- That last post was bananas because I am often bananas. I can work myself into an anxious wreck over pretty much anything. Out of peanut butter? Let's freak the fuck out. The gender reveal, instead of being this happy, marvelous milestone like it was last time was, for whatever reason, a total anxiety trigger. My horrible, worst case scenario of they say it's a girl and then at the next ultrasound I'm told it's a boy, is not actually a tragedy of any proportion. It's incredible. Both options are. Option A: Vagina stays a vagina. Fabulous! I've always wanted to have a daughter. Super duper yahtzee. Option B: Vagina becomes a penis. I'm completely obsessed with my boy. I'd get to be obsessed with another amazing little boy. Love-splosion.
- My ability to panic is epic. I come by it honestly. Thanks, Nana.
- Speaking crazy Nana, I received her gender prediction this past weekend. My mom is from Puerto Rico and I am the proud owner of a certified Puerto Rican witch for a grandma. If you're Puerto Rican, being a witch is not scary, it's awesome. For my family, it just means a lot of spidey-sense feelings about things, signs, dreams, etc. One thing we trust my bruja-Nana on is gender prediction because she's basically always right. The senior ultrasound technician of San Juan has predicted "a little girl. It could be a little boy but I don't think it is. I think it's a little girl." Those nondescript odds work for me.
- As of yesterday, I am 19 weeks pregnant.
- That is almost the halfway point. Almost time for Janet Jackson to perform and have a wardrobe malfunction. Yesssssssss.
- Babycenter.com says the baby is the size of an "heirloom tomato." That seems really subjective and has been rejected. It's like they've never been to a farmers' market.
- Parents.com says the baby is the size of a mango. Assuming we're talking your garden variety, grocery store mango and not one of the little subpar yellow ones. I can get down with this.
- I'm finally feeling movement! I've been feeling recognizable movement for about two weeks. At first, very tiny blips and pops. Had I not done this before, I definitely would have written it off as gas. Fortunately, I'm a complete veteran - Two kids, who am I? Michelle Duggar? - and recognized the mini-Morse code going on in my uterus. The movements are still little but gaining strength and are less easily confused with gastrointestinal distress. This development has done wonders for my psyche. (See bullet point #1 re: being a basket case.)
- My God, pregnancy is so long. Why is it so long? I'm tired and bored, would like sushi, a bottle of Cab, and a handful of cold cuts.
- Henry. That kid is so cute, snuggly and loving it absolutely kills me. I've trained him to kiss my belly which helps me pretend that he is a fully-willing participant in the family growing exercise. He is really what wills this pregnancy to go faster because he keeps me very busy and very in love. Here's what's up with him:
- He talks constantly. His favorite topics of conversation are his dogs, Elmo, birds, books, daycare classmates, cars, his jacket, night-night, Mama and Daddy, his cousin (Juice's daughter) and Abu (my mom). Also, "no." Conversation is a very loose term. There's a lot of talking going on but my comprehension hasn't quite caught up with him.
- He needs a haircut. He has stick straight, white blond hair and he looks like Rod Stewart had a baby with Jeff Daniels from Dumb & Dumber when we go too long without a trim.
- If he could eat whatever he wanted, it would be some combination of avocado, crackers, cheese, milk and sugar. Gross. Also, nutritionally complete.
- He's going to be an elephant for Halloween. Why an elephant? Because I found an elephant costume for sale in my neighborhood for $10. Also, he does an excellent elephant sound.
- He excels at Eskimo kisses. Which are not called Eskimo kisses anymore. Maybe Native Alaskan kisses? Better yet, how about "touching noses."
- Henry has had a really bad cough for the past several days which is making night time sleep somewhat craptastic. No other symptoms, just hacking. Your typical daycare plague. He wakes himself up coughing every few hours and then, if we're all lucky, coughs so hard that he pukes. This interrupted sleep is making for a crabby kid come early evening. Thus, screen-free granola parenting has sailed out the window in favor of Sesame Street so that something, anything, can be accomplished between 5 and 7:30. Desperate times, desperate measures, thank you, Elmo.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
19 Weeks as told by Bullet Points
A post in bullet points. Because it's easier and I don't need to organize my thoughts. Also, not a ton is going on.