Ladies and Gentleman

Gender revealing ultrasounds were performed yesterday. Well, just one. And the winner is......a boy. I was genuinely shocked. I thought it was a girl. Mostly hoped it was a girl after looking at the baby girl clothes at Old Navy.

Before we left David stated If its a boy we're going to Olive Garden. So Alana, lover of pasta and carbs that she is, was really hoping for a boy. She's been saying all along that its a boy, so maybe she has a knack for calling these things. She did say a few times that it was either a boy or a girl, one of those two. So maybe it was luck. Then when the announcement was made, Alana was excited, partly cause she was right and partly because our next stop was going to be the Olive Garden.

Then of course we went to Old Navy and Target and bought a few outfits. I'm not as big of a fan of boy clothes as I am of girl clothes, but there were a few cute ones.

I'm used to hair bows and tights and nail polish and you can't really put those on a boy. My five and a half years of parenting has been with girls. Barbies and glitter and nail polish and princess breakfasts and pink pink pink. Now it will all shift into unknown territory, though I'm sure his big sisters will dress him up in girly stuff and make him play Barbies more than once, and if they're nice they'll let him be one of the boy dolls.

I know you're jealous of my striped pajama pants. But it was morning, I was tired, and my head will not be included in pictures with my crazy bedhead and makeup-less face.

This was my attempt at having Alana take a picture for me, while Jake and the Neverland Pirates was playing in the other room. One, its out of focus but she didn't care, and she was gone. I think she got that from David. So my remote and tripod it is. Not as good as a picture taken by a person, but no one else is as obsessive as me about getting the picture right.

Tomorrow I Will Have Something to Blog About

I would write a real blog post, but really there is nothing to say. We got our taxes, which occupied most of our weekend with furniture shopping and fun regular shopping and iPhone purchasing, which I think Alana is enjoying more than me. It is partly my fault cause I keep getting apps that are kid related, like The Monster at the End of This Book, which is so awesome. This week I've done homework and read my biology book, preparation for an impending test. Nothing special. But tomorrow, then I will have things to share with the world.

I am now 20 weeks pregnant, which is high time for an ultrasound. I really could've gotten it a couple of weeks ago but my doctor's appointments were weirdly spaced, and since I need a referral I had to wait till I went to the doctor last week to get an appointment. So tomorrow we will know, pink or blue. X or Y. Then I can buy some baby stuff, besides diapers and a gender neutral bouncer seat. Then I will have an answer to the question that everyone and their mother asks me, Do you know what you're having?

Pregnant Enough

There is a point in pregnancy when you do not appear pregnant to the outside world. You know you're pregnant, and that there is a reason that you're buying Sour Patch Watermelons, Hostess cupcakes and Ben & Jerry's all in one purchase, with nothing else. There is a logical reason for it. Don't look at me funny judgmental Walmart cashier!

Then there is a point that you start to look pregnant, which happens earlier and earlier with each baby, so that when you're having baby number 3, like myself, you look pregnant way earlier than you ever have. For awhile it just looks like you've been eating too many doughnuts. There is something there, but its not pronounced enough for people to assume its a growing baby, they instead think that its a growing gut.

When I was pregnant with Alana I did not look pregnant with clothes on anyway until I was about 22 weeks. Then with Ava it was probably 20. Now with this one I look pregnant, and I have for a couple of weeks. Towards the end of the day I look more and more pregnant. Its crazy.

I'm pregnant enough that strangers can tell from one look that I'm pregnant.

I'm pregnant enough that I'm starting to field the questions of When are you due? Do you know what you're having? from people that I don't know.

I'm pregnant enough that I don't care for standing for long periods of time, cause its just not comfortable.

I'm pregnant enough that sleeping on my stomach is kind of awkward. Not impossible yet, but still weird.

I'm pregnant enough that on Thursday we will know what we are having. Blue or pink. X or y. Boy or girl.

I'm pregnant enough that my belly works as a handy shelf for holding two year olds.



Creatures of Habit

I am a creature of habit. I do the same things, every single day. Nearly. I shop for groceries on weekday mornings. I eat the same thing for breakfast all the time until I'm sick of it. And the same goes for every other meal. Especially when I'm pregnant. Cause when you find a food that tastes good and doesn't make you sick you become loyal to it. For awhile I ate a bagel sandwich with ham and cream cheese everyday. Well like half of the sandwich then I gave the rest to my kids. Then I got tired of it. So my new addiction became baked oven fries. Just potatoes that I cut into wedges and baked with olive oil and salt. Then dipped into ranch. Then ate in large quantities. I think we've gone through 25 pounds of potatoes in the last month or so. I can't help it, they are delicious.

I see the same qualities of routine in my children. They like to do the same things everyday. They insist on it actually. Ava makes us all watch the Winnie the Pooh movie a lot, so we all know the songs. Then she asks for her hair in pigtails, cause it makes her look good. She does look pretty cute.

Alana likes to play with my straws like they're wands, avoid getting her hair brushed at most times, and dress up like Dorothy constantly. Over her pajamas. But she is still pretty.

And they both like to pose for endless amounts of pictures. And smile like crazy.

Routine Plus Fun

Right now life mostly consists of biology homework. I've even studied as part of my whole making an effort this time thing. And playing with my ladies. And picking couch cushions up off of the floor, cause making them into a boat is considered the funnest thing ever. I also obsessively check the status of our tax refund, because I won't be trust that we're getting it until its deposited in our bank account. And they won't give me a date on when that will be, just a range saying before this day, unless there is a delay. So annoying.

Dorothy Alana and Ava. Ava is obsessed with watching the Winnie the Pooh movie daily, and Alana, well she's obsessed with the Wizard of Oz. The problem is we don't have it on DVD, so as a substitute she watches The Fresh Beat Band Wizard of Song. Just like the Wizard of Oz, except painful to watch and annoying. This obsession includes wearing a Dorothy dress every day, which she puts on first thing in the morning over her pajamas. Then her hair must be put up into pigtails, just like Dorothy. And Ava is forced into being the scarecrow, and I'm a witch, sometimes good and sometimes wicked. Lots of skipping is involved.

 Other than our normal routine, we actually left our house and went to the zoo. Apparently everyone else in Arizona had the same idea, cause it was all crowded. I remembered why we usually go on a weekday afternoon and not on a Saturday. We had to park like 3 parking lots away. But it was fun and worth it. And there is a reason I'm only in a couple of pictures. David was all like Take my picture. Take another one. I need a new facebook pic. Take another one. Then he took 2 crappy pictures of me where the sun is shing on me awkwardly and both girls aren't looking and then some random little kid crashed the picture with her giant head. So I resumed my role behind the lens and we looked at some otters and giraffes. The end. Until we added a trip to Golf and Stuff, where my kids are not tall enough to ride any of the rides, although Alana is tall enough to ride everything at Disneyland. That's weird to me. So we played 1,000 video games, then went home. The actual end.

 

I think Ava inherited the need to be photographed from David. She kept asking for her picture to be taken with her baby she brought in that I had to carry. She can't help it if she's so popular.

It's Not About the Pants

My old non-maternity pants? They still fit. I can even button them. But are they particularly comfortable? Not even. They're fine when I'm standing, but at the end of the day, after I've eaten anything, when I want to sit down, the button must come undone. So an inevitable milestone has been reached for me at 17 weeks pregnant: maternity pants. It's not even the pants that really mean anything, it's just that they symbolize a belly that won't stop growing, real physical proof that someone is in there.

With Alana I was so anti-belly panel it wasn't funny. So I bought low rise maternity jeans, or adjustable waist. These are good options if you like your pants to fall down and your butt crack to hang out, or if you like the inseam buttons to dig into your bony hips. It wasn't until I had Ava, and Motherhood invented Secret Fit maternity pants, that I realized the error of my ways. A panel, at least with the super stretchy and comfy secret fit panel, was actually comfortable. Alas, a miracle! My pants stay up! I can eat and not have to unbutton anything! They can be worn in the awkward squishy postpartum phase when any type of pants give you a muffintop that doesn't exist without them. Don't get me wrong, I hate maternity clothes. I wear my regular shirts 90% of the time, because the frump that haunts the maternity section doesn't really do it for me. But the time has come for this final pregnancy when I will no longer wear my normal jeans. So American Eagle jeggings that I love so much? See you next winter.

And now, proof of my ever expanding belly. Its my third kid, my abs aren't even putting up a fight. And I realize I look like an idiot in these pictures, but I was home alone with my tripod and my camera, so awkward self-timer shots it was. At least you'll have some good laughs.

I'm Not Feeling Monumental

Glancing at my blog list I realized I had 499 posts under my belt. That is a ginormous number. Number 500 should be big, but I'm not feeling it. I'm tired and pregnant and every spare second I have is spent doing homework or playing with my girls, mostly cause Alana requests my presence at playtime constantly. Wanna play with me in my woom? Sure, just don't boss me around too much. I have no idea where she got that from.

So instead of a wordy post you can now look at what I spend my days occupied with. Cute ladies. Enjoy.

The Exception to the Rule

The only time I don't mind being kicked by my children is when its from the inside. I just felt a few little kicks/punches and they are much different than when Ava kicks me when she is asleep. They are just a little reminder of my growing belly, that there is actually a person in there. I'm sure my ladies will be just as excited when they too can feel someone kicking at them from in my belly. As long as this one stays out of my ribs, unlike Ava, then we should be okay.

Before I Start High-Fiving Myself

I love Turbo Tax. It takes the guess work out of doing your taxes. Its cheap. Its easy. But its not idiot proof. Or pregnant woman brain proof. I've demonstrated that twice now. My downfall is the whole personal information section. I double and triple-check all my numbers and everything, but I can't seem to get my own name right. Yeah, my own name. Or my kids.

When I was pregnant with Ava I entered my own last name as my middle name instead, so my return was rejected and I had to fix it. This year I mispelled Alana's last name, so my return was sent back to me this morning. They get all preachy like This name does not match the social security number we have on file. And I'm all like What? I double and triple-checked everyone's social security number! Cause I did. And this year I double-checked my own name. But I didn't double check that I added the necessary "i" into the spelling of Alana's last name. Whoops.

So I found myself fixing a dumb mistake, then re-efiling and crossing my fingers that I fixed it and they still refund our money on the day I'm hoping for. Before I start spending that money in my head I should check my spelling, cause I'm prone to dumb obvious mistakes. And I'm gonna blame my pregnancy brain, cause last year I wasn't pregnant, and I did nothing stupid on my tax returns. Coincidence? I think not.

The Post Where I Ramble on Forever

My ladies keep life interesting. Ava goes without pants 90% of the time, but that is okay because she is potty trained. Until a couple of days ago she had a toilet aversion, but I was too lazy to keep trying to get her to use it. Then with some unsolicited encouragement from Alana, Ava suddenly became all about the toilet and discarded the potty. Alana is mostly responsible for the whole potty training mentality in Ava's brain, because Ava only wanted to do it because her sister did it. The only hurdle left to tackle is that she hasn't used a public toilet yet, so we'll see how that goes.

Alana spends most of her time right now playing, or watching The Rescuers Down Under, cause she is obsessed with it. We don't have it on DVD, but the Disney channel plays old movies all the time and we have DVR, so I record them and she watches them incessantly. There is also some iPod singing along going on with her, and if I hear the stupid Party Rock Anthem one more time I'm buying earplugs. Alana was a little lonely the last couple of days, because Ava had the stomach flu and spent most of her time passed out on the couch. This meant I had to put in a few extra hours of being bossed around while playing My Little Pony, but Alana wanted to play with her mommy so how could I say no. Ava is better today, so they're playing mostly nicely together and don't want my input on their game of fake cooking/barbies/babies/la la loopsy guys.

Time is going fast, probably because I have less than a week left of my Christmas vacation. I'm retaking the same biology class I got a C in last semester, and the class that immediately follows it which is taught by the same teacher. Its not too labor intensive with homework, but I need to study more and actually exert effort this time to get an A or a B. Both classes are only 8 weeks, back to back, then I'm done till next fall cause my mid-summer due date won't really give me time for summer school. David is also taking two classes, and one of them is 8 weeks, so halfway through the semester he will only have one class left. He isn't taking science classes though, so they're easy and require little effort. Lucky him.

The big looming thing in our house though is of course the next baby. My kids are obsessed. They squeal at the sight of other babies, so of course they're happy to get one of their own. My belly is growing. My abs have decided that since they know what's coming, this being the third time around for them and they're old pros, they're just gonna wave the white flag of surrender now. They're like Listen lady, you're on your own. I don't care if you're not quite 16 weeks, your belly is gonna start to poke out a little bit now. Ha ha. Despite weight loss, my belly still protrudes at the end of the day. No skirting around it. I'm gonna be wearing maternity pants much sooner this time around. It doesn't matter that at nearly 4 months I still wear all my regular jeans, my abs can't hold out much longer. At the beginning of the day I look mostly normal, but at the end, after a couple bowls of frosted flakes, I look a little more pregnant.

I have various theories on pregnancy amnesia, because if we really accurately remembered what it feels like at the beginning of pregnancy we probably wouldn't do it repeat times. Nausea and all that aren't things most people enjoy, yet we subject ourselves to them multiple times, because at the end we get a cute little baby to hold. Until that baby is 5 and says I know all sarcastically after everything you tell her. Then you question things a little. I now have another theory on pregnancy amnesia: men get it too. If husbands really remembered how.......let's say high maintenance pregnant women can be, they would probably all go out and get vasectomies after the first kid. But they too see the perfect little baby with tiny fingers and toes, and they're struck with a sense of Lets have another! before they know what's happening. I can admit that I'm a little well, bitchy, sometimes. I got mad last week cause I didn't like David's suggestion about what kind of car we should get next. Like, seriously mad. And he didn't just back down and surrender his opinion, which is what any man with a pregnant wife who isn't suicidal would do. He said nothing. The nerve of some people. I still think his opinion was stupid. I'm pregnant, therefore always right. All husbands could benefit from learning to just surrender in any argument with a pregnant person. Logic has no place here people.

Symptom wise, I'm not too shabby. I lost a couple of pounds, but gained a couple of inches. I'm anemic, which was no surprise, but getting myself to actually swallow the iron pills is an uphill battle. They taste gross, and my gag reflex is crazy right now. I also have a repeat of an annoying condition I had with Ava. Thrombocytopenia. Complicated name for low platelets. All it really means right now is I have to have blood drawn in between every. single. doctor. visit. And if it is severe enough come delivery day, no epidural. That was my biggest concern with Ava and I barely made it. Yikes! If that is the only thing that I have to deal with then I consider myself lucky. Until I'm having contractions.

My morning sickness, which is not accurately named, has mostly subsided. My instant ravenous hunger has mostly subsided too. I don't need to eat as often, and I don't get really sick if I get hungry. Food aversions continue, but they're mostly red meat based. And I've discovered in some cases that if I'm not the one cooking the nasty red meat that I can eat it. But I'm not gonna cook it. Gross. I'm more averse to gross smells than anything. My kids are both potty trained, but still require some assistance in the wiping department. I dry heave everytime. Its very unattractive. Also causing gagging: scented candles, the laundry soap aisle at the grocery store, olives, canned raviolis, cold gross leftovers when cleaning the fridge, and the smell of things cooking in the crockpot (roast beef, yuck!) or even the oven (teriyaki wings, sick!).

My ladies accompanied me to my last drs appointment, which was exciting for them. I like them to be involved, and Alana went to every visit when I was pregnant with Ava. They heard the heartbeat, which they thought was cool, but I think the real highlights for them were going to a park with giant jungle gyms in Tucson and then to Dairy Queen. Dairy Queen was a highlight for me too. At my next appointment I'll be 19 weeks, so an ultrasound revealing need to know things will be scheduled after that. That is a highly anticipated event in each pregnancy, because it answers a big question: boy or girl. I must know! Alana's vote is that its a boy, and most people seem to agree. For the first time ever I don't actually have a preference. I already have 2 girls that I love and another would be great, but a boy would be just as cool and I wouldn't have to brush his hair every morning. Girls are high maintenance sometimes. At least if I don't want them to look homeless.

I'm excited for the next six months, but I'm in no hurry to speed up time. I love sleep and both of my girls do too, that's why we all sleep till 8 am everyday. And right after this next baby, which I'm officially declaring to be the final one. I'm washing my hands of this whole reproduction thing after this. Finished. Three seems like a good number, and it means I don't need a minivan. Also after this baby: Alana goes to kindergarten. A whole new scary chapter is coming up for us in 2012, and it involves getting up early and actually leaving my house before 8 am. Time is free to go slowly, that's for sure.