She Likes Purple

As ready as we're going to get

Last night our glider was delivered and it was the last of the Big Nursery Items we were waiting on in order to finally put that room of his together. While Mike tackled the dresser, I assembled the glider and I think that feat -- assembling a piece of bulky furniture a week before my due date -- should buy me at least one pair of shoes after our boy's arrival next week.

So, his room is just about done. (Full set at flickr.)

This is the view from the door, and I think it can be said no glider has ever been assembled so well, don't you agree?

His dresser. The walls are especially blinding in these photos, I know, but we have a few more pieces of art to add to them along with some shelves and hanging photos that I think will break up the white fairly well. We also have to replace the light bulbs in the room, and I think that'll dull the brightness a bit. Finally, we have this rug coming and that's a very good thing as Molly has nowhere to lie down in his room as of now and that's just not acceptable. She needs a napping place in each room of the house or we all suffer.

The problem child

Lately Molly's been acting ... interesting. She's still as sweet as can be and prefers to cuddle with either her dad or me over any other activity on this planet, but she's also been doing a few strange things. Such as digging through our laundry pile and walking onto the coffee table. Documentation of the latter (I think you can form a mental image of a disorganized laundry pile):

She's not going anywhere, that's for sure. Unless she morphs into some aggressive, biting dog in the next few weeks, we can definitely deal with her weirdness. We pride ourselves on dealing with weirdness, actually, but I sure wasn't expecting to say to either of my children (four-legged or two), "Get off the table" for at least a year or two.

When I told Mike the story, I said, "YOUR daughter got onto the coffee table for no good reason tonight." Because obviously that kind of behavior didn't come from me.

Community for all seasons

I have never really had a trollish comment on this site. I've never honestly expressed myself without being met -- 99% of the time -- by words of support and encouragement. Sure, some words irk me every now and again, but those words are never blatantly rude or posted for the sheer purpose of insulting me. I get as nervous as the next person to post about gay marriage, for example, because it's a controversial, highly emotional topic. I don't get nervous because I think you'll attack me. I find myself incredibly lucky for that. The trolls perhaps haven't found me yet or perhaps they just find me as dull as I absolutely am, but when I read other posts (and other comments sections) I want to come back over here and make out with each one of you for the maturity and grace you each possess. Perhaps you don't agree with everything I've ever said, but you disagree like rational, knowledgeable adults. If I were posting elsewhere, I may hesitate to talk about circumcision or epidurals or going back to work or breastfeeding because the sound of so many heads exploding would be fairly deafening. But here? I don't worry. I choose my words carefully, always, but I'm never scared to speak up in the first place. 

I was reading Alice's comments section this evening, and I wanted to buy her a very stiff drink after I finished. Circumcision is personal, it's controversial, it's a topic with many very strong opinions, but her choice had already been made -- her son is six -- and she was honestly and eloquently sharing her experience as a way, I believe, to have an intelligent conversation with other parents. Why attack this woman about a decision she made with her husband years ago after much thought? She said, at the end of her post, Why do we feel that in order for our opinion to be right, we have to make sure that everyone who feels differently is wrong? (Amen.)

I have heard quite a few opinions and view points over the course of this pregnancy. I've been told many things that have boggled my own mind. I was told I was drugging my baby because of my Zofran prescription. I was told only having one child (something I mentioned casually, in passing) is a form of child abuse. I've been eyed, judged, looked over and, funny enough, I've had fewer doors held open for me since becoming knocked up than ever before. (I also had a man step off the elevator because he didn't want to risk me "having the baby in the elevator." I KID YOU NOT.) But never here. Here I received an outpouring of love and support before I got pregnant, when I announced I was pregnant, when I became slightly blue because throwing up on oneself is about as much fun as you can imagine it would be, when we found out this little rascal sucking up all my energy is a boy and when we faced a semi-scary issue with my placenta. You've been a lifeline, a rock, an anchor for me, and although I do believe I've said it before, I want to say it again: thank you. Thank you for taking the time to listen to what I have to say and telling me, even if you don't agree, that you have my back. 

Over the last nine months I have felt fat, gross, lazy, totally unattractive, sad, achy, frustrated, confused, scared, crazy, insecure and a million other things, but I have never felt alone. I can thank my husband for that, yes, and also Molly who is as needy as she's ever been, but I can also thank you. 

I know I need to pack the hospital bag (I KNOW) and sweep the floors and finish the laundry and finish the birth announcement address list, but I think all of that will work itself out. What I would regret not doing before my son arrives is thanking you for sharing this journey with me. You believed I'd get this boy before I believed it myself. I'm this close to having him, and even though so many of you have never met me, I know you are sharing in this joy with me, without judgment. That's such a beautiful gift, even better than all those baby jeans I cannot stop aww-ing over. 

38 weeks

 

Yes, I'm quite large and, now that you mention it, yes that sweater does seem to be working much harder than a sweater really should. I wish I could tell you I've said screw it and am blissfully reveling in these last couple of weeks of diet-free living, but acid reflux has made enjoying even a glass of water a near impossibility. So, when I say I couldn't be more excited about meeting my boy in less than two weeks, please know it's 90% because meeting him will undoubtedly be the most beautiful moment of my life and 10% because I'd really love to eat a piece of pizza like a normal human being again. Fine, there's also about 5% of me that cannot wait to sleep on my stomach, but other than that 15%, all I can really think about these days is meeting him.

Babies and movies and Baracks

Apparently the first thing to go when you're trying to pack in as much fun and movie watching and quality time with your husband and inauguration watching is blog upkeep. I haven't posted in a while and I assure you that's not because I've had this baby as that would certainly give me something to post about, wouldn't it? It's because I'm trying my very hardest to maintain something that resembles a social life these last twenty-odd days of life PRE-BABY. Over the last few days I've seen "Revolutionary Road" and "Yes Man," went to the Dallas World Aquarium, had a lovely book shower thrown for me, shopped and ate with a dear friend and have taken about 35 baths while reading all my favorite magazines. Oh, and I've actually started thinking about packing a hospital bag. I know what you're thinking: PACK THE BAG ALREADY, CRAZY WOMAN. And you'd be very right to think so loudly and harshly like that, but, see, I can't decide WHAT bag to pack. As in, I think I need to buy a new bag and it's hard to pack a bag I don't actually own yet. This is a very silly problem to create for myself, I know, but if it calms you down any, I do have his going-home outfit all picked out and purchased and (fine, soon-to-be) washed. 

When he does come, though, someone will definitely post here to let you know (not that you're going to be constantly hitting refresh, refresh, refresh ... I don't presume to think my son's arrival is that interesting for you) and I'll also do my best to update Twitter (so, are you following me?) and will also text/call those of you who have foolishly given me your number at some point in the past. (If the text is very poorly composed, don't blame the labor pains, it's probably just Mike standing in for me. He is very cute and can fix a broken dishwasher like you wouldn't believe, but let's just say he will not be the one to teach our boy how to properly put together a sentence.) And, just in case you are interested, our son will definitely be here by February 10 as that's when we're evicting him. 

Let's jump back for a moment, though, and talk about "Revolutionary Road" since I am still thinking about it nearly a week after seeing it. Metalia wrote a much better review than I ever could, so go read her's first, but please know I didn't want to agree with a single word she wrote. I am Kate Winslet's biggest fan, and, really, the more gut-wrenching/dark/depressing a movie, the more I usually love it. (See: Million Dollar Baby, Gone Baby Gone, Dead Man Walking.) I like looking into the soul of a character and seeing an empty void or shattered remains because I find real truth in that. Also, I spend much of my free time invested in the lives of Lauren Conrad and Heidi Montag, so when I go to the movies I like to be moved and not in the way I'm moved to take Spencer Pratt into a dark alley and club him repeatedly. But ... this movie ... oh my ... it wasn't good. There was something about Leo that seemed off to me from the first scene and not just the character but his portrayal of the character. (Something about his wild hand gestures and very loud delivery of lines I don't think needed to be delivered loudly.) I had a hard time buying him for a moment of the movie and, really, if I had been April (Kate's character) I would kind of hate him too and roll my eyes and feel constantly beat down by his presence. Also ... watching an entire movie about a miserable marriage isn't awful in theory but it is especially painful when they seem to be miserable from the word go. I'm sorry, but one scene where April tells Frank he's interesting does not really translate into "used to be happy and in love." I also had a huge, throbbing problem with the end, a problem I can't talk about without ruining the movie for you, so I'll just end with this: Kate, you should win an Academy Award for just about everything you've ever done EXCEPT FOR THIS, I'M SORRY, BUT IT'S TRUE.

On the other hand, I actually enjoyed "Yes Man" much more than I thought I would. 

So, there you have it, a brief update on how life is going while we anxiously count down the days until we're parents (whoa) and also the fact that Jim Carrey made my movie-viewing experience more enjoyable than Kate Winslet this past weekend. I DON'T KNOW HOW THAT'S POSSIBLE EITHER.

Finally, we have a new president! It's been a long time coming for a lot of us, hasn't it? January seemed so far away in early November and it seemed really far away in January of 2001. I could throw out a million cliches and sappy sentiments, but all I keep thinking is how excited I am for my son to be born during the "Obama years." 

36.5 weeks

 

My BlackBerry comes with a camera, which makes it easy to document day-to-day things and, yet, makes it easy to document day-to-day things very poorly and fuzzy. We have other cameras, rest assured, they're just always on the other side of the house or not charged or did I mention all the way in the LIVING ROOM? So ... these are the belly pictures I'm offering: embarrassingly fuzzy, blurry belly pictures. 

My expression here seems to scream "I hate pregnancy" but really I hate early mornings and my long commute. And, fine, I'm kind of over pregnancy too, but I'm not looking longingly towards any bottles of Castor oil (yet). I'm actually nostalgic for it all, even though it's not over yet, if that makes any sense. See, it's a very real possibility that this boy of ours will be an only child. We're not willing to make any declarations or so-help-me promises, but we're both kind of OK with just one. (And, in case you were wondering, no, I don't need to hear your opinion on only children; big thanks anyway.) We're of the opinion that we're not going to make that decision -- one way or the other -- any time soon, but where some people are absolutely adamant about providing a sibling for their child, we sort of like the idea of a smaller family unit. With that idea comes these last few weeks potentially being the last few weeks period. 

I'm ready to meet him -- we're all so ready to meet him -- and I'm ready to begin my journey towards a thinner, less bison-esque me and I'm insanely ready to see what color hair our collective gene pool has granted him and I'm ready to sleep on my stomach and indulge in a glass OR TWO of something adult and I'm ready for some grilled shrimp and a Diet Coke and I don't think I could ever be more ready to say goodbye to acid reflux ONCE AND FOR ALL, YOU STUPID ACID-Y BASTARD. But, all those things means the kicks and rolls and movements will be gone, too. I know what's to come is a million times cooler. I know I'm going to love having him beside me so much more than inside me, but those kicks, man, they never got old. I heard they would, I prepared for them to. I even joked a time or two that he was playing soccer with my bladder and it was just so annoying. But, you know, it wasn't. There is not much of pregnancy I'd readily endorse. There was so much that put me through the wringer. There were actual times I didn't know I'd make it this far. There were times Mike was fairly certain he wouldn't make it this far. But last night we were laying on the couch together -- with Molly at our feet -- and watching a surprisingly interesting "Million 2 One" and our boy was going nuts, kicking and punching and I had my hand on the belly, feeling it all from both inside and out and Mike had his hand on top of mine, feeling it all too, and we were laughing at the thought of what he was doing in there (working on his "jazz hands," trying to get comfortable before going to sleep, dancing to his iPod). It was one of those perfect, beautiful moments. My boy, my guy, my girl, our DVR. All the most important things in life.

If you've never been pregnant and you ask me one day what to expect, I'm going to go ahead and bypass all the other stuff, I'm just going to let that stuff all slide. I'm instead going to tell you there will be moments of sheer perfection you didn't know could exist in life. I'm going to tell you I miss it. And, believe me, won't you, because I won't be lying, not even a little bit.

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Housekeeping note: Comments seem to be a bit off today. I'm receiving notifications when you comment, but they're not showing up. I assume Typepad is pissed off at something this afternoon, but who knows what. Go ahead and comment anyway and let's just assume they'll show up eventually!

Trust

Mike and I had a fight last night. A good one with tears (mine!) and everything. Less than a week ago I was going on and on with love and mushiness and then something totally trivial and insane happened and boom, I'm crying onto my iced oatmeal cookies.

I have come a long way as a person and as a partner but we're all just stumbling works in progress and nothing sets that point home like fighting with your partner over something you know better than to fight over.

I married Mike determined to stay married, yes, but also determined to stay happily married. I am a product of divorce, so I can say with absolute certainty that divorce can be crucial and necessary and important for some relationships. The actual divorce did far less damage to me than, say, my father's blatant infidelity. Do I wish my parents could have stayed married? Honestly, no, not in the type of relationship they were in when the marriage ended. My mother deserved more respect and a better, less anxious life. I deserved to be taught that not all men take their children to lunch with their mistresses. I couldn't have learned that lesson living in the same house I lived in at the age of nine, and so I'm glad to have moved out of it, even if I moved out as a statistic.

I am determined to not only stay married but to figure out a way to be the kind of woman and partner who will encourage Mike to follow his passions and his heart for all of his life while soaking up the same kind of encouragement from him. I want to build on the already-strong foundation we had before our wedding and make our life together just really damn cool. I want to avoid divorce but where I logically know there are a million different ways to reach that particular goal, I only see one: by having a strong, happy, trusting relationship. I won't settle for less than that.

I believe my marriage philosophy is less, "Divorce is not an option!" and more, "Divorce is absolutely an option and it's an option I want no part in, so I'll do all I can to make sure my relationship rocks it."

I already know I chose a good man, a man unlike my father in all the ways that matter in a marriage. But I also know a happy marriage requires more than just one person showing up, and so I have to be the kind of person who doesn't pin any lasting and lingering trust issues on a man who has never given me any reason not to trust him. And ... well ... I'll just say it: that's not always natural or easy or instinctual. It's sometimes nearly impossible to look at one man the one I said my vows to and not see the other the one who loved me, yes, but who taught me that love sometimes means lying and cheating and refusing to say "I'm sorry" for it. My god, though, is it ever necessary I now and always know the difference.

One of my favorite quotes is "When someone shows you who they are, believe them," yet it's not always that simple. There are some things one person can do to change the way we see all people. I find this to be one of life's greatest injustices, that when one person wrongs us it doesn't just change the landscape of that particular, specific relationship; it can change who we are and therefore the landscape of everything we do and see. I hate this reality, this fact of life, this fact of my life.

I'm going to be a mother in no time flat, and I wonder what I'll do wrong first. Man, it'll probably happen early on, huh? Please know that I am perfectly fine with making a million mistakes. I know I'll scream when I shouldn't. I know I'll say I want out when of course I don't. I know I'll give him McDonald's when I should give him anything that's not McDonald's. I know I'll embarrass him in front of his friends. I know I'll do so much wrong, but I also know I'll always try harder the next day. That's all I can promise him, to love him enough to try harder tomorrow. It's the same promise I make to my husband, every day, every fight. I love you enough to say I'm sorry when I've been wrong. I love you enough to work at this. I love you enough to try harder tomorrow.

Just works in progress, that's all we are. And, you know, it's enough.

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Something I'd like to do more of around this site of mine is encourage the comments section become more of a forum than a one-dimensional place to leave feedback. I not only want to hear your thoughts, I want to have a conversation with you about certain things. I'm inspired to do this by Rebecca who has intelligent and inspiring conversations with her readers constantly. So feel free to say what you want to say. I'm listening.

De-lurk, won't you?

First, thanks for all of your lovely suggestions on how to fill up my free time these last few weeks of baby-free living. I must say, whoever suggested lounging on the couch and watching as many back episodes of Top Chef as I could get my (slightly swollen) hands on was a total genius. Wait ... no one suggested that? Interesting as that's what I've been doing a lot of these days.

I did have to laugh at all the people who suggested "just relax!" and not because that isn't a perfect piece of advice for someone whose life is about to be knocked on its head, but because if you could see me most days, you'd assume I held some sort of degree or certification in relaxing. Now, my relaxing isn't necessarily enviable relaxing as I can't do anything (even lounge on the couch quietly lusting after Tom Colicchio and Sam from season two or wondering who dresses Padma and why no one has pulled that person aside for a little scolding) without being in some sort of pain, whether it be back pain or joint pain or groin pain or belly pain. In short, my stress level is anything but high these days even if my discomfort in simply existing at this particular weight and shape is crazy high.

I do plan to see as many movies as I possibly can -- something else a few of you smarties suggested -- and in an attempt to knock out all the award contenders I saw "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" over the weekend and have plans to see "Slumdog Millionaire" and "Revolutionary Road" in the next week or so. Although I liked "Benjamin Button" and thought it impossible for Cate Blanchett to look any more stunning, I didn't love it. You know, I don't know if it's just me -- and it's entirely possible it is just me -- but I haven't really loved a movie in some time. It's been more than a year, actually, since I left a theater and thought, Now THAT was worth the $10 ticket and $5 soda and insanely chatty woman who spent the entire two hours kicking my chair. Sure, I liked "Twilight" and I even enjoyed "Changeling" more than the average commenter on IMDB, but I love nothing more than when I leave a theater moved to immediately list a movie as a favorite on Facebook. And ... it's been far too long since I've seen such a film. So, in the name of de-lurking day*, what was the last movie you saw and couldn't have loved more? And if it was "Bride Wars" don't even bother, OK?

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*Or, as Mike called it last year, "Don't be a lurker day!"

One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-two days with you

Sometimes I look back at my archives and think this site is one long, rambling love letter to Mike. I write about him a lot, and I wonder if there's really any more to say than what I've already said. Are there actual words I haven't used to describe him, to describe us? I'm not sure there are. I wrote this not even a year ago and it's dripping in sentimentality and cheesiness, yes, but every word is true. I want to direct everyone to this post when they ask about my husband as it's the best, truest thing I've ever put together and will I ever be able to top it? Probably not.

But here we are, celebrating five whole years together. And that's something. 

From this in early 2004:

 

To this:

 

I could try and top everything I've already said. I could attempt to write something else about that redhead of mine, about the relationship we have, the relationship I'm so damn proud of I want to list it on my résumé, but I look at that second picture and am stunned silent. I am carrying that man's son, his boy, his child. After a lifetime of missing the mark in relationships, of compromising what I knew in my gut to be true, I found a man who I can stand up straight around and whose son I get to have. Until they create all new words in which to describe the coolness of that, I simply won't try. I'll just sit back and feel the indescribable feeling of the world being too good to be true. And I won't take even a breath of it for granted.

Five years. Forever more. 

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Technically our anniversary is tomorrow, but we have a fairly packed weekend and there may not be time for the Internet in between all the shopping and movies and napping we have planned. Also, Mike is getting the sickness I had last weekend and I won't be able to work up such sweet things to write about him after he has whined for 48 consecutive hours over needing juice and a back rub. 

Getting my act together, with your help

I worked out the details of my maternity leave with my boss the other day and I'm only in the office for another three weeks and some change before I begin working from home. My delivery hospital is just a short drive from our house, but it's nearly an hour from my office, and it just seems better to wait out the boy's arrival in the comfort of some yoga pants a short distance from where the drugs are. That brings up two points: (1) I will absolutely be opting for an epidural-assisted birth and not because I don't have great admiration and respect for any woman who opted differently because of course I do but simply because I already admire myself plenty and (2) I am returning to work after our son is born. I don't imagine it's going to be easy and although we have worked out a very ideal day-care situation, I also don't imagine everything will go as planned. But, regardless, I know that returning to work is both right for our family and for our financial responsibilities at this time. 

So, working out those maternity leave details was one thing I needed to do before our baby arrives and now that it's done, I am looking to the other things I need to do on the list. I need to pack the hospital bag and put away all his clothes in the dresser that won't be delivered for another week. I also need to finish all my thank-you notes (if I owe you one, it's coming) and sleep as much as I possibly can, too, of course. I need to make a peditrician appointment and send off some gifts that will do nothing but collect dust if I wait until after the boy is born to send them. (Angella, to you, mainly!) I need to pick up a few odds and ends to have stocked around the house and do a few (dozen) loads of laundry. 

But ... what else? What did you do -- or wish you had done -- the last month of your pregnancy? I know he could come at any point and if he were to come tonight, we'd be just fine. We have everything we absolutely need, I'm fairly sure, but if we are granted this last full month, I'd love some helpful suggestions on how to productively fill the time. (Note: Remember, sleeping is already on the list. In pen Sharpie.)

Finally, I'd like to pick up a baby sign language book or DVD, and I was hoping you may have a suggestion for the best the market has to offer. 

One month from today. That's not really that far off at all, oh my hell, but all I really want to say about it is, have the champagne iced, please.

Let it roll

"There’s a kind of aging that’s more welcome than the woe of fresh droop. It's that seasoning that releases you from caring quite so intently what others think. Not by way of that I-don’t-give-a-shit-what-anyone-else-thinks offensive stance, but by way of really, truly not minding the possibility of being a flavour that another person spits out."—Kate

This is my year to embrace and embody what Kate so poetically speaks of. I already feel myself being pulled in that direction this year, thank god, and I see grand things unfolding for me because of this new way of thinking. I am a chronically sensitive person, taking offense to the slightest remark, replaying conversations and glances and simple remarks over and over in my head, in a constant state of what-did-they-mean-by-that panic? Pregnancy has heightened this with its fun mixture of hormones and stretching me out to unimaginable sizes. But ... you know ... I'm kind of over all of it. This thin skin isn't doing me any good. Time to toughen it up.

I don't think it's necessarily impending motherhood -- although that's probably part of it -- or turning another year older or just being drunk off the possibililties and opportunities a new year brings. I just think it's about time, you know? 

I had an eating disorder for years upon years, an eating disorder many of my friends and family members knew about but were sort of done trying to work through with me near the end of it. I finally let it go in a very uneventful way. What all the ultimatums and broken friendships and empty promises and flat-out lies couldn't do, time could. That's kind of how it just is sometimes: you hold on to something through all the dramatic twists and turns and then one day, you've just moved on for no other reason than it was time to. I had dinner with a friend a year or so after I ended my daily relationship with bulimia and he asked me what had happened. I thought long and hard and said, "I just grew up."

I don't like to call it a resolution although I suppose it is, but I promised myself that 2009 would be the year I accepted and came to terms with not everyone liking my personality, my writing, my waist size, my hair color, my nose, my sense of humor, my shoes, my dog, me. Taking it a step further, I promised I'd stop obsessing over what others think, both those who matter and those who never will. We're only six days in, so let's not expect miracles here or anything, but this morning one of my building's valets asked me when I was due and after telling him he said, "Oh, you'll never make it. Look at you!" And instead of collapsing into a heap of tears on the floor, I laughed and said, "I hope you're right. I'm ready for him to be here!" I chose to laugh about it, and then I chose to assume he meant I looked wonderful and glow-y, and also very, very pregnant. I stopped thinking about it the moment I got on the elevator and didn't let it stop me from having a chocolate chip bagel for lunch. 

I just can't be everyone's cup of tea, and although that's easy to type out, it's pretty ridiculously hard to accept and let roll. It's time I did just that, though. It's time I grew up and on. It's amazing what letting crap go will do for your peace of mind. It also frees up quite a bit of time to focus on other things, like tasting all the available Pop-Tart flavors or obsessing about labor because -- news flash! -- this kid can't get out the same way he got in and I'm just a teeny bit freaked out about that. 

Labor fears aside, I have a very good feeling about 2009. I hope you do, too.

27 has been quite snotty thus far

I turned 27 this past Saturday and I'm sure I'll get no sympathy by saying this but 27? Feels a helluva lot older than 26. It's possible that it feels this way because since late last week my upper respiratory infection has morphed from slightly annoying to oh-my-shit-shoot-me-now. I'm fairly certain it's picked up bronchitis or strep along the way, which were not on my Amazon wish list, let me tell you. I've been really lucky this pregnancy in that, yes, I suffered from nausea that lasted well past the thirteenth week and heartburn and hemorrhoids and acid reflux and aching joints and insomnia, but I was never afflicted with a non-pregnancy sickness. I haven't had a cold or a cough in more than eight months, so I completely accept that I was due for this and I don't blame anyone or anything other than the state I live in. I'm sorry, but when you wake up one day and it's 83 degrees and you wake up THE VERY NEXT DAY and the streets are iced over with a high of 36, I dare anyone not to get sick.

Despite the most poorly timed sickness, I did have a really nice birthday. I woke up sniffling and sneezing but to cupcakes and roses and this perfume! After breakfast, I got another little gift. This shiny thing:

 

Now, it technically wasn't a birthday gift, I should say, but it's nice to claim it was since we did drive it home on January 3. Mike and I have been looking for a new car for months and months and even years now. We test-drove everything we could get our hands on, we crunched numbers day and night, we saved, we borrowed, we narrowed down and then this pretty little thing sort of fell in our laps at a very good price and in very good condition. It couldn't have come at a better time for us since we're less than five weeks away from meeting our boy and the one and only car we had on January 2 didn't have a place to put a car seat. That would have made for an interesting trip home from the hospital. Interesting as in non-existent.

So, other than the raging sickness, things are absolutely falling into place. We have just a few short weeks and very few check-list items left without a little check marked next to them. Now, I'm off to tackle tonight's check-list: devour a birthday cupcake while watching Gossip Girl and One Tree Hill.

34 weeks and then some

I had an appointment this morning and had an impromtu ultrasound to check the boy's stats. He is measuring a few days ahead (but is also damn adorable), causing me to fly right past most of the 34th week and offering us a new due date of 2/8. This means, come Sunday, I have five weeks left of this pregnancy (give or take). That's ... well, that's not much time, is it? On the one hand, thank god. I am ready to meet him, ready to start raising him and brainswashing him against such things as the Republican party and the Longhorn football team, ready to finally have an answer to the what-color-is-his-hair-going-to-be question I ask myself daily, but on the other hand FIVE WEEKS, ARE YOU SHITTING ME? 

Unfortunately, I have other things preoccupying my head today, things like a sinus and upper respiratory infection, both of which have made my head fuzzy and heavy, my ears throb, my throat scratch and my nose continually run. It's actually the first non-pregnancy-related sickness of the last eight months, which I can handle, sure, but my birthday is tomorrow so can I get a pass to whine about being sick on my last without-child birthday? I'm still determined to get out of the house tonight for a birthday steak, even if I sneeze all over it first.

On that appetizing note, here are a few belly pictures from the last few days:

  

From New Year's Eve.

New Year's Day. Still in pre-pregnancy jeans.

The belly.

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In other news, I guest posted for Kristie over at Momma K yesterday. I talk about my 2009 resolutions and resolutions in general. Enjoy!