out of Kadesh

Ok I definitely never thought I would say this on a Thanksgiving Day, but I’m actually hungry again. The only reason I’m not getting more food right now is because I’m all warm and cozy in bed and my teeth are brushed, and hauling out the leftovers sounds like way more trouble than it’s worth. You might ask why I don’t just grab like the turkey or get a couple of bites of yams or something, which I won’t even deem worthy of a scoffing retort. Some things just can’t be eaten alone, and Thanksgiving dishes are some of them. If you give me turkey, I want dressing. Which requires cranberry sauce. Which requires mashed potatoes. Which requires green bean casserole. And on and on! I DON’T MAKE THE RULES PEOPLE. Although if, like other recent nights, I’m not able to get to sleep, Tryptophan does seem like a good way to counteract the insomnia, so maybe I’ll change my mind.

Today we, like most American families I’m sure, went around the table and, between shoveling loaded forkfuls into our drooling mouths, paused to say what we’re thankful for. My mom, dad, sister, and Lance’s answers all went something like “God, this country, my family and friends, the new baby on the way, my job in this economy, our new house, etc, etc.” When it was my brother’s turn he said, without pause for reflection: “my car.” We all laughed, waiting for him to finish. But it turns out he was not kidding, and he WAS finished. I should point out here that every year at this time, when normal people are looking forward to mouthwatering traditional Thanksgiving dishes, my brother is dreading it. I’ve never met anyone like this, but he hates all Thanksgiving food. This year I snuck a look at his plate (always a source of entertainment for my family) and here’s what was on it at the beginning of the meal: a piece of turkey, two rolls, one spiced apple slice, and four cranberries. NO I AM NOT LYING. At the end of the meal, the four cranberries and half a spiced apple remained, along with all but like two bites of the turkey. WHAT A WEIRDO. Later, he made himself a snack out of a FROZEN GYRO KIT. I think a person with these crippling tendencies could only be thankful for his car, nothing else, without blowing a central fuse somewhere inside his gray matter. Like if he had tried to say “my dog” or even “my ability to read,” Thanksgiving dinner would have been interrupted by the explosion of his head.

When it was my turn, I kind of repeated everything everyone else said, with the obvious exception of the aforementioned brother, because yes, I am most of all thankful for my Jesus who loves me, and I’m extremely thankful also for my house, my healthy baby, my pets, my family, and Michael Buble’s Christmas album. But there is one person that I could not survive my life without, and this year I’ve been increasingly aware of how incredibly thankful I am to have him in my life. In fact if I had to tell you only one thing that I’m thankful for this year, it would be Lance.

Lance, a girlfriend of mine just asked me the other day how I knew I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. I can only say that it’s a knowledge that comes to me new and fresh every single time I see your face, or laugh with you, or collapse into your arms. Life is far from perfect, and we both know there are bound to be hard times ahead. But knowing that I’ll face my challenges with you makes me know that I’ll survive whatever the future holds, as long as you are with me. I love you, and I don’t tell you enough, but I’m more thankful for you than I can ever express.

Between getting up seven or eight times to pee and the absolute soreness that radiates my back, stomach, and pelvis, sleeping has become an almost impossible task, which is good actually, because I feel like it’s practice for when the baby is outside of my uterus and howling for food at all hours of the night. The probable difference is that Lance lets me sleep however long I like the next morning, which I’m taking full advantage of since I feel fairly certain that Blueberry will not. All this must be God’s way of making me excited for the birth of this kid, if nothing else because my body will belong to ME again. Minus my boobs, which will still belong to the baby.

Here’s a rough picture of my current bedtime routine.
Step 1: Lie flat on my back (just for a second), so that I resemble a beached whale.
Step 2: Push the cat, who is trying to climb up my belly, off.
Step 3: Place a pillow directly beside my bulging belly on the bed on whichever side I feel like lying on. This takes the pressure off my internal organs when I lie on my side.
Step 4: Get the hubbs, who braces one leg against the wall for support, to roll me over onto that side OR pull my arms so that I’m facing him.
Step 5: Sleep for 20 minutes or so.
Step 6: Wake up with the arm that’s underneath me completely asleep and lifeless. Flop the arm around for a second until blood begins to flow once more.
Step 7: Recognize the undeniable urge to pee YET AGAIN. Ignore for as long as possible.
Step 8: Brace myself with one arm on the headboard.
Step 9: HEAVE.
Step 10: Now in a sitting position, prepare myself for the painful task of standing up.
Step 11: Now standing, prepare myself for the painful task of walking.
Step 12: Take one step. Wince as pain shoots into my lower back.
Step 13: Repeat step 12.
Step 14: Pee at most A TEASPOONFUL, flush, wash hands.
Step 15: Walk back to bed (less painful now that I just reminded my body how to work a couple of seconds ago).
Step 16: Apply hand lotion (washing hands eight times a night makes them pretty dry).
Step 17: As much as I hate it, take a couple of sips of water. I know it will make me have to pee even more, but the dry feeling in my throat is too uncomfortable to handle.
Step 18: Lie flat on my back. Repeat all steps.

Now it’s 11:15am and I’m totally exhausted. I decided to give up the fight this morning around 10 to eat some breakfast, but now I’m sitting here in my soft bed wondering if I should try going back to sleep even knowing what a daunting task it will be. And the hubbs is working, which means he can’t roll or pull me, so add another step in there of inch by inch, hurling myself from my back onto my side.

Good things: I finished painting the kitchen, which leaves only my bathroom left to paint! I’ll post pictures later, once I decide if I’m going to be able to function in my current zombie state. Also, bought Blueberry some socks this weekend, which he did not have any of. Now his tiny purple feet won’t freeze on the way from the hospital to the car, and from the car to our front door, which I think is a good first step in my parenting. And we set up his bookshelf, which means after we get a rug and a rocking chair, the nursery will be complete! Well, we still need to get a humidifier for him so that we can expose him to our neuroses, but that doesn’t count as completing the nursery.

Final good thing: Thanksgiving is 3 days away! We’re having it at our house, which means my task for the week is to clean. Which means on Thursday when normal people are watching the Thanksgiving Day Parade, I’ll be picking up stray baby clothes, washing Wednesday night’s pots and pans, and sweeping tufts of dog fur off the floor. I love the holidays.

My wordpress account keeps up with the top searches that lead people to my site, and they’re always kind of interesting. I get a lot of searches about nipples. Today though, was the best one I’ve ever seen: “Please sit on my face.” And I was all “Lance! Some poor guy searched for “please sit on my face” and ended up at my blog!” and he was all “Have you ever even used that phrase on there?” and I was all “No, but I’m going to now!”

Please sit on my face! (I should try some other phrases that will get people on here too.) Thunder thighs! Big booty! Thong! Cock! Doggie style! Suck my toes! Ahh, WELCOME, porn surfers. I’ll be sure to include as many bonus phrases in this post as I can, just for you.

So, Reader and Accidentally Here Porn Guy, I’m three weeks away from having a son. I was thinking today, as I walked the dog and tried to lift the underside of my belly to relieve some of the intense pressure on my bladder, about when I first found out I was pregnant, and how it seems like a lifetime ago AND last week all at the same time. I should definitely record this story for my future self and Lucky You, so here it is.

I was late. Duh. But only by a couple of days, and I didn’t want to get my hopes all up or anything. Plus, pregnancy tests cost like, $18, and I wasn’t about to spend that much just to be told NO by the negative sign again. But. Some friends and I were going out for cocktails (cock! tail!) after work and I couldn’t shake this feeling that maybe, just maybe I really was knocked up and downing a bunch of alcoholic beverages might not be the best thing for my embryo. I absolutely could not let it go. So I told my friends I’d meet them at the bar, and I ran over to the Harris Teeter (hairy! teet!) and bought that friggin’ pregnancy test. By the time I actually paid for it, I was so freaked out that I actually went into the grocery store bathroom to take that test.

Obviously, you know what comes next; the test was positive. You can imagine me if you like, sitting on the floor of the stall, holding my pee stick, trembling, FREAKING OUT.

Lance was having drinks and playing poker with some friends from work that evening, and he wasn’t going to be home until much later. I was shopping with my girlfriends after our happy hour, so I wasn’t going to be home until much later. Which meant I had a good five to six hours before I was going to see my husband in order to tell him that I was carrying his child. I cannot explain what this did to my internal organs. The other, more immediate problem was that my friends were waiting for me at a wine bar.

My best memory from that night was walking from the store to the bar. I had two blocks to revel in what I knew – that I was carrying a baby. The feeling was overwhelming and wonderful. It occurred to me that in that moment, the only people who knew my secret were myself and God, the One who had given me this gift I had asked for.

Getting out of drinking was tricky. I put off ordering a glass of wine and decided to go to the bar myself to order a drink, which of course my friends thought was totally rude, because it was. Luckily I ran into our waiter at the bar and told him I didn’t want to drink, but could he make me a virgin something? I had to do stuff like that all night. Then there was the texting. As amazing as it was having this secret, I wanted to tell Lance. BAD. So all night I was texting him but trying not to be too obvious, you know: “when are you coming home?” “I miss you, we should just go home.” Poor Lance was probably like “Woman! I’m winning at Texas Hold-em! Leave me in peace!”

Finally, he texted me that he was on his way to pick me up, and I told him to meet us at this other bar where I was trying to scam everyone into thinking I was just too drunk to drink anymore. It was around 11:30 and I was DYING, Reader. A bunch of our friends were there, and one of them said to me, “You know, you look great!” and I was all “Wha-huh?” and he was like “You look really great! You look different.” And I was like thinking “OMG, HE KNOWS!” but I was smooth and I was all like “Oh, yeah, thanks, I’ve been working out,” but secretly I was thinking “That’s because I’m GLOWING, BITCHES! YEAH!”

When Lance got there, oh, a hundred years later, I was all “Well, time to go!” and he was like “Wait, I wanted to order a beer.” And that is when I karate-chopped his head off. In my mind. I was like “Dude, I have to tell you something.” And he was like “Ok! Let me grab a beer and you can tell me.” I’m pretty sure a vein or two popped right out of my neck that night. But what was I gonna do? So Lance sat there with that beer I dunno, seven or eight hours I guess, just slowly sipping it and I swear, a watched beer never gets drunk.

I could not take it anymore. I was like “Lance, I’m tired. Let’s go.” So we said goodbye to all our friends and went outside to the car, and before we’d even gotten inside I turned on him. “I’M PREGNANT!” He’s like “What the what!?” but I was so relieved to have told him that I just like collapsed against the 4runner. And if you want to know, we had a perfect kiss right there outside the bar.

So that’s it, that’s the story. I could go on to tell you how the next day we drove up to the beach to spend the day together and I thought to be pregnant meant to go cold turkey off caffeine, meaning I spent our day at the beach with A) a massive headache, B) complete exhaustion bordering on misery and C) the inability to poop, but that’s a story for another day. Mostly it’s a story about the benefits of a good hot cup of coffee in the morning, so just remember that.

I technically could go into labor at any time now. Which means expect a post soon that just says something like HOLY SHIT I’M A MOM or HOLY SHIT THIS KID IS HERE or something with HOLY SHIT in the title. I’ll keep you updated.

Please sit on my face!

Lance: “It looks like it might not rain too bad. When I was looking at the radar I saw this big storm coming in from Kentucky. It looked like it was headed right towards us. It was like this big line of thunderstorms. It is wet out here… hm so I guess it did rain a little bit.”

Me: “Yeah, when I was at Target it started driz…..this is the most boring conversation ever.”

You know how you can be going along in life, thinking you look alright, until someone snaps a surprise picture of you? And then you see the picture and you’re like oh holy heavens do I really look like that!? I’m explaining because you really need to be prepared in case your best friends from college throw you a baby shower. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up looking like this:

and this:

because everything is just so darn cute! Come on, hooded towels and baby baths shaped like whales and tiny clothes… it’s enough to give anyone a “this is so cute it hurts” expression on their face.

Take a look at this diaper cake my friend Kelly made:

I almost died when I saw it. Thank God I wasn’t being video taped at the time. THAT would have been social suicide.

And then there was the real cake, which was so delicious that it added a THIRD chin to my already double-sized one:

In addition to all the sweet gifts we received, we also got everyone to draw on a onesie, which means every time I put Blueberry in one I’ll think about our friends who made them. (My friends in Arlington did the same thing, which I thought was pretty cool, because now I have cute animal ones AND ones that talk about the baby “drinking with his homies.” He’s going to be well dressed, is all I can say.) (And, um, if you happen to see a fat lady carrying an infant in onesies that boast his ability to down three or ten shots of Maker’s Mark, please don’t call child services. It’s only me.)

I disassembled the diaper cake yesterday and put all his new diapers in drawers, which makes me feel organized and accomplished.

(And can you believe how TEE-NINY these diapers actually ARE??? Because I can’t. I keep going back into his room and holding one just to double check.)

FIVE WEEKS TO GO!

(All the awesome pics from the baby shower were taken by Hannah.)

Here I am y’all, six weeks away from having a child. When I first saw that plus sign on the pregnancy test in the bathroom stall of the Harris Teeter, I don’t think I ever really thought six weeks away would happen, but here it is. I called the doctor first thing that Monday morning only to be told she didn’t see new pregnancy patients until 10 weeks, and I swear that 10 weeks was like the longest stretch of time I’ve ever experienced. But now time is just slipping through my fingers, which is also some kind of miracle, since my fingers are now so swollen that even when I spread them out there are still no cracks in between them. Ok, I exaggerate. The truth is I don’t even have fingers anymore; it’s all just two big flesh-colored lumps. That size nine ring I bought as a faux wedding ring has been eaten by the folds of finger fat. But it’s ok… the question of whether or not I’m having an illegitimate kid is moot since I can’t go anywhere without Lance’s accompaniment anyway. He has to help push me through the supermarket aisles and through the door of chicken finger establishments. And I’m sure those clerks realize that no one but a husband would get themselves stuck with that kind of task.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about how terrified I am about having this baby. I know it’s probably very common to be nervous about a complete life-change like this, but the Lord has been speaking to me about fear. I was comforted by Psalm 23 yesterday (I know, the most common passage of scripture this side of the Lord’s prayer, but hey, whatever works). It says that even though the psalmist walked through shadow and valleys and death, he did not fear, because the Lord was with him. It says the Lord prepared a table for him right in front of his enemies… in other words the Lord mocked his enemies and dared them to come near while he was eating and ill-prepared for battle. It says that the Lord’s goodness and His mercy would follow the psalmist all the days of his life. Reader, I’m adopting this psalm for myself. If the Lord is with me, what reason do I have for fear? Should I not expect good things from the creator of the universe? The One who loves more deeply than I can even imagine? I’m believing that for the rest of my life, His goodness and mercy will follow me. I’m believing that I have no reason to be afraid of anything, much less a tiny baby. I’m believing that I will experience joy when this little guy arrives via Vagina Express in six weeks. So I will be over here, Reader, gaining weight and hoping I get everything done in time for the baby’s arrival. But if I don’t, it’s going to be ok, for the Lord is my shepherd and I shall not fear. I’m too fat to get worked up about anything anyway… it takes too much energy. Kind of like trying to type with no fingers. You see my dedication to blogging now, don’t you?

Yet another good thing about moving back to the south is that Blueberry is going to have so many babysitters. My family just closed on a new house, and they’ll be about half an hour away. I plan to take serious advantage of this for the purposes of A) taking a shower, B) taking a dump, C) taking a nap, and D) taking Vicodin. (Just kidding… I’ll be breastfeeding so I can’t take anything stronger than a couple dozen Vodka shots.) It really is a huge relief knowing that help will be a phone call away. And with Lance working from home, I can pee and shower and go outside to get the mail and take the dog for a walk and tell Lance I’m going out for more nipple cream but actually drive to the Bay Area without leaving Blueberry alone. I really am so blessed. And I know as soon as we get some more needed essentials, like a car seat and some blankets and more diapers, I’m really going to look forward to meeting him. Also I’m looking forward to moving around without the aid of a forklift. And going all night without getting up to pee. And not being woken up by tiny feet between my ribs. And eating raw fish and drinking wine. And putting on lingerie without wondering if it will make Lance barf. And sleeping on my stomach again.

This weekend being their closing, my parents and sister spent the weekend with us, and we had a great time on Halloween. We carved pumpkins, and then my dad made chili and we ate ourselves sick with all the candy the non-existent trick-or-treaters left us with.

Carving pumpkins:

Here’s my dad, doing the Monster Mash:

My sister dressed up like a ninja, but she thought she looked like a terrorist even though I tried to convince her that a terrorist would NEVER use Wii nunchucks, cause he would just look like a poser if he did. Regardless, she refused to answer the door for trick-or-treaters (the one time it rang).

My mom’s contribution to Halloween: weird socks.

My goofy pumpkin:

And Lance’s scary one:

(For all you nerdy types out there, this pumpkin is actually Domo Kun, and Lance did a great job with him. But I think Domo Kun is scary-looking anyway, and all lit up with fire from within is even worse.)

((sigh)) I love Halloween. Whether you spend it drinking your face off or eating chili or watching Young Frankenstein or dancing to the Monster Mash or looking out your window holding a bowl of candy and just waiting for cute dressed up kids to ring your doorbell (ahem) or dressing up and going to a party or whatever, it’s just so fun. I can’t wait to dress Blueberry up as Harry Potter next year. And (internal gasp) Lucy can be Sirius Black! (She wanted to be a doberman this year, but we couldn’t think of a way to make her ears stand up straight.) Anyway, Halloween being over means it’s the start of the Christmas season. I haven’t been inside Target yet, but I’m sure it’s covered in Christmas decorations. I wish I could go get our tree right now, because I totally would. I love this damn time of year.