I'm a fatass

I had my 30 week appointment today. I gained 6.5 pounds in three weeks. Three week! That's a shitload! I thought it was more like 8 pounds, but the nurse told me 6.5...that's still a lot. I mean, I seriously almost doubled my total weight gain in three weeks. Not cool. Not cool at all. I need to watch my lard ass, or I'm going to end up huge by the end of this. And I had been doing so well. Ugh.

Other than that, the doc said everything looks good. I go back in two weeks. That's scary. Two week appointments means this baby is getting close to being born. Yikes.

In other news, my first shower is this weekend. It's for B's family. Should be a good time. I'm excited (though actually owning a huge pile of baby stuff will probably just contribute to my baby anxiety). I completely forgot about buying my sisters-in-law and mother-in-law hostess gifts until just a day or two ago, so I spent tonight frantically running around trying to put together cute gifts. It had to be done tonight because I'm going to our hometown straight from work tomorrow, and my mom lives in BFE. Nary a store but Wal-Mart for miles around. Tonight really felt like I put off all my Christmas shopping until December 22. I didn't like it. I'm also not done yet because for the first time in the store's history, Kohl's didn't have picture frames on sale. This means I'll have to trek to Kohl's Saturday morning to finish MIL's present. I also need to buy stuff in which to wrap the presents because I totally forgot to buy that stuff while I was at Target tonight (it wasn't on my list...I hate when my lists fail me).

It's also worth noting that pretty toenails do not equal pretty feet. I got a pedicure tonight in a vain attempt to make my nasty, swollen feet look pretty when I wear heels on Saturday. It didn't work. My nails look pretty, but my feet still look nasty. I felt bad for making the lady touch my feet because they're so yucky.

In anxiety-related news, I think I've started clenching my teeth in my sleep again. I started this habit while planning our wedding. It magically went away as soon as our wedding was over. I think I did it again during bar study. Now, for the past week or so, I've been waking up with headaches and sore jaw bones. I guess this means I'll have to break out my sexy mouth guard again. B loves when I wear it. Turns him on. Oh baby.

Alright, I'm going to quit rambling and haul my ever-expanding ass to bed.

It's amazing how involved you get

It just amazes me how wrapped up I can get in a complete stranger's life. Since starting my little blog-reading habit, I've found several blogs that tell some really touching personal stories. After reading these blogs for months, I find myself getting so wrapped up in these stories that I sometimes forget that these are people I've never even met. For example, awhile after I started reading two different blogs written by women dealing with infertility, both women got pregnant. I was as excited for both of them as I would be if one of my good friends told me she was pregnant. Well, maybe not quite as excited, but awfully close.

But along with celebrating strangers' triumphs comes mourning strangers' losses. I've been following the adoption story in Lawyerish, and things seemed to be progressing well for them. Then, in today's post, she shares the bombshell that the daughter she and her husband were anxiously waiting to bring home has some serious medical problems, and will never be able to come home to them. I don't know her whole back story, so I don't know if the choice to adopt was due to infertility, personal choice, or something else, but I can't even imagine falling in love with a child only to have her taken away like that. When I got done reading, I sat and cried for this couple I've never met (and never will). My heart breaks for them.

It just shocks me that I've become so involved and invested in the lives of strangers. It kinda makes me wonder if there's something sort of wrong with me. I feel like I should be able to read these things in a semi-detached manner. But, I suppose when you follow the day-in, day-out minutia of someone's life long enough (whether you know them in real life or not), you're bound to get sucked in.

A farewell to my cat

On Wednesday, while I was on my business trip, my cat got out. It wasn't anyone's fault; we had a broken screen neither of us noticed, and we let Gizmo play on the screen porch without thinking about it. Our landlord apparently didn't repair one of the screens when he rescreened the porch a couple of weeks ago, which left a big hole that she must have escaped from. She's been gone for five days. She's gotten out before, but she's never been gone for five hours, let alone five days. She's also never gone more than 20 feet from the house, and she would always be sitting outside crying to get back in within an hour or two. This is why I'm pretty sure she's not coming home, and I'm trying to get used to that fact.

Gizmo was a good cat. I had her for three years, since she was just six weeks old. She was my baby. She wasn't the sweetest cat, and was shy around strangers, but she loved me (and B, in some ways). She loved cuddling (as long as it was done on her terms), and sitting with her on my lap made everything right in my world. B always acted like he hated her, but I know, deep down, he secretly liked her. She was playful and always managed to crack us up when B got her chasing the laser pointer. She hogged the bed, and, somehow, whenever we went to sleep, managed to convert from a 12 pound cat into a 20 pound cinder block. Despite her flaws, she was a good pet, and I truly loved her.

I miss you, kitten. I've shed tons of tears for you already, and I'm sure there are more to come. I hope with all my heart that you're safe, wherever you are, and I hope even more that you make your way safely back home. But if you don't, just know that you were dearly loved and will be deeply missed.

I feel so grown up

I don't like to talk job stuff on here in case someone from my office somehow happens upon my blog, but this isn't anything bad or anything people at work don't know, so I'll make an exception.

As of right now, I am officially on my first real business trip. I got sent to the big city for a three-day training. Woo. I'm not super excited about the training, but I'm more than willing to agree to do ANYTHING that will increase my responsibilities at work (and maybe help make me slightly more indispensable to any new bosses I might be getting in three or so months). I've completely outgrown my current position, and what I'm being trained for might be the only opportunity I get for any kind of growth in this job. If it weren't for minor things like cheap health insurance, accumulated sick leave, and a decent salary, I can almost guarantee I would not still be at this job. Unfortunately, with a munchkin on the way, I'm a bit stuck right now. So, I'm trying to make the best of my situation and trying to expand my job responsibilities. We'll see how this works out.

I have to report that my hotel has been ok so far. I've stayed nicer places, but it's definitely no Ghetto Fab Inn. I was nervous about this, but I think I made an ok choice. There's a pool that I want to try out, but I don't think anyone wants to see my pregnant girth in a bikini. I also found it amusing that this place has free wi-fi, but charges $.49 a minute to use the internet in their business center.

Alright, it's time to find food. Lump is hungry, and I have no idea what there is to eat around here.

B apparently isn't the only one

If you'll recall my "Thanksgiving in July" post, I shared with everyone that B dubbed his sperm the "Michael Phelps of sperm", since he managed to get me knocked up on the first try. Apparently he wasn't the only one to come up with this concept. I've had a couple of people find my blog recently by Googling "Phelps sperm shirt". I was curious about this particular search, and, upon further investigation, this is what I found. B thinks the shirt is hilarious. If he orders one, I will kill him.

I'm glad she's impatient

Well, if you couldn't tell by looking at us, I am definitely my mother's daughter. (Side note for those who've never seen me and/or my mom - we look exactly alike. I mean EXACTLY. Except that she's 27 years older.) After tonight, I'm pretty sure I get my impatience about waiting for presents from her. I'm the kind of person who can't know someone bought me a present. As soon as you tell me you got me something, I get all giddy and start harassing you about it. Monday night, my mom told me she got me one of my shower gifts, but, of course, she wouldn't tell me what it was.

I stopped at her house tonight before heading over to the county fair for some delicious, greasy, fat and calorie-laden fair food, and while I was checking my e-mail, she brings me a big padded envelope and tells me to open it. Apparently, Ms. I'm-going-to-mercilessly-tease-you-with-presents just couldn't wait. So, I got my shower gift early. Yay!

She bought me a bunch of stuff from Passion Works, an art studio in Athens we found during Moms Weekend my freshman year of college. It's a studio for the mentally retarded. They work there designing some of the pieces, and then they make all of them. They have a lot of really cool stuff. My mom's been a multiple handicapped teacher for almost 25 years now, and she would love to see something like this in my hometown area for kids like hers. It's a sheltered work environment where they can go to work every day and make some money, even though they don't necessarily have the skills to work at a 9-5 job like you or I would.

I must admit that I hadn't thought about Passion Works much in the four years since I graduated, but the other night I found the bee ornament I bought there years ago, and thought it would be perfect for the baby's room, since I've sorta kinda settled on a nursery centered around this picture. Unfortunately for me, it doesn't look like they have the bee any more. But, I'll console myself with my super cute baby gear. I got a hat with their logo, a bib and a onesie with this design, and a onesie with the penguins (B loves penguins, so Mom got this one for him. He liked it). I'm super glad my mom is as impatient about waiting to give presents as I am about waiting to get them!

My Bobcat baby

My BFF, who lives in North Carolina, and whom I miss on a daily basis, sent me a baby present today. It's the totally adorable onesie seen above. I love the paw print on the butt. My little Bobcat is going to look so cute when it grows into 12 month sizes!

Body Shop peppermint foot soak

It didn't manage to do anything about the ridiculous swelling going on south of my knees, but that stuff sure did make my feet feel a lot better. I can almost walk up stairs without my ankles feeling like they're going to explode. Almost. I'm willing to bet I use the entire tub in the next three months. Now, I just need to procure one of those old lady foot bath things, and I'll be all set for swollen foot bliss.

The pissed off DD

Being the knocked up one in a group automatically makes you the DD. It's not fun or fair, but it really makes sense. Why should someone else curtail their fun when you have no choice but to curtail yours? Most of the times this has happened, I haven't minded too much (I mean, I'm no longer at the point in my life when my friends are constantly going out and getting drunk, so it's not like I've had to do it often), but last night, my husband just about lost his life because he took my services for granted. Let's just say he was rude, inconsiderate, drunk, and didn't make the over night accommodation plans he said he would, so I got stuck making a three-hour (shouldn't have been that long, but we got lost) drive home in the wee hours of the morning this morning.

I've been awake for an hour or so now, and saw him for 30 seconds while he grabbed his jeans from our room (his snoring ass slept on the couch last night because he wouldn't shut up, and I didn't want to deal with yelling at him and elbowing him in the ribs every five minutes), and I'm still waiting for my apology. He did start working on installing our mailbox (a project I've wanted done badly) first thing this morning, though, so he probably knows I'm not his biggest fan right now. I just wish he would verbalize his sorriness to me. And maybe accompany it with a present.

Dear Baby...

Please get the fuck out of my ribs. I'm guessing it wouldn't kill you to rotate your feet (or whatever the hell body part of yours that's been stabbing at the same spot in my ribcage for the past week) a few inches south. I would sure appreciate it. Thanks in advance for your cooperation with this important matter.

Cheers,

Emily

Appointment today

I had yet another appointment today. Once again, everything is looking good. Heartbeat was 143 (it's apparently a boy today). I for sure passed my glucose test. Yay! (I had a whole post about the glucose test and my supposed passing, but blogger ate it TWICE, so I gave up on it...then I found it sitting in my post list as a draft today. Jerks). The only major shocker was that I go back in three weeks, then start going every two weeks after that. Yikes! That means this baby is getting super close. Scary.

I get the appeal of registry peeking now

During my pre-wedding days, I was virtuous when it came to our registries. The minute shower invitations went out, the registries were off limits. I didn't look at them once until after the wedding (I depended on my mom to let me know if things were getting too picked over). I fully intended to do the same thing with the baby registry. I really did. It hasn't quite worked out that way yet.

Last night, I was bored and B was sleeping, so I thought I'd go screw with our registry some more (this is what I do now when I can't find any other way to entertain myself). And there it was, down at the bottom where it's supposed to be out of the way of curious mommy eyes such as mine: Someone bought us a present! And not just any present, but our PACK 'N' PLAY! I think the pack 'n' play is the coolest freaking baby invention EVER, and it's the one baby thing I wanted even before I wanted a baby, so knowing that I will actually possess one in the near future is AWESOME (even if it is in an ugly pattern...it's the least ugly of all the ugly patterns BRU carries). This kind of excitement totally makes me understand why people peek at their registries.

I do have to say that I had no idea I should have stopped looking at our registry by now. My sister-in-law hasn't said anything to me about send out shower invites, and I haven't gotten an invite yet, so I didn't even think about it. I suppose the shower is in three weeks, so logic dictates that the invites have been sent. Oh well. I'm stoked about the pack 'n' play. I'll stop looking now, though, I promise. If I don't, I'll have to fake a lot of surprise when it comes time to open presents at my showers, and I'm just not that good at faking it.

Yes, THAT gave me heartburn

The following are real conversations between B and me over the past few weeks.

Me: "Ugh, that pizza gave me heartburn."

B: "That sucks."

Me: "Man, the chicken we had for dinner gave me heartburn."

B: "Did you take some Tums?"

Me: "I think the milk I just drank gave me heartburn."
B: "Wait, I thought milk was supposed to get rid of heartburn."

Me: "Damn, those carrots gave me heartburn."

B: "Carrots? Seriously? How the hell do carrots give you heartburn?"

I could go on, but I think you get the point. As I approach my third trimester, I've found that I'm getting heartburn more and more frequently, and from more and more unusual things (though, in my body's defense, carrots have been giving me heartburn since really early on). Every new heartburn-inducing food seems to amaze B. He especially can't get over the carrots thing. He hasn't quite grasped the concept that it's not really the type of food that matters; it's more the mere fact of food. Anything I put in seems to start the heartburn. Luckily, it's been really mild, so it's more annoying than painful, but I'm prepared for it to get worse over the next few months. My friend Kate gave me a "welcome to the third trimester" present the other day, which included a bunch of Tums, for just this reason (it also had a box of huge panty liners to cover me in case of any sinissing episodes...hopefully I won't end up needing those). I'm sure I'll use them all and thank her as I'm doing it.

As I lay here in bed wondering how the drink of water I took five minutes ago could have possibly given me heartburn, I'm just hoping I'll be able to eat carrots - or anything, really - again someday without the fear of my esophagus igniting.

"Alien" has made B paranoid

Even if you, like me, have never seen the movie Alien, I'm sure you've seen the scene where the alien baby bursts out of the guy's stomach. Well, apparently my husband has seen that clip one too many times. The image of the alien so graphically exploding from someone's body has burned itself so deeply into B's imagination that he's now completely freaked out by watching my stomach.

At some point in a pregnancy, not only can mom feel the baby moving around, but anyone watching mom's stomach can see ripples and bumps from the outside. Lump's been punching hard enough for me to notice it on the outside for a few weeks, but B just saw it for the first time the other day. I'm trying to make sure B feels as included in this pregnancy as possible, so I like to share the baby's new tricks with him. While we were lying in bed this morning, I pulled up my shirt so B could witness Lump's acrobatics first hand. After a few seconds, B pulled my shirt down and told me he couldn't watch. When I asked why, he went through a hilarious reenactment of the Alien scene and told me that's all he can think of when he sees my stomach moving around. He likes to feel the baby kick (as long as it's not kicking him in the spine in the middle of the night), but he gets too freaked out by watching.

So, ladies, if your man has as active an imagination as mine, make sure he never watches Alien before you get pregnant. Otherwise, you'll have to spend the last three months of your pregnancy hiding your stomach from him. Unless, of course, you're mean like me. Then, you'll spend those last three months doing whatever you can to make sure he sees alien-baby as often as possible.