And, we live in anticipation....

Today was the big day. The day in which we find out if we're having a girl or a boy.

It's been a tough wait. And, the wait continues.

Mike and I ate lunch before our appointment, with plenty of caffeinated beverages to make sure our wiggle butt would wiggle it's little butt.

You see, I've figured out a bit of a pattern with our baby's movement. The sleep/wake patterns that its forming in there.

In the morning, it's Sweatin with the Oldies. In the afternoon, it's Riverdance on the bladder. And, in the evening its Zumba before bed. My baby is really into aerobic health. Not to mention training its little neurons and muscles how to work. Which means lots of spastic kicks and elbows. I think it must look a bit like I do when I dance: completely spastic!

Well, we went into the appointment with high hopes. And, what do you know, even though I guzzled some caffeine, our little dear slept through the whole appointment.

Not only did it sleep, it slept with a foot over its privates. A perfectly formed foot, according to Mike and my doctor, since I didn't get to see. The entire ultrasound was done with me staring at the back of the monitor.

I felt like I was in a Nazi work camp, a nameless vessel used to hold some genetically engineered super baby. Both of them, ooohing and aaahing over a perfect baby, neither one looking beyond the glow of the screen. I felt just a little left out.

I mean, I'm just this kids MOM!

So, there was a flash of privates, and my doctor thinks she saw the tell-tale folds of a girl's nunee and not the single protrusion of a boy's bird. So, as of right now, we'll say it's a girl, maybe.

Maybe.

Hopefully, I can find something out soon. And, maybe I'll actually get to see this little life I'm carrying.

Other than the disappointment of being completely left out of the best movie EVER, there is some good news. The baby is perfect. She(?) is developing well, growing just like she(?) should be. I am also doing well, weight steady, blood pressure perfect and no protein in my pee. Woohoo!!!

I also had two other revelations today. One: I can see the bottom of my bellybutton for the first time ever in my life. And two: just like "they" said, my pee smells like what I eat. Today? Roast beef poboy. And that is the truth.

Next appointment in 4 weeks. Here's the pictures that I got on the CD...and no, none of my baby's perfect foot.

Her(?) head.


Her(?) femur.


Her(?) whole spaceghost body.


Another body shot, minus the money shot.

My kid likes Oreos...

After all the cricket chirps I heard following my last post, I figured I'd write something funny and upbeat.

I'm not lying. Here it is:

Three weeks ago, I had my regularly scheduled, monthly prenatal checkup. I was running late, so I came huffing and puffing into the office, with my blood pressure ringing in my ears. In case you are just tuning in, when you get pregnant, your circulatory system increases to assist your heart and placenta in nourishing your baby. When that happens, your body begins working harder to do things that non-pregnant people take for granted, like walking. And breathing.

Well, my NP was concerned because my blood pressure was a little high - oh, really??!! - and asked me to come back in two weeks, to check up and make sure my BP was all ok.

I came back in two weeks, and was early enough to sit and rest after my grueling walk from the parking tower before the nurse took my BP. Well, just like I suspected, my BP was fine. Actually, she was very proud of me because my BP was so good and I was maintaining weight.

I have been working really hard to monitor my sodium and drink lots of water. In doing so, I have actually lost a bit of weight. Water weight, but still ok. Remember how they call salt the "silent killer?" It's in EVERYTHING. You literally cannot cut out sodium from your diet. In fact, you do need a little to survive. Anyway, I don't want to end up with cankles.

At this last visit, I got to schedule my 20 week ultrasound. What's so special about this? Well, we get to find out if we're having a boy, or a girl!! I'm not one for surprises. I completely want to know! Mainly so I can start getting presents and plan my baby shower. Ha!

Mike and I have been kicking around some names. We have actually been agreeing on most of them, with the exception of Enis. Let's do a little word association: what's the first word that comes to your mind when you say Enis? Yeah, that one was a no. Anyway, the name is something I'm keeping a secret from everyone until it comes out! Sorry, Charlie....

With all this talk of boys, girls and everything in between, Izzy has begun to get a little curious. She's always been my potty buddy, following me to the bathroom while I teetee. Nothing like an audience. Anyway, being that we're both girls, I don't have a problem with it. Well, recently, she's been wanting to follow Daddy into the bathroom.

It's not like its wrong, per se, but Mike and I both agree that she's at the age now where she shouldn't be in the bathroom while Daddy showers or potties. This doesn't settle so well with her. She's very persistent and to palliate her a bit, I told her that Daddy is a boy and you can't watch him potty. That didn't satisfy her even a little bit. She finally broke me down with all her WHYS, and I told her that girls have nunees and boys have wieners. Well, wouldn't you know that this is her NEW FAVORITE SAYING!

"I can't watch Daddy potty because boys have wieeeenerrrs."

"Boys shower by themselves because girls have nuuuuneeees."

"Katie, you have a big nunee, and I have a small nunee."

Yeah, thanks for bringing that up, Captain Obvious.

I've created a monster. Luckily she doesn't want to actually know what a wiener is. Yet. I'm giving her a week.

Another big thing happening this week, besides informing my three year old about wieners, is that I'm beginning to feel the baby move! It started out as little flicks and blips. It didn't happen very often, and very often, I convinced myself that it was all in my head. Then, last week, I was laying on the couch with one of my legs kind of hanging off and was shaking my leg. Every time I would stop, I'd feel this Saturday Night Fever happening in my belly! It went from flicks, to feeling its little limbs swirling around!

My little baby is getting strong enough to let me know its there. It's a pretty amazing feeling. I can only describe it was fluttery bubbles, just like the books tell you.

And, to reference the name of the blog - and make a confession - yesterday, I almost single-handedly finished a carton of Oreos. Well, I only did it because when I would eat a cookie, my baby would boogie! (Just believe it, ok?!) It was pretty cool.

I am so looking forward to next Thursday. I get another picture of my child, and hopefully get to see a little penga or nunee down there!!

There's still another 9 days to vote on what you think I'm having, so scroll to the poll on the side-bar and indulge me in a vote!!

Hallelujah, I'm almost halfway to the finish line!

Decisions....

Choosy moms have more to choose than Jiff. Choosy moms have oh so many decisions to make.

It starts in the beginning, when you first find out you're pregnant. You choose to keep the pregnancy or not. You choose to quit smoking, drinking alcohol, drinking coffee, taking drugs (and not just the recreational kind), many, many, many - too many - types of foods, and other risky-type behaviors. By the way, hot baths are included in that "risky-type" category.

You have to choose a doctor if you haven't had one previously. You have to start thinking about choosing names and choosing nursery furniture. Birth plans and hospitals. Pain meds during delivery, or not. Not to mention you have to choose which college this tyke will attend.

You never know how many choices you have until you're faced with the mountain of literature you dig through when you're pregnant.

Up until you find out the gender of your baby - I'm still in the dark - you can only speculate about certain decisions.

A girl is much easier than a boy. You have to decide her name and which outfit to bring her home from the hospital in. To pink, or not to pink? Easy peasy!!

A boy is different. You still have to decide his name, and the take-out clothes. You even have to decide if you will keep the blue or make him hip and gray. But, there's a really big decision that you should make while the little guy is still little and his little mind will never remember that little piece of skin that doctor chopped off him.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm speaking of circumcision. Long before I was even close to getting married, much less about to have a baby, I decided I was fundamentally against genital mutilation of any kind. I did research on the subject. I wanted to make an informed decision for my hypothetical son. Did you know that waaaay back in the 60s & 70s, studies were done ruling that circumcision was never a medically necessary procedure? In fact, circumcision began in the US as a way to curb sexual desires back in Puritan times. It's true. At some time in the late 19th century, doctors began telling very ignorant parents that it was medically necessary to keep it healthy and clean. Since those studies, it's only been done for cosmetic purposes. Well, I look at it like this....for almost 40 years, millions of American boys (this is primarily an American affliction) have had parts of their very sensitive anatomy removed for no reason other than habit. I mean, 75% of the world's population leave their boys intact, and that includes other developed countries.

I have heard the arguments FOR circumcision and my heart is still against it. I understand that if a boy in the US is uncircumcised, he will be different than most of his peers. What I want to know is why has this been made to be such a taboo? People get uncomfortable when you bring it up. People are very passionate about their sons' foreskins.

I want to start a revolution! One of acceptance! Let go of the old thought patterns! Who cares if one kid has an anteater and the other doesn't?! NOT ME!!

Ah, the things you ponder when you bring another human into the world.


It's been a Monday. A very pregnant Monday. It all began when I woke up with intestinal discomfort. Nothing I can't handle. After my shower, I began looking for an undershirt. I looked in the clean clothes that were just folded. I looked in the closet. I looked in the newly-folded clothes again. I threw clothes around the closet and cursed the laundry being done! I hated that I couldn't find it. I hated that Mike didn't answer his phone when I called to whine about how I couldn't find it. I looked in the folded clothes again, and - GASP - there was my undershirt. I put my clothes on and Mike returned my call. So, I cried about it.

Later, the computer and projector at work began giving me problems. I cried about that too, but announced it to my class. So, they laughed while I cried and laughed.

At lunch, I felt backwards. I turned the bathroom light on when I left the room. The afternoon was long. Luckily my night class was laid back. But, I'm tired.

It's been a long day, and I'm ready for bed. I'll probably dream of robot computers and floating foreskin, but goodnight.

The blob....

Lesson of the day: stretchy pants. Buy them in bulk. Trust me, because beginning earlier than all those supermodels on TV tell you, you will need them.

I know I'm not "fat," but before my pregnancy, I had put on a few extra pounds being all in love and everything. I read my baby books. I read magazines. I Googled. I knew what to be prepared for. I thought.

When my size 12 jeans got too tight, I bought a size 14. I hate even thinking that out loud. Problem with that, was that I could only button them for about a week, then they became too tight, and by tight, I mean the waist was tight, while the butt and legs looked like I had worn them, jumped in a river and worn them til they dried. In my younger days I called it "poo-butt." That's when you wear jeans that sag in the back like you just, you know....messed in them. Most men continue to have this jean affliction.

Luckily, another instructor at work had just given me some of her old maternity clothing. I sorted through and picked out one or two items that were appropriate for the fiery furnace of S. Louisiana in the summer. One item was a pair of maternity panel pants.

The panel. Sigh. I never looked forward to wearing maternity clothes. When I was 17, and I used to dream of having a child, I imagined myself as that pregnant girl (who only had one child, a boy and not til she was 30) who never wore maternity clothes. I would see these women walking around in the maternity tents and burkas and wondered why they felt the need to cover up so much. I know now the reasons behind it....and I will get to that later.

Ok, so, the panel. I shop online. I like to shop online. They have a bigger selection and you don't have to actually GO to the stores and sift through the mess that those inconsiderate, ignorant, filthy people leave behind. I will not try on something that I can visibly tell another person has put on their bodies. Brown marks and deodorant stains are the common tells. Really, I would rather buy it online, wait the 7-10 days and just try it on - for the first time - in the privacy of my own home, with my own flattering lighting.

And now, with these "changes" happening to my body, the last thing I want to do is try on maternity clothes that some other sweaty, leaking mother put on her sweaty, leaking body before me.

Oh yeah, the panel. The first time I tried on a pair of panel pants, I actually was quite comfortable. The panel kept my pants up so that the back never went that poo-butt route. I didn't have to worry about waist bands cutting into my flesh when I sat down and I have the perfect excuse for not having to continuously suck in my tummy anymore. Frankly, I was in love.

I could buy stores out of their panel pants, for the rest of my life! I was so impressed with how flattering they were and how versatile. Did you know there are THREE different types of panels? I didn't either!!

Its an amazing adventure shopping for maternity clothes. You kind of feel like an adrenaline junkie, shopping for the next parachute you will use to jump out of that plane. You know why? Because that's what most of the maternity shirts out there look like. Tshirt shaped parachutes. I could save your life if you and I got into a plane crash tomorrow.

Along with clothes fitting a bit differently, other odd behaviors start to happen. Mainly from other people. As soon as you get a bit of a belly, people that you may have preferred never to touch you - ever - begin to Buddha rub your belly. I didn't like it before I got knocked up, and I certainly don't like it now. Keep your hands off of my stomach! They also enjoy letting you know how BIG you're getting. "Wow, you sure are BIG for only 4 months!"

What they don't know, is that it's gas. Terrible, painful gas and indigestion. I had indigestion so badly that my stomach would swell to skin-stretching proportions. My skin over my stomach was sensitive to touch. I was so uncomfortable. And, as a pregnant woman, you can't just take the drugs you would normally take when you're not pregnant, so I was forced to wait for a return phone call from my OB's nurse. Do the math, I waited ALL DAY. Luckily, at this stage in my pregnancy, Prilosec is ok. So, along with my vitamin, I take a Prilosec every morning. And, now I look like a regular 4 month pregnancy and not like I'm smuggling a little person under my parachute shirt.

The parachute shirts aren't flattering. They make your hips look huge and the rest of you is kind of shapeless under there, but I think I've figured a decent reason for the extra roominess, and it has nothing to do with the size of your belly.

If you've ever been to S. Louisiana in the summer, you know how hot it is. It's just June and already, with humidity and the heat index it's getting closer and closer to 100 degrees. As a pregnant woman, it takes a lot of effort just to get off the couch. Imagine adding thick, hot air you can wade through to that, and you've got huffing and puffing. And sweat. Hormones, extra weight and a gradually increasing circulatory system, with a gradually lessening thoracic cavity....it's an ugly combination that makes 90 degrees feel like the fires of Hell and your toes and fingers swell like little sausages. And raises your blood pressure. And ruins your hair. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

So, yes, I've figured it out, and will accept my parachute shirts a little bit more. Our burka shaped maternity clothes are to allow for air circulation! That's the only way we could make it. In the words of my Nurse Practitioner, Andre', "Girl, stay in the air conditioning. They made it for pregnant women."