Baby-Do List

Done That:
1. Made a baby.
2. Grown a 33 weeks cooked baby.
3. Decorated the nursery.
4. Gotten comfortable with our midwives/doula.
5. Taken our birthing class.
6. Got a breastpump (thanks to a friend who recently had a baby and no longer needed hers!)
7. Started a baby registry.
8. Have dates for the baby shower.
9. Ate a cookie.

Need to Do:
1. Finish cooking baby.
2. Finalize our birth-plan.
3. Have the baby shower.
4. Take breastfeeding in-home course from our breastfeeding coach.
5. Set up everything around the house for Eggmund's arrival (like the co-sleeper, the carseats, etc.).
6. Pack hospital bags.
7. Finish up everything at work to be prepared for my maternity leave sub.
8. Eat another cookie.

So much to do...so little time...so many cookies.

Belly Recap

6 weeks - Can't you see the bloating? Yeah, me neither. I wanna kick my 6-week-self's ass.



8 weeks - Starting to look like a post-Thanksgiving-dinner belly.




11 weeks - I miss those jeans...And that butt.



16 weeks - Starting to chub up a bit.

17 weeks - I'm wearing this same shirt today. The stripes look a little....stripy-er.

21 weeks - Rockin' the beer gut.

25 weeks - No denying the knocked up status now.



28 weeks - Hello 3rd Trimester!

32 weeks - I feel like a flippin' walrus. And somehow it just keeps growing...



8 Months

Alternative Post Title: Holy Crap We're Having a Human in 8 Weeks

How far along? 32 weeks
-How big is baby? Just shy of 4lbs and 16 inches long
-Weight gain? Yes. No further comment.
-Maternity clothes? Is this a joke? Um, yes. Even maternity clothes are starting to feel a little snug these days...It's getting harder and harder to find stuff that fits comfortably. I've resorted to stealing from Nicholas's side of the closet lately :(
-Stretchies? Nuthin' and nada (that pounding you hear is me knocking manically on wood). Still cocoa butterin' up like a mad dog!
-Sleep? Wait, people sleep when they're pregnant? Whhhhhhaaaaaaaat? Yeah, not so much. Between my belly, my hips, my night sweats, waking up to pee, and the Kitty Kat coming in for some love, I'm going to be very well-prepared for sleepless nights by the time this little man makes his appearance. This is not to say I'm not tired, though - the third trimester sleepies have definitely started hitting me hard!
-Movement? Wow. Yes. Eggmund (we've gone from "Eggy" to "Eggmund", as we felt "Eggy" was a very 1st/2nd trimester sort of name. Since he's grown to the size of four naval oranges and has reached 8 months gestation, we thought he needed a more adult name. Eggmund seems to be a natural fit.) has been going nuts lately, and is now moving All.The.Time. He's big enough to wake me up at night and keep me awake, to leave bruises on my skin from kicking the same spot over and over and over and over and over again, and to be jabbing me in my ovary and rib cage simultaneously. Awesome. I miss the sweet little "butterfly movements", because it feels more like body combat movement at this point. Though I did finally figure out that what I thought was Eggmund "keeping the beat" to the music I was listening to was actually just a case of hiccups. Dash my dreams of a son on American Idol, why dontcha'.
-Food cravings? Grapes, grapes, and more grapes! I went through three packs this week alone. Seriously.
-Gender? Lil' man.
-Belly button in or out? The other night I was sitting on my Gymnoball per Miss Celia's recommendations (and by "recommendations" I of course mean "do it or she'll abuse you either mentally and/or physically". She's really effective like that.) Well as I leaned forward to take the weight of the baby off my back, Eggmund suddenly whomped all the way to the front of my belly and *PLINK*, out pops my belly button. I sh*t you not, that sucker popped out like a turkey baster. I freaked out, started hollering at Nick (who had no idea why his wife was suddenly screaming "My belly button! My belly button!") and frantically tried to push it back in. Luckily once I stood up and Eggmund re-nestled himself more solidly in the confines of my guts, the ol' button went back in (well, sorta. As 'in' as you could have called it before the Gymnoball got involved.) Sadly I give the BB (belly button, for those of you that can't keep up) another week or two tops...Yeah, it's coming. Permanent poppage.
-What I miss? 1) Going out and about without random strangers asking me when I'm due and then telling me I'm "never going to make it that far by the looks of things!" Awesome. Thanks for calling me extra fat as well as wishing a pre-term birth on me within the same sentence. What a talent for people skills you have. 2) Working out without needing to take a break to pee, a break to breath, a break to stop the braxton hicks contractions, a break to text Celia and promise her I'm not overdoing it, a break to drink my fourth bottle of water, and then another break to pee (I know what you're thinking - don't drink four bottles of water and you won't need so many breaks to pee, dumb a**.) 3) Being able to see my tattoo. I believe it's still there, but there hasn't been a visual sighting for about 2 months now. 4) Being able to put on my shoes without breaking a sweat. 5) Walking. Not waddling. Just walking.
- Milestones?  8 months pregnant!!!! Crazy to think we're so close to Baby Day. Also, we thought of a few more boy names that we like (including, but not limited to, Eggmund). And lastly, hitting a C-cup in bra size. I had to wait 26 years, experience infertility treatment, pregnancy, and 8 months of gestation, but dammit, I finally got me some jubilees!

Birth Plan

So we've been trying to work on some thoughts for a birth plan. Somehow, Nick and I seem to be coming from two different places on this.

Niel's Birth Plan Ideas:
1. Daddy cuts cord.
2. Mom breastfeeds immediately following birth (before vitamin K and shots).
3. Baby is placed on mom's chest immediately following birth for skin-to-skin contact.
4. New family gets 1-hour alone time before visitors arrive.
5. No formula to be given without mom or dad's direct consent.
6. Discuss all needed medical procedures/medications with mom or dad before administering.

Nick's Birth Plan Ideas:
1. Have baseball game reruns on the television throughout labor/delivery so Baby can be born into the glory that is America's favorite past time.
2. Have "Proud to be an American" playing on repeat in the background so Baby is born with a patriotic understanding and appreciation.
3. Wrap Baby in an American flag for a receiving blanket (reason: see "Nick Birth Plan Ideas #2).

Yeah, I feel like this topic still needs some discussion...

Operation Moby Wrap

So we got a Moby Wrap, and like any responsible parent, we needed to try it out prior to sticking our babe into it. Enter Operation Moby Wrap:

** No Kitty Kats were harmed in the trial run of this Moby Wrap. Nick's tender underbelly did take a Kitty Kat Klawing during Operation Moby Wrap Extraction, though.

Mom

 It's starting to boggle me that in less than 10 weeks I'll be a new mommy. I mean, sheesh...Who the heck okay'd that plan?! The good news, though, is that I did learn from the best.

My mom is my best friend (no, seriously). She's my shopping buddy, my teaching partner, my confidant, and my biggest supporter. I have her at all my most important life events not because she's my mom and she has to be, but because she's my friend and I just want her there.

That's not to say we haven't had our moments. We had some fairly impressive knock-down-drag-outs back in the day. But, we lived. And? I think we love each other more because of it. Well, most of the time.

My mom sometimes gets the short end of the stick, I think. She's the parent who takes on the worrying, the one who lies awake at night problem solving for the world, she's the lady who can't take a nap because "how can I rest when the floors look like THAT?" But you know, things get done because of her. People get loved, problems get solved, and I must say, her floors really are damn clean.

When I learned we had a diagnosed infertility issue, my mom was the first person I called. No sooner did I hear, "Hey Sis" on the other end of the line, my tears started. She let me cry, and cried along with me. She didn't tell me it would all be fine, but did tell me she would make it okay. And she did. With shopping therapy, of course.

Telling my parents we were pregnant was incredible - my mom started yelling, "Seriously? SERIOUSLY?!" (No mom, this is all a joke in terrible taste...) There were more tears, but so different this time. What wasn't different? The shopping therapy. Hey, therapy can be for good things too. My mom taught me that.

I can't believe I'm going to be a mom. I can't believe I'm going to be the one doing the holding versus the one being held:

 

I know things won't always be easy, and I know I'll have "Mom Moments" where I can't find the answers, can't fix the problems, can't meet all the needs, and can't rest because "HAVE YOU SEEN THE DAMN FLOORS?!?!" But, I know I'll be okay. Because there's always shopping therapy. And there's always my mom.

Therapized

Nick and I are both big believers in therapy and the importance of working through issues. After Sheeba-the-Wonder-Dog's latest 'attack trauma', we've been worried that she's suffering the effects of doggie PTSD. To help the Sheeb-miester process everything that happened to her, we decided to get her a stuffed dog to allow her to 'act out' the violence she experienced at the hands of her own kind. The results were...troubling. Slowly but surely she worked through her stages of grief...Take a look:



Stage One: Reenactment.
Sheeba went straight for the right haunch on our "Safe to Explore Doggy Therapy Buddy". Immediately stuffing began to fly, and we knew we were already seeing the tip of the ice burg that constitutes her trauma.   



Stage Two: Denial.
Also known as the "If I don't look at it, it will go away" stage. We had to push her past this emotional block into the crucial next stage...



Stage Three: Depression.
It was clear that right about at this point it hit home the viciousness of all she experienced. There were tears... lots and lots of doggie tears.



Stage Five: Rage.
Never pleasant to watch, but it was obvious Sheebs had some fury to work through.



Stage Six: Leg Amputation.
Thankfully Nick moved his foot out of the way in time - narrowly sparing his right appendage.

Stage Seven: Remorse.
We thought it might go from here straight into the healing stages, but turns out we had to revisit...

Stage Eight: Return to leg amputation.



 

Stage Ten: Co-Therapy with Dad.
Sadly co-therapy involves Nicholas slapping her on the heiney while she shakes and tosses the therapy dog. I'm still a little unsure of the therapeutic value in this.




Stage Eleven: Forgetting we're in therapy and just focusing on ripping our new stuffed dog in half.
Self-explanatory.



Stage Twelve: Forgiveness.
Always accompanied by a nose choke-hold from Dad.

Therapeutic Remains.

She looks more balanced, no?

No one said therapy was easy.