grandmas, Auntie G and her mom, my boss and her mom, everyone! As I looked around I realized, I don't know who's watching MY BABY. So I'm already upset (I had also forgotten to wear pants, so I was sitting in a jersey and purple underwear) and now I'm grilling everyone as to where my kid is. It seemed that something was up - they were planning some suprise, so they couldn't/wouldn't tell me. Everyone thought it was hilarious and I was FURIOUS. No one took me seriously. I even reminded my mom how mad she was, years back, when Auntie G wouldn't tell her where I was (to G's credit, it's not easy to tell a mom her adult drunk daughter ditched a child's birthday party with a dude!) Finally I used my "because we're best friends" voice with Auntie G and she told me Wes. Well, shit, I don't know a Wes! I was racking my brain to remember WHO Wes was...but I knew I wanted my kid...then I woke up. At 6:25a on a Saturday. Furious.
Now since we're staying at my mom's during the updates to our new house, I have limited hideouts to which I can steal away and have my own moments of pregnancy psychosis. So it was either try to lay still next to Mr. P who is gone for 17 hours a day working a job, then on our house - or go to where I can hear happy, awake voices, in my mom's room. I go into my mom's room and tell her she pissed me off in my dream. She laughs. I BURST into tears. Why? I don't know. I continue to cry as I tell her how mad I was. She decides that I feel out of control (duh!) and it's showing up in my dream (double duh!). So this was 5 days ago...since then my dreams have consisted living in hiding in a country riddled by holy war, and the doctor calling and saying she can't find a heartbeat. Neither upset me NEARLY as much. What a nut.

No, no...We Don't Kick Daddy (until now)

After a few weeks of me forcing my tired husband to lay awkwardly in bed with his had on my stomach (but not invited to touch ANYTHING ELSE!), Mr. P finally felt a kick. Since I've been digging this sensation - without a doubt - for a couple of weeks, and for what I think is a little longer...I forgot the reaction to the first undeniable movement of your kid. It's amazing and in true Mr. P fashion, he didn't say much - but his face said it all. He lit up and made his way down to have a little chat with baby...one that I couldn't even hear.
Since then, he's much more willing to lay awkwardly...but she is still a little timid when anyone else is hoping for a performance. She's kicking on my left side only, and hiccups are felt down low - so I have a feeling Ms. Charlotte fancies herself a lady of luxury and has fashioned herself a hamock out of mommy's inards.

Wait until you try a margarita and get to feel the sun, little girl!

Best of the Barfs - 10 Stories of Puke Survival

In case the title doesn't clue you in, this is a really gross post - the picture is just meant to ease the "blow" if you will. Barfing is not pretty, even when attached to the process of creating life. So if you don't want to be grossed out, or you're a sympathetic puker, or you just don't care to read about it, then stop HERE. However, if you're interested in what have been some of the funnier puke stories in this nuggest's journey - read on.

The "1st Puke": It was morning - so cliche for pregnancy. It wasn't too exciting but was a shadow of things to come as it happened as I was brushing my teeth and I couldn't decide if I thought it would be better to barf in the sink or brush my teeth over the toilet. The jury is still out on that one....

The "Stuffing" Puke: In the "early days" Mr. P begged me to emerge from the bedroom for 1/2 hour stints to watch a DVR'd show together. Those were our dates, and even those were few and far between. Usually I would grab a pillow and come out tear stained and plop myself on the couch until the first closing credit when I scrambled back into my hole. One day Jake decided to enjoy a dinner of stuffing and a show with his best girl. He asked me to come out, I obliged, smelled the stuffing, and had to RUN to the bathroom to throw up. I came out and asked him for a rain check. Kindly, he obliged. I'm already NOT looking forward to next Thanksgiving.

The "First Car Puke" Puke: I was driving home and got to the U-turn I need to make just to get to my driveway. At the light, as my R.N. cousin was chatting me up, I got a wave of nausea. I grabbed a bag, kept my ear piece in, steared my car around the U-turn and puked all in one very graceful move. From here I became extremely good at puking in the car - while driving, and sometimes even while talking (hands free) on the phone. I consider it training for mommyhood, so don't knock it.

The "Married Comedy Team" Puke: On one of my many evening puke parades, after I had discovered the benefits of bringing the iPhone into the bathroom so I could multi-task. I felt like I was spending all my time in our bathroom, so I texted Mr. P, "I'm moving into the bathroom for good." haha, I'm funny. A pregnant chick with a sense of humor, aren't I great? He responded, "Ok. Want a pillow?" Damn, he beat me on the funny. AND he wasn't puking.

The "Christmas Suprise" Puke: Christmas morning I had a bite to eat, relaxed and we headed out in Mr. P's car (which rides as smooth as a schoolbus) for the 2.something mile ride to my mom's house. While our complex was still in sight by way of rearview mirror, I grabbed one of my car barf bags and started throwing up. By this time Mr. P (a self-professed puke-a-phobe) was getting a little more used to it...but then I realized the bag was folded over and I was puking down the front of myself and all over the car seat. He proposed we turn around but I said just get to my mom's house. This was one of the many times during pregnancy I just wanted my mommy.

The "FIRST fart induced Puke" Puke: The Leadbetters made us a WONDERFUL Polish meal one Sunday evening. I got stuffed and so did Mr. P - off a meal that had a lot of cabbage. By the time we got in the shakey-schoolbus-ride, Mr. P started firing off his "discomfort" that he was holding in...causing me to start puking. The rest of the ride home was like a disgusting symphony - peppered in laughter.

The "SECOND fart induced Puke" Puke: I'm not sure what the stomach irritating food of the day was - but in the small room we are staying in at my mom's house, it was pungent. I started laughing at the stink, then realized I was going to puke...but the laughter didn't stop. In fact, I ran into the bathroom and the laughter and puke took turns. And my mom heard both - and knocked on the door wondering about the insane laughing hyena puking in the hall bathroom. That one is going to embarrass Mr. P.

The "I'm Good, You Go Ahead" Puke: Once I started feeling (relatively) better, I was yearning for some time out, especially girl time. I was lucky enough to get a spot on the busiest social calendar in the Bay Area, Anne. We had a lovely meal, and she SAVED my emotions by sending me to a wonderful pregnancy blog that shows not everyone loves it. After dinner we stepped out and hugged...I said I had to go but before getting in my car, started puking in the street. She sort of stalled...we had said our goodbyes, but circumstances had changed fast. She wanted to help - she's sweet like that. But as I stood in the street hidden by my mere nugget of a car, seemingly only barfing in her eyes...I began to pee my pants. I waved her on....don't worry, I'm good - and even threw out a smile!:) I puked and peed all the way home. Thank you to whoever created leather seats in cars.

The "NOW I'm going home" Puke: I've spent a lot of time at work feeling, as my mom calls it, CRUMMY. And even if I don't at first, something (like possibly the weird mumbling stinky chick in the bathroom?!) will take me there pretty quick. So I was sitting at work feeling yuck...had kicked off my high heeled, buckled shoes, and was doing not much of anything. Suddenly I got a "rush puke" which means I break into a sweat and am going to errupt regardless of the enviornment. I try to breath through it as I try to get my shoes on, but the breathing becomes whimpering and when my dad walks by my desk, it turns into tears. He ends up having to buckle my shoes so I can go puke (bet THAT took him back!). By the time I make it into the bathroom, I am puking, crying and my nose is bleeding (this is close to the EVERY ORIFICE puke). When I was done...I went home.

The "Every Orifice" Puke: I stood in the kitchen with my mom talking about how I had gotten a nasty cold just before the long awaited birth of my nephew, Aidan. Me with my runny nose, started, yet again, to cry. It got harder and harder and my mom watched knowingly as I started nervously glancing from the sink to the puppy training pads on the floor of the bathroom. My mom said, "SINK!" and I turned towards the sink and started exploding from my mouth...all the while tears were flowing and my nose was it's own faucet. Starting on about the 3rd second of violent puking, the surges caused me to toot and then I started peeing my pants. I know...that's incredibly gross.

So those are my 10 best of's....so far. I know I should be totally embarrassed by some of these stories, not to mention placing them on the internet for WORLD consumption. Peeing your pants isn't sexy, nor is puking or bloody noses (although my husband somehow hasn't lost interest). However, I consider these a badge of honor. THIS is the journey I took with this little nugget, and one day we will laugh about it together. After I've taken it out on her in cruel, cruel ways.

New Views on Child Labor Laws

And that view is...this kid has 12 weeks from date of birth to become gainfully employed. Even better is if this kid becomes gainfully employed in the business of infant care...no really. I'm looking into it.

I know it's probably a little early, but I am looking into infant childcare. I have a tentative plan to bring the baby into work with me until it goes from whine-o to destruct-o. However, like the rest of this process, I have no experience - ZILCH...so plans are little more than day dreams. And everyone has a different take on what is best - so advice is coming out on the same level as excuses and a$$holes right now (you know, everyone's got 'em, and they all stink??)

Like everything else, I did a little searching and GOOD GAWD this is scary. Most of the institutional places charge monthly what I wasn't paying in rent 2 months ago. Seriously, it would cost less to get this kid her own 1 bedroom apartment WITH gym acess and a washer-dryer in the unit, than it would to use any of the big name infant care- complete with infant curicullum- places. And then there are the craigslist-advertising, mom and pop places. These sketch me out a little from the beginning - it's like handing your baby over to a stranger - it actually all is. But seriously, if they can't write a clear sentence do I want them speaking to, much less caring for the well being of, my child?! If they advertise their facility as "homely and safe," do I assume that it is ugly? If I can't assume that, can I actually really assume it's safe either?

So these are my options:

-Leave the baby where it is for another 4 years or so...if it comes out potty trained and in the "pre-school" phase, then I will save TONS. Yes, I understand the inexplicable stretch marks this will create.

-Start my own infant care. Despite the CRAZY this would induce, I could have 3 paying infants and make what I make now...but in sweats and no make-up:) However, that would make 4 total infants...and that is beyond crazy.

-Dress my kid up in fur and drop her off at Petco. They have great doggie care room and it would teach Baby Plaza love for animals and get TONS of activity. She would end up Mogoli-ish, which could be kind of cute.

So I have some time to decide...but this is where I'm at with that.

Expensive Keys...with a FREE House!

How about a new house? DONE! We got the keys to our new house last night. How exciting...and terrifying, and stressful, and sleep stealing! I could fill this screen with things Mr. P and I would love to do ASA&*%%$P. All of which take time and money...something we had last week, and suddenly don't have this week. Nor do we expect to have much extra anytime in the near future (read: DECADES).
Also, I just can't help that much...I'm not allowed to inhale most things that aren't pure Bay Area air. I can lift and carry some things, but then the resulting pain causes crying and turrets like anger fits. Even just delegating and managing makes me tired. Somehow I missed that "superwoman" period of pregnancy. People keep telling me to enjoy letting other people do it, but I WANT to do it. Never freakin' happy!

So I'm very excited...and ready to make a baby room:)

Congrats! It's a....

BABY!!! And I've known this for a while...so you'd think that was the biggie. But no...something about the waiting, or the reality of it all...or the huge increase in the little-known pregnancy hormone - wackadoodlegen, but finding out the gender of my baby was HUGE. I had no idea...I had a couple of guesses based on some very limited and convoluted signs from the universe, but really - I didn't know. And I didn't know if I knew what I wanted. And after we found out...I wanted just that kid. However, despite my "American Idol" shriek reaction, I spent the rest of the weekend in silent shock at the pure reality of it all. Cause really- months of puking and pissing myself, 4 pictures of babies generated from inside me, a few bright pink lines, and growing at an alarming rate didn't QUITE do it for me...

So how we did this was this...we had our ultrasound done...at which time the tech could tell so fast, that we were sure it was a boy (a WELL endowed boy!). Tech wrote it on a pieces of paper (with picture proof)and we RAN to the mailbox to send it to Cerina the miracle worker...er, baker and owner of Uh Oh Cupcakes. She made the most adorable cup cake pops and we got to bite into them and get a tasty treat while finding out our entire future!!! Big Thanks to our family for being there, in person or in spirit, our friends for awaiting the big news with their guesses, and to Cerina for the "icing on the cake."

Ow, Charlie! That Really HURTS!!

If you haven't seen the video that this title reference, please watch it here. It has nothing to do with this post, but cracks me up:) So sometimes I slip and call this nugget Charlie...this can be explained here. When I say it in an English accent, or when I associate nugget with pain - it reminds me of this video and I can again laugh a little.

Now on to the low down. Charlie or not, this pregnancy stuff can really hurt! I'm not talking kicking - I'm not there yet. I'm talking random, seemingly out of nowhere pains. I don't remember hearing about those BP. But now everyone seems unphased, like duh! That's gonna happen.

Yesterday, I was walking around downtown running errands, and got such a strong stabbing pain that I doubled over. It stayed while I was walking back to the office and it only took me a block and a cut through the park to be in hysterical tears. Once back in the office, I called the advice nurse just as the pain stopped completely. She explained it wasn't concerning enough for an appointment (but a sore throat always gets me a SAME-DAY appointment?!!!) and she continued to explain all the pains I would be experiencing in addition to this one. Round ligament pains, Braxton Hicks contractions, kicking, adjusting, growing, etc. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but they don't tell you a whole lot about this in "Family Life" in Fifth Grade. I don't remember my friends who told me about nausea or swollen ankles mentioning a number of general OUCHES that just come and go. So this is my Public Service Announcement:

Pregnancy can randomly hurt. Sort of bad in fact.

Gender: Betting on your Kid AND What's in a Name

We all know having a baby is a big gamble...and we signed up for it. So why not run with that idea...DH and I decided to place a friendly wager on the gender of this baby. A girl gets mommy a (much desired) spa day, A boy gets daddy a round at Pebble Beach. The gender issue is looming large this week...T minus 4 days...

And with the gender issue, the name issue always follows. Some people don't share...I can't even hold in a fart, much less information about my future child. We bounced around quite a few...and this has probably been the hardest decision of our relationship (even though I ultimately decided the person owning the vagina that ends up most wrecked by the end of this escapade gets final say).

So...and don't hold me to this...but here is where we're at with names. Boy is Zachariasz (Zach, Zachy, Z-DAWG), girl is Charlotte (Charlie, Chucky, C-$). I am in LOVE with the name Charlotte...that was the name of my cat when I was six. It's not too odd, or too old fashioned, or too common, or too trendy. It's just right. How I imagine my little girl with be:) Or my little boy really...but I'm still wearing pink on Saturday!!