out of Kadesh

First let me just congratulate myself on having it together long enough to even write this first sentence that may some day be an actual blog post, when A) Noah could give a shit if he interrupts me, and B) my brains are so fried that all I have room in here for is WHICH BOOB DID I START WITH LAST TIME?!

Life with a newborn is so much more challenging than I was prepared for. Throw in the raging hormones from birth and it’s downright overwhelming. I almost don’t feel like I have any business saying that – I probably had the easiest labor and delivery on the planet. Seriously, you’re going to hate me. I didn’t have any painful contractions – my water just broke. It was about 1am; I was in bed and I got up to pee and there was this cute little leak that happened down my legs. And I was all, “Lance! I think my water just broke!” and Lance and I are like hooray, yippee! Let’s call the doctor, how great, your water broke! And I was like “I think I’ll take a shower, that felt a little gross.” So Lance called the doctor and I washed off the cute broken water in the shower, thinking that was it! Then I got out of the shower and GUSHED AMNIOTIC FLUID ALL OVER THE FLOOR. I am so not kidding – they don’t tell you this about breaking water. It’s a constant flow of sticky fluid that pours out in rivers until the birth of your child. By the time we got to the hospital I had soaked through two pads and my sweat pants, and was leaking onto the rug in the floor of the car. Yeah, don’t ride in my front seat any time soon, by the way… when Noah is two or three maybe I’ll have time to shampoo it but for now, DRIED AMNIOTIC FLUID. SORRY. I walked into the hospital and my shoes were so squishy that it sounded like “squelch squelch squelch” across the floor. The check-in nurse was all “Oh my, you look terrible! Are you having painful contractions?” and I was like “Not at all, I’m just SOAKED and it’s GROSS.” And then she looked down and saw the puddle around my pants and thought to herself about how nice it would be to have any other profession besides one where she spent the wee hours of the morning cleaning up another woman’s amniotic fluid.

After I got checked in they put me in a bed with a huge puppy training pad underneath me (at least, that’s what it looked like) and hooked me up to a fetal heartbeat monitor and a contraction monitor, and then came the IV. Oh, my gosh, how I hate the IV. I know you’re thinking, are you kidding me? You’re about to have a baby and you’re worried about an IV? This is surely what the nurse was thinking when she was pressing around my hand to find a suitable vein. Also probably what Lance was thinking when he said “I’ll run out and get the rest of the stuff from the car, ok?” And I said “NO! DON’T LEAVE ME!” I can’t explain it, just something about having a huge needle stuck into my hand where there are so many bones… and having it stay there all taped up… it fucking hurts, ok!? Anyway, after that nightmare was finally over, they were like “Ok! Get some sleep! We’ll check your progress at 5:00.” So Lance and I slept. Yeah! We slept from 2:00 to 5:00! At 5:00 they checked me and I hadn’t progressed at all, so they shot me up with some petocin, which I was nervous about, but then I went back to sleep until a painful contraction woke me up.

Enter, BEST NURSE EVER. If you ever deliver at Nashville’s Baptist Hospital, I hope you get Toni because she kicks ass. She brought me Mr. Anesthesiologist, who is like the second highest paid medical personnel after Brain Surgeon or something, and he deserves it because he makes it all better. He gave me my new best friend, the Epidural. 20 minutes later my family was in the room with me and we were laughing and talking and they were all like “WHOA that was a big contraction! Did you feel it???” And I was like “Nope.” Also I was like “Oops, my leg just fell off the bed… Mom, can you pick it back up and put it back, please?”

So that was it… I went from being dilated to five centimeters to nine centimeters (you need to be ten to deliver a kid) in about 20 minutes. They came in, they told me to push, I pushed. Three times. My doctor came in, she told me to push, I pushed. Two times. Then Noah was born. Folks, that’s it. That’s my story. The worst part was the afterbirth… I bled too much and couldn’t hold Noah for what felt like an eternity because they had to massage the clots out of my uterus according to my OB (WTF!?) and I lost too much blood because the kid was OVER NINE POUNDS. Oh and his head was humongous because he has Lance and me for parents, so they had to give me an episiotomy (which, for those of you who don’t know, is what happens when your vag is too small for your baby’s humongous head so they cut your taint), and although I didn’t feel it at the time, it does hurt afterward, which is why they prescribed me about seventeen bottles of pain killers.

I can’t explain this in words, which is a problem for a blog post I realize, but I have never been so overwhelmed by anything in my whole life as I was when they held up my son for me to see for the first time. I just started crying, and I looked at my mom and sister and they were crying too, and Lance was cutting the cord, and then I got to say hi to my baby for a second before they whisked him away and my OB started squishing my uterus and making me want to claw her eyes out. Seeing him for the first time – hearing him… it was the most magical and precious thing I’ve ever known.

But anyway, back to what I was saying… life with a newborn is insane. There’s not a moment when I’m not thinking “when did he last eat” or “is he too hot?” or “is he too cold?” or “should he be napping, or should he be awake?” or “can he breathe?” or “is he dirty” or “is he wet?” or “what does he need, what does he need, what does he need!??” My already neurotic tendencies have taken on a whole new lifestyle all of their own. They are in Neurotic Heaven. The little sanity I once had is long, long gone. You always think you won’t be one of those mothers, the ones with dried breast milk caked into her hair, projectile barf and shit on her sheets that she only dabbed with a baby wipe before going back to sleep in them, the same pajama pants on for six days in a row. But the truth is you don’t have time for you. I sponge bathe HIM, feed HIM, change HIM when he’s soaked through his 11th onesie of the day, and Lance is on the same routine. It’s absolutely been the most difficult thing I have ever done, and he’s only eight days old.

Yesterday we did get out. We took Noah to my parents’ house so they could watch him while we finished up our Christmas shopping. The urge to call and check on him was almost overwhelming. I literally had my hand on my phone inside my purse. He’s eight days old and can’t do anything but cry and poop and suck on my boob, but I’m more in love with him than I can even begin to express. And when he keeps me up all night long and I’m so exhausted all I want to do is sleep FOREVER, but then for one second after his diaper gets changed he looks at me and coos, my heart is totally wrapped around him. I’ll have to do a post about the “Baby Blues” some other time, but one day last week, as I was nursing him, I leaned down and whispered “I love you, Noah,” and unbidden tears leaped to my eyes. Part of me knows it’s hormonal, all the times I start weeping when three seconds earlier I was laughing, but I realized, in that moment, that no matter how much he grows up and loves me, he’ll never be able to love me as much as I love him, and it doesn’t even matter. It’s an all-consuming, unconditional, does-not-need-to-be-reciprocated love. I’ve never experienced anything like it.

Noah Linden Roggendorff

9.2 pounds, 21 inches

The doctor swears he’s ours, even though he was born without a beard.

His lungs seem to work…

He has my chin!

And Lance’s hair!

In short…. my Blueberry is effing perfect.

In my defense, the doctor said the average weight gain of a pregnant lady over Thanksgiving was 8 to 10 pounds. Mostly, she says, because of all the gravy and other salty goodness that such a pregnant lady consumes. Which means it’s all “water weight,” or weight that comes from retaining an inordinate amount of fluid that a pregnant lady, such as myself, would normally be able to shed. The weird thing is that when the doc measured my uterus, it was the same as last week. In other words Blueberry, apparently, gained none of my Thanksgiving weight. That was ALL ME, BABY. And if you look at my cankles or sausage fingers, you can totally see it. The other day I pressed down on my shin and when I took my finger away? THE SKIN STAYED PRESSED DOWN. FOR LIKE 10 MINUTES.

All this makes me feel slightly better, knowing that once the baby is born, the excess fluid weight should go away. At least, it WAS making me feel better, until Lance and I were in the waiting area at the doctor’s office on Tuesday. In walks this skinny girl with a tiny bump around her midsection, and the nurse starts taking her blood pressure. At my doctor’s office, the routine for the OB patients is to go to the bathroom and pee in a cup, put the cup in a little window that Pee Elves magically take away and never mention again, and weigh yourself. Which is A) nice because the nurse doesn’t weigh you then scream out your weight for the entire office to hear, B) nice because you can weigh yourself without any clothes on, which makes you weigh a pound or two less, and C) stupid because the temptation to lie to the nurse (and myself) about how much I weigh is almost overwhelming. Anyway, the nurse asked this tiny girl what her weight was, and she said this: “122.”

BOOM! Lance and I just looked at each other with our eyes all wide and exchanged an eyebrow message. Lance’s clearly said “WHAAAT?” whereas mine clearly said “BIIIITCH!” One hundred and twenty-two pounds!? I think I weighed that in third grade. I think my cat weighs that now. It’s times like this that I start feeling very sorry for myself, and the only thing that helps me feel better is Chipotle. So we drive over there after the doc appointment, and I’m going to the loo, and guess who I run into on my way out. HER. 122. She smiled at me, clearly recognizing me, and I think I tried to smile back at her but judging by the sudden look of abject terror on her little tiny face, it must have looked more like this:

Yes, I believe I pulled a Bilbo on the poor girl. I hope she didn’t go into early labor. But it’s cool, I mean I’m not self conscious or worried about never looking like myself again, no not at all. In the meantime, I have a deal with myself to only eat lettuce from now on. Starting tomorrow.

Seriously, this baby is going to be born any day now. And even though his room isn’t done and we don’t even have a dresser yet which means I’m still digging around for undies in a box, and I’m all HOW DO I BE A MOM and everything, I am SO. FREAKING. READY. Like, if I went into labor today (after catching up on last night’s episodes of Glee and Modern Family)? I’d be like, Holla! No more alien life-form in my uterus! Cause y’all, getting up in the middle of the night to feed the baby has GOT to be better than getting up in the middle of the night because I’m so uncomfortable that I can’t lie still any longer and even though it’s 4:30am I’m already hungry.

In the spirit of moving things along, I’m going to pack my suitcase today. Last weekend I bought some nursing bras (let me tell you, those things are SEX-AY) and also some reusable nursing pad inserts. These, I guess, are to put inside my nursing bra to catch all the extra dripping milk so my shirt doesn’t get all soaked and I don’t start bringing all the boys to the yard, if you know what I mean. YUMMY. So I washed them all and laid them out to dry on the dining room table, and last night Lance goes “what are all these coasters doing on the table?” And I’m like, yeah, just TRY leaking through to the table on THESE coasters, sweaty glass of cold water. JUST TRY.

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!

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.

Comprehensive weight gain: 34lbs
Recommended weight gain: 35lbs
Estimated weight gain remaining for Blueberry: 3-4lbs
My own estimated weight gain if I keep eating fried chicken, biscuits, cheesecake, and pasta like I have been lately: 11-12lbs
Estimated total weight gain: 50lbs

My sister took some pregnancy pictures for us when she visited, and Lance and I did our best not to look like tools while we posed for them.

What we were going for: I’m a proud, glowing new mother-to-be.
What it looks like: If I eat all the food I’m craving, I wonder if this kid will come out covered in bacon grease and chocolate chip cookies or if I will just look like this forever.

What we were going for: I love my new son-to-be so much I’ll make a heart-shape with my hands and put it on my belly.
What it looks like: If you didn’t notice my protruding navel and swollen sausage fingers before, let me highlight them for you now by making a heart-shape around this morning’s three breakfasts.

What we were going for: We’re going to FUN parents, because we’re FUN already.
What it looks like: The most fun pose we can think of is this one reminiscent of those kids in The Sound of Music. I wonder what’s for lunch.

What we were going for: I’m a supportive and loving husband who is excited enough about the birth of our first son that I’m going to make a hand-heart-shape around her belly too.
What it looks like: My wife told me to make this shape with my hands even though I can barely reach my arms around her. Come on… streeetch!

What we were going for: We love each other sooo much. In fact, it’s our love that brought our future son into our lives.
What it looks like: If I suck it in I can still JUST reach your face in order to kiss you.

Yesterday, I finished the baby’s toy chest. I started by painting a plain wood chest I’ve had for years white. Then I googled for elephant stencils, enlarged an image that I found and printed it out, put the image on a piece of cardstock, and cut it out with an exacto knife. Once the stencil was cut, I taped it to the top of the chest and spray painted it gold (it was the only color I had already. I might have used blue or green if I had had either handy).

I gotta say, for someone completely not crafty or arty, I’m pretty proud of myself for the way it turned out.

Hello avid Reader; I know it’s been a while. Please believe I have been thinking about you while drowning in paint, because I totally have. I know you’ve been waiting on the edge of your desk chair to find out what the heck I’ve been doing for the past three weeks. It’s amazing how mind-numbing and yet how all-consuming moving into a new house can be. It drives me crazy to not have everything I want like RIGHT NOW, but it is coming together piece by piece. I can’t give any full-room shots yet because I’m too much of a snot who doesn’t want to show off an incomplete room, which is why I took some time this evening to take pictures of a few of the things that I’m giddy over in this place.

Like, my completely amazing cabinet space. There are seriously so many cabinets that I can spread out all my dishes! I’ve never had so much room.

Same for drawer space. Seriously?! I have enough drawers that I can use one for spices:

Check out this awesome porcelain sink.

I totally love the kitchen. However, it’s the only room I don’t know what color I want to paint it. And speaking of paint colors, I’ve decided that picking paint really sucks. It never turns out how I think it’s going to turn out.

Here’s a good example: the hall bathroom. I like it now… but it’s definitely not what I was going for originally.

I also love that claw-foot tub. Unfortunately the kitty litter has to be in here too because there is literally nowhere else to put it (believe me – we have racked our brains). So apart from the slight odor of cat piss, this room is very pleasant for bubble baths. (Oh, yeah, in the half hour that I haven’t been painting, online shopping, or unpacking boxes, I did take a bubble bath.)

Another color I was all what the deuce!? when I saw it on the wall was the dining room color. It’s called “Merlot” and at first looked a lot more like “Grandma Mauve.” Luckily, THREE COATS LATER it looked more like I’d hoped. Now I just have to touch up all the trim where the paint was on so thick it bled through the tape.

One of my favorite rooms so far is the office/library/guest room. Hey, it’s a small house – the rooms have to multi-task. The color in here is rich and gorgeous. Lance actually picked it and I was all “I’m not sure, it’s too dark, blah blah blah.” Hubbs, you were right; it looks amazing. The best part is, we made our own bookshelf and the whole thing cost like $40 and I lurve it.

Someday we’ll have a pull-out couch in here and it will be a REAL guest room! You know, since a real bed would take up too much space for a multi-tasking room. But for now it’s lying about the guest-room part. Cut it some slack, it doesn’t have any money.

Finally, here’s the color of the living room, and a mantle we installed for some pretty shelf space. And by “we” I mean “Lance.”

So there you go, Reader, some random shots of my house that give you no idea whatsoever what it actually looks like. Those are coming, I promise. The baby’s room is my first priority now that most of the painting is done.

Other than painting and unpacking boxes (mostly me) (and I swear they had sex for two months in storage and had baby boxes also full of shit we don’t need) and working (Lance), Lance and I spend our time walking two miles to the dog park so we don’t feel as guilty walking two blocks to the bakery the next morning, discover the nifty East Nashville eateries on Friday paydays, watch hulu.com when we miss episodes of “Glee” and “The Office,” and talk and wonder about baby-related things, like whether or not to have him circumcised? And what to do when he sleeps in our bedroom and so does the cat who likes to wander around at night and might end up on his face in the bassinet? And how much are my poor boobs going to hurt when there’s a kid sucking on them every two and a half hours? And how are we going to afford this when I won’t be working? And so on.

I hope to have a beautiful nursery to show on here in the next week or so. Keep your fingers crossed for me…