Mom, I borrowed your gaucho pants

Someone just died in the McDonald’s drivethru. What’s that? I made that up? Yeah. No one died, but apparently someone ordered the entire restaurant and I regretted not going in on foot even though it was piss pouring rain outside. To make matters worse, the biatch that cut me off going into the drivethru was smoking a cigarette whose foul poison infiltrated my car. What’s that? My boyfriend is a smoker!? Ugh. I know! I said I’d never date a smoker, and truth be told, it really grosses me out… except when he does it. I’m such a hypocrite. And a liar.

Alllllll by myyyysellllffff!

Mom, I borrowed your gaucho pants… but we both know this is a lie. I stole them. I stole them because you took my brothers and abandoned me by going on vacation to British Columbia, only one of my favourite places on the planet, without me. What’s that? I could have gone but opted not to? WHO KEEPS POINTING THESE THINGS OUT TO ME!? Stupid conscience. Also, why is ‘!?’ not an actual button on a keyboard? It should be.

Why do we lie? Lying usually starts from a very young age. It starts with fantastic stories (or in my case, really really dumb self-preservation stories) and then later morphs into this trail of white lies in order to protect the innocent and/or guilty. Like J telling me he’s cutting back the cigarettes. Yeah. Friggen. Right. I’m not blind. Plus, I have the nose of a bloodhound thanks to the creature we planted in my uterus. So there. Don’t lie to ME, mister.

I remember telling my first lie. Okay, correction. The first lie I ever remember telling is this (there were surely many before my memory kicked in):

Back before I went to school with unicorns and leprechauns… I mean, faeries and gnomes… I mean, kids that drew with block crayons (minus the black ones) and wore sloganless t-shirts (don’t get me wrong, I love my Waldorf education. It’s just easy to make fun of), I used to go to school with normal children. You know, the kind that were allowed to have real chocolate rather than carob (dammit mom, we always caught you in that lie. Carob tastes nothing like chocolate!), play with plastic toys and wear Ninja Turtle t-shirts (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, heroes in a half shell, TURTLE POWER!). Well, there was this girl in my class named Jessica. I don’t remember why I wanted to be her friend, but for some reason I did. She never paid me much mind, but then

Whaaaa?

one day she loaned me her book. I was so excited! You can imagine my surprise when shortly after handing it back to her, the teacher approached me, Jessica in tears by her side, asking me if I’d taken Jessica’s four-leaf clover out of her book. Um, whaaaa? Instead of telling the truth, which was simply that I hadn’t noticed any clover and if it fell out of the book it was certainly an accident, I told the teacher that it was just a regular, run of the mill, nothing special three-leaved clover. In retrospect, I know a simple, “I didn’t realize” and “I’m so sorry” would have sufficed for the teacher, but hey, I was five. Besides, everyone knows she wouldn’t discover the luckiest clover for at least another 10 years.

Sorry. Couldn’t resist. This picture came up in my search for a clover. By no means am I suggesting that Jessica is a stoner. I don’t even know her last name, or really remember what she looked like even back then.

Another lie from that era (1988-1989) was the day I panicked because I broke my friend’s pen. It wasn’t one of those ordinary pens. It was one of those super cool ones that you clicked and the nib switched out for one of a different colour. Understandably, with such a rare piece of technology, my friend was very upset that I broke her pen. In a panic over the potential loss of my friendship, I assured her that it would be alright! She needn’t worry because my mom repaired pens for a living and could certainly tend to her precious writing accoutrement. I can only imagine what my mom thought when I handed her the broken pen and told her this tale. I’m assuming it went like this: 1. Shakes head, 2. Thinks, “My child is such a dumbass.” We went out and bought my friend a new pen that night.

I can’t wait for the doozies baby H will tell.

So yeah. Mom, I borrowed your gaucho pants. Good luck getting them back.

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Because it’s Monday

Apparently I’m suffering from the Mondays even though I’ve had no work in days… waiting for feedback is tedious. I just want to work and be done with it already! Basically, I’m in a bad mood, and here’s why:

I’ve been quite offended at the way some people have reacted to my friends throwing me a baby shower. Seriously people, it’s the norm these days. I’d have been really bummed if no one wanted to throw one. I can understand not having one for subsequent pregnancies, but for the first kiddo it’s a big deal. Do you have any idea how much having a baby costs these days!? It’s unbelievable, and we are certainly stressed about money with this pregnancy being unplanned and all. Having a baby shower isn’t only a fun way to celebrate baby (basically its a bunch of women eating finger food and playing baby related games), it’s also a really great way to set up first time parents with everything they need. Like we can afford all the incidentals plus the big ticket items (furniture, stroller, car seat etc)! It’s fun and it’s a huge help/relief for the new parents… so why so judgy people? Ugh. I’ve gone to a million baby showers. To make matters worse, my car had to be serviced this morning, and I have to get my dog spayed in the next two weeks (yes, that last expense is my very own fault… but that’s a long story about how I didn’t realize that my finances weren’t as great as I thought).

I’ve also been sad from browsing my WordPress Reader (this relates back to having no work for the last five days). When you’re interested in finding other pregnancy blogs you also come across a lot of infertility and pregnancy loss blogs, and they just break my heart. I’ll be honest, at 28 and not having been the most careful individual, I was verging on thoughts of infertility. J was having similar thoughts, although it was so early in our relationship when we conceived that we hadn’t actually talked too much about it. For me, the more these infertility thoughts crept into my mind, the more careless I became. I read an article in a magazine last year (I think it was Cosmo actually… so scientific! lol) about this phenomenon and how it’s resulting in a lot of unplanned pregnancies. Well, I’m a statistic I guess (just as we all are, one way or another). Point is, this wasn’t planned and there are so many women out there who are ready and planning and truly struggling to conceive and it just breaks my heart. Don’t get me wrong, baby H is so wanted and loved already, and I could never even truthfully say that he was an accident (c’mon, by 28 we should know where babies come from, and if we don’t we have got one hell of a problem)… it’s just that I feel for these women because it really does seem to come so easily for some people who aren’t at all ready or really shouldn’t have kids (I don’t fall into either of those categories, btw) and it’s not fair. I personally know quite a few ladies who struggled for years to conceive, and I can’t help but wonder why this seems to be happening to so many women during what should be their prime reproductive years… being a geographer and follower of environmental issues I can’t help but think about Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring. I bet it really is something in the water/air/food we eat. When I think about everything that we’re exposed to it makes me dizzy.

Wow. I just really really really bummed myself out even more. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve actually been really happy lately! Perhaps a post about that is in order now…

About the Belly at 25 weeks

Bébé boy has been growing! I don’t suppose that’s shocking. That’s what he’s supposed to do! But in honour of his growth spurt, I will write some more about him and the crazy things he’s making me do.

Weight gain: I’m so afraid to write this… 22lbs. Officially, according to my paperwork. At least 26 according to a photograph I just found of myself on the scale the day I found out I was pregnant. I definitely packed on a few before my first midwife appointment. Also, if you recall, my last update said I was up 10lbs, which means those last 12lbs came over a 2 weeks period. YIKES!

Weight gain anecdote: Was at a pool party last weekend. An Italian family pool party. There were three Nonnas there and let me tell you, they all had an opinion:

Nonna 1: You’re too big! Something wrong. You sure there’s not 2 in there?

*I assure her I have seen baby H twice via ultrasound, and that he is the sole inhabitant of my womb*

Nonna 1: No no. Something wrong. I think there are two.

Nonna 2: I have a granddaughter. She five  months pregnant too. You too big.

*sigh*

Nonna 3: Eat more vegetables. You don’t eat enough vegetables.

*True. I don’t.*

Dinner is served.

Nonna chorus: EAT! EAT EAT!

*But… I thought I was too big?*

Gotta love it!

Medical stuffs update: Yes, le bébé  is a bit on the big side as of yesterday, but it’s the first time I’ve measured ahead of schedule at all. All my ultrasounds have been within a day of my due date and measurements have always been bang on! So we’re sticking with November 9th. He’s probably just taking after my brothers, who were monster babies… or his daddy, who wasn’t a monster baby, but is 6’3″.

Cravings: Back to peaches. My very first craving was canned peaches, but now it’s fresh Ontario peaches. I also thought I was over the whole ice cream thing, but then I made a startling discovery. The most awesome thing I have ever eaten is officially an Oreo McFlurry with caramel sauce. Ok, maybe not the most amazing thing, but I swear… it’s heaven.

Symptoms: Move over people friends. I have some new best friends!

1. Heartburn SUCKS! And it doesn’t matter what I eat. Headaches are also crap.

2. I’m experiencing a great deal of insomnia because the baby is just moving moving moving all night long! And he likes to kick my bladder for some reason. I imagine he thinks it’s a soccer ball.

3. My lower back is killing me (and it’s only going to get worse… I keep seeing women who are about to drop and it’s freaking me out!).

4. The emotional roller coaster continues. Today I found an old business card of my grandpa’s in a bag at my grandma’s house and I cried in my car after I left because he’ll never get to meet my baby :( To be fair, although he passed nearly 9 years ago I still randomly cry about it from time to time, pregnant or not… so maybe that one doesn’t count. But I do keep having horrible dreams about things happening to J and I wake up crying. And speaking of dreams…

5. I had my first totally weird pregnant lady dream. I was in LA, but somehow it was Toronto. I was downtown and they were doing construction on the subway and so had constructed these temporary above ground platforms to wait for shuttle busses. Everyone looked really fearful. They kept glancing up at the sky and then cowering down. I finally asked someone what was going on, and they told me the aliens were coming. Ever skeptical, I decided they were all crazy and just carried on to my destination, which was a party at my friend’s house. Well, turns out the aliens had invaded the party and were turning everyone into ghosts. The guy sitting across from me got killed and then his ghost tried to steal the guacamole. So I said, “Hey! Where are you going with that!? Ghosts don’t need to eat.” He looked at me and angrily replied, “I don’t need it. I just want it.” And then he flew away, leaving me not upset that everyone was being transformed into ghosts, but rather because I really really wanted that guacamole. And now I’ve wanted guacamole all day. I might have to go get some.

My next midwife appointment is in 2 weeks instead of 4. Know why? Third trimester baby! Third trimester starts in just 2 weeks! 2 weeks… third trimester… uhhh… I’M SO UNPREPARED! But super excited that I get to meet our little man in 3 short months (give or take a couple of weeks).

Til next time, I bid you adieu. What’s that? You want a goodbye kiss?

MUAH!

About the Mutt

My last post received mixed feedback. Some expressed their joy at my happiness while others complained that it caused them to throw up in their mouths a little bit. To that last group I say, “You’re just jealous!” Let me enjoy my happiness while it lasts. As we all know, relationships have their cycles and the good times at least help to teach us respect that will hopefully carry us through the more difficult times.

Now, onward an upward. I’ve made you both swoon and vomit over my love for J and an About the Belly part 2 is in the works, so I figured I’d dedicate today’s post to my fur monster… uh, I obviously meant to say fur baby.

Punky Brewster (a.k.a. Punky, Punky B, The Punk, Punkster, Punk Star, Pukey Poopster, Brew, Brewster, Brouhaha, The Beast, Bee Sting, Noise and many more to come I’m sure) was born to an estranged set of parents on February 15th, 2012. She was the result of a randy visiting gentleman standard poodle from Québec, and a much obliging lady american bulldog/neopolitan mastiff cross (although her colouring suggests english mastiff). No doubt he seduced her with his accent. The chance encounter between those two brought 11 gorgeous little mutt puppies into the world. Her image was shot straight from the Internet (thanks to a random Kijiji search… I wasn’t even thinking about getting a dog) into my heart.

She was adorable… for about 2 seconds. No, I’m just kidding. She’s still the apple of my eye and I’m a little bit worried about jealousy issues once le bébé arrives. After all, she currently thinks she’s my baby. Why wouldn’t she? I only tell her she is about 50 times per day. No, it’s just that she’s more than tripled in size since the day we brought her home, and she’s gone from being an obedient little mouse to displaying some decidedly teenaged habits. She was out late the other night doing God knows what. This is how I found her in the morning:

All signs point to some sort of substance abuse problem… le sigh.

I don’t know what I, a pregnant lady, was thinking getting a giant puppy that could very well grow to be in the vicinity of 100 lbs according to her vet. Whoops. Oh well. She’s here to stay, I love her to bits, and we start puppy training this Friday. If it’s entertaining enough I’ll post an update. As it is, I’m too tired to even finish this post. But it was worth it just to share the toilet photo with you.

Wish us luck!

Goodnight, sleep tight!

Dear J

Lately my most annoying pregnancy symptom (aside from sleepless nights and heartburn) is my overwhelming sensitivity and sentimentality, but I’m gonna go out on a limb here and put a bright side spin on it. As you will know if you read my posts ‘Relationship Misadventures‘ and ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony‘ J and I haven’t had the easiest time adjusting to the pregnancy. This pregnancy happened very early in our young relationship and while it’s been stressful, it’s also been amazing. After all, I can’t say it was an accident since our combined 36 years of education should have taught us where babies come from. Our favourite cute couple (read: vomit inducing) game to play is “No, you wanted to get pregnant.” I officially win by default when, after sharing our why you wanted to get pregnant stories, J ends his with “and I’ve told this lie so often now that I’ve started to believe it”. Way to disqualify yourself darling!

I think I got a bit off track. My purpose here was to put a bright side on my ridiculous sensitivity and sentimentality as of late. Most of the sentimentality centres around being truly madly and deeply in love with the father of my baby. If he were a more sentimental man I’d write him love letters, but since I can’t really even verbalize how I feel about him to him in person due to the fact that his reply would make me feel weird (meaning there would be a lack of reply. Not because he doesn’t love or care about me; I catch glimpses of sweetness, some of which you will read about further on. No, it’s because he’s ‘built Ford tough’ dontcha know and tough guys don’t spew sonnets). Anyways, it’s been building up in my chest this week and I’ve just got to get it out, so now you all can read about it instead. He’ll probably read this eventually too (I know he spies on my blog from time to time) and that’s okay. He doesn’t have to tell me!

Without further adieu, here are 10 things that might appear in a love letter to J, should I ever write one:

1.

2. This city girl secretly loves that you’re a country boy (even though she won’t admit it half the time).

3. The phrase “I love you” gets thrown around a bit too easily in relationships, but you took your time, and I like that. When you first told me you might be falling in love with me it freaked me out. I don’t know why, I think I just didn’t expect it (I was also being a horrible hypocrite and read the text while driving… going into shock and commanding a moving machine do not mix, FYI). Then you kind of got all weird and disappeared for a bit, which scared me even more, because when I really thought about it I was happy you were falling in love with me. Thankfully when you came back it was with full force and that first “I love you”, even though it was a text made out of weird symbols and you were mad at yourself for saying it via text, just swept me off my feet. Seriously. I think the fact that it was a text helped in that department as well. You might be a tough guy, but you’re kind of shy and it’s totally endearing.

4. I actually cried last week when I sent you the pic I drew for baby H’s nursery and you told me the next day that you’d been looking at it on and off to keep you smiling.

5. Sometimes when I indulge in the darker places of my brain that I’d prefer to forget exist, I get super sad that you’re a smoker. I always told myself never to fall in love with a smoker because I knew I’d struggle with it. And it’s not because I think it’s gross, or that I’m frustrated that you said you’d quit and haven’t. It’s not for those reasons. It’s because I love you to pieces and can’t handle the thought of losing out on precious moments with you. I know we could all die tomorrow, but the fact that you’re hurting yourself (someone I love so much) willingly and knowingly breaks my heart. I want to take care of you and I wish you’d do the same (take better care of you!). Sometimes I even feel relieved when you sleep in the middle of the day (even though I get bored and wish you’d wake up!) because I know at least it’s 1 (or 10) less cigarette(s). Crazy thought process, I know, but that’s what love does to you. It makes you crazy one way or the other.

And what if you defy the odds but end up looking like this guy? Hmmm…

6. Thank you for telling and showing me (Note to my readers: that’s right. I went there. We’re having a baby so you shouldn’t be surprised), especially when I’m feeling like such a whale, that you find me sexier now than ever. I admit, I feel the same way about you.

7. My heart still jumps every time your name lights up my phone.

8. I just about died of happiness last night when you were talking to baby H and he was wiggling all around at the sound of your voice (oh dammit. I just teared up again). So many women complain that their partners don’t take any interest in the pregnancy part of the having a baby thing. I think it’s so beautiful that you talk to your son and clearly think about what our lives will be like with him in the world. I know it won’t be easy at times, but I can’t wait.

9. I think it’s obvious. I love your guts. And it doesn’t hurt that the encasement of those guts is mighty fine. You’re sexy and you know it!

10. Even though you might be mad that I gave the Internet a glimpse beneath your tough guy exterior, I know you’ll forgive me. Why? You totally love me too. Yup.

Ok, so this post totally isn’t in keeping with the tone of my blog, but I don’t care. I can’t just write about the things that annoy me, although it’s super fun because it’s just so easy to make them funny. Sometimes a little sentimentality is good for the soul.

Happy Monday friends! (And who ever says that about Mondays!?)

The Douchebag Convention

Good morning, good morning to you! Did you have a lovely weekend? I know I did. I inadvertently signed up for the douchebag convention, and it was a hoot! Ok, I lied. I actually had a lovely weekend with J and the puppy being domestic and stuff, but I did inadvertently end up in the middle of the douchebag convention last night from 11:30pm-12:30am.

How did this come to be? Let me start from the beginning. My bestie and I are both grad students. This comes in very handy when you need someone who understands what it’s like to be  a grad student to kick your butt into gear when you’re wasting time on the Internet *cough* Shan *cough*. We normally drag ourselves to a Starbucks halfway between our respective apartments and find the environment to be conducive to actually getting stuff done. When working under tight deadlines, however, Starbucks can pose a problem since it closes so early and after wasting time on the Internet all day, we really need those nighttime hours for work. So, last night, at 9:30pm we met up at a Tim Horton’s instead. I know that many of you prefer Tim Horton’s to Starbucks and its not hard to understand why. The prices and pretention at Starbucks are the most oft cited complaints, and all good Canadian boys and girls love their Timmy’s.

Well, although I’m loathe to admit it, I’m a Starbucks girl, and never was I more sure of that than last night. I can’t really say much in defence of Starbucks (other than that it was a fabulous place to work and I made amazing friends there!), because the price and pretention issues are very real, but I can say that I’m not bothered by those issues. As a former barista, I know how to order a drink that tastes exactly like my favourite Caramel Macchiato at half the price (thank you registered Starbucks card! I think the baristas secretly hate people that are fluent in Starbucks and know how to modify drinks to save $$), and a little pretention never hurt anyone. The truth is, there are going to be douchebags wherever you go in public; however, Starbucks douchebags are more likely to keep their douchery to themselves. Here is the Urban Dictionary definition of a Starbucks douchebag:

At most the Starbucks douchebag is going to annoy the crap out of the baristas when he orders his ridiculous impossible-to-make drink (like a 100 degree cappuccino… it’s just not possible people!) and again when he attempts to get a free refill, but other than that, he will just sit in the corner with his MacBook Pro (the original author of the UD entry neglected to mention that it would be a MacBook Pro, not just an ordinary MacBook) writing his novel that no one will ever read all the while believing it’s the next best-seller. That kind of douchery doesn’t interfere with my life and so, in my books, it is permissible and laughable. Timmy Ho’s, however, is a whole different story.

Let me start my Timmy’s rant by saying that Timmy’s will always have a special place in my heart. It’s where J and I had our first little coffee date. He asked me what I’d like and I told him a French Vanilla. Well folks, he didn’t just get me a French Vanilla. He came back to our table looking oh so adorable and informed me that he’d got me the “fancy” one. From that moment on I knew I was in trouble! Sentimentality aside, and fully acknowledging that you really can’t beat their prices, Timmy’s douchebags are an entirely different breed from the Starbucks douchebag. The Timmy’s douchebag lacks the self-confidence of the Starbucks douchebag to sit alone quietly. They are pack animals. Strangely, they do not all look the same, but they all have the same need to spread their douchery far and wide at top volume.

When I arrived at Timmy’s last night my friend informed me that it would be a different experience than what I was used to at Starbucks, and that the douchebag convention begins every night at roughly 11:30pm. Right on cue, at 11:30pm, and although the rest of the cafe was completely empty, the convention began at the table just behind us. I can’t describe to you what the Timmy’s douchebag really looks like because they come in all shapes and sizes. The crew last night looked somewhat like this:

Yup, there was even a Fe-douche. She wasn’t part of the convention, but seemed to know one of the douchebags. She walked in, hand on hip, and said something profound like, “Hey hey hey” (intonation up on the second hey before settling somewhere in between the first and second for the third). The vocabulary of this group seemed to consist mostly of the following words: dick, bitch, horny, ho, dick, bro, rape, gay, dick. When the highly sophisticated group left an hour later, they left this in their wake:

Not to mention the garbage that ended up on the floor on the other side of the aisle. My friend and I joked with the staff about what douches these guys were while we packed up our stuff and cleaned off our own table. After witnessing the convention we could no longer think and had to go home to recover.

The Douchebag Convention is a highly entertaining environment, but its really not conducive to the crafting of quality academic papers. Plus, two 28 year old (one of them pregnant) grad students don’t really blend in too well. I think I’ll stop wasting time on the Internet and stick to the Starbucks.

Source: The Oatmeal

About the Belly

I’m writing this post to satisfy the requests of some of my far away readers. This hasn’t been one of those typical pregnancy blogs where I give updates about the pregnancy, weight gains, foods craved, symptoms experienced and, the ever so anticipated belly shots. So fine! You win… here’s some über personal information and a hell of a lot of skin!

This is a little 22.5wks collage I made for you:

Yup. I’m horrified. I can’t see my feet or my lady parts anymore. Everyone has their opinion. The comments run the gamut from “Oh what a cute little baby belly” to “Oh my goodness, you’re HUGE”! Remember back when I said I look like a whale with a moustache? That’s still how I feel, but I am always comforted when people say the contrary. Well, it is what it is, whatever it is.

Here are some weekly photos so you can see how baby H has been growing! He’s like a little weed…

7 Weeks

13 Weeks

15 Weeks

18 Weeks

Here’s my 22wk (almost 23 now! I’ve been composing this for 3 days) über personal list of things that are happening to my body:

Weight gain: 10 lbs (although I think it’s more because I’m pretty sure I gained at least 5 before my first midwife appointment at 7 weeks).

Cravings: Ice cream… I SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM! But only Haagen-Dazs Cookie Dough Dynamo or Caramel Cone Explosion… none of this generic crap. Oh. And Oreo ice cream sandwiches. And Mrs. Whyte’s pickles (NO OTHER BRAND IS GOOD ENOUGH!). Yup, typical. Pickles and ice cream, but not together!

Symptoms:

1. Charley horses galore in both legs! The first time it happened it was just in my left leg. I was at my mother’s and I woke up screaming and she came running because I think she was worried something was horribly wrong. The second time was my right leg and I took it much better and suffered in silence. The third time happened in my sleep again, and this time in both legs at once. Here is my rendering of the event:

ME: “STRING OF EXPLICATIVES, MOSTLY BEGINNING WITH THE LETTERS F and S”

J: Waking up, sleepily, “What’s wrong?”

ME: “CHARLEY HORSE! CHARLEY HORSE!”

J: “Point your toes”

ME: “WRONG WAY! WRONG WAY!” (you’re supposed to pull your toes towards your knees, fyi)

J: “Do you want to walk it off?”

ME: “NO! I DON’T WANT TO WALK IT OFF! I WANT TO DIE! I JUST WANT TO DIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!”

J: Goes back to sleep.

Apparently I have a flair for the dramatic. Oh, and I lied. J did massage my calves before passing out again (how sweet of him at 5 on a Sunday morning!).

2. Pregnancy brain: I suspect that, like me, many ladies have pretty panties that they just don’t risk wearing around that time of the month. Well, the other day I put on a pair and then thought to myself, “Oh wait. Do I want to wear these? I haven’t had my period in awhile. Shouldn’t I be getting it any minute?” Oh… yeah…

I also forgot where I was driving to three times while on the way there the other night. It’s maddening.

3. It’s not just the belly that’s growing. My feet are a size bigger and my rings are getting quite tight. Wow.

4. Emotional much? I cried because I saw a funeral procession today.

5. Heartburn! Ew. I’m eating Tums like they’re going out of style (but not above the recommended dose for pregnant ladies, don’t worry. I’m super paranoid about what I put in my body when it comes to medication).

Really truly, the 2nd trimester is wonderful. Finding out baby H is a boy has changed so much for us. I know some people really want the surprise, but we are just so in love with the thought of a little boy. I talk to him every day. I wonder what he will be like, what he’ll look like -if he’ll look like my family or just like his daddy (who was an adorable, mischievous looking child, btw). I dream about what it will feel like to finally hold him in my arms… and if I’m feeling sappy enough, I cry about it! I can’t believe there’s a little life in there, even though I feel him every day, some more than others. Yesterday I had my computer leaning against my legs and it slid down so a corner of it was pressing in on my belly. He kicked it! And I mean kicked it. It moved.

This is getting too emotional. I have to go now. Or I will cry.

P.S. J is mad about the pic I posted the other day representing his parenting style. He says I’m not funny. I disagree. I think I’m hilarious.