March 2012

I think I’ve made you all sweat it out long enough.  And because we’ve already revealed our names to many who reside in the non-internet world (I know! It still exists! Gasp!), I figure…you’ve waited long enough.

Drumroll please.

If our little darling is, well, a little darling diva, she will be named Marlowe.  We don’t have a middle name for her yet, though, as the middle name is up to Tony and, well, Tony has yet to hang the shelves we bought when we first moved into this apartment a year and a half ago.  Basically, he’s a procrastinator, for those of you who like when I get straight to the point and can’t read between the lines.  (Sidenote: If you like brevity, I’m not sure what you’re doing reading my blog.)


Baby boy’s name.

This needs a little disclaimer.

It’s…unique (but growing in popularity, believe it or not, which just kills me a little inside).

Anyway.  Our little bouncing baby boy will be Fox.  Fox Benjamin if you’re curious about the middle name.

I’ve found that the name brings on strong connotations from both sides of the fence.  Either you love the name and think it’s pretty bitchin’ or you pretty much hate it and think we’re ruining our child’s future elementary school playground days.  We’ve been accused of thinking we’re celebrities.  And hippies.  I just tell people I hope he’s a special agent for the X-Files.


Having lived down south for a year, I often heard the hilarious term “hoo hoo” being used to describe a female’s lady-bits.  Then I remembered a story my mom told me about when she first moved down to Florida.  It’s important to mention that my mom is hilarious and whenever she gets excited she yells “hoo hoo!” in a relatively boisterous manner.  For awhile she couldn’t figure out why all the ladies at her new job kept looking at her strange when she’d shout out her favorite exclamation, until finally one woman told her that she was essentially yelling “vagina” really loud each time she got excited.

Oh mom.  It’s almost scary how much we’re alike sometimes.

And that’s my grand opening story for the gender discussion post.  You’re welcome, readers.  You’re also welcome, mom.

When Tony and I first found out we were pregnant, I was adamant that we were not going to find out the sex.  I waxed poetically for weeks, telling people how there are such very few wonderful surprises in life, and how great will it be when we can be surprised at the very end.  And then I started saying “Oh, we can totally handle yellows and greens.  We’ll be alright.”

As the weeks progressed, we slowly started to come out of the hipster dip-shit faze our brains were in and decided, “forget all that noise, who the heck’s all up in my uterus and is this little human gonna pee standing up or not?!”

So, that’s where we are now.  Our official gender-revealing ultrasound is scheduled for next month on Friday the 13th.  I am not sure what to make of that, other than we might be equally surprised to learn it is neither a he nor a she, but possibly a masked hockey player with a hazy MO to kill.  I will watch the doctor’s face carefully for any signs of alarm during the exam and will report back to you immediately.

And now for another reveal that will probably haunt our future child if it does turn out to be a girl.  I am sorry in advance, future-possible-girl-baby.

We both are hoping for a boy.

Let me add a disclaimer to this.  I will be thrilled if it’s a little girl.  Tony will be thrilled if it’s a little girl.  We are both blessed to be expecting a baby, who we hope is happy and healthy.  And that’s all that matters in the end.  No matter what our desire is, all will be forgotten the minute we look at our child’s face.

But because I like to keepz it real on this here blog, yo, I do feel it’s important to admit my slight inclination for having a little boy.  Maybe it’s because I’m not a pink and frilly dresses kind of girl (don’t let my love for heels fool you).  Maybe it’s because I have always just pictured a baby boy in my future.  Or maybe it’s just because I love the boy name we picked out, even though 99% percent of you will hate it and accuse of us of being hippies who are out to ruin our child’s life and his future resume (the other 1% of you cool cats will think we’re the dopest parents alive, though).

Tony wants a little boy because Tony has an entire collection of dinosaurs from his childhood that he’d like any excuse to unpack and play with again.  His reasons might be a little less complicated than mine, I suppose.

I’m getting a lot of predictions from friends, family and coworkers and many are “reading” girl on me.  I smile politely and resist the urge to punch them in their sweet, little faces.  That’s not how a lady acts, of course.  But we will see in a month here and I will make sure I run to the nearest internet source and update you.  And if it’s a hoo hoo that’s residing in me right now, I promise I will be just as excited.  I told Tony that girls can like dinosaurs and transformers, too, duh.

I’m sort of cheating here, as I’m technically 16 weeks as of yesterday, but I’m posting a 15 week photo.  It also has no super-talented, yet highly entertaining baby illustrations like my pictures before.

Here’s why.

1.) I’m lazy.  And I will whole-heartedly blame that on being pregnant.  I find that pregnancy now lends itself to being the scapegoat for many things that would normally have been blamed on just pure lack of motivation.  Things like eating girl scout cookies for dinner because they’re right on the table in front of you instead of making yourself the salad with all the ingredients already cut up in the fridge.  Yeah.  Things like that.

2.) Also?  I would normally take a 16 week photo tonight, however I have greasy hair, holey socks and I’m feeling damn-right uncute at this moment.  And right before I typed this I looked in the mirror and realized with horror that, because of allergies brought on by Wisco’s unseansonably warm temperatures lately, I’ve been smearing mascara all around my eye sockets for the past hour as I’ve innocently been rubbing the shit out of my peepers!  The itching!  Que terrible!

Yes, sometimes I’m surprised Tony reproduced with me, too.

Here’s the 15 week photo.

The belly has officially outshone the boobs.  Although, my husband might disagree.  Because seriously.  He’s loving the new boobs.

Funny how women get to experience all the crap-tastic fun that is pregnancy like heartburn, weight gain and nauseau and men get to experience the boobs.  That’s it.  Nothing else.  Just good, ‘ole funbags.

I am so dorky in work clothes, too, I know.  Who wears pantyhose anymore except 80 year women and me, a very pasty girl who would blind you with the shine on my very white legs?  Be thankful I’m wearing the hose, actually.  As fashion forward as they may be.

New craving of the week?  Apple juice.  I must have it at all times.  And then pay for it hideously when it gives me the worst acid reflux known to mankind.  Man-fucking-kind!  I am spitting fire after a glass of the stuff.  But, as my willpower has proven to me time and time again…wait, I have no willpower.  Which is exactly why I keep drinking apple juice.

Next up down the blog pipeline?  Gender discussion.  Let the predictions begin!

It’s been awhile, guys, I’m sorry. I’ve had trouble pulling myself away from any and all Mexican food long enough to write a blog post. This baby will come out spicy, let-me-tell-ya.

I know why you’re here first and foremost, so let’s not waste any time getting around to the belly picture and possibly the most adorable baby on the planet. Behold my amazing art talents:

That is my rendition of the glorious little being Tony and I have miraculously created. I hope he or she gets my mad skills behind a Microsoft Paintbrush. It will be a world of wide open doors and opportunities for him if he so happens to pick up this trait.

On a side note, I don’t actually believe our child will have Edward Scissorhand-like digits. I just accidentally pulled the paintbrush a little too far. And couldn’t figure out the undo key. Also? Square ribs and square buttocks will make baby clothes shopping hard in the future.


Things are moving along. I’m in the second trimester. The belly is a-popping. So are the buttons on the jeans.

Today I went the whole day at work with my suit pants unbuttoned. Please keep this between us, internet, ok? Because that shit be embarrassing, yo! And while I’m hesitant to cave and start wearing such fashion-forward trends that are found so easily in pleated maternity pants, I suppose muffin top is just as bad. What’s a preggo to do?

The key words of the week are “Mexican food” and “Arnold Palmer.” Strange mix, yes. But damn good, hell yes. I have dragged Tony to the local Mexi-Greek-Italian place more times than I care to admit and when I called him from work on Saturday and, instead of saying hello, yelled “Mexican food!” really loud into the phone when he picked up, he finally put his foot down. He couldn’t do any more Mexican food. So I promptly came home and made enchiladas. Don’t come between me and red sauce, people.

Ahhh, the other craving, Arnold Palmers. Lemonade and tea mixed together, or as I like to call it, liquid crack-attack. I C-A-N-N-O-T get enough of this stuff. I woke up Sunday morning and made one for breakfast. Along with an enchilada. We’re not messing around over here with the cravings.

As weird as it is to say this after talking all about my foods of choice, my appetite has actually gone down a bit now that I’ve entered second trimester territory. Thank GAWD! At my last 12 week doctor visit, I had gained 6 pounds in 4 weeks. I had a slight conniption on the scale. Then sheepishly went home and made myself wait AT LEAST 3 hours before eating chunks out of the huge leftover cake that was in our fridge. Will power. I have none.

So it’s probably good things have slowed down on the appetite front, as I’m now finally not thinking about food every…single…waking…minute…of…the…day. It’s now moved to hourly. Which baby bean, heartburn and I are “ok” with.