Updates: Nursery and Fatness

Hey, I said I'd have the room finished by March 1, and I made it (well, pretty much)!  This weekend I had a super surge of energy that allowed me to do almost everything around the house that I could do to avoid grading essays, AND to grade essays.  Of course, I did too much and my body hurt like hell afterward, but it's a small price to pay for the feeling that everything is in its place.  Now, this new pelvic-bones-loosening-up-to-make-way-for-Matt's-son's-giant-head sensation is, well, less than pleasant.  Oh well.  I'm 36 weeks, so only a few left to go, right?

Okay, so here's how fat I am at 36 weeks.  And that is a professional hairstyle and those are designer yoga pants.

Try, if you can, not to be too jealous of my mad fashion skillz.

But let's be honest, fatness if far less exciting than a super fun little kid's room.  Here we go!

The view from the hallway.

View from the door.

The closet.  Totes took the doors off and hung curtains so that we could access the entire closet all at once.

Boy clothes as far as the eye can see. . .  Matt says that the kid will just wear an outfit and then we'll throw it away.

We left the bed in the room so that we can still have a decent place for guests to sleep.

I want one of these for myself.

And, now, my totes favorite part of the room.  And our boy's name!  (Trying to keep people from being able to stalk him on the world wide web until he at least has some teeth.)

 Notes: name banner idea from here (I used Georgia font size 500), dino-brite instructions here. The cradle is the same one Matt slept in when he was a tiny little baby.  I'm in love with it.

Stole the wall idea from Sassy Curmudgeon. Our boy's picture will go in the middle (If he's cute.  If he's not cute, we'll probably just get a picture of Scott Baio.)

Well, there you have it.  Isn't it the most fun?

Hey There!

Well, looks like I'm back to slackogging (that's slacker-blogging, for those of you who aren't linguists).  Oh well. I've actually been relatively productive/busy in real life, so let's use that as our excuse, shall we?

We have 4 1/2 weeks left until the boy's due date, which means that I only have 1 1/2 weeks left until I'm considered full term and the kid can just show up whenever he wants.  Matt and I are both really punctual people, so hopefully this kid will have inherited that from us and will get here on time, but not too early.  The actual due date is March 28, and Matt and I decided that it would work out nicely for us if I could start having contractions on the afternoon of the 24th, and then boy can make his grand appearance on Sunday, March 25 in the early evening.  That gives me plenty of hours of labor to guilt him with later in life, and it's convenient, and it means that I won't have some gross situation where my water breaks at school and I have to ask a custodian to please mop up my amniotic fluid (hopefully it's not like this).

Shit's getting real, y'all.  I mean, I have dairy products in my refrigerator that will still be good when this kid gets here!  And Matt realized the other night as he watched Survivor* that by the time the tribes merge, we'll have a baby.  I've got a big thick binder full of lesson plans for a sub, the nursery's just about finished, and today I whipped up (and by whipped up I do mean gave myself carpel tunnel with all of the veggie chopping) a triple batch of bolognese so that we'll have some backup meals in the freezer.

Hmmmmm, so what else has been going on?

Oh, I went to Augusta for Cassie's shower, which was super fun.  And I took blackberry pie bars, which were delicious (and good for you because they have fruit in them).  There may have been a slight parchment paper/broiler fire episode that prompted me to eat a few bars myself (quality assurance--didn't want to feed people charred pie bars!).

I had a doctor's appointment this week and had gained 9 pounds in two weeks.  I maintain that that weigh-in doesn't count because Matt and I had just eaten lunch at an Indian food buffet (and I take buffet eating VERY seriously--remember the Fattest of the Fat contests?), but it's possible that it counts more than I'd like to admit because of the aforementioned blackberry pie bars and random feeling-sorry-for-myself-because-I'm-uncomfortable-and-have-to-birth-a-human-soon treats.

Ooh!  We went and saw Stephen King, which was completely awesome.  Matt's a huge Stephen King fan.  I wish I was, but I'm not because I'm the worst reader ever and I don't like to be scared.  But I am a big fan of the man himself.  I was also excited when someone asked him what books he would recommend to teach to high schoolers, and he basically rattled off every book I teach my kiddies.  Matt will have to tell you more about that later (In his new Matt Attack section of the blog!  Get excited!).

Totes took the wrong lens.  Oh well.

The weather's been out of control beautiful.  We've had our windows open almost every day this week.

Pretty sure I wore my hair like this in the '80s.

The dogs have been out of control cute.

Mitch likes to feel his brother kick.

I have one million pictures just like this and I love them all. 

Here's how jealous Mitch is of the computer.  Can't wait to see how he responds to his human brother. 

And, finally, I am really uncomfortable.  I'm trying not to be one of those annoying complaining constantly pregnant people (because, honestly, what did I think was going to happen as I made the decision to try to gestate a human being with my Hagrid genes?), but I can tell you that I am very much looking forward to a day in the near future where I drink many margaritas and then pass out on my stomach.**  And maybe there will be a cold club sandwich in there just for fun.

We've got a full week ahead of us.  Next weekend is jam-packed with fun and friends and family and food, so get excited, peeps!   I know I am!



*Baby, if you are reading this far, far in the future.  Your dad totally watched Survivor.  By the time you read this, Survivor will be in its 248th season, and your dad will still be watching it.  Don't judge him for this.


**Baby, if you are reading this far, far in the future.  Sorry, your mom's totally a lush.  But you probably knew that already.  Hey, at least I don't watch Survivor!

In Case You Missed It. . .

My SNL boyfriend and the ever-awesome Amy discuss the birth control issue.

I heart birth control.  And Seth Meyers.

This and That

1.  Um, how can I not take my furry firstborn to the dog park when he looks at me like this?

2.  Just another sign that Mitch and I are E.T. and Elliot: the other day my feet smelled like Doritos.

3.  I want to eat this.

4.  Six more weeks of being knocked up!  I think the boy might have dropped because now I can breathe again and I don't feel his little feet all jacked up in my ribs.  It's nice to be able to breathe, but a little bit annoying to have to pee every .2 seconds.  Oh well.  Six weeks.

5.  Um, could Matthew Crawley be any more handsome?

6.  Um, could the Domino's parmesan bread bites be any more delicious?  We totes got lured into the parmesan bread bite trap this weekend when we ordered pizza because they were only $1, and I think that now they could charge $55 for them and Mitch and I would pay it.

7.  Furry valentines.  (Matt is bearded now since he's going to be a dad.  Apparently that's what you do.  Also, we can't find the cord to his clippers.)

I'm excited for this weekend because it'll be full of these and her and him and him.  And a three-day weekend to boot!

Dinosaur Mobile!

Months and months ago, maybe even before I was growing a fetus, I started eyeing baby mobiles on Etsy.  Truth be told, if I could have 25 mobiles hanging in every room of my house, I would.  So narrowing it down to just one (or let's be honest--2 or 3 probably when it's all said and done) was pretty tough.

Here are some of my favorites.

 (umbrella mobile, hanging monster mobile, and felt ball mobile)

I wanted something that I could make myself (because I'm the cheapest person alive), that would be super fun, and that would go with the rest of the room, and that would be something that the kid could play with later.  I had it narrowed down to either monsters or dinosaurs, and what do you think won out (after I made Cassie make the decision for me)?

DINOSAURS!

Here was my inspiration:

dinosaur mobile

I got myself some supplies: felt, embroidery thread, and one of those ring things from craft stores that I don't know what they're called, but old ladies use them a lot.  (I spent like $15 on supplies when I really only needed like $6 worth of them.  So if you need a mobile, just let me know.  We're swimming in felt 'round these parts!)  I already had some stuffing stuff, and if I hadn't I probably could have used the guts from Mitch's toy that he destroyed this morning.  

And I used the picture of the original mobile as a guide to draw a couple of the dinosaur shapes.  I wanted to have a couple more types, so I found silhouettes online printed them out.  Then I cut the shapes out in cardstock and used them to cut out shapes in the felt.  After some stitching and stuffing stitching again, we had some cute little dinos.

And then I hung them up on my ring thing with some string, and look!

(I placed my dinos face-down so that the baby would have a better view of them.  I also tied the strings to little tabs on the dinos backs so that I could take them off and let the kid play with them later, hopefully on his felt dinosaur mat.)

I'm kind of obsessed, and I hope the boy enjoys them, too.  He better, because I just we just spent all day yesterday at birthing class and I had to watch 4 videos of babies being born, and if he's going to do that to my body, then he'd sure as hell better enjoy my dinosaurs.  And if he doesn't, we'll fight.  I could totally beat a baby in a fight.

Mitch in Mourning

His singing idol is gone, but Mitch sings on.



Forgive the extreme close-ups and blurry picture.  Mitch was sitting on my lap watching Downton Abbey and we were both too lazy to move.  

You Are Getting Very Sleepy (except that you're not because there's a human clawing its way out of your body)

I'm afraid of giving birth.

Like for real so afraid.

And it doesn't help that every single show that Matt and I watch, it seems, has featured some woman giving birth this season. After watching one of these episodes a while ago, I felt a little shellshocked, and just started crying, blubbering, "I don't want to do that."

It also doesn't help that every woman who sees that I'm knocked up deems it necessary to tell me all about her birth experience. I mean, I get the whole shared experience thing, but can't we wait and talk about it in the summer? Let's remember that I'm the wuss who won't even look when I get a shot, the one who was in tears while getting a tattoo the size of a quarter.

A while back, Ann suggested that I look into Hypnobirthing, explaining that it's basically a mind-over-matter type of deal where you convince yourself that the labor is not that bad. As far as I know, there's no clucking like chickens or anything as it's not actual hypnosis, but she said a few of her friends did it and loved it and had fast, easy labors and whatnot. So I got the book, and lately I've been trying to buy into Hypnobirthing, but I'm struggling a little bit with the goofiness of it. I'm very much a mind over matter kind of gal (I can cure my hiccups by just thinking about them!), and I think that if I can buy into the method, then I'll have a much more pleasant birth experience. Not that I think it's going to be completely pain-free or anything, but maybe better. Cassie had said that hypnobirthing lost her when it started suggesting that she visualize pretty rainbows, and I felt myself becoming more cynical when I read that I would think of my uterus as "blue satin ribbons." But I'm trying. I really am.

Can I wrap my blue satin ribbon uterus around the base of a cake?

I had my hypnobirthing book with me at my last doctor's appointment, and tried to put it away before he saw what I was reading, but ol' doc asked to see it, and then proceeded to sit and read it for like five minutes, stopping only to shoot annoyed glances and read me select passages from the book.  At one point he just shook his head and said, "That's bullshit."

And here's the thing.  My doctor and I have a little bit of an antagonistic relationship, but he's really been growing on me.  He's really bananas about me not getting too fat, which is annoying but ultimately a good thing**.  So when he does something like call me a cow, I do something like tell him about peanut butter bacon cookies.  And when he says something about how I should never leave the baby alone with a dog, I say something about how we have been planning to have Mitch just be our babysitter.

So I think I've figured out now that the key to my accepting and embracing hypnobirthing is to do it for two reasons: 1.) to annoy my doctor, and 2.) to have a more tolerable birth experience.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be visualizing blue satin ribbons and rainbows.





*Except for Top Chef, because that would be just plain gross.  Ew!  What if they had a quickfire where they had to make a dish out of placenta for some crazy mothers?


**I actually appreciate that he's such a pain in the ass about me not gaining too much weight, because if he was all delicate and sweet and "you're beautiful no matter what blah blah" I would probably have gained like 95 pounds by now.

Weekend Fun

It's kind of weird to be sitting here recapping the weekend since the most important part of the weekend is still going on, but I don't really care about the Super Bowl.  I did see the halftime show, though, and decided that when I'm finished being pregnant I'm totes getting myself a highwire (tightwire?) and learning to bounce on it.  Also, I was pleased to see that ol' Madonna sang my favorite song about fellatio*.  Matt's off watching the game at a friends' house, and I considered going (only because there was going to be pizza there), but decided not to because I needed to stay home with Mitch.

Why did I have to stay home with Mitch?  Oh, because I'm just the worst mother who's ever lived.

Let's back up.  See, in our house, we're not huge medicine takers.  I mean, we take it when we need it, but we try to only take it when we actually need it need it.  Like, if I have a headache, I'll drink water first or take a nap before I pop a pill to get it to go away.  Anyway, I've applied my little silly medicine philosophy to my pup as well, so I only give him his flea medicine when he needs it (i.e., when I see a flea on him).  And his flea medicine is insanely powerful--like, we live in bug central and I haven't given him his flea meds since May.  But then I saw a flea on him yesterday and decided to give him the pill.  But I didn't remember, probably because I hadn't done this in like nine months, that he was supposed to take it on a full stomach.  So he got really sick.  Puking a lot, weak, pitiful, confused, whining, uncomfortable--sick.  And it was my fault.  And we were up until about 5 a.m. last night/this morning trying to get him to feel better, and I don't know if I've ever felt so guilty about anything in my life.  He's fine now, but I'm so riddled with guilt that I've refused to leave the house all day.  So there's that little awful anecdote to make me question my ability to parent a dog child, much less a human child.  

Aside from the fact that I poisoned my favorite creature on the planet, the weekend was pretty nice.  The weather's been out of control nice, and we've had lots of tasty food, and I was really productive and got to cross lots of stuff off of my giant to-do list (wish Matt hadn't written "try to kill Mitch" on the list--shoot), and we ate lots of good food and I even ellipted for the first time in two weeks (was totes secretly hoping that ellipting would be too hard and I would get winded doing it and then pass out so that I wouldn't be able to do it until after baby was here, but, mother eff, it was fantastic and I feel fantastic and my back and legs actually hurt less now).  

Here's what it's looked like around here.

Matt: Mitch, you better be careful sitting there.  Someone's going to come and try to buy you.

Cupcaking.

 Mmmmmmm. . .grilled buffalo chicken salad.  

That's Super Bowl food for people who have to go get weighed on Tuesday.

Nursery sneak peek, complete with name hints!  Mitch has been jonesin' for that Moose with Socks since July, and I think that after this weekend I might just give it to him.

I'm actually looking forward to this coming week.  Damn you, ellipting endorphins!  What about you?  Big plans for the week ahead?

*Everyone agrees that the song is about that, right?  Like, how can it not be?

Perfect Day, Danger Cookie

I have an inkling that I’ve got some cranky, uncomfortable, sleep-deprived, psychotic days coming in the next few months, so before those moments rear their ugly heads, I’d like to take a hot second to talk about how perfect yesterday was. 

First, I actually got out of bed ten minutes earlier than usual. (BANANAS! for someone who gets up only 15 minutes before walking out the door each morning.) So I got to work just a little earlier, which made everything seem just a little bit less rushed. I taught lessons that I really love teaching, and my students were well-behaved and pleasant, and I even found a super cool article about mass hysteria on the same day that I was about to start The Crucible! I got five new students in one of my classes, which would usually be something that would make me curse the scheduling gods, except that these all came from an overflowing honors class, and in their first day they completely changed the dynamic of my class for the better. Shoot yeah! I even had a big slice of chocolate cake for lunch, which must have had some magical motivational properties because I also got every single one of my papers graded and recorded.

When I got home, I discovered that my sweet husband had gotten off of work early and opened all of the windows in the house because it was 74 freaking degrees outside! I sat down to eat a potato chip sandwich* and catch up on my Words with Friends games and couldn’t wipe the goofy smile off of my face as I looked around at my clean house , the curtains blowing ever-so-slightly from the breeze outside. My little baby wolf was cute as could be, cuddled up on the couch with his dad, and sensing, I’m pretty sure, that it was the eve of his birthday. So I took him to the dog park where he smiled and ran and smelled stuff and tried to have his way with a German shepherd**. On the way there I talked to one of my favorite ladies (who also played a role in this perfect day) and was reminded of just how much I love my friends.

We returned home, relaxed, ate dinner at an hour that is befitting for normal humans, and watched Top Chef. I remembered that I’d bought myself some very cozy full-panel maternity yoga pants way back in September, so I dug them out (I know, I know, you can hardly handle the sexy) and pretended to kick Matt in the face, telling him that never again would he see a pregnant woman kick that high in the air. (He said to be careful that the baby didn’t shoot out.) And after wanting something sweet, then deciding to go to Wendy’s, then deciding not to go to Wendy’s and to eat grapes instead because I don't need to indulge every single fatbody craving that I ever have just because I am pregnant , I stumbled upon this recipe for Peanut Butter Bacon Cookies on the ol’ Pinterest, and thirty minutes later we were inhaling the salty sweet goodness.**

I know it’s not the most exciting thing for you to read the play-by-play of someone else’s day, but I wanted to document yesterday’s perfection so that I can go back and read about it next time I’m feeling like my body and mind have been inhabited by Satan himself.

But here’s something for you to make up for the syrupy diary-like entry.

Peanut Butter Bacon Cookies. OM-effing-G. Matt and I have decided that these should actually be called Danger Cookies**** because they’re so ridiculously quick and easy to make, and they’re, um, out of control delicious. (And gluten free, too, I think, which I don’t care about but maybe other people do.) I think I’m going to make some for my doctor and then I'll tell them that if he doesn't eat them, I will.  And then when he goes absolutely apeshit eating them I’ll call him a cow.  Ha.

Now, if you'll please excuse me, I have to go celebrate my firstborn's 8th birthday with him on this, oh shoot, 81 degree afternoon.  EIGHTY ONE DEGREES!  I can never live anywhere with a real winter again.




*Maybe this wasn’t the healthiest eating day that’s ever been?


**Totally acceptable behavior on the eve of one’s birth.


***After I had two cookies, I did have those grapes, because woman cannot survive on chocolate cake and potato chip sandwiches and peanut butter bacon cookies alone.


****Um, If I had a secret service codename I would want it to be Danger Cookie.