She’s only happy in the sun

So today is Friday, and I work on Saturday (tomorrow) so I had today off. Working in a library is weird- since we stay open on the weekends, our schedules get wonky. So that means I get Friday off and Sunday off– can’t really go anywhere or do anything (out of town) but you are instead forced to get all your errands ran in the one day of the week when everyone else is staring at a clock inside waiting for their two days off. So it’s a good thing and it’s a bad thing I guess. We don’t have to run errands on the weekend- but we also don’t have anyone to really hang out with on these Fridays either- because everyone else is at work.

Well today, my friend Kelly was in town from TN passing through on her way to a wedding in Mansfield, so I conned her into waking up early (9am is early for Kel) and going to First Watch with me for brunch. She and her other friend obliged, only instead of getting the typical breakfast fare I can normally rely on G indulging in with me, they both opted for granola, fruit and yogurt. I sighed. I couldn’t help but notice how tiny both of them appear in comparison to me (neither are pregnant) and remarked, “Well I guess it’s the time of year when you start watching what you eat because of swim suits and whatnot.” Dammit.

It was still nice to share some time with them. It made me miss my old life a little bit- wish that I could just drive up to a wedding with the windows down, barefoot with music blaring and a cigarette. I love summer. I love capri pants, tank tops and skirts, flip flops, gin and tonics, patios and front portches. I do not love cellulite on my arms (WTF?!) and blue veins that have appeared just under the surface of my skin. Anyways.

So I had to take these flip flops back for G. He’s needed new ones for a year now, and we’ve decided to jump on the Rainbow bandwagon that my brother Brett and Kristen have been on for several years now.  Apparently these shoes are durable, very comfortable (they “mold” to your feet) and have a lifetime warranty. So I splurged and bought some for G since he and I both hate buying shoes. I bought the wrong size yesterday, and had to go back up to the mall (gasp! I hate malls!) and exchange them for a larger size.  It was just better for me to guess and get the dirty work done for him. I think he’s happy with them.  While up there, I stopped in to Destination Maternity because my mom had attempted to purchase me some bras (due to my bitching and moaning about how none of mine fit anymore) for me, but she guessed the wrong size (as did I- I have no idea what size i am). So I had to take those back too.

I have mixed feelings about Destination Maternity. First off, all of the really cute stuff is super overpriced (ridiculous) and it’s located on one half of the store. Then on the other half of the store there’s mostly cute-enough stuff that will do, mixed in with some stuff that makes me ask– REALLY!? I mean, come on I wouldn’t wear this if I weren’t pregnant and my goal weight. Give me a break. One thing they DO offer- free water or orange juice for expectant moms (awesome) and also free bra fittings.

There was a time when Victoria’s Secret offered the same service (it’s been so long since I’ve been in VS that I don’t know if this still happens). When you walked into the store, a woman in a suit with a pink measuring tape draped around her neck like a fashionable scarf would ask you brightly, “Would you like a complimentary bra fitting????” And I would respond with, “Um no.” Because after all, I’ve been wearing the same bra size since I started wearing bras- 34B and our bodies/boobs/etc. don’t change at all between the ages 13 and 30, right???? Hahaha.

So I got “fitted” as a pregnant lady at 30 years old. Today I am a 34C or a 36B and I’ve been told, that within the next month or two I will go up another cup size. Um HELLO!? D’s?! WHAT?! I understand they’re mostly feed-bags but holy molyI already don’t know where to put the ones I have! They seem difficult to manage. The lady then brought me some (super fugly) nursing bras and a sleeping bra that she said “are doctor recommended”. What?

Un-pregnant, I avoided wearing bras at all costs. As soon as Old Navy came out with those shelf-tank tops 5 years ago, I might as well have thrown away all of my bras anyways. I just don’t like them. And now I have over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders. I have grown up boobs. Will they stay? Will they go? Will they work the way they’re supposed to when the child comes? Will my nipples end up “looking a little chewed up” as G says? Will I ever be able to go back to my shelf-tanks from Old Navy? These are the questions that pregnancy books don’t answer and even if they did it wouldn’t matter because of this wonderful little fact: Everyone is different. Blah. Anyways I ended up with a sleep bra, and two nursing bras. The nursing bras kind of look like stripper bras (you know- those harness like things minus the middle part) only they’re an ugly color of light brown and have big ugly straps- so come to think of it they don’t really look like stripper bras at all.  (P.S. Don’t Google “stripper bras” unless you want a bunch of dirty pop ups on your computer.)

My next dr. appointment is June 8th, where I’ll get another peek at Thumbkin, who I should now call ThumPkin- because that’s what he likes to do– thump into the walls of my stomach and I can see him bumping around in there like he’s trying to make more room for himself. Good luck buddy!

I believe that I’ve started getting those Braxton Hicks contractions things now- and they’re uncomfortabe..sometimes moreso than others. Yesterday at work I couldn’t seem to get my stomach to relax at all. They say to change your position (standing to sitting or vice versa) or eat or drink something…nothing worked. As soon as I sat down in my car, the muscles all relaxed and felt better. Go figure- work would stress me out enough to make my uterus contract up and feel like a bowling ball. When I told G, “I think work stresses me out and makes my gut all hard,” he looked at me like I was an idiot and said sarcastically, “Really!?”

Another letter to the boy:

Dear Thumbkin,

Hey baby. I’m sorry that you’re feeling more squished than ever. I’m not particularly comfortable these days either if it makes you feel any better. I’ve started getting really excited about you coming into the world- and sometimes I catch myself imagining us doing our errands together on my days off- someday when I feel confident enough to leave the house with you. I got some white clouds to hang up on the walls of your bedroom and they look great. Now one wall looks like a big blue sky and we can decorate it some more when you get here and tell me what you want to look at on the wall. I wonder if it will be a farm- or a fairy tale land, or if you’ll want to change it to space ships and constellations, or if you’ll want to just add an airplane and some birds and treetops to the blue sky on the wall. I know I have a long way to go, but I just can’t wait to find out what you like and dislike- how much like your Dad you’ll be and how much like me you’ll be…and how completely different from both of us you’ll be. (Though please discuss with us your reasoning before deciding to vote republican if you are going to be different from us. I can’t imagine that you would, but I’m not saying never.)

There are several things that aren’t done in your room and I’ve been doing my best to get it done before you come into the world. We still need a carpet on the floor (would you like a green one? like grass?) and to get all my clothes out of there and replaced with your own clothes…And I want to get you your very own cd player to put in the room so you can listen to the songs you like…we’ll get it done I promise.

If you’d like to try adjusting to my sleep schedule, that’d be great. I know doing the jitterbug in my belly at 3am is better than screaming in my ear, but if you would just sleep through 3 nights per week while you’re in there, maybe I can get caught up enough on sleep…I know, stop laughing.

Well I’m off to eat some zuchini bread and get you all hyped up on a sugar rush again. I can’t wait to see your little face on the monitor in another week and a half.

Love,

Mom

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Boobalicious

Today I have had a smallish crush on my bust. I mean, I put on a sports bra that I used to wear, you know, when I would work out or run, and it’s nearly too small. Which means, I have cleavage. Not kinda-cleavage that you push together yourself, but for real cleavage that exists on its own because your mammaries are being smushed into a too small sports bra. I keep looking down at them and smiling. I understand that this is happening because I’m gaining weight, and eventually these boobs will be little more than feed bags for Thumbkin. But for now, I like ’em.

Tomorrow marks 20 weeks. I will be posting a pic either tonight or tomorrow. And then Monday, well you know what Monday is….I can hardly wait.

I keep having boy thoughts and even had a boy dream, so now I’m torn. For the longest time I’ve felt like the baby was a girl. Now I don’t know. In two days I WILL know, which is so much easier. I am not a patient person by nature and I just really really really want to know.

Alright enough. I’m hungry again (go figure) and must decide what we’re eating for dinner (more like where).

This week is going to FLY…

SO this is the big week of my presentation- a work presentation that is supposed to last an hour. I’m supposed to talk for an hour in front of a bunch of other librarians- most of them have probably been librarians since I graduated from high school. So basically I feel like I have a super-intimidating presentation to give this week. It is 39 slides long and I’m praying I can make it last an hour, OR that people will ask questions. It is very strange to see your own name inside a “schedule” for a conference. I think it implies you’re smarter than what you actually are. Anyways. That’s Wednesday. Tomorrow (Monday) I am off since I worked all weekend. And then Tuesday I’m working a half day and going home to celebrate my dad’s birthday with my family in Northeastern Ohio. Since the presentation takes place Wednesday in a town only 45 minutes from my parents’ place, I’m staying overnight. Then Thursday I work 12-9. Friday I work 9-6 and then Holy Shit I have a weekend off of work– AND MONDAY OFF OF WORK because

THAT”S FINDING OUT THE BABY SEX DAY.  Already. Half-way point. I have halfway cooked a baby come March 30th. That is pretty damned amazing if you ask me. I think they’re also going to count things like arms/legs, brain, other vital and important organs, etc. So I’m a little nervous to know that everything is in working order. After all, I didn’t give up my boozing and smoking for nothing> I hope it’s paying off and building workable baby features/parts.

Today we went to breakfast at our favorite little grandview diner called Paul’s. Normally I get the greasy fare- and today I opted for the fruit and granola plate, with a side of wheat toast and a small chocolate milk. G looked at me as I was ordering, like I was an insane maniac. When the waitress walked away, he said, “You’re just going to keep getting bigger, you might as well eat what you want.”

Well thank you, G– I was waiting for you to make me feel better and that was definitely the way to do it.

I ordered the fruit plate because I hadn’t really eaten anything that healthy in a while (besides the whole apple/banana thing) and thought I should. I also have been craving milk a lot which is super weird- because right before I got pregnant I was almost certain I was lactose intolerant.  Anyways, I grabbed the waittress when she brought us our drinks and added one solitary pancake onto my order for good measure.

I ate the entire pancake, most of the fruit, SOME of the yogurt and granola and a piece of the wheat toast. It was a lot of food.  Then at 3:30 all I could think about was a hamburger. For three hours I salivated over the thought of tomatoes, pickles, onion, lettuce and ketchup on top of an enormous beef patty. Not turkey, but beef. Steak fries on the side please.

So we got that for dinner and it was delicious. I even got a root beer to wash it down. As soon as I’d finished my last bite and the waiter took away my plate- I started getting crazy heart palpitations and thinking I might faint. It was quite scary. I signed the check and went outside, had G drive home. I don’t know if it was the caffeine from the root beer or the quick spike in my blood sugar or what- but after awhile I felt a bit better.

Ended the night with an ice cream cone.

So yea, i’m eating a ton. And people are making comments about me “getting bigger” and I want to tell them to F**K themselves…even though I know I’m supposed to be getting bigger and all I think about is food, it all makes sense. I just wish I could spend the next 4-5 months in a padded cell with my food cravings delivered to me so I could avoid the comments and not think about how much bigger I’m getting.

By the way, Thumbkin has a ton of stuff now. G’s mom bought him/her a swing AND a bouncy seat. AND G’s sister gave us the entire nursery set & bedding. So other than bottles and blankets, a couple of towels and safety pins (to wrap it in) I think the baby will be set.

Oh, and I forgot to mention a F**king $300 breast pump.

I spent about an hour online looking at breast pumps and videos about breast pumps. I spent a lot of that time wondering if my nipples were going to be that big eventually and also wondering if they will ever go back to the way they were before all of this. Something tells me NO.  I mean, I get it- they’re just milk glands. But there is something downright disturbing about latching on these suction cups twice a day AT WORK to milk yourself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to try my best to do it. I hope I do it well, too. And I’m reading tons about it. My goal is to feed the baby with the “Free milk” for 6 months. (Take a walk down the formula aisle at Giant Eagle, check out the price on that shit and tell me what you’d be doing if you were making a librarian’s salary.)  Still- the thought of milking myself (at WORK in a PUBLIC RESTROOM)  is strange. Go ahead and google breast pump videos, I dare you.

Alright enough of all that. I’ll leave you with an adorable picture of the nursery stuff G’s sister gave to us.