Hey kid, you make me sick {wk 18}

Well, it’s not really YOU that is making me feel as though my stomach is inside out and able to do somersaults like an assassin. It’s due to a grievous creation called hormones.

First lesson in sex ed of many to come: hormones are these wonderful things that can help create  the beauty of life while also making the host beg for mercy like one being pelted by studded bowling balls.

So you and I, we’re tight, we’re all good. Let’s just chalk this one up to “momma’s got issues and baby’s in for a ride”.

Here’s the abbreviated not-so-skinny:

We just finished week 18, where you were the size of a mango.
Momma’s confession: I need to spend more time in the produce aisle, for I have no idea what a full mango looks like.
• Time in the oven: 18wks
• cravings: nothing other than potatoes, peanut buster parfait w/o peanuts, Tabasco sauce, diet Dr Pepper, and macaroni & cheese. Not all at once…most of the time (And I’ve only given into the Tabasco sauce & potatoes this week. I’ve determined not to be a high-maintenance preggodrama mamma and refuse to make your daddy run to the store for my latest whim).
• aversions: fast food signs – the mere sight of those overly colorful electric waste of space icons make me want to open a can of whoop-nast on their trash. P.s…I barfed at a Wendy’s this week. Nuff said.
• added inches to the precious waistline: still at 9.5″ and still no [new] stretch marks. Yay momma.

Well, that’s where we are…or were. I was a bit too preoccupied w/ my week of vomitous proportions that I didn’t post this real-time…it’s postdated for the sake of making me feel more productive than I am. Personal delusions aren’t always delusions; they can be covert statements of generalities. Maybe.

Love you and see you soon!

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let’s talk about $EX, baby!

So…the ubiquitous question lurks. “What are you having/when will you find out/is it a boy or a girl?”

Albeit vague, I genuinely provide the answer to the inquisitive party. “We’re waiting until we see it […fyi, that’s you, kiddo] for ourselves” and typically follow that with our brief theoretical approach to this conclusion “there are so few surprises left in life; we’re taking all we can get!”

Then, there are those who choose to persist and win the perseveringly tenacious award that is shaped like a never-ending-gobstopper in a car wash… “What do you WANT to have?”

I have chosen to candidly respond, “a panda”.

So, if you end up emerging with a furry belly and craving eucalyptus…uhhh…my bad.

Story Time with momma | an unexpected expectancy

Well steeglette, as every story has a “once upon a time”, so do you. I figure we’ll tell you about “the nitty gritty” in age appropriate details once you’re air breathing. Until then, here’s the story about how we found out you were bundled and ready for the baking.

It all started in January of 2010. Your daddy and I were visiting Auntie Asian + crew in Portland, and I was, as it were, “late on the arrival of Moody Monthly”. Auntie Asian and I went to the store and bought a special stick that works like a magic mirror and can tell if there is a baby a baking in the belly. After a not so spectacular negative reveal, Auntie Asian went back to the store and bought several more of said sticks, convinced there was something percolating in there. But it was clear – you weren’t ready yet.

Candid note – your daddy and I thought we’d never want to be parents. Not that we didn’t want you per se, but frankly, kids scare us. You have a lot of power in those little hands with nails like talons and quirky faces of yours that can cause a tyrant to submit. But on our 5hr drive back home from Portland, we both shared that we were a bit disappointed that it wasn’t time. Shocker. Truly.

Fast forward to late summer 2010. All of my clothes were too tight. Every time I put on a shirt, my arms looked liked stuffed sausages and putting my booty into a pair of pants was like fitting a balloon onto a fully inflated beach ball. Not pretty. I decided to see the doctor to find out was wrong with these not so flattering proportions. I got to the office, stepped on the scale, and had gained another 2lbs since the previous week. This was stupid.

The doctor came in and asked a cornucopia of questions, including “could you be pregnant.” My answer…”statistically, I suppose I ‘could’ be, but I’m not late. Probably not”. They took what seemed like enough blood for a vampire smorgasbord, and I proceeded to go to the store, and in tears, I would buy 3 new outfits with the plan that “if I’m going to be fat, I’m going to look good while doing it”.

The next day, I get a call from the doctor’s office saying, “Mrs. Stegall, a few of your test results came back, and we’d like to let you know that (translating dictation from perceived slow motion for the interest of the reader) you. are. pregnant.”

I fell silent. Nope, I didn’t fall. I was sitting in my office at work. But if shock is what happens when licking a battery, I believe I was electrocuted.

“Are you ok?”, says the voice – phone dangling lifelessly between my shoulder and ear.

O wait. I AM alive and have the ability to respond. So, “Yes, YES! I’m great…now what?”

Enter a litany of do’s and don’t’s and what’s nexts…

Now, how to tell daddy…

 

sweet 16

hey baby steeglette, you’re 16 this week. i don’t really know what all that entails, but your daddy just said that I’m beautiful. So, I’m going to leave it at that.

While I’m busy swooning, preoccupy yourself w/ knowing what’s happening in [our] world this week:

  • cravings: potatoes. any form. any kind. potatoes. now.
  • aversions: those atrocious hats with pompoms on top…worn by adults. not cool. no other known aversions.
  • added inches to the precious waistline: 9.5″ shut up.
  • loverly people saying not so loverly statements: “looks like you’re due any day now…oh…I’m sorry”
  • loverly people saying loverly things: after I told a patient that we’re waiting to find out your gender until you arrive, he says, “you don’t know if you’re having a boy or a girl, so you’re having a happy!”

we love you already. now put those newly developed finger nails to good use and scratch my back.

you said what?

yesterday’s comment of the day to the poor pregnant lady, aka me:

wow, cathi, you’ve porked out since I last saw you

well, thank you, kind sir. And you have lost a ball since you said that. sorry’bout that.