The Cheeky Bride

So because everything in my world has been baby fever lately, I’ve kind of neglected to tell you all the other big news.

Tony and I bought a house.

Seriously.  Someone is giving us a loan and turning us out into the world with complete confidence that we’ll a.) pay our mortgage each month, b.) mow our lawns in a timely fashion and c.) know what to do at 3 in the morning if the roof starts leaking.  Or the sump pump backs up.  Or holy shit there’s a spider in the bathroom.  OMG, I hope that last one doesn’t happen!

I probably wouldn’t have given us a loan, either, folks.

But we’ve signed all 534 documents and put in a contingency for our newborn if things fall through, so I think we’re all set to go.

There’s a long drawn out story behind this house, mainly that we fell in love with it.  Made an offer.  Had the offer countered with the original asking price.  (Seriously).  Made another offer.  And another counter with the original asking price.  Decided these people are ridiculous, goodbye.  Had them come back with our second offer.  Wait, what?  Fine, then.

There’s more to the story due to some problems the sellers were having, but it sounds like the kinks have been ironed and we’re all set to move on May 18th.  Which means we probably should start packing and stop looking at each other every night saying “we should probably start packing, duuuurrr…”

The house is perfect for us.  The nursery is planned out.  There are hardwood floors throughout the entire place.  We’re looking past the z-brick in the kitchen and master bedroom and turning a blind eye to the brown, shag carpeting in the basement.  But did I mention the hardwood floors?

What’s perfect is that it’s in great condition, provides a lot of space for us to grow and just…feels right.

So we’re all pumped.  Even baby Fox who is kicking me in the bladder right now from the excitement.  Thank goodness this place has 2 bathrooms.

Gratuitous advice and information from yours truly.  Because lately I seem to be getting “gratuitous” advice from just about everyone else because when people see a little pregnant belly, advice just seems to upchuck out of their mouths uncontrollably.  I am not a super freak-a-zoid about advice and most of the time I smile and actually save little tidbits that I think will be useful in my metaphorical back pocket, but after 1 too many quips about “sleeping when the baby sleeps” I start wanting to remind people that I’m not a complete and TOTAL moron.  Only a SMALL moron, ok?  Jeeesus, people!  I mean I figured out how to make this baby, after all.  (Immaculate conception, of course. duh.)

Anyway, as a newly, first time preggo lady, I have learned quite a few things over the last couple of months.  Some of it really great.  Some of it not so great.  Some of it downright ugly and stuff I wouldn’t normally admit, but heck, let’s keep with the pattern and overshare.  So here you are, my people.  Enjoy.

The Good: Watching my husband get on his knees and start Darth-Vader-talking to my belly, saying “Foooox, I am your fatheeeeer.”

The Bad: Feeling a river of acidic fire crawling up your esophagus each and every time you are in a horizontal position.  Tums stock has jumped 5 points since I’ve gotten knocked up.

The Ugly: Do not, I repeat, do NOT surround yourself with funny people.  Because funny people make you laugh.  And laughing during pregnancy, with a bladder that has a little extra weight applied, will have you laughing one minute and then coming to a complete stop with the laughing, while all your friends or coworkers might be giving you a strange look when you cut out mid-laugh.  Oh, we’re definitely not laughing anymore.  Where’s the damn lady’s room?!

The Good: Invest in a belly band.  I haven’t buttoned my pants since late February.  And none of you fools have even noticed.

The Bad: Maternity pants.  I would avoid these all together if my company would just lighten up a little and let me wear some damn yoga pants to work everyday.  But because I don’t foresee that happening in the near future, I am slowly inching my way into these, week by week.  And they suck, in all their elastic-ky-hatedness.

The Ugly: My belly button is starting to look a little crazy.  Want a funny story?  Tony and I have had a long-standing “inside joke” of sorts laugh about my stupid belly button.  It’s always been such a deep belly button that we’ve never been able to see to the bottom of it.  We’d always joke about my insides seeping out somewhere way below and that we always wondered what was at the very bottom.  Well I can tell you now.  And it was a rogue M&M from 1997 that was lodged down there all along.  And a few pennies.  And potato chip crumbs.  And I think we also might have had a glimpse of Nelly, the lochness monster.  As it keeps getting closer to the surface, I’m sure more things will emerge from it.  I’ll keep you posted.

The Good: Having an OB-GYN who has the exact same, terribly-inappropriate sense of humor as I do.  On my last visit he told me I looked fairly healthy and not like I’d been doing too much crack.  Match made in gynecological heaven.

The Bad: Hearing opinions on the name Fox.  Yeah.  We get it.  It’s not your cup of tea.  But I hate your name, too.  And the make of your car.  And I don’t like that stupid purple shirt you’re wearing today either.

The Ugly: Buckle up, pregnant women.  9 months is a long time to go without alcohol.  And the fun-filled nights of debauchery that go along with alcohol.  I know I’m making myself out to be an alcoholic here, but the Captain and I had a pretty intense fling going for awhile.  And now it’s like we don’t even know each other.  He doesn’t even respond to my text messages.

The Good: Having people fawn over you.  I am one of those weird pregnant ladies that does not care if you want to rub up on my belly.  Seriously!  Go in for a pat.  Make a wish while you’re at it, cuz it has some pretty crazy little powers, this buddha belly.  And you better get your rubbing in while I’m still in the 2nd trimester and feeling kind of remotely cute about it, because when I start rounding 3rd I might not be feeling so lovely towards a big-ole-belly.

The Bad: All the limits.  I find having  a sense of humor is key when people start telling me to sit down or stop lifting things.  I like to tell them that I don’t want a puny baby so I’m helping him build up some muscle.  It’s good to toughen them up in utero.

The Ugly: Weight gain.  Oh, it is so, so, SO vain, I know.  But it’s the truth.  No woman likes to watch the scale creep up, especially into unfamiliar territory.  I have to remind myself that it’s healthy.  That I have to gain weight.  But it’s hard not to want to gain it all on S’mores icecream and Coca Cola.  As if pregnancy wasn’t un-fun enough.

Enough with the gratuitous information.  How about a gratuitous belly picture?  I’m 21 weeks below and dressed all fancy-schmancy after a work event down in the city.  Little did I know it would be raining out so don’t mind the gnarly hair, which I finally had to pull back.

The minute your little heart appeared on the screen and I realized you looked like an actual baby and  not the little gummy-bear-bean I first saw at the 8 week ultrasound, my own heart did a little skip.  Four perfect little chambers, beating at 150 beats per minute.  It sounded like a train chugga-chugging through the room and I just smiled.

The doctor went over all the details of your little body.  The stomach looked good.  The brain looked good.  Check out those fingers spreading, which was a good sign that we needn’t worry too much about any mental disabilities.  I knew right then where a parent’s incredible pride swells from because at that minute I was so proud that you were so healthy.

You were a complete spaz.  You were kicking all over the place and kept flailing your arms up.  The doctor joked that he couldn’t get a clear picture because you kept smacking yourself in the face.  The only pictures we were able to get of your sweet little mug was of two sweet little hands hiding it.  The doctor kept assuring us that with a little bean as active as you were, he’d be sure to have an easy time getting a photo of the important bits, which we were so eager to know.

But time and time again, after we’d poke you and I’d wiggle around a little, you’d stay firm, keeping your legs shut.  Are you sure you aren’t a stubborn Taurus like your father and me?  But finally the doctor clicked a quick picture and looked at us and grinned.  Without announcing he asked us “Do you see what I see?”  That’s when the tears started to flow and I looked over at your dad and he was beaming from ear to ear.  You were definitely a boy.  And my heart did another skip.  From that moment forward we watched you wiggle a little more and refuse to give in and humor us with a little face shot.  So we’re still guessing whose chin you might have and what your nose is shaped like.  But that’s ok.  Because I feel like I know you already.  And you are perfect.

Love,

Your mom

Oh I know, I know, I’ve been a bad little blogger.  How can I get you guys all worked up about the day in’s and day out’s of my uterus and then leave you hanging for a few weeks?  It’s downright mean, I know.

So if you’re on uterus-watch, then this picture should appease all you crazy bump-watchers out there.

Here I am at 19 weeks.

Voila!  We have belly, folks!

I find it so funny to look back at pictures from week 12 and 13 and think about what a freak-a-zoid I was and just how huge I thought my little tum-tum was back then.  And then I look at this picture and realize…whoa.  Where did this gut come from?  I’ve lived with it every single day and I have no idea when it all of a sudden went from week 12 to week 19, a.k.a. me complaining about slightly tight waisted jeans to “oh man, one more button down and next comes the zipper.”

Not in maternity jeans yet, damnit.  I am holding strong in avoiding them at all costs, but it’s starting to reach that point.  Woe is the girl who has to wear pleats and elastic-banded waists.

We find out the sex of the baby on Friday, but of course you already have that marked on your calendars.  Because, duh.  Of course you do.  (My calendar has hearts and squiggly lines all of over it and I had to stop myself from drawing a cute little sperm character on my calendar at work because even I have professional boundaries.  Hard to believe, but it’s true.)  This is all coming from the girl who didn’t want to find out the sex, I know.  But now that we’re embracing it, we’re truly embracing it.  And it’ll be like Christmas morning when I wake up Friday.

So I’ll write again after Friday and let you all know if it’s a Fox or a Marlowe all up in this uterus-joint.

(Didn’t think I’d say uterus again in this blog post, did you?)

Uterus.