Gimme, Gimme!

It’s registry time! The grandparents-to-be are swarming us with gift ideas, asking what to tell their friends about gift ideas, and generally getting on us to become “prepared.” What, you don’t just bring home a baby from the hospital and wing it? Dang.

Registries are very fun and very, very awkward. Why should we presume people will buy us gifts? And on top of that, why do we get to tell them what to buy us? Who do we think we are, anyway? Well, as awkward, and I would say even rude, as they feel (maybe it’s just me?), we are putting one together. If someone wants to help us out then we should let them know how, if they’re interested. (If they are buying us a gift I assume they are interested…but anyway.) Something about it just feels really wrong though. Like you get to actually tell Santa what you want for Christmas and he might listen.

The fun part, though, is really fun. I would say it’s half the thrill-factor (we can ask for anything we want?) and half the procrastination-factor that make it so enjoyable. Don’t want to do work? Check on the registry instead. Changed your mind about that pea-green jumpsuit? Go change its color! The wonderful, wonderful World Wide Web can honestly make anything happen. Probably I’ll register for a Wii (I guarantee some baby store has them), new skis, and a cable subscription just because it is possible someone would buy those for us. And if they don’t, I’m not any worse off am I?

Ps. www.myregistry.com lets you complete a “lifestyle” registry. This means you need absolutely no reason for asking for gifts other than you have a “lifestyle.” I told you it was amazing!

Independence Days

I am starting to feel that every day until this baby comes should be considered an independence day; can we get some sparklers and BBW up in here? I can still do whatever the heck I want and nobody can stop me (that’s right Hubby). For example, today, we went for a hike. We took a while to get motivated, choose a route, get in the car, and figure out which trail to take—but it didn’t matter because nobody could complain. Nobody had to go to the bathroom two minutes after we passed the outhouse (well, except for me, but I’m in charge so that doesn’t count). Nobody got hungry just because it was lunch time (well, probably the dog but what’s new). Nobody cried for no reason (again, except for me, but that was yesterday). Looking back, it was a glorious care free day of celebrating our nation’s birth. Fireworks were cancelled due to amazing rainstorms, but we watched a movie, ate something delicious, and putzed around the house. And we got the movie at RedBox, where again nobody was more important than our [my] decision between Leonardo diCaprio and Johnny Depp, and there wasn’t even a store clerk to pester us. In case you care, Leo won this time, but not without several minutes of re-reading the blurbs, double-checking the ever-important looks of the cover, and finally just deciding on Leo because part of that one was filmed in Boston where we used to live. Hey, I’ve had enough serious deciding from what stinkin’ diapers to buy for the next three years. Independence days, I salute you every second until…you know.

My, the heat!

I have definitely noticed a rise in temperature recently, and it’s not just summer time, it’s me. This is how I know: I flew last weekend in a sundress only. Normally I would have a hooded sweatshirt, pants, socks and shoes, and then maybe use another shirt for extra warmth/pillow. Now, I’m not the girl on the plane who keeps ringing the flight attendant for more blankets, (those blankets are icky!) but I do usually have to close the air vents and draw my hoodie all the way closed to get remotely comfortable. Alas, the days of being able to layer are gone. I basically sweat my way through take-off and landing, hoarded all the air vents and cold drinks I could attain, and let my bare arms, legs, and feet emanate heat. The poor person sitting next to me!

Since my destination was Charleston, South Carolina, you can probably imagine how this raised body temperature treated me. Not nicely. I managed an outdoor adventure to the farmer’s market, and we spent most of an afternoon in the spa getting our nails done and gossiping with the nosy technician, and then we escaped to the beach for a day, but still, I felt like a hot dog in the ballpark steamer machine. Sitting in air conditioned restaurants is no longer a problem, but walking the dog any time between 9am and 7pm has become too much. I’m just hot and it’s all I can do to sit on the couch in my undies and write.

The Magical Disappearing Navel

Well, I guess I should have seen it coming, as now I am seeing it going…my bellybutton that is. Every once in a while I’ll catch a glimpse and see that it has become flat and smooshed, baring it’s once hidden depths to the world. Slut. I’m not at the point of “turkey’s done,” which I imagine, at this rate, will eventually occur, but the Creature is certainly putting some pressure on that belly button to make some space! The widening of said belly has stretched my once cute button into a weird, flat shape that becomes more and more just a bit of a slit every day. It's like when you push your lips together with your hands and squish them back and forth to make fishy-face (I have a vision of Julia Roberts doing this in a movie...anyone help with that?). And the way my uterus is growing, it is pushing the button up toward me at an angle great for viewing how weird it has become. Sigh. Maybe I’ll do some research on what crazy wives’ tales the belly button beholds.

It's baby-suit time!

We’re going on a tropical vacation, hallelujah! There’s nothing like a little sand between the toes, crusty salt and sunscreen on the face, and a beautiful, quiet snorkel to get me in a good mood. Hubby’s more of a “lake person,” so I don’t get to the ocean as much as I’d like; luckily his parents want to celebrate their 35^th anniversary with a family trip to the Virgin Islands which does get me to the ocean. They probably also want to check on the progression of my belly, but I suppose I can handle a few looks in exchange for some time on the beach. If only I could take advantage of the fresh local rum…

Googling “pregnancy bathing suits” doesn’t do much except encourage you to shop, but in my research I have found most opinions are to be proud of what you have and flaunt it; I guess I’ll go with that aka see if my bikinis still fit. I don’t much look pregnant from the front, other than my middle looks quite wide, like a thick stick figure, but the profile is getting pretty good. Apparently the Creature is 11 inches long now—not sure how that fits in there but I’ll take it! It would probably look good if my boobs were a little bigger, but I hate to tempt fate on that one. Just give me a butt-load of sunscreen and I’m ready!

Stretch Armstrong

Okay, back to complaining. My stomach feels like an expanding balloon, like the skin is just being pulled out. I don’t remember much about Stretch Armstrong (it looks like his biggest asset is you can pull him every which way without ripping him—fun) but the name really comes to mind. I am beginning to understand growing pains, which my poor brother had so badly in 6^th and 7^th grade he hasn’t grown since (and he’s 6’1”!). My joints are achy, I’m a bit off balance, and again, the skin, oh the skin. I’m trying to lotion the heck out of it basically anytime I pass a bottle of lotion. I suppose I could drink more water too; I’m already dehydrated simply from living at altitude (just outside the Mile High City, woopie).

I’m not sure if this sensation bodes poorly for stretch marks—like just about every other symptom those are supposed to be genetic. I can’t say I’ve seen my mum’s stomach too many times, but she seems to be lucky in most everything else so I’ll hope DNA is on my side. I’m also researching things (aka procrastinating) like Mama Bees Burts Bees Belly Butter or something alliteration-y like that. Probably I’ll buy some because it probably smells like milk and honey which is divine.

Everybody was kung-fu fighting

I said instead of complaining this time I would talk about something fun. I have chosen the topic of baby aerobics. This is because, for the past few weeks, I have been able to feel the Creature within. It’s completely weird, and I’m not always sure it’s a baby instead of gas, indigestion, hunger, or aliens—or anything else you could think of that may have reason to be in there jumbling around. Poor Hubby has been waiting his turn to feel it from the outside but it’s completely unpredictable thus far (and he’s really not that patient when I give him a tip and offer my stretched out bump). The best I can describe it is either like when you drink too much water and it sloshes around, making a little slap on the side of your stomach, or like hunger rumbles without having to do with hunger (although hunger is quite prevalent these days). I’ve also come to notice that 90% of the fetal karate classes occur in one quadrant of my belly so that seems to be a sign as well. While it’s pretty neat to feel something actually happening in there, I am trying to cherish the moments when I don’t feel much because, from what I can tell, it only gets more intense, more frequent, and more like a “real” baby: “hey ma, you think it’s time to sleep, WRONG! I’m hungry/bored/poopy/just want to cry and get your attention.”