Bump Watch - Week 27

Also known as the week that food lost it's position as my number one priority... falling to second place behind HOLY CRAP I NEED TO TAKE A NAP.

This week was also Pioneer Week in Ogden. Tons of events were planned throughout the week and I participated in pretty much ZERO of them because I had important things to do. Like sleep, eat and complain about the heat. That's right, Pioneer Week also happened to be the hottest week in Utah this year. Because if it wasn't, what would I have to complain about?

Like the vast majority of Utah, both Benny and I got the 24th off to celebrate the big State holiday. We started the day riding our bikes to Kaffe Merc for some scones and a coffee for Benny and then headed down to the Kiwanis Pancake Breakfast. Because if there's anything I do well, it's put down two breakfasts. Benny, the champ, outdid me though... as he'd had breakfast BEFORE the scone and still took care of my leftovers.

Afterwards, Benny, KC and I met up with Kaylene and Gavin and picked a spot on the parade route to watch what would turn out to be a TWO. HOUR. PARADE. I'm sorry... I don't mean to complain (of course, I do) but had I known I was going to be sitting in a gutter for two hours, I maybe would have brought down a chair... or at the very least, a cushion to sit on.

This pregnancy stuff... I tell you, the uncomfortableness (if it's not a word, pretend that it is) I have all the time right now is NO JOKE. The last hour and 59 minutes of the parade were pretty much an exercise in futility as I tried to find a position that didn't make me want to cry or strangle a small child. Not because I'm in any pain or anything... it's just, well... have you ever gone for a ride on a camel?? Me neither. But I would imagine that being pregnant and trying to find any kind of comfortable position without the help of a cushion or, I dunno, someone rubbing my feet and feeding me chocolate while I sit on a bed full of feathers... is sorta comparable to riding a camel.

For 100 miles.

In the desert.

In August.

While being pecked to death by a rooster.

With rabies.

But, I digress...

Despite the lack of comfort in my chosen gutter along the side of the street in 90 degree weather, we had a good time. We even got to see the Budweiser Clydesdales as they pulled their cart up the street. Have you people SEEN the size of these horses? Finally, something to make me feel not so huge. I have since decided that all future pictures of me will be taken in front of or near a Clydesdale horse. It just seems like the right thing to do, seven months in.

27 Weeks!

In related news, it appears that my grand scheme of forgoing summer maternity clothes and simply wearing my skorts purchased at The Center of the Universe (Costco) has been derailed. Trust me when I tell you that the skort above is NOT supposed to be that short. And although Benny has lovingly tried to tell me that maybe it's time to suspend use of the skort for the summer, it takes a picture of me and the peice of fabric that used to be a knee-length skort, posing in front of a Budweiser Clydesdale for me to see the light.

And that light screamed: OMG! WHAT AM I WEARING? HOW DID I GO OUT IN PUBLIC LIKE THIS? MY EYES! MY EYES!!!!!
Ahem...

So, it appears the time has come for me to re-evaluate my closet. Sunday, I did just that and took all the non-pregnancy clothes (turns out, there's A LOT of them) and put them in storage... leaving just my maternity clothes so that I'm not tempted to sneak in an ill-advised skort for a quick jaunt to the market for ice cream and pickles.

So, besides the uncomfortableness and the realization that a whale in a skort simply CANNOT pull off sexy and cute anymore, what else?

Well, there's the extreme fatigue that I feel down to my bones. Sersly... I was never this tired in the first trimester. I cannot get over how every. single. second. of the day, all I can think about is how great a nappy-poo would feel right about now.

The best part about it is that Benny's feeling it, too. So it must have something to do with sympathy pregnancy pains and the heat. And I love him for it. In fact, when we were down at the parade, it was he that looked like he'd hit a brick wall and needed to take a nap. I felt that this was a bit of a victory on my part... him being the first to admit defeat and ask to go home. Even though I was just about to wave the white flag myself.

I've also had kind of a melancholy, emotional week... I don't know why. Or, rather, I do know why. But choose not to talk about it because it's SO INCREDIBLY STUPID. I will tell you that it's caused me a lot of anxiety... which upsets me because I know - even now, I KNOW - that pre-pregnancy, I wouldn't have given it a second thought. I'm not an anxious individual. I don't do anxiety. I try to live by the motto of "Eh... don't worry about it!", said in my best Jersey voice.

But... I can't. It's like I've latched on to this idea in my head and no matter what I say or do... I can't let go. Finally, tonight, I talked with Benny about it. And he, too, felt that it wasn't something to worry about. That made me feel a little better. I suppose I'm just going to have to tell myself to GET OVER IT ALREADY, NADOLSKI.

Think that'll work?

It has to. It cannot be good for Tweet all this anxiety I'm feeling. Last thing I need is a kid who's anxious. As I said, I don't do anxious. I only do shiny, happy things. Like ice cream. With a shiny spoon in it.

And... that's where you'll find me tonight! At least it's not pickles, right?

Speaking Of Ribbons...

So, I guess I shouldn't have bragged about the quality of sleep I've been getting lately. Because Karma, that nasty little deviant who clearly needs a job, had something to say about that. And I spent all of last night laying in bed... wide awake... in between potty breaks and bouts of 5 minutes of sleep.

I do believe that last night marked the first time that it hit me... it really hit me... that Benny and I were no longer the globe-trotting couple we've enjoyed being for the last six years. And HOLY COW... we're gonna be a family. And that means that we must both grow up. And always have veggies and fruit in the house. And have a house. And a job... that's no longer an option, is it? And start to stay Argh! instead of our preferred plethora of swear words. (And... FYI, 'tis better to say Argh in a pirates voice... gives more credence to your displeasure.)

Yes... all of this ran through my mind last night when I should have been in la-la land dreaming about food. Which explains why I was in my office at 7:45 a.m.. Sersly... WHO WORKS AT THIS INSANE HOUR OF THE DAY?

Surprisingly, work helped with the anxiety. And because she knows I lurve it, Tweet did what she could by kicking around in her temporary home. Apparently, we've got a soccer player on our hands. And not that I don't love soccer... but I've always been more of a climate-control athlete. Especially after I've witnessed Soccer Moms come home after a Saturday out in the rain or snow. I'm holding out hope that Tweet will figure out that with her God-given height (I'm calling 5-10 out of the womb) she'll be into volleyball. And yes, I'll support her in that sport even if she does wear ribbons in her hair to match the rest of her team... a HUGE pet peeve of mine. But playing in a gym where there's no such thing as a sunburn or frozen toes? TOTALLY WORTH IT.

And speaking of how tall our little Tweet is gonna be... I came home this afternoon to find that our very own Greyhound had sent Tweet (c/o me) The Tall Book.

How could he have known that I've been having dreams about birthing a full-grown woman?

The inside of the jacket reads:

Tall people:
Smart.
Wealthy.
Successful.
U.S. Presidents.
Oscar winners.
NBA players.
CEO's.

Scrunched into airplane seats.
Unable to find good clothes.

WHY?

In the book, the author, Arianne Cohen, attempts to unlock the mysteries at the center of talldom. Like, why do tall people succeed professionally, financially and intellectually far more than others? (Which makes me think that clearly, I can't be counted among the tall anymore... Or, am I just an outlier?)

Apparently, she travels from endocrinologists' offices to the annual European Tall Club Convention in search of answers. I wonder if she ever bothered to check the nearest farm as I'm convinced that farm girls grow like weeds cuz we eat so well. And so often. Something that will follow us throughout our lives and next thing you know, we get pregnant and eat the house.

The endocrinologist mention has intrigued me, because when I was born, I grew so fast that by the time I was something like 5 months old, my pediatrician told my mom that he thought there might be something wrong with me and sent her to an endocrinologist to take some blood. And, I think you can all imagine how 5-month-old's and needles get along, right? In fact, along with my pediatrician, my mother was getting pressured from her friends to check to make sure that I wasn't the next Andre' the Giant. The doc even asked my mom: What are you gonna do if she ends up being 6-7?

Apparently, love for your children - like your average roller coaster - has a height requirement? Anyway, mom told him what any mother would tell an idiot like this: "Well, I guess I'll have a 6-7 daughter. What would you have me do? Cut her off at the knees?"

And honestly, the only way that I could demonstrate how excited I was to get this book... besides the fact that I rushed to pour myself a fruit punch with soda water and lime... is to equate it to this:

YOU GOT ME THE TALL BOOK!!!!
OMG! OMG! OMG!!!

Thanks, Greyhound! You're the best.

Bump Watch - 26 Weeks

There is no Week 26.

Because I ate it.