A Random Cocktail

Rob is going to be out of town next weekend over my birthday, so for the past couple of days he has been bugging me to open my present. He was so anxious for me to open my gift that you would have thought there was bomb in there ready to explode if I didn’t HURRY UP AND OPEN IT, OMG. So Wednesday night, a whole week and a half before my actual birthday, I finally gave in and opened it. 

And he totally surprised me…

… with a new MacBook Pro! I had no clue this was coming at all. I had been using his old laptop, which worked fine, but apparently I deserved a sweet upgrade. Since then, my live-in computer nerd has transferred everything from my old Mac to the new one. He has probably spent more time playing with it than I have, which makes me wonder if this gift was partly for him…but it doesn’t matter. He’s too good to me. 

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My mom started a blog! She’s funny and sentimental and cute all at the same time. Make sure to go over and check her out HERE. 

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This morning while Rob and I were eating breakfast we saw the national weather forecast and Rob commented, “Wow, look it’s like 115 degrees in Las Vegas.” For some reason, maybe because I was still asleep, I chose to respond with, “Yeah. Hey, isn’t Vegas in New Mexico?” And everyone, it’s not. It’s in Nevada. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Rob had rolled his eyes at me when I said that, or busted out laughing so hard that his granola went flying out of his mouth and across the kitchen. But instead he just looked at me straight-faced and told me it’s in Nevada. 

The point of this story? I am dumb. And I have recently determined that I am especially dumb when it comes to anything geography, math, history, and/or science-related. Seriously, sometimes when we’re bored my sister and her fiance will fire off trivia questions for me to answer. The only reason this is fun is because my answers are so off the wall and downright wrong that it’s hilarious.

Also, embarrassing.

I think when my children are in fourth grade learning state capitals I will try to dodge their geography homework by instead educating them on more practical things, like some accounting debit and credit lessons. Or the difference between there, their, and they’re. After that, I’m pretty much done and they better scoot along to their Daddy.

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The third trimester is totally starting to finally kick in and make me feel all wonky and tired and zombie-like. It’s like I regressed back into the First Trimester Lazy Haze.

Also, sleeping sucks lately as it’s impossible to get comfortable without my back, my ribs, or my stomach aching. Next thing you know, my eyebrows will be uncomfortable and keeping me up all night.

However, last night  I was so tired that my body finally allowed me to sleep soundly all night long. These are the nights I am cherishing, as I know they’ll be long gone after August 25th(ish). 

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Tomorrow we are going to our day-long birthing class at the hospital. I have some deeply mixed emotions about this.

Part of me is really excited to go and learn about what exactly is going to happen when I finally go into labor. The other part of me is absolutely TERRIFIED to know all the details (ie: episiotomy). 

(Note to self: never again google the word “episiotomy” to find the correct spelling.)

I mentioned on my Facebook status the other day that I was banning myself from watching TLC’s A Baby Story until after I had given birth, though honestly? I think that show is more addicting than cocaine. The harder I try to keep from stopping on that show while flipping through channels, THE MORE I NEED IT. I can barely help myself.

Anyway, I am pretty sure I can blame that show for all the terror I’m feeling.

Well, that, and now also googling the word “episiotomy.” 

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Perhaps Being Eight Months Pregnant Has Something To Do With It, Mmm?

The fourth of July is always a bittersweet holiday for me.

Not for a deeply emotional reason, like because I have a family member in the armed forces (though I do greatly appreciate all that they do for us and am proud of my country), but because every summer it always feels as though the fourth of July represents the beginning of the end. Here we are in the throes of my favorite season, enjoying all of the delightful sun and warmth and watermelon juice dripping down our chins, then along comes July fourth and BAM! summer is all downhill from there. Before I can determine how much SPF to wear on any given day, fall is already here. School is back in session. Cookouts and pool days and suntans are over. Winter depression is right on the horizon.

Also on the negative side: fireworks.

To be honest, I am a bit of a hater when it comes to fireworks. The only fireworks displays that I find worthwhile are those at Disney World, particularly the ones at Epcot each night that are choreographed to music and fancy mood-lighting around all of the countries and which probably cost more than twenty times my monthly mortgage payment per night just to make people oooh and ahhh for less than thirty minutes.

I am a fireworks gold digger.

So each summer beginning about a week before the fourth of July when people decide to start shooting off their own hillbilly, jankety fireworks in their backyards I begin to get fiercely irritated. Really, what is the point of them?

Are these fireworks cool to look at? No. Let’s be honest, they’re from the temporary retail place that used to be a used car lot which has an an obnoxious hand-painted sign on an old piece of plywood that reads CHEAP FIREWURKS! and they’re really loud and not even pretty when they burst up a soaring twelve feet into the sky and they’re LAME.

Are they loud and obnoxious and horribly annoying to my ears? Yes, yes, and yes.

Are they really worth all of the money that people spend on them? Can you eat them or wear them? Then the answer is obviously NO.

Do they make my dog turn into a raging lunatic? He has totally made himself an appointment at the loony bin.

Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when we came home from spending the fourth at my parents’ house around ten o’ clock that night to see our neighbors parked in the empty lot across the street from our house lighting firework after firework, one right after another. The proximity of the explosives to our house, coupled with the fact that Oliver was so hyped up and nervous that his eyeballs shot out of his head and were dragging along the floor next to him, put my eight-months-pregnant, tired, cranky self a tad bit on edge.

All I wanted to do was drag myself into bed and call it night, but of course first priority was to let Oliver outside to go pee one last time before bedtime. Somehow I managed to lure him out into the backyard in between BOOMS! and WHEEEES!, but unfortunately he was only able to sniff around and hold his shit together for three seconds before another firework exploded and he came unglued and ran back to the house, scratching like a fool on the sliding door to be let inside like a little pansy.

That was the point when I was all, okay dog, if you enjoy the feeling of your bladder brimming with urine and on the verge of exploding, similar to THOSE FIREWORKS THAT WE ALL KNOW AND LOVE, and would like to endure that kind of torture until 8:00 tomorrow morning, BE MY GUEST.

And with that, he went into his (own) bed in the laundry room for the night, and I went to bed 60% agitated, 40% feeling like a bad mother knowing that he’d have to hold it for what would surely feel like a sweet forever, and 10% high on residual firework fumes.

Now repeat this scenario until approximately next Sunday when people decide that the fourth of July is actually over and quit with the stupid fireworks, and that is the current story of my life. In fact, right now? At 8:28 in the evening, when it’s not even dark out? FIREWORKS BEING LOUD AND OLIVER BARKING AND FLIPPING OUT AND MAMA IS GOING TO LOOOOOSE ITTTTT!!!

A Pretty Face

Who would have thought that there would come a day when you could sneak a peek into the womb and actually see the facial features of a fetus (say that three times fast for me, will you?)? Excuse me while I sound like an old-timer for a second, but seriously, the advances in technology continue to astound me, just as it did a couple of days ago when we were able to get a 3D ultrasound of our baby girl. 

Because she is, indeed, a girl. We saw, with our own eyes, all of the female-ness in a very blatant three-dimensional view. And now I can sleep soundly at night knowing that the nursery is very pink and thank goodness a female will inhabit that room, amen.

So, want to see how awesome this 3D ultrasound stuff is? It’s a little hard to decipher what’s in the photos at first, so I’ll do my best at describing each one. 

Shown here is a picture of her adorable little face, and she’s facing down like she’s looking at the lower left corner of the picture. It sort of looks like she is all bundled up in a blanket, though she’s really just squished in there with the placenta and all the other weird things within the womb that I am so naive about.

(Seriously, I think I must have skipped seventh grade sex ed because even as a women, myself, I am totally clueless about female anatomy. Duh.)

Anyway. Can you see her cute little button nose? And her eyes and her furrowed brow? And her little lips? 

Here’s another one:

This one is more of a profile of her face, again looking down at the bottom left corner of the photo. Do you see that nose again? That is the nose that I will gobble up every single day while I squish her cheeks and tickle her tummy and repeatedly chant NOM NOM, SQUISHY BABY, ME EAT YOU UP. 

Then we got to see another view of her:

Her feet! I cannot even describe to you how joyous yet stupid I felt when I saw these cute little things pop up on the screen. I was so caught up in the rest of her that when I saw these it was like I totally forgot that babies had feet and didn’t just learn to walk around on nubby little cankles. In the photo it’s hard to tell what all is going on in there, but you can for sure see a foot and toes on the left side of the picture.

Believe me, no one hates feet more than me (can you imagine my disgust of the The Bachelorette’s Tanner P.?), but my little girl has the cutest baby toes I have ever seen. They’re really long, too. Unfortunately I have to claim responsibility for that one.

We also discovered in some of the 2D photos that this girl has lots of hair! While this may or may not explain all of the heartburn I have experienced, it definitely means BOWS! HEADBANDS! and all other sorts of girlish hair paraphernalia.

It’s going to get a little out of hand. I’m just saying.

The first of many celebrations

They’ve been engaged for – what? A month or so? – and I still can’t believe that my little sister is getting married. MARRIED. TO A BOY. The good news is that we really like the guy, and think he’s going to be a-okay. In fact, I know it.

Last Friday evening we celebrated their engagement with a small, elegant dinner with our family and his. It was a nice chance for the families to come together and toast to Courtney and Stockton’s future as husband and wife. And, lordy, there were a lot of toasts that night. If I had to count, I’d say there were approximately five or thirty-seven toasts given by the end of the night. It’s a good thing I had to drink water because if I toasted with champagne every time you would surely find me under the table when it was all said and done.

After a divine meal and some cake, the newlyweds-to-be dove into some gifts.

And because it was the day before the fourth of July, there were fireworks outside that we were able to watch before the night was over. Good planning on their part, eh?

It was a fun night, and just a snippet of all the celebrating, toasting, gift-opening, and reminiscing that they will do before the big day next August. I’m so happy for them!

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(Oh, and remember the dress I was stressing about wearing to this party?

It all worked out fine, just fine. I got the dress in the mail, it fit, and, SHOCK!, it was actually semi-attractive! Mad props to Isabella Oliver for blessing the world with some decent maternity garb.)

Belly, Weeks 29-32

Guys, I am getting big, round, and pointy all at the same time, which would normally sound like an oxymoron, but dude, pregnancy is a wild and crazy beast that has no oxymoronic bounds. Ava must be growing a lot, because look at how much I pushed out from week 29 to week 32.

Knowing that I still have eight weeks to go makes me really nervous, as I’m afraid my belly is going to stick straight out so far that people will have to take cover when in close proximity to me so my gut doesn’t poke out any eyeballs. As a service to the general public I should probably buy myself some yellow CAUTION tape to wrap around my midsection.

I also fear that in these last few weeks when Rob wants to hug me we’ll have to assume the awkward eighth-grade dance position; facing each other with arms straight out like a mummy with hands resting on the other person’s shoulders because there’ll be no other way we could possibly get any closer. Or maybe we’ll have to just stick with the ol’ side hug. How romantic.

I thought it’d be interesting to see my progress from early on in the pregnancy to now, so I worked some voodoo and created this just for your viewing entertainment:

I’ll call it, “Weeks 11 and 32.”

I clearly have a serious lack of shame. 

In regards to an unnamed maternity store

My sister’s engagement party is coming up on Friday and I’ve been majorly stressing over what to wear. It’s going to be held at a fancy restaurant, so I’m pretty sure that my normal Friday post-work costume –  gauchos and a wife beater – are pretty much out of the question. Also out of the question: jeans, cargo pants, bathing suit cover ups (aka: cotton maxi dresses), and bath robes. 

Which leaves me as naked as my baby girl when she emerges from my womb. 

I took some time last weekend to shop around with my mom at the typical maternity stores (MOTHERHOOD, I AM SO CALLING YOU OUT HERE) to see if we could drum up something cute yet appropriate for Friday’s formal occasion, and everything we found with any tiny speck of potential whatsoever left me completely underwhelmed. My mom made me try on a few dresses anyway, and lo, I looked like a 58 year old frumpy bag lady.

(To all the 58 year old frumpy bag ladies: no hate. It’s just that I’m not even 25 yet, and although I don’t want to channel Miley Cyrus with my wardrobe, I’m not ready for the Frump either. I’m sure I’ll get there one day, though, and when I do we can all be BFFs and dress like old hags together. In the meantime I’ll be panicking over my current identity crisis. Thank you.)

Not only were the dresses large enough to host the Ringling Brothers underneath, but they came in morbid, depressing colors to boot, like gray, brown, and gray with white stripes. We’re young, hip, mothers-to-be, for crying out loud, not preparing ourselves for a field trip to the morgue.

Strike one.

After we gave up on the maternity stores, we went to a regular boutique clothing store thinking that maybe I could find a non-maternity dress in a larger size. One of the girls there helping us suggested a long, flowy silk number that was actually really cute. Not paying attention to the size, I went into the dressing room to try it on. Of course it was one of those dressing rooms with the mirrors OUTSIDE the door (obviously a man’s idea), so I had no choice but to leave the safe, badly lit confines of my two by two box, open the door, and step out into the store so that I could look into the mirror.

Despite the fact that I felt as round as a manatee, this dress was practically falling off my shoulders and drooping so far down in the front that I think I flashed everyone within a one mile radius. Come to find out the salesgirl had given me an XL to try on, and as much as I may be an XL around my waist, the boobs, I am certain, will never live up to those two capitalized letters.

Strike two. 

Just as I was ready to give up and wear a muumuu with a sign on my back that read DON’T ASK to the engagement party, my mom started scouring the web to try and find something for me to wear. Later that day she sent me an email with this picture attached, wondering if it was something I liked:

When I saw it, I was all this? THIS dress is considered MATERNITY? But it’s not brown! And it’s cute and has a shape and detail to it and couldn’t possible fit elephants and acrobats under there!

So she took the cue and ordered it for me and it will arrive on my doorstep today. I’m really counting on it fitting and looking at least mildly decent, and if it does I’m going to take a picture of myself wearing it, write a letter to a particular maternity clothing store (MOTHERHOOD, THAT’S YOU AGAIN), and demand that those designers just go ahead and retire. Step down. Find another job at the place where 58 year old frumps shop, wherever that may be. Right now I have a feeling they shop at an unnamed maternity store. 

(MOTHERHOOD.)

Baby Shower 2, and Nursery Paint

A week ago my SIL, Jeni, threw me another baby shower, complete with:

Homemade candy pacifiers and a “Bun in the Oven” cinnamon candle party favor.

A homemade diaper cake (which, she later explained to me how much I threw her for a loop when I announced that I was planning on using cloth diapers. Heh. However, I’m wise enough to already know that oh, don’t worry, those disposables will surely save the day on some long road trips, I have no doubt.).

She even carved a baby carriage out of a watermelon, out of which she served fruit salad.

She is the crafty one, isn’t she? A closet crafter. Seriously, I had no clue!

It was a very nice shower, and I received many cute things, all of which are currently residing in my guest bedroom where it looks as though Babies R Us blew up:

It will be taken care of soon, though, because the nursery is well on its way! Rob painted yesterday, then he and my dad put the furniture together.

Here’s a little peek:

Rob tries to make me believe that he doesn’t like painting, but look at that happy face. There’s no fooling me, honey.

Assembly: successful. I love this crib. I hope Avalon loves it, too, because since it converts into a full size bed this is where she’ll rest her head every night until the day she gets married and moves out of the house. When she’s thirty-seven.

Recently, and in list form, OH YES

1. This past week it has been really hot, getting up into the mid-nineties everyday. But because I am such a hater of winter, I’m definitely not complaining. I would totally chose hot, muggy weather over ice and snow and PURE HELL any day. Because it has been so sunshiney everyday, I have finally been able to resume my daily ritual of sitting in the sun when I come home for lunch. Even if it’s only for ten minutes a day, I love being able to relax and soak up some vitamin D. It makes me a happier, more complete individual. And gives me a little tan. And totally convinces me that I am solar powered.

2. I finally started going to my OB every two weeks now, which, YES! I’m getting closer! At my last appointment after I had gotten weighed and the nurse was getting my blood pressure, I nonchalantly asked her if I had gained any weight from the last time I was there two weeks ago. Thinking for sure that it was maybe only a pound, if that, she checked my chart, looked back at me, and with a small smile replied, “yes dear, four pounds.” EXCUSE ME? FOUR POUNDS IN TWO WEEKS? That has to be some sort of disgusting record. What pissed me off the most was not that I had gained another four pounds, that’s to be expected, but how could I gain four pounds in two weeks and not be aware of it? Not thoroughly enjoy it? Not try really hard at it? ‘Cause, dang, if I’m going to gain weight that quickly I want it to be because I had a bacon and peanut butter ice cream sundae with a side of queso three times a day. I want to work for those el-bees, baby! But no. That was definitely not the case, and it was thoroughly disappointing.

3. I was just in the kitchen making some coffee when it dawned on me that my oil and vinegar jars are totally empty and that they have been empty for months. Sadly enough, this means that the last time I cooked a meal was sometime back in 2001. Poor Rob. Our dinners now consist of either smoothies, PB&J sandwiches, pizza, or protein bars. I think this pregnancy has gotten me in a culinary slump and is causing me to prefer sitting on my ever-expanding butt to watch all the cooks on the Food Network make all their delicious concoctions instead of getting up and actually whipping up a hot plate of food myself.

4. (*writes this with fingers crossed*) Tomorrow Rob is going to paint the nursery! And hopefully also put together the baby furniture (which is in boxes in our garage) and hang the artwork. Yippee! This means I can finally start putting things away and organizing and quit badgering Rob like a lunatic to freaking paint the nursery already! Are you going to paint the nursery today? When are you going to paint the nursery? How about today? No, you have to go to work? What do you mean you have to sleep tonight? He’s finally giving in and tackling the nursery tomorrow, so my work has been accomplished (finally). I am so ready to start nesting, I’m practically growing feathers.

My latest time waster

 

Every once in awhile I’ll get the itch to create something. To let my creative juices flow; to turn something ho-hum into something funky; to really let my hair down and go wild and crazy and make up for being such a goody-goody in high school. 

I totally know how to let loose. 

My most recent project was this beverage bucket. I got it as a wedding gift, and loved the raw look of the galvanized metal. However, I finally decided that it needed some color and a little livening up.

Remember the last time I did this? When I painted the trash can? I used the same kind of paint and basic technique as I did for that project, however, I think I enjoyed painting this beverage bucket a lot more than the trash can, simply because of the time factor.

See, my patience tank is typically on “E”, and when it comes to a project such as this I want to start it and be done in approximately three minutes or less. As a result, it took me a total of four weeks to finish this project because I could only concentrate for a few minutes at a time before I got bored and wanted to give up and check my Google Reader for the eight-hundredth time that day. But the good news is that if you are a normal person and don’t possess All The Crazy like I do, it should only take you a couple of hours to complete. Which, really, is much more manageable than four weeks. I really need to learn.

A decision has been made. Maybe. I think.

Remember just awhile back when I opened up the discussion about using cloth diapers versus disposable diapers? What a trip that was! I just love hosting heated debates on my blog. Honestly, I had no idea that people had such strong opinions when it comes to diapering! In fact, while reading through the comments I couldn’t help but picture everyone sitting around a courtroom, with bright red, intense faces and furrowed brows dripping with sweat, slamming their fists down on the hardwood cherry tables while fervently yelling and arguing with one another about their diapering opinions with as much passion and vigor as a pack of pit bulls duking it out in a dark, dirty alley that I had to slap myself on the head and wake up from that crazy daydream before my skyrocketing blood pressure made my veins explode and splatter blood and guts all over my kitchen walls.

But it was quite entertaining for a couple of minutes, I’ll tell ya that much.

Ever since then I’ve spent quite a few long nights hanging out with my old friend Google researching all (and I do mean ALL) the various kinds of cloth diapering systems that are out there, while at the same time deciding if, in fact, that is the route on which I want little Ava’s bootie to embark.

And as of this point in time, I am pretty convinced that I want to try using cloth diapers. 

(*crouches down and out of sight for fear of flying rotten tomatoes and old garbage*)

Without getting into the pros and cons all over again, my reasoning for doing this basically boils down to two words…why not? I mean, really, why not? If I have the time and energy to make the miniscule amount of extra effort, why not use cloth diapers? Again, I do not even come close to being the granola tree-hugger type, but yet there is still a part of me that feels like cloth diapering is the responsible choice. Then again, maybe it’s not. But it’s my personal preference at this point in time. 

Unfortunately, in The Land of Cloth Diapering, making the decision to commit to cloth diapers only scratches the surface when it comes to decision making. The bigger question is exactly which diapers to use, and honestly, I have found that there are more choices in cloth diapers than there are in OPI nail polish colors. And if you know how many shades of red nail polish OPI makes, then you may have a clue as to how all of this cloth diaper stuff makes my head spin ferociously out of control.

My mom decided to go along for the ride in my search for which diapers to use, and bit the bullet way before me when she went ahead and ordered a couple different kinds to try. Her theory was, how will you know which diapers you like if you don’t use them and give several of them a chance? And isn’t she just so intelligent? So that is exactly what I plan on doing. Buy a couple of these, a couple of those, and then make my final decision later on.

The two diapers she bought to start with were by Bumpkins. One of them is made from bamboo, and has an outer bamboo cover with a removable bamboo insert:

The other is a waterproof (and very cute) diaper cover with a removable organic cotton insert:

These are both very good, potential contenders. And COULD THEY BE ANY CUTER?

Next, I found another brand, spankin’ new diaper called Gro Baby:

They feature the same basic idea as many other diapers (outside cover with removable insert), however, these in particular have two really awesome features: 1) the removable organic liners, or “soakers”, snap into the cover so they don’t slip out of place when babies get more active, and 2) the outer cover has adjustable snaps so they are ONE SIZE.

See how the rise adjusts as baby grows?

Brilliant, is it not? And again, THE CUTENESS. I mean, what’s better than a soft, smooshy baby in one of those puppies? I had to order a couple of these to give them a try, and I think they might be winners. 

So that is where I stand for now on the diaper situation. I’m remaining pretty flexible with myself, so if I end up hating this whole thing it’s back to disposable diapers I go. But at least I will have given it a try. 

And for those of you who asked me in the comments of my previous post why on earth I would want to put a poopy diaper in my back pocket after changing a diaper in a public place? Let me tell you – I WOULDN’T. I’m pretty sure that on long trips away from home I’ll be using a disposable diaper or two. I mean, come on, I have my limits and poop in my pocket is one of them.