Blame it on the NaBloPoMo

I wasn't planning on  participating in National Blog Posting Month because I was planning in having a baby. But I thought I'd play along until then. I had a few things to say, and thought it would be a good distraction to keep my mind off the last few weeks of pregnancy, which I thought would be the first two weeks of this month.

Also, I don't get to an actual computer very often, so I've been doing this all from my phone. That has led to some interesting challenges and  realizations. First, I can't choose where the pictures go when posting from my phone. It's end of the post or nothing at all. OK, not a deal breaker. Also, I've had some trouble with the posting date. Things I've kept in my drafts folder are showing as published on the day I started the draft, not the day I actually published them. Or, when I make an edit to a post (fixing a typo or link), it changes the published date to the day I made the edit. None of this would really matter if I weren't going for "a post a day."

Anyway, here it is, the final day of the month, and I'm both still pregnant & still posting. Win some, lose some?

Welchling Watch continues

Well, a firm eviction date has been scheduled. If he doesn't get his little butt moving towards the exit by Dec 2nd, this baby will be forcibly removed. That's still 6 days away. Let's all pray for a November baby.

I'm still walking & yoga-ing daily to keep things in as good a position as possible. I will not list all the things I have tried to start labor, but short of acupuncture & communing with elephants, it's a fairly exhaustive list. I still feel fine, just eager to meet this little man. Who, after this much cooking will probably be bigger than some Thanksgiving turkeys by the time he greets the world.

My freezer is stocked with good food. (Some of) My closets are organized. Floors have been cleaned. The pantry & Tupperware cabinet have had an overhaul. My toes are painted. My hair had been cut. My eyebrows are tamed. Baby monitors have been installed to cover the cradle. I've located sheets & towels for my mother's stay with us. I'm ready, is what I'm saying. Everything is ready. Except the baby.

Eleanor was born the day before Easter. Maybe this one is waiting for Thanksgiving? Eleanor was also born the day after Passover, so maybe he's waiting for Hanukkah? Oh, wait, they fall in the same day this year. So, the news is we're fine. Healthy, happy, and given the all clear to wait until the full 42 weeks before they go in after this little dude.

But everybody hopes it won't take that long.

Once this baby is born, I'm probably never wearing this top again. Maybe I'll put together all my growing pictures for this time around. Maybe after I nap.

I hate waiting

You should read the title in the voice of Indigo Montoya. Because that's always how I hear that sentence. t because patience isn't a virtue I have cultivated well, though my opportunities to do so have been numerous.

I was going to put a long, wordy rant here about STILL being pregnant a week after my due date, Eleanor catching a cold, Mom Guilt, Blogger eating my previous post about Eleanor catching a cold, which threw off my non-attempt at National Blog Posting Month that I wasn't really doing anyway because I thought I'd have a baby by now and various other complaints. I had been stock-piling my crappy day presents, hoarding then to help get me through those rough first few weeks home with a newborn and toddler, but there were some specifically designated as "waiting for baby" gifts and I plowed through those and was about to tear into the rest.

Then someone sent me warm cookies from the Internet. (Update: it was SISTER! Not my sister, Bagels' sister) Fresh, warm cookies on a cold, wet day. Pretty much the best thing ever. 

Compare/Contrast

It's impossible for me not to compare these two pregnancies. In the beginning, everything seemed the same. Same level of queasy, same lack of energy, same lack of any other symptoms. There were differences, too. I didn't have to take progesterone for the first trimester this time. I was more tired chasing a baby/toddler than I'd ever been working a 9-5 job. I also had the ability to nap when my baby did, which wasn't really an option at the office.

I still never noticed my hair getting thick and lush. My nails did get stronger just like last time, and like last time I was cutting them faster than seemed reasonable. I've talked a bit about the changes to my shape, and surprisingly I've added no new stretch marks this time around. I've been waiting to say that because my pink & purple rites of passage didn't show up until around week 38 with Eleanor.

I think I've worried just as much this time around, but about different things. How will Eleanor adjust to the new baby? How will I manage to care for them both? Do I have to have another major surgery? Will this baby be here for Thanksgiving? (Which this year is also Hanukkah because of course it is. Apparently I only have babies on Jewish holidays? Eleanor was born during Passover.)

This time around, I've had next to no heartburn. The rash of doom cleared up after just a few weeks (instead of the 3+ months last time). No carpel tunnel. It's been even easier and last time was still easy.

At this point last time, 2 days past my due date, I was impatient & looking up how to start labor with Castor Oil, which I've since learned is a bad idea. If you take enough to be effective you can wind up dehydrated. I didn't take enough to feel any effects, but I did go into labor, which is my coincidental anecdotal non-scientific link. But this time last time was my last day before labor. 11:30pm on the second day past my due date contractions started. About 30 minutes later my water broke. Conveniently in the shower. I don't think I'll be so lucky this time.

Anyway, I still have no idea when this baby is going to get here. I hope tomorrow. I really do. Or Friday morning. That's good too.

Gratuitous picture of Eleanor being cute.

In Due Time

It's my due date. I'm still pregnant, to the surprise of no one. Due dates are rough estimates at the best of times, even if you know date of conception, not just a guess based on cycles. Only 10% of women give birth/go into labor on their due dates. I know all this. I expected to be here.

But I want to meet my baby. I'm not uncomfortably pregnant, I'm just bad at waiting. There's been some kerfuffle over when the final eviction date will be and since I really do want labor to start on its own, I'm willing to wait, but I'm bad at it. Second guessing every twinge and gas bubble is kind of exhausting.

I've gotten all the usual advice for what to do to make this baby come out, from the well-meaning and generic (walk, eggplant Parmesan) to the crazy and somewhat personal (trampolines, adult activities).

Good news is that I'm healthy as can be & everything looks good, so it's just a matter of time. Time to wait.

So, here's what I look like at 40w pregnant, with Eleanor. OK, not pregnant WITH Eleanor, but pregnant and Eleanor is also in the picture.

Church family

So, we joined a new church a while back. A little local church where we sing out of hymnals and stand to greet each other. It's where Eleanor attends her Mother's Day Out program that she loves and I love and they love her. It's both small enough that I feel like we matter and belong but big enough to have resources that make our life easier.

We also joined a Sunday School class, which has been delightful. When we first walked in, there was a table with 3 pregnant ladies, so I fit right in. Actually, my baby might wind up sharing a birthday with one of the other babies if everything goes... I don't want to say "right" but it's a possibility anyway.

So, last week, during the "say hello to your neighbor" part, the folks behind me asked when I was due. This week, they remembered me and said they were surprised to see me. Now, that kind of comment can go all sorts of wrong. Luckily, it struck me as quite sweet that they remembered me. Also, I think it helps that even at 279 days pregnant, I don't look so huge that people are on high alert to run and grab towels and boiling water when I walk by. Round though I may be, my nearly six-footness gives me lots of room to carry a baby.

I've had lots of friends to compare bellies with both times I've been pregnant and I'm happy to say that I am happy with the way this one shaped up. Just in time for him to exit.

Rounding Up

One of the things that I was a little sad about when pregnant with Eleanor is that I never got satisfyingly round. I had 2 bellies (divided by my belly button) and the top belly was pointy. I started this pregnancy quite pointy as well. I think it's just the way I carry weight in general.

Starting this pregnancy 20+ lb lighter than I started Eleanor's has made a big difference. I was able to buy maternity jeans (which fall right off my slopey belly & irritate the snot out of me). I'm able to still button my pre-pregnancy pants, because I never bought a size to accommodate my new weight before. And again, this baby rides high, all above my belly button, so really, the only thing my pants are containing is the post-c-section-fat-flap we all know and love. Except the opposite of that. Anyway, pants. It's an ongoing rant. For the past few weeks though I've been catching glimpses of myself in the mirror and thinking "whoa, I look pregnant. From the front!" which is new and exciting for me.

Just in the past week though, the great roundening of 2013 has happened. All of a sudden (to me) I'm ROUND. I have a ROUND belly. I look like a pregnant lady. I'm round and round and round. I'm very excited about this. I'm still round above my belly button with 2 bellies, but whatever. ROUND! Can you tell I'm excited?

Also, wearing a giraffe print scarf, because I can. And a hat, because I didn't shower that morning. 

So, I'm on track to go all the way to my due date, which is fine. I'm prepared. I'm not even uncomfortable. Getting up & down off the floor is a bit arduous, but I'm so much more comfortable this time around than last time, and even last time I remember thinking that physical discomfort wasn't the reason I wanted to be done being pregnant. I wanted to be done because I wanted to meet my baby. That's where I am now. I want to meet this little man. And stuff him in a cornucopia, because apparently holiday babies in baskets is a thing I do. 

Last time at this stage of the game I was (and had been for quite some time) having nightly 1-Tums heartburn. Nothing major, but it was a thing that was there. I had an incredibly uncomfortable & incurable rash of doom that I'd had for the entirity of the third trimester that peeled off like snake-skin days after Eleanor was born. I was getting carpel tunnel in both hands. And yet I remember thinking that the pregnancy part wasn't so bad. It WASN'T! I'm oddly good at being pregnant, which sounds like bragging but how can you brag about something you have no control over? Eleanor is made of chicken nuggets and french fries and I still only gained 11 lb. That's not superior pregnant-ladying, that's just good luck. I've puked once each pregnancy, and both times it wasn't because of morning sickness, but other external factors (a reaction to antibiotics & a virus). That's not superior pregnant-ladying, that's just good luck. I'm lucky. And so very grateful. My pregnancy with Eleanor was easy, and this time it's even easier. That's just good luck. I'm not better or special. I have no secret 12-step plan to happy, healthy pregnancies. If I did, I'd write that book and be rich forever. Somehow I don't think endorsing McDonald's drive-thru and naps is really a best-seller. 

Now, if only I were as good at getting babies out as I am at carrying them around, eh?

The Basket

One of the best pieces of advice that I got for making it through the first few weeks with a newborn was to have a basket. Not to put the baby in, although places to put the baby was not something I realized I needed until another mom mentioned it and so I got a swing and a chair thing and a playmat, all of which got plenty of use.

No, the basket is full of the stuff you need all the time so you don't have to run to the nursery for every diaper change/feeding.

Diapers
Wipes
Butt cream
Changing pad
Nursing pads
Lanolin
Burp cloth
A water bottle
A granola bar or two (for the MUST EAT ALL THE THINGS that strikes two seconds after you get the baby quieted down)

Then you just grab the basket when you change rooms, or you can have whomever is near fetch the basket without having to give directions for all the things your going to need in the next 5 minutes which may or may not be scattered all round the house. It's a brilliant idea and I wish I remembered who suggested it because they deserve a gold star.

I can't find the basket I used with Eleanor but luckily I'm a basket hoarder so I have many to choose from. It's mostly stocked and ready to go. One more thing to cross off the list of "to do before baby" things. I'm actually almost done with that list. I might be ready to have this baby next week.

The numbers

It's 11-12-13. I suppose in other parts of the world it's 12-11-13, which is both less fun and doesn't serve my purposes. Today would be a great day to have a baby because that's a fun birthday.

Lots of people will have babies today. I'm not one of them. I never really expected to go into labor earlier than 40w but if I did, I wanted it to be today.

Other interesting to possibly no one but me numbers: At 39 weeks pregnant, I'm back to my STARTING weight in Eleanor's pregnancy... wait, gestation. Eleanor wasn't pregnant. I was. Grammar confounds me some times. My total weight gain for this pregnancy so far is more than I gained the whole time with Eleanor, but still within my "acceptable" guidelines so I'm trying not to worry about that part.

I'll be having this baby just a little more than one month after my 33rd birthday. My mother had me almost a month after HER 33rd birthday.

By my calculations, I'm officially 9 months pregnant now. Pregnancy math can get weird because they start counting weeks before anything has really happened, so while I haven't actually been carrying this baby for a full 9 months, it's been 9 months since things got started, in the cyclical sense. Feb 11th, when I gave up being un-pregnant for Lent. Which sort of makes this my tenth month of pregnancy, but I'm not 10 months pregnant because nope. A month is not 4 weeks so even though there are 40 weeks of pregnancy they are still only 9 months. And some spare days/weeks, give our take. But I guess if you count from when the baby actually started growing it's closer to exactly 9 months.

I'm not wearing real pants until after this baby is born. Nothing but yoga pants & maxi dresses until the end!

Control freak

Few things expose my deep desire to control my life and circumstances like being pregnant. Or getting pregnant. Or pregnancy in general. So much is just not controllable. You take the steps, do your part, and even with charting & stuff, there's no guarantee that all the science will result in the miracle of life. Then, after peeing on stuff, you can't guarantee that things stay where they're supposed to. It should be comforting. You take care of you & the rest is out of your control.

It's not comforting. It's scary & if something does happen (which it does, way too often, to too many people I love), it's almost impossible to stop the "what-ifs." You blame yourself, even if you know, logically, that there's nothing you can do.

Then there's the end of the road. No woman has stayed pregnant forever. That's the first piece of "advice" they gave us in our Preparation for Childbirth class. It's true. The other truth is that you can't make labor happen. Well, modern medicine can. With a whole host of drugs to trick your body into doing what you want. But ye olde average lady, at home, waiting, can do nothing. Despite the advice & wisdom of every well-meaning old wives' tale, you just can't guarantee when labor will start. When the baby is good and ready, that's when.

I'm not in a rush. I have a long list of things I'd like to get done before this baby arrives. Like organize the pantry. And get a hair cut. But I see the doctor every week now. And every week she checks to see if there are any signs of impending labor. There were no signs with Eleanor. Even 2 days before labor started, no hints. And I have friends who wandered around dilated for WEEKS before their babies were born, so I understand that it's all kinda a crap shoot.

For me & my peace of mind, I'd like to see some signs of progress. Clover has turned his head towards the exit which is good news. I'm dreaming of a baby born on 11-12-13 but realistically expect to go all the way to 40w again. I don't mind. A Scorpio or Sagittarius is all the same to me. I'd like to be home with my new baby before Thanksgiving, but that's my only real rush.

It's just a time of waiting. We all know how good I am at that. He'll arrive when he's good and ready and not a moment sooner. I just hope he's kinder about his entrance than his sister. Bagels had me sort of outline my Barbie-Dream-World version of things, ranking the stuff that's most important to me, to help me keep perspective.

Obviously, healthy baby & healthy me are top on the list.

Next in line is going into labor. Since I had a c-section with Eleanor, all those wonderful drugs and tools of modern medicine are off the table. There will be no inducing labor. Either it happens, or at 41w we head to the OR to take this baby out like toast. So, I'd like to at least start laboring.

If I can check that off the list, next in line is completing labor. Birthing a baby. No surgery.

If we get that far, then I don't really care how. Epidural? Sure, if I need it. I'm not holding out for an all natural birth though I want to wait as long as possible so I can keep walking & moving (which I didn't get to do much with Eleanor).

If we don't get that far, I'd like to get as least as far as last time. Maybe even try pushing. And there is a part of me that is just rolling my eyes, because major surgery after long, exhausting, unproductive labor is exactly my least favorite option when it comes to birth plans. Still, peace of mind isn't always rational. Trying is very important to me, even if I try & fail.

Now, I'm not a glutton for punishment. I think I have a pretty reasonable response to pain and suffering. I try to avoid it when I can. I bite back bad words when I stub my toe. Paper cuts and hang nails turn me into a big whiny baby. Despite what my pharmacist father may think, wanting an unmedicated birth isn't, for me, about hating drugs or liking pain. It's just about seeing what my body can do & working to do as much as possible. Letting gravity help get this baby down and out is something I'm really looking forward to. If I could do that and still have epidural-level pain relief I'd take that option in a heartbeat.

Bottom line, end of the day, I just want to meet my baby. The rest is less important. Not trivial but not critical either. Walking the fine line between hoping for a VBAC & being mentally & emotionally prepared for a second c-section is hard. Hope & realism don't sit easily with me. I don't want to assume that I'll end up in surgery because I'm afraid of self-fulfilling prophecy stuff. I also don't want to be so focused on the how of the birth that I let those feelings rob me of joy if things don't go the way I want.

So I'm praying. That's the one part I can control--my attitude. Can't make my body or this baby do anything but I can turn my heart towards my Creator and put my trust in Him. He's got this all under control. He knows the plan. I just need to live it. Much easier said than done. Thankfully lots of other people are praying for me too. I think it's gonna take all the prayers we can get.

Clover and the case of the Disappearing (Reappearing?) Boy parts

So, the saga of Clover, the squirmy squid, is one of frustration. For me. See, I'm one of those that like to know as much as possible. That includes the sex of my internal baby. At my 16 week check up, I had an sonogram to check on some structural integrity issues (everything is up to code and we got all the green lights, don't call the fire marshall). At that appointment, the sono tech asked if we wanted to know if this baby was a boy or girl. I said if you can tell, tell me. So she looked and fairly quickly said, "looks like a boy." She was confident enough to have "It's a boy!!" (yes, with 2 exclamation points) printed on all the pictures that day. There was a picture of a baby butt with an arrow pointing towards something... round? Oh, look, testicles. No dangling parts, so she wasn't prepared to say 100% boy, go blue, but quite confident nonetheless.

Still, 16 weeks is pretty early as far as telling the squishy bits, so I didn't go shouting from rooftop just yet. I told J and we agreed to keep it mostly quiet, to try to prevent kind & loving friends from buying all the "baby brother" things in the world.

Now, a friend of mine works at a place with a brand new, fancy-shmancy 3D ultrasound machine. They're also training new nurse technicians to use this machine, so they've asked for volunteer pregnant ladies to practice on. I'm always down for an extra peek at the squid, so I signed up or a free 3D ultrasound and went in at 19 weeks. The big "anatomy scan" appointment is at 20 weeks usually, and that's when they measure all the things--heart, brain, liver, femur, and pretty much anything else they can get a picture of, including genitals. That's normally when you get to find out the boy/girl part. So 19 weeks wasn't too early at all. Bless the tech who did that ultrasound, because she spent a solid 5 minutes just looking for innie-or-outie parts. I'd refered to Clover as a he, so she asked if I already knew the sex and asked if I wanted confirmation. I told her just what I'd told the other tech--if you can tell, tell me. So she looked. But Clover's femur bones were quite parallel. Shy baby? She poked and prodded and wiggled and jiggled and much like the clouds parting for rays of sunshine and angel song, those femur bones parted as well. She said, "I've got a really good shot here, but..."

But? "But" isn't something you want to hear out of the mouths of most medical professionals, ok? It's just not that comforting. "But I don't see any boy parts." Oh, ok. Not a problem. No big deal. You can't always see them. Identifying them in a regular 2D ultrasound is difficult (and she only did 3D shots of the face, which had a tiny hand in front of it the whole time--stinker). I'll take another peek at my official 20 week appointment with my doctor. The tech shook her head at me. "No, what I'm saying is that...things look girly. Those are girl parts." So she took the time to scroll through the images and point out what she was seeing, the magic "three lines" that indicate girl baby. I left that appointment with the tech "80%" sure it was a girl.

The week between that appointment and today's appointment was... long. I don't like indecision. Ultimately, all I want is a healthy baby, but I really would like to know the sex of that baby before birth. Mostly for planning reasons. Do I want another girl? Yeah! I've got tons of cute girl clothes that I'd like to reuse. I've had a blast with my baby girl. Also, I always wanted a sister, so having sisters would be neat. Do I want a boy? Yeah! J & I are really good at picking out boy names. He's his father's only son, so he'd like a son to pass on the name. I've had a blast with my baby girl and I'd like to see how much fun a boy can be too. Seriously, I have opinions both ways. I got the girl I always wanted, and I would have loved her had she been a boy, but she isn't, so for now, I have my squishy dress up doll with the super cute cheeks and amazing eyelashes. This next baby is going to be different in more ways than I can imagine right now, so whether or not they have matching genitalia is kind of beside the point.

I JUST WANT TO KNOW ONE WAY OR THE OTHER!! Because if it is a boy, I have girl clothes to distribute to friends who are also growing humans from scratch at the moment.

Today, at my 20 week appointment, I told my ultrasound tech, who I'm now calling Lucy, because she reminds me of Lucy Liu, all about the disappearing boy parts at the 19 week ultrasound. She made sure to take an extra careful look, and we both saw it. Boy parts. Clear as... well, as clear as an ultrasound can be, but yes. Boy parts.

Tiny clothes of all varieties (and a lot of caps lock)

So, my sister B is having a huge fundraising garage/yard sale thingy to raise money for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society Run that she's doing. Since I do a closet purge twice a year anyway, this is a perfect motivator to get it done early. Plus, it's just a few days after the ultrasound where a hopefully cooperative Clover will stop being a squirmy squid for long enough for us to get a look at the business district thus clarifying the lady baby/not lady baby question.

However, because it's only a few days after said ultrasound, I don't want to wait until we get "fetus with a penis" green or red light to sort through the 4 gigantic boxes of baby clothes sitting in Eleanor's closet. So I'm pre-sorting. Which is leading to lots of piles.
There's a nostalgic/family heirloom pile for the things I just can't part with (and right now, it's impressively small. So, you know, go me!).
There's a pile of "things from the Internet to pass on to my other Internet friend having a lady baby 2 weeks before Clover arrives."
There's a pile of things that need to be re-washed due to some mysteriously appearing stains after being in storage for a year.
There's a pile of things to go to B immediately.
There's a pile of stuff to go to B only if this baby is a boy.
There's a pile of gender neutral stuff that I'll keep no matter what.

Speaking of which, deciding if something is gender neutral has been harder than I imagined. It's not just about colors, though the majority of Eleanor's pink stuff is covered in flowers, butterflies, hearts, ruffles, lace, and things that say "girl" or "princess" or whatever. That's fairly obvious. It's things that look girly because they're surrounded by girl things. A black onesie with purple stitching can totally be worn by a boy baby. I just had to move it over to the pile of green, blue, yellow, orange and red things to see it as a boy shirt. Next to all the pink, purple, lacy, ruffled stuff, it looked too girly. Also, I remember my little girl wearing it, so sometimes it's hard to picture a boy baby wearing it instead. And this isn't to open some huge can of worms about gender politics or preferences, or any of that*. Just trying to get some clothes sorted.

Then I went to sort our laundry because the pile is about to become sentient and eat me alive in my sleep. Usually I sort things into 2 categories--sheeets/towels/linens & everything else. It all gets washed on cold, regular and we go from there. I don't have anything super delicate or whatever that needs special attention. Or if I do, I'm not doing that. I have a very blunt no-fuss attitude towards clothes. Some things get laid flat/hung to dry and that's the extent of effort I'm willing to put in. (This is why we can't have nice things)

However, I've been frustrated recently by a strange laundry phenomenon. Due to some unexplained hijinx in the putting-clothes-into-the-hamper arena, when I grab a pile of laundry to wash, things tend to wind up very... disproportional. Most loads are 93% J's clothes, 6% my clothes and 1% miscellaneous baby socks & whatnot. Now, seeing as how both Eleanor & I own AT LEAST 3 times as much clothing as my husband, EACH (and that's without exaggerating), I'm not sure quite how this is possible. SO, I decided to sort things into his/hers/mine piles. I wound up with 3 loads of J clothes. 1.5 loads on my clothes. 1 load of Eleanor clothes and 1 load each of sheets and towels.

Then I loaded up he washing machine and it wouldn't turn on, at which point I panicked and flailed and thought some really bad words until I remembered that I had unplugged it to plug in the vacuum so I could clean my car yesterday, but lo and behold the thing was still plugged in. I tested the garage door opener that shares an outlet and IT worked. I tried switching which plug was in which hole and that didn't help. Then I discovered that I hadn't unplugged the washing machine directly. I'd unplugged a power strip/surge protector thingy that it was plugged into. Flipped the switch on that and BEHOLD! The clothes began to wash. Hooray.

And while I'm talking about clothes, I'm going to rant about pants some more, because I don't do that enough. One of the benefits of losing some weight in between babies is that I finally bumped down into the "able to buy maternity pants that fit my butt and touch my toes" section. I hoped this was the case, and dragged my husband & baby to a maternity store to test my theory. I tried on the exact pants that I tried to buy last time I was all knocked up and could barely get above my knees and this time! THEY FIT! HOORAY! I shall buy all the pants! Except, no. Because they only had 1 pair on XL Long in stock. ONE PAIR. Now, to be fair, there are only 2 styles of pants that come in long length in that store, and it's summer when most people want shorts or crops anyway. But I already have 2 pairs of maternity capri pants. I wanted JEANS. It was going to be my TRIUMPH. So, I was going to get this one pair of jeans, only... and there's always an only with me, they're skinny jeans. Now, nevermind the mind-bend of ME buying something labeled "Skinny." Let's leave the terminology alone and just talk about the style. I know lots of ladies who wear skinny jeans and IN THEORY but I'd never actually put any on my body. I resist even "straight leg." I prefer bootcut, though I own no boots that I would put under my pants to necessitate ownin bootcut jeans. I just like the look of them. Something about balancing my extra wide hips and general pear** shapedness. Nevertheless, I bought the pants because... well... TRIUMPH! I then proceeded to call every store that carried that brand of maternity pants within a reasonable driving distance (and since I go to Ft. Worth often enough to see my folks, that distance is about 50 miles, at least to the west) to see if ANYONE had the bootcut in an XL Long. Nope. No. Not a single one. XS Long, sure. But that's the wrong Extra. So. I have skinny jeans. And the over-the-belly-panel starts at roughly my c-section scar, which is much lower than I'm comfortable with, but my shirts cover it all anyway, so I'm just going to sit back and enjoy my TRIUMPH! Pants!

*Babies and gender is a much bigger topic and one I'll probably not tackle on the internet, but rather just discuss with my friends over beverages of deliciousness, but here. A picture of Eleanor in a pink & purple dress her grandparents bought her in Greece, playing with trucks.

**Why oh why is it that when things go horribly wrong, they're said to have gone "pear shaped"? If I could work up the G.A.S. I'd be offended, I think. 

Totally in denial

The other day, I got a great compliment. 2 ladies whom I love, when I turned down an alcoholic beverage, said, "Oh, I forgot you were pregnant." This is nice for me to hear, as it confirms my belief that I am more than just a fetus-growing apparatus.  My life is about more than just making a baby, but it's still nice to hear that from people who see me on a regular basis. Then, at a restaurant, I was talking to the mother of another toddler while our progeny played in the waiting area, and she asked if we had thought about having any more kids. I said I was due in November and she said I didn't even look pregnant! Hooray!

Now I'm going to do nothing but talk about myself and my fetus, so you know... there's that.

Last time I did this whole pregnant thing, I didn't take any pictures of myself until around 22 weeks. I just couldn't wrap my brain around the fact that I was getting bigger. Because of the shape of my hudge, I never had a round belly, so I never felt like I looked identifiably pregnant until... 37, 38 weeks. In denial, I know.

So this time around, I'm trying to take more pictures. And this time around I'm seeing the difference in pictures that I don't register daily with my eyeballs.

6 weeks-why so yellow?

14 weeks

18 weeks

So now I've gotten to the point where I'm not really comfortable hiding the hudge anymore. I still don't feel like I look pregnant--possibly because what is sticking out is the reorganization of my intestines, spleen, and liver, not baby yet. Honestly, I feel like I look like I did before I lost all the weight that I put on before getting pregnant the first time. In the midst of a quite successful (for me) round of Biggest Blogging Loser, 10 weeks into a 12 week weight loss thingy, I peed on a stick, and thus stopped trying to lose weight. Now, due to some first trimester hijinx, I didn't stop losing right away. I have managed to hold steady since my 8 week appointment, which pleases me. If I can make it to the third trimester with the majority of my 11-20 lbs still to gain, that would be great. I managed it with Eleanor, and that's the only reason that I was able to be back at my pre-pregnancy weight the day after I got home from the hospital. 11 lbs gained, minus 8.5 lb baby, fluid, etc., etc., etc. Wow, I've really gotten off topic now. 

I'm trying to wear things that help bridge the gap from feeling "just fat" to looking "halfway pregnant." Well, I'm all the way pregnant, but halfway through the process, ish, in 2 weeks. Anyway, I've stopped trying to hide the hudge and now I'm trying to accentuate the hudge. This is... still a foreign concept to me. I look in the mirror and don't see any differences. I look at these pictures and realize how much my brain is lying to me. Also that I seem to have my dress on backwards in one of them... hrmmm

Also, on Saturday I felt little squirmy squid squirm. It's just as neat this time as it was last time. Hooray!

Here at 18 weeks, Clover is clocking in at approximately 7oz, and roughly the size of a bell pepper. So sayeth my e-mail. Other than still being more tired than I'd like, I'm feeling pretty good these days. Eating better, and feeling like eating more. I'm trying to be more consistent with my yoga too, especially since I've been noticing more soreness as muscles start moving out of the way and all that jazz. 

13 months and 13 weeks

In case you are not either:
a) my family
2) my Twitter buddy
D) my Facebook friend

allow me to say "Welcome!" and also, hey, I'm pregnant. Again.

Eleanor, in her announcement onesie and fluffy skirt

So, first, lemme tell you about the amazing things my external baby has been doing. 13 months old. She's walking now. WALKING! She sort of Frankensteins around (by which I mean moves like Frankenstein's monster, not the doctor himself) and still drops down to crawl now and then, but her balance is improving daily and it's really neat to watch. She's signing more consistently--all done and please are the two big ones right now. She can sign milk, but doesn't use it to ask for it, but more to let me know she knows she's drinking it. She's getting 4 teeth right now, molars or bicuspids of some sort and that's been... exciting. Still, she's pretty great and I think we'll keep her.

Second, 13 weeks pregnant. Well, 12w4d, but I'm rounding up for symmetry. Official due date is November18th. It has been an uneventful and easy first trimester. No real morning sickness to speak of, just vague queasiness and the pervasive feeling that no food is ever going to be good ever, until it's in front of me, and then hey look! FOOD! Like last time, I have the super-sniffer so I can smell everything everywhere, which is possibly also why food never sounds good. I'm hoping that goes away soon, though I did have a dream that featured rocky road ice cream, with cupcake flavored Magic Shell and caramel sauce, so that's maybe a good sign. I've been more tired than I remember being last time around. I'm napping when Eleanor does and needing every second of it. Really, that's all there is to tell I think. We found out on St. Patrick's Day (while I was in the middle of Biggest Blogging Loser, which helped explain why I was having such a hard time making myself eat), so in theory, we're calling this internal baby Clover, though after yesterday's ultrasound (sonogram, I don't know that I ever did figure out the difference), we've been calling him/her Squid, for he/she was a squirmy squid. Also, vaguely alien-looking. Of course.