Bump Watch - Weeks 31 & 32

These last two weeks have been relatively low-key… which is surprising given that I almost started crying the day I realized that my stomach was now resting comfortably on my lap. AND I WAS TOTALLY OKAY WITH IT.

Benny and I had a chance to go to a couple of concerts in Ogden these last couple of weeks. The first was Accapellastock, where amazing talent from around the country come to perform. Personally, I think the local group we have here is just as talented as anyone… even if this year’s show wasn’t nearly as energetic as last year’s show.

Tweet, incidentally, is a HUGE fan of beat boxing. And I was a huge fan of the caramel Kettle Korn that I insisted was necessary for me to maintain living. And since Benny’s a fan of keeping me alive so that he finally gets to spoil his baby girl, he handed me his wallet and told me to get whatever I needed. That’s right ladies… eat your heart out.

Last night, we went to a concert by the Lovell Sisters at the Nature Center. Benny was in charge of snacks… and apparently thought that we were feeding all of the concert goers because when we showed up with a bag of food and full ice-chest, we got some curious looks from the people next to us who had brought the standard red wine, cheese and bread. Obviously, we didn’t get the memo… but that didn’t stop me from digging into the watermelon, apples, bread, cheese, grapes, chips and salsa. All this for a two hour concert.

I only regretted that I hadn’t brought a corn dog as well.

Ah, yes… my new craving. CORN DOGS. Fresh corn dogs. Not one of those health risks you get at a gas station after a long night of “Book” Club. And do you know that the only hot dog joint in town, “Hot Dogden”, doesn’t carry corn dogs? How is this even possible?

A quick mental review assured me that there wasn’t a corn dog vendor in the food court of the mall. And just like that, we were in Code Red. IS IT SO HARD FOR A HOT DOG VENDOR TO OFFER CORN DOGS??

I mentioned this to Benny when I got home that night… er, rather, when I woke up that afternoon from my lunch break and decided that perhaps I was going to take a half-day of sick leave. Perhaps I haven’t mentioned it (much) but good grief does this baby development leave me exhausted. Even Steve the Squirrel chattering on about nothing to no one - which would usually leave me pondering how much I truly enjoy wildlife compared to how much I truly enjoy sleeping and wouldn’t it be tragic of Steve got blasted by a jet of water from the hose next time he opened his little yapper? – couldn’t bring me out of my slumber enough to at least close the window and instead left me covering my head with a pillow. Thus making my difficulty in breathing EVEN WORSE.

Have I not mentioned how hard it is for me to breathe at night now? In the last week, my lungs… which are currently the size of baseballs… have decided that the only time they will function correctly is when I’m sitting in the coffee shop, writing this post and drinking an Italian Soda. They refuse to function when climbing the stairs, watching the Nightly News with Brian Williams and his eyebrows and… sleeping. You know... only the three most important elements of my day. KIND OF A BIG DEAL.

I’d always heard that pregnant women are uncomfortable when they sleep on their back. Personally, I had never had a problem with this. No pain, no discomfort. Nothing. Until these last two weeks. It’s interesting… the feeling of suffocating because your teeny-tiny lungs can’t keep up the demands of a huge pregnant body. Left side, right side… nothing works. And just when I think it can’t get any worse and I’m about to “accidentally” smack Benny across the head while he sleeps because if I can’t sleep, why should he?… well, that’s when the bladder kicks in. Five times last night alone.

I have this theory that if I empty my bladder, that will somehow give the lungs more room to do their job. And… I think this theory works... for about 5 minutes. You know… before the lungs realize I’ve tricked them and before the bladder re-fills.

But… wow, I REALLY digress. This was about corn dogs, wasn’t it? Yes, I believe it was. When I sent Benny to The Center of the Universe for milk last night, I casually mentioned that one of my Facebook friends had clued me in that Arctic Circle has a kids meal with a corn dog… and if he wanted to, I would be okay with him bringing me one.

Honestly, I didn’t expect him to do it… #1 – it’s Arctic Circle and I don’t know if we’ve ever voluntarily gone there in our adult lives. I don't think their secret sauce is A) a secret or B) a sauce. And, #2 - I have had a problem with all Arctic Circles since about 25 years ago when my dad ordered a taco salad from an Arctic Circle in Preston and it had an earwig in it. And I have since painted all Arctic Circles with that same Earwig in My Dad’s Taco Salad brush. Because you may be able to take the earwig out of the salad, but you can’t take the earwig in the salad out of my temporal lobe.

So, you can imagine my delight when Benny came home with this:

That's right! Honey. Crunchy. Chicken. Corn. Dogs. 28 of 'em!!!

This should last me until the end of the week.

It's impossible to explain to the never-been-prego layperson how HUGE this is. Especially because Benny's not so much a fan of the processed food on a stick. But I'll be damned if he didn't join in the celebration and eat two of them himself. Obviously, given his stomach discomfort that evening, I need to review the finer point of corn dog consumption with him. The finer point being: Stop while you're ahead.

Other than the breathing problems and the meat on the stick madness going on in our household right now, things with the pregnancy couldn't be better. Tweet is kicking and tumbling up a storm. The doc says she's right where she should be in terms of growth and she has a heart beat of about 140.

We start birthing classes next week and everything is just getting more and more real. I'm scrambling to get everything done for work that I need to since I'll be gone for two months... and I still don't know that it will be enough. And we're both trying to figure out how we're going to handle the adjustment.

I guess you don't really know until you're living through it. And then you just figure it out as you go. Luckily, I've got a great partner to go through this with. One who brings me corn dogs and has even gone so far as to not dry heave when I ask him to put lotion on my feet. This is progress. And this is also what love is.

Tweet's one lucky little girl to have a dad like Benny. I can't wait for her to realize it.

Bump Watch - 30 Weeks

What can I say about week 30? That I had a meltdown? That I can feel myself getting dumber by the day? That the elephant-sized underwear that I refused to wear at week 18 is now a bit SNUG? That I can't stand the way I smell and am constantly showering or reapplying body spray, deodorant and perfume? That the jerk who parks in the parking lot where I work and drives the Infiniti GT 35 is one more double-parking day away from having a very nasty note stuck to his window explaining that while I understand his car is way better than every other car in the WORLD, and he doesn't want any door dings, the lines are not there merely as a suggestion and unless he wants an unbalanced pregnant woman jumping him like a fat kid on a cupcake, he needs to shape up and fly right because I am THIS CLOSE to losing it.

ARRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That was nice to get out of my system. Where were we?

Ah, yes.... the meltdown. One of a couple, I believe. But I'll just fill you in on the one that mortified me. As in: MORE.... wait for it.... TI.... wait for it some more.... FIED.

A few weeks ago, Benny and I decided that we'd just have to bite the bullet and purchase a nice changing table combo unit for Tweet's room. This was after hitting yard sales and every cheap furniture store we could find to no avail. The problem for us was three-fold.

#1 - We wanted to the changing table to match the crib... which we thought would be easy. We. Thought. Wrong. Cherry espresso isn't so much a primary color. Who. Knew?

#2 - Benny and I are on the tall end of life, and knew that we needed a taller changing table for both of us to feel comfortable and not throw out our backs. Yes... both of us. Have I mentioned that Benny's got a lot of pregnancy sympathy pains? I suspect this will bleed over to the actual raising of the baby.

#3 - We wanted a changing table combo unit so that Tweet could have her own dresser when she got older. We also wanted to make sure that while she's only able to poop, cry and eat, she's be sufficiently spoiled with the nicest piece of furniture in the house.

And, as we soon discovered, the only place in this world where all three of our demands could be met was the Place Where Paychecks Go To Die.

I know, I know! We, too, were shocked that we couldn't find something at the Center of the Universe! There goes our theory that if Costco doesn't have it, we dont' need it.

Anyway, we ordered a combo unit from Babies-R-Us on a Sunday, and the next Saturday, they called to tell us that it was ready to be picked up. Benny and I were thrilled because that meant that we'd be able to have the nursery ready for when Bart, Helen and the boys stopped by to visit. But, when they rolled out the furniture, we were surprised (and, yes, a little disheartened) to see that instead of our beautiful dresser/changing table, it was instead a six-foot dresser. And while I mentioned that both Benny and I are tall... a six-foot dresser? Not really feasible for changing a fussy baby. Even I know this.

Obviously, they had ordered the wrong piece of furniture and as I held back tears from my stupid, stupid hormones, they reassured us that they would get the correct changing table for us and it would be ready the following week.

The next Saturday, they called us to inform us that the item had arrived and we could come pick it up, so we braved the 80 degree weather and headed back down. When the clerk went to the back to get it, Benny cracked-wise about the previous mistake: "How mad would you be if they ordered the wrong one again?"

I pseudo-laughed and think I said something about losing my mind... but I can't be sure because right then they wheeled out THE SIX-FOOT DRESSER.

AGAIN.

All of the remaining working synapses in my brain went off at once. I do remember saying: "No way... NO WAY.... NO. WAY!!!" to the poor clerk pulling the dresser. I also remember her eyes getting big and the blood draining from her face. Personally, I don't blame her since I've seen myself in the mirror at 30 weeks. Add an angry face and I'm your worst nightmare if you work at Babies-R-Us.

I also remember that I tried to say something else, although nothing but a bunch of gibberish came out and I finally had to just turn away before I bit the poor girls head off.

And yes... believe me when I echo your sentiments that IT'S JUST A DRESSER. I get it. I do. But right then? It was the Holy Grail. And we were once again stifled on our quest.

Luckily, cooler heads (Benny's) prevailed and he politely asked the clerk if maybe that dresser was the one from last week and if there, maybe, wasn't another dresser back there?? One that wouldn't make his wife's brain explode all over the floor here at the register and cause a completely. unnecessary. scene?

Turns out, the clerk just hadn't checked the numbers and had only seen the name on the box... and ours was still on the dresser from last week. She went back and wheeled out the correct dresser. Or, rather, had someone ELSE wheel out the correct dresser. Because I had just made a complete ass of myself and she'd rather not face me again.

To say that I was mortified at my behavior would be putting it lightly. I apologized profusely to all of the employees who witnessed the meltdown and asked if they would please tell the clerk that I had yelled out that I'm really not a yeller and could not be more embarrassed at my behavior. And please tell her that if she wants, I'll name the baby after her. What's her name? Oh... maybe I'll just bring her a Frosty from Wendy's. Would that be okay?

Benny and I left and headed home with our new booty, excited to get it into the nursery. On the way, neither one of us discussed "The Incident". Perhaps he knew I was too humiliated to even laugh about it at the time. It wasn't until the next day that I could finally actually bring it up in a conversation with my parents as we were heading to Babies-R-Us so they could see me drool over a $700 rocking chair.

Yes... you read right... SEVEN. HUNDRED. BONES. Cuz that's how I roll. After having sat in it, nothing else will do. And since we all know that we'll never pull the trigger on it, I've already made plans to breastfeed the baby once a day down at Babies-R-Us... just to enjoy the experience on a $700 rocking chair.

(Side note: Babies-R-Us should be ashamed because it's NOT really Babies-R-Us, now, is it? It's more like Babies-R-Only-Those-Who-Can-Drop-$700-On-A Rocking-Chair.)

Anyway, I digress. As I regaled my family with my bit of pregnancy hysteria, Benny tried to downplay The Incident and did what he could to make me feel less of a crazed lunatic.

"You know, sweetie... it's Babies-R-Us. They deal with crazy pregnant women all the time. I bet they even have a board in the back with pregnant meltdown stories. They'll just add you to the list."

Yea... for some reason, doesn't REALLY make me feel better. Maybe it was the crazy. pregnant. woman. reference?

So, in a nutshell, that was week 30. Not only a great example of a meltdown, but also of me getting dumber because I lost the power of speech and couldn't think logically that this may have just been a simple mistake. Add to that the snugger fitting elephantwear and you've got yourself a ticking time bomb. Satisfied only by bloodshed or some spaghetti squash. Whatever I have on hand.

Benny and I are both hoping that week 31 turns out a lot better than week 30, but you never know.

Tweet had a good week, though. And really, that's all that matters. She's been tumbling around in there and at least once-a-day, I can count on a case of the hiccups. Which is just about as adorable as a panda hugging a puppy.

Week 30!!!

(Brought to you courtesy of the Ogden River... one of my favorite pregnancy accessories!)

Life Around Here

Dear Tweet,
It's been quite a week for both you and I.

I don't include your father in that statement on purpose... because, quite frankly, since I was 1 minute pregnant, every week has been "quite a week" for him. In the last 30 weeks or so, he has become the Get Up And Get It, Guy... the Get Up And Fix It, Guy... The Get Up And Rub My Feet, Guy... The Get Up And Put New Flooring In, Guy and The Get Up And Clean Out The Litterbox Guy. Last night, in fact, before he was the Get Up And Sleepwalk, Guy, he was the Why Don't You Get Up And Put That Book Away Guy... and when he did, he immediately became the HEY! Why Aren't You Rubbing My Belly?, Guy.

Yep. It's pretty much a lose-lose situation for your poor dad. But, we finally have an explanation as to why your mother has gained, I dunno... 500 pounds? And yes, I will blame your father for the weight gain as he has been excitedly telling me whenever he LOSES a pound. Which makes him THAT Guy.

And, then I have to go to my happy place (you know, the one where the walls are made of cream cheese frosting and the furniture is rocky road ice cream?) and remember that at least one of us has to preserve the athletic skill that was once the Jaynee & Benny show. For posterity. Which is why to even things out, I've insisted he grow a beard.

So, you see... to include him would be a bit redundant.

Yes... it's been quite a week. You are kicking around in there.... almost to the point of annoyance. And who would ever have thought I would say THAT? But, c'mon! I can't be working with all that tumbling going on in there. It's distracting! Why? Because I keep staring at my belly waiting to see it jump. BECAUSE THAT'S HOW MUCH OCD I HAVE. Aren't you the lucky one!

The good news is that you now have very definite awake and sleep patterns. The bad news is that your sleep patterns are always at night. Which is, actually, good news as we hope that you carry that over into your air-breathing days... but your daddy doesn't get to feel you kick much anymore. And that's a huge bummer for him. Perhaps I'll wake him up a 3 a.m. so that he can feel you working on your balance beam routine and he won't feel so bad, huh?

Anyhoo... Every once in a while during this pregnancy, I get a random bee in my bonnet about something or other. This week, it happened to be the fact that the cat needed to be shaved.

The cat has been vomitting more than usual (as if there were actually a way of knowing how much is unusual, HA!) and I thought perhaps it was due to hairballs. Because, let me tell you one thing about Nytro that I DO NOT MISS since making her an outdoor cat... well, one of many things: That cat sheds like no other. We actually had a policy at one point that the cat was not to be pet under any circumstances. Not that it helped because every time she blinked or twitched her tail... POOF! Hair in my Cheerios.

Nytro, the cat whom I hope you will someday remember fondly as being your very first cat - which gives your father nightmares, because "very first" means that there is a very second and possibly a very third cat in our future and that, my dear girl will be why your dad loses all his hair - needed to be shaved about a month ago. But I distinctly remember thinking: Why bother when I could just lay down and take a nap instead?

So... she ended up with some nasty mats in her fur because she's become too fat to reach certain areas. And although she's been shaved before and has LURVED it, she's never been shaved whilst being an outdoor-only cat. (Or as your father prefers: That Damn Beast.)

Let's just say that the whole experience this time probably could have gone worse... but I'm not sure how. All I know is that Nytro has been awfully lethargic since coming back. And although she looks fabulous, I can't help but feel that she's depressed.

My cat.

Depressed.

WOW. I may need a life.

I really thought that I was doing what was best for the poor beast... I really did. And I think that once she gets over her PTSD, she'll be okay. I hope she'll be okay. Because I can't live with a cat that goes from this:















A cat that is constantly causing trouble with the neighbor (The Burbs-style) because she refuses to use the litterbox unless it's raining outside and much prefer's Mikes front lawn... but you can't really get mad at her because, really.... HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A MORE BEAUTIFUL BEAST? I mean besides me at 30 weeks... HAVE YOU EVER???


To this:















Cue the music to Cymbalta.

If depression had a face... THIS. WOULD. BE. IT. Someone needs to tell her that depression doesn't just hurt you... it hurts your owner that kicked you out of the house and gave you a bad haircut. And get over it already... at least you get to eat the exact same breakfast and dinner 365 days a year.

And if that isn't reason enough to get your act together, I don't know what is.

She looks like she lost her best fur coat (actually, she did) and I haven't been able to get much more than a headlift and a sigh from her for the past two days. For the love of PETE, the girl isn't eating. We are very near Code Red with her.


It doesn't help that the night-time temps around here get down to (gasp!) 66 degrees at night and since she lost her fur coat, she had to finally use the cheap cat house I got for her months ago but was convinced she would never fit in. Turns out, Miss Fatty isn't so much fat as she is furry and I found her curled up in the house this morning. Just needed to take a couple pounds of hair off of her and she fit just fine. Who. Knew?



Meanwhile, Bailey continues to beg me to play fetch with her and can't quite understand that the reason I don't is because SHE ATE THE BALL. But that doesn't matter, really, because... wait! Are you going inside? Can I come? Can I come? CAN I COME?? Inside is my favorite ever! I'm pretty sure I heard you drop a black bean on the floor by the table 32 minutes ago! Woo-hoo!!!! That bean is MINE! SOOOOOO EXCITED!!!!!!!!!

And then we go inside and if I accidentally mention the word 'outside'... it's game on. Can I go? Can I go? Can I go? CAN I GO??? Outside is my favorite ever! I think there's a ball out there somewhere! And the squirrel!!!! And, and, AND..... CRABGRASS!!!!! SOOOO EXCITED.

Yes, Tweet. This is the world into which you are being born. A cat with PTSD, and a dog that will love you even if you come out... as a cat. Just as long as you play fetch with her.

And two very excited parents still have NO IDEA what we're in for... and we couldn't be more thrilled.

Bump Watch - 29 Weeks (According To Benny)

The post brought to you by Benny's memory, because mine is THE SUCK.

Really... week 29, is it? I only ask because every day I feel like a brick fell out of the sky, landed on my temporal lobe and gave me amnesia every five minutes.

So, Benny... he who is currently wrapped around the finger of a fetus - did you know that was even possible?... just rattled of a list off what happened in the pregnancy this week. I believe him only because my Benny has only ever lied to me about the presence of chocolate in the house, and whether or not spiders have ever set foot in our bedroom. And even if I can't remember the exact answers to the above issues, I know I still love him for lying to me about it.

Anyhoo... I give you Week 29, According To Benny:

According to Benny, my energy has been good... I even tackled the garden and the crab grass again, so as not to bring down the value of the properties surrounding us. However, he has noticed that when I have a big day of gardening or picking my nose while passing judgement on the neighbors walking their dogs, I tend to hit a wall BIG TIME the next day.

Today, for example, after a great weekend that included back-t0-back BBQ's and a visit from Bart, Helen and the boys, and my first baby shower... well, it wasn't so much that I hit a wall, but that a wall hit me. Right between the eyes. And I had to take 1/2 day sick leave so I could go home and sleep it off. I didn't help the situation this morning by forgetting whether or not I'd taken my Zantac for the day. This is because I woke up at 5:30 and couldn't sleep one more minute, so I decided to get up and have breakfast. Then I went back to bed at 7:30 and slept until 8:45... just in time to see the family off to the airport. And at that point, everything that had happened prior to 8:45 was a complete blur. So, it's entirely possible that I took the pill, but who knows?

So, in an effort to not OD on the stuff, I figured I'd wait and see how I felt and if I started to feel acid-refluxy, I'd know I hadn't taken it. It was a fool proof plan until at 10:30 when I started to feel sick. But then I was still sure I'd taken it and maybe I was just sick because I had eaten nothing but bread pudding and funeral potatoes all weekend and WHO WOULDN'T BE SICK?

By 1 p.m., I knew it was a lost cause so I headed home and hit the sack. I discovered that if I didn't move too much, the vomit stayed down in my stomach. And I still didn't take the Zantac. Cuz that would have been admitting defeat. Yep. That's me. The bright one. We only hope that Tweet gets her brains from her father and her stubborness from me.

Anyway, I held out until 3:30 and then decided that: SCREW IT... This misery cannot be good for the baby. I felt so much better afterwards that I realized that, yep... hadn't taken the pill this morning. AND IT DESTROYED MY WHOLE DAY.

Acording to Benny, I'm not getting up nearly as much in the middle of the night to pee. I'm down from 6 trips to the bathroom at night to 1 or maybe 2 depending on the Sprite situation that day. Oh, and btw... before I forget, can someone explain to Benny that the Sprite is for the pregnant woman who doesn't get to drink the latte's that he's gulping down and not for him? And to please stop screwing the cap on so tight that I break a tooth trying to open it? Thanks.

According to Benny, watermelon is still clutch in week 29. But I've become particular about my watermelon. And watermelon that does not toe the line is quickly disposed of and the husband is sent on another watermelon mission to The Center of the Universe with orders not to come back unless there are plenty of bee stings on the watermelon (indicates level of sweetness). Or all hell will break loose.

According to Benny... my toes are still chapped. Apparently, he's noticed and wants to bring it to my attention since I can no longer see my toes. I say the answer to this is a certain father-to-be lotioning up the chapped toes so neither he nor others in my life will be quite so offended.

According to Benny, the belly really firmed up this week and Tweet is kicking non-stop. Which is really very cool. Really. And I'm seriously not even going to complain about it keeping me up because I'm getting so used to it that it helps me fall asleep... except when she grabs both sides of the womb and pulls them together like she's attempting to close the curtains in a hotel room and the two ends just. don't. meet.

According to Benny, my lungs are way smaller than last week. Dr. Benny made this prognosis when we went for a walk in the neighborhood and I repeatedly had to ask him to slow down cuz I was about to pass out dead on the sidewalk.

According to Benny, my hair has continued to grow long and luscious. Er... as long and luscious as I've ever been known to accomplish. My hair has an unwritten rule that all growth must stop just past the shoulders. But I think he's most excited about the fact that right now I'm losing exactly zero hair in the shower... which means that our pipes are getting a big break right now.

According to Benny, I might have had a teeny-tiny meltdown in Babies-R-Us (aka: Whey Paychecks Go To Die). They had called to inform us that our changing table was in and (hooray!) ready for pickup. But when we got there, they rolled out a 6-foot dresser... and how in the world do you expect us to change a diaper on a 6-foot dresser? And this was NOT our mistake because I know what I ordered and it was not a 6-foot dresser!!! OMG! IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD! HOW WILL TWEET SURVIVE IN MY WOMB KNOWING THAT WE DON'T YET HAVE A CHANGING TABLE FOR HER???

*Ahem*

That may, or may not, have been the way it went down. But either way, it was awfully close to reality.

According to Benny, week 29 was awesome because it was so freaking cold in O-Town. Like, highs. of. 80. cold. THIS IS HOW ALL AUGUSTS SHOULD BE. EVERYWHERE. It was beautiful... so beautiful in fact that I actually got up and made myself a hot chocolate three days in a row. It's football weather... only without the requirement of going to a football game to enjoy it.

According to Benny, I make way too much noise getting in and out of the car, or bending down to pet the cat. Wait until delivery... I'll show him some noise.

According to Benny, pregnant women should not have to mop the floor or clean the house. Or, was that according to me and forced upon an unsuspecting Benny? I can't remember. Just know that Benny jumped on that particular grenade for me this weekend and I cannot thank him enough.

And finally, according to me, I made the best decision of my life when I married Benny and decided to bear his children. Tweet cannot possibly have a better father and in 10 weeks? You all will see first hand what I mean.

29 Weeks!

But, wait! There's more! A two-fer! This one with skin!

Monkeys and Balance Beams

It's still amazing to me... the generosity of people.

Last week, in between naps, I found a package on my doorstep from a couple that I'm pretty sure we've only seen twice in our lives: Fe-Lady and hubby. Of course, after we met them the first time at Benny's first Ironman, we quickly offered up our house to them to stay in for X-Terra while we were in Europe. Cuz, we're trusting people that way and that's just how we roll.

I mean, for. the. LOVE! The first time we met him, we had Greyhound hold our wedding rings while we went for a swim in Tempe Town Lake? WHO DOES THIS?

Enter Benny and Jaynee whose only possession of real value (the scooter) is currently out-of-commission because a certain, un-named FATHER-TO-BE refused to insure it when I was five days prego because of the baby on board.

Actually, I guess that's not the only thing of value we own anymore... because Tweet's bedroom situation is looking pretty fine. I'm telling you... she has nicer stuff than we do and SHE WON'T EVEN CARE!

But, I digress. Fe and family sent us this last week:












Tweets very own espresso cup, sushi dish and rice spoon!

I mean, you could TRY to be more precious, but you would fail miserably. How cute is the mug? I may start drinking my Sprite out of it, because it's the perfect size. And the spoon? I mean, I know... I know we won't be using this for a while but... did I ever tell you that my mother used to have a monkey? Like... A REAL, HONEST-TO-GOODNESS MONKEY?

So, yea... I'm pretty pumped up about the monkey, as it's the closest I'll ever get to owning one of my own. What, with all the crazy laws about owning monkeys anymore... and people being all nervous and grossed out by possibility of having feces thrown at them... or having their faces torn off... and what kind of CIVILIZED monkey does this??

I also recently finished ready The Tall Book that Greyhound sent Tweet. Man, you have NO IDEA how much I loved that book. Really put things into perspective for me. For instance, did you realize that when you go to the Gap and try on a size 14 outfit that the mannequin is wearing, that it's completely normal that it will look like six blind hobos tried to dress you? That's because all Gap clothes are size-fitted to about a 6. A SIX?? I have a second-cousin that's a size 6, but since she's only 5 years old, she doesn't have that kind of money to spend on clothes.

And let me just tell you something else about size 6, Tweet. Size 6 doesn't podium amongst the Athena's. Size six doesn't get your college paid for... unless you're a gymnast, and trust me, you may be tumbling around in there something fierce, but gymnastics is sooooo not in your future. Through no fault of your own, mind you. In fact, when I was a kid, I used to think I had the ability to be the greatest balance beamer of ALL TIME. And then... then I got on the balance beam and WHOA, THERE, COWGIRL! Is this your first rodeo?

Yea.. my lanky legs and arms had other plans. As did my pride. This is also the reason I was never able to successfully become a rodeo clown, although parading around the yard on the shetland pony with my feet almost touching the ground comes AWFULLY close.

The Tall Book also finally gave me closure on 4th grade incident that has haunted me to this day. Turns out, there WAS a reason why I couldn't dance like all the other 4-11 girls could for the pep assembly. It was just a lot more work to get my limbs under control... which is also a great explanation for my dancing style today. Luckily, today I have what I didn't have in 4th grade... a smart mouth AND blacklights lighting up the dance floor so EVERYONE looks herky-jerky when they dance.

It's taken me 20 or so years to get over that humiliation... but at least now I can appreciate "Jump" by the Pointer Sisters again.

Bump Watch - 28 Weeks

Oh, week 28. Where did you go? What do you mean I slept you away?

Actually, it's not so much that I slept week 28 away... it's that week 28 started out well each day, until about noon when I ran face-first into a big wall and had to take a 90 minute nap. While drooling on my pillow.

This... this does not work well when one is being paid to actually work.

In a job.

That requires me to be awake.

Or at the very least, semi-conscious.

I mean, even if I wanted to pull a George Costanza and sleep under my desk... let's just say that my "svelte" athlete's body has officially LEFT THE BUILDING, and if I was actually able to get myself to fit under the desk, there is no guarantee that I'd be able to get out.

And then we'd really have a situation on our hands, wouldn't we? Because when the firemen came and cut the desk open with the Jaws of Life, I'd have to then move to Canada so that I WOULD NEVER BE HEARD FROM AGAIN. And DO THEY EVEN HAVE FACEBOOK IN CANADA?????

Last weekend, Benny and I hit the Farmer's Market on 25th Street. I've been going to this thing for years, and couldn't believe just how big it is this year. We wandered down around 11 a.m. Saturday... right about the time things usually start to thin out. Nope. Even by noon, there was barely enough room to maneuver the belly through the crowd and although I've been known to hyperventilate for no good reason in big crowds, that day it didn't bother me. Must have been the free samples of corndogs that melted in your mouth.

We also were in time to watch the Patriot Guard ride down 25th. They were in town last week after escorting a replica of The Vietnam Memorial to Ogden. Apparently, they ride all over the country doing this, which is very cool.

28 Weeks!

I would guesstimate that about 500 of the 5,000 bikes came downtown that day and the riders decided to take in downtown O-Town and the Farmer's Market.

Even this tough guy and his little buddy.












And yes... you are correct. Those are Doggles. THEY DO EXIST. Sersly, if you must have a teeny-tiny yippy dog, this is the only acceptable version.

Oh, and if you're a mean-looking Harley-riding Patriot Guard with a MOM tattoo by the name of "King".. you can pretty much have whatever size pet you want. The man could have been carrying a guinea pig dyed pink with painted toenails and people would have given him a wide berth.

Leave it up to Benny... the guy who just shaved his legs for a bike ride the day before and carrying a pink camera case to ask for a picture from King.

For his wife. That chick over there wolfing down a corn dog.

Speaking of which, week 28 also marked the week wherein I realized that I still have something like 12 weeks to go... and even though in the back of my mind I truly thought that this was as big as I would get... as big as anyone could possibly get... the hard truth is that it's just this week that Tweet is going to start gaining weight. A lot of weight. Perhaps from the corn dog? Perhaps from the zucchini bread that I made and ate in one night? You can never tell with these things. The point is, from here on out, the chub rub of the thighs will no longer be an occassional gripe. And the help I need from Benny to get off the couch? Not going away any. time. soon.

Shattered dreams, I tell you. SHATTERED. DREAMS.

Also last week, Benny and I got to experience the first time we actually saw the belly move. I was sitting in my office... as close to the desk as I can now get, which means that I need to put on my glasses to read email from a distance... and I actually saw the belly jump! I told Benny about it that night. I think he was a little bummed he missed it, but he happened to have his hand on the belly when she did it again! She moved his hand! It was amazing!

Also amazing? I used to have a deep, deep inny-belly that used to collect lint for me. Which was particularly handy when camping and I needed something to help start a fire with. But, I digress. The lint-keeper is no more. I can actually see the bottom of my belly-button as it starts to make it's migration outward.

I've also noticed a sharp decrease in my memory and an equally sharp increase in losing words while I'm speaking with someone on the phone. And then in my frenzy to find the right word for square or banana, I forget what we were talking about in the first place. I also can never remember whether or not I've taken my Zantac.... and in an effort not to OD the baby on it, I just sit tight and wait to see if I feel like I'm going to throw up for no good reason. That's the only way I know if I've taken it or not. Which has equated into a couple of sleepless nights where I realized I hadn't taken it but it was all the way out in the kitchen, and I'm all the way back here in the bedroom... and maybe if I just don't move the sensation that all of my stomach acid is burning a whole in my esophagus will go away.

Which is why I usually get up and stumble to the kitchen at 3 a.m. and down a Zantac. It's an awful, awful cycle.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only one responsible for keeping me awake at night. Because everyone's sweetheart Benny has taken sleepwalking to a whole. 'nutha. level.

Through trial and error of the six years of marriage, we've discovered that I can usually wake him up from a sleepwalk (which is much less walking and much more doing crazy stuff like trying to dig a hole through our bedroom wall) by calmly saying his name and telling him he needs to go back to bed. The only way I even figured this out was his former roommate from college told me that usually worked with him.

However, we've also discovered that there are times when he's panicked and cannot be talked down from the digging of the hole in the wall (because the bedroom was on fire and I was being a hinderence) and it's best to just let him do his thing. Even if that "thing" turns out to be him walking outside at 2 a.m.. Sans PJ's.

But last week, I was just too tired to A) notice his unusual uptick in episodes and/or B) if I did notice, have enough energy to do anything about it. Which is why Sunday night, when he turned on the light in my bathroom at midnight and I mumbled something about it, I didn't even bother opening my eyes when he started yelling that I WAS THE ONE WHO WANTED HIM TO FIX THE DAMN THING! SHEESH!

I do believe he ended up waking himself up a few minutes later when he went to his bathroom and turned on the light. But, I couldn't be bothered, because Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......

So, that was week 28. This weekend, I have my very first baby shower... something that I never thought I would EVAH have. Just like I never thought I would have a wedding shower, or, you know... a wedding. I just wasn't one of those girls that ever thought about that. And now that I am thinking about it, I'm freaked out. Sersly. Showers like that are a rite of passage for women... am I really ready for this rite of passage? I mean, I've still got a couple months to prepare myself. A baby shower in a few days is a HUGE DEAL.

We also get to see some family who will be stopping by. Bart, Helen and the boys are taking a detour home from vacation and Helen will be able to come to the baby shower, which is nice.

Also nice is that we found out that the new Birch Creek Mercantile, which serves Farr's ice cream, is OPEN ON SUNDAYS.

This pregnancy? Now managable.