Bye, bye, bathroom

The demolition started this morning.

I took my last shower in our shower.

The Mr. took his last poo in our toilet (and was very proud of it, thankyouverymuch).

The contractor found termites in our wall.

Tonight we move into my mom's house.

Tomorrow we pick tile, fixtures and a tub.

Does life get any more exciting than this????

S is for.....

Yeah, I know I'm getting a little carried away with this whole alphabet thing. I think mostly it's because I'm too tired/lazy/whatever to come up with real post titles.

Let's take a break from my hormonal outbursts, and focus on something positive. Something productive. Something satisfying. Yes, I am going there -- into TMI territory.

S is for.....

STOOL SOFTENER.

My new best friend.  How I have gotten through almost 24 weeks without you, I'll never ever know.

P is for psemi-psychotic preggo

Further evidence that I am no longer in control of my emotions:

Yesterday afternoon, I called my mom to update her on a couple of things and got her voicemail. Usually, she either picks up right away or calls me right back (she's almost as nervous about this pregnancy as I am). At 8:00, I still hadn't heard from her, so called her on both her cell phone and land line. No dice. So I tried again about 15 minutes after that. Still nothing. I know she's been working on painting a couple of rooms in her house, so cue visions of mom with a broken neck at the bottom of a ladder. 5 more minutes -- try again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Finally, at about 9:00, I decided to drive the 25 minutes to her house to make sure that she was alive and OK. The whole way, my heart was pounding and I was thinking about all of the grisly ways I might find her when I arrived. I was TOTALLY CONVINCED that my so-called intuition was telling me something was NOT RIGHT.

Turns out she was painting the bathroom with the door closed and the fan on, and couldn't hear the phone(s).

Sigh.

This morning, I started crying while putting on my makeup because I heard on the local news that school was back in session and the traffic might be heavier than usual. Seriously, this is all it takes to set me off?

Goal for today: no more crying. I'll be happy to take bets from anyone who cares to wager.

H is for Hormones

Whoa, boy. I don't know if it's the stress of the remodel, or just the natural order of things, but this weekend my hormones really came out to play.

I have to admit, I was a bit snappish yesterday. I didn't sleep well on Friday night, I was feeling breathless, and worst of all, CONSTIPATED.  So I know I had a few snippy comments for the Mr. during the day, which I know had to suck for him. But then, on the way home from a family party, he lost it back at me a little bit.  And the waterworks started. I tried not to let him see, but I had tears running down my face and snot pouring out my nose all the way home. And then I left him at home and went kersnuffling to the mall to be "alone," where I'm pretty sure I looked like a big fat red-faced freak. And then I got home and went to sleep at 7:30.

The whole time, I couldn't really figure out what was making me cry. I'm not a crier, especially not over something like a little mini-argument. And I'm not unhappy -- in fact, I kept thinking "I'm so happy, why am I crying?" 

I hope this isn't the new me for the next 3.5 months. Because I have to say, she isn't much fun.

23 weeks!

Lots of random updates and other incoherent thoughts on this lovely Friday:

• I had my 23-week appointment today, and everything looks great. The chicklette's heart was banging away at 146 beats per minute, and just as my OB asked me if the baby had been active, she gave the Doppler a good kick. Cheeky little girl. And in quite possibly the best news of the week, my weight gain is "looking good" -- only 2 pounds this month. Wooohoo!
• I've been doing a lot of driving to work this week, and have been really enjoying the Pregtastic Pregnancy Podcast. I've learned all sorts of things about epidurals, yoga, sex and traveling while pregnant. If anyone's got time to burn in the car and wants to listen to a bunch of preggos talk about their experiences at different weeks in their pregnancy, there's an hour episode each week that's free on iTunes.
• We decided for sure to go ahead with the remodel. So now I have 48 hours to figure out what kind of tile we want. I've got no frickin' idea. Oh, and I think we move into my mom's house on Tuesday. Lovely.

Anyway, that's what's going on with the Barefoots. Wishing everyone a wonderful weekend!

The tub of my dreams

We started baby shopping in earnest last week. We ordered the crib, made some nursery design decisions, and most importantly, got Grandma to splurge on the baby item I have been coveting for years -- the Sleep Sheep. (Is it wrong that I want one for myself now? He's just so soft and cuddly.)

In the midst of all this cuteness, though, the item that I am most excited about is a bathtub. Not a baby bathtub, but a mommy bathtub.

When we bought our house 3 years ago, we loved so many things about it -- the open floor plan, the back yard, the 11 skylights and the natural light they provided. But there was one thing missing -- a bathtub in an otherwise gorgeous Spanish-style tiled bathroom. Now, this wouldn't be a big deal for some people, but I love me a good bath. I used to take one almost every night when we lived in San Francisco.....so soothing in the cold foggy weather, and such a nice way to kickstart the falling-to-sleep process.

We've known all along that at some point, we'd likely have to remodel our bathroom to add a tub and fix some plumbing issues. Well, we've decided that time is NOW. Which is creating all kinds of fun prospects -- spending $30K of our savings, living with Mom for 6 weeks, and having to somehow get our nursery together while not living in the house. But it's now or never. I don't want to be living elsewhere once the baby comes.

So, away we go. Construction could start next week. I'm just holding on to the image in my head of lounging in a tub during my third trimester, with some aromatherapy candles and a good book (and probably a curious kitteh sticking his paws over the side). I just hope this isn't one of those Money Pit situations where 6 weeks turns into 12. ("Two weeks!")

Calgon, take me away.....

Getting my a** kicked

Butt-kicking seems to be a theme this week. Let me count the ways:

1. Work. I am in my crazy time of the year at work, and have been struggling mightily to get everything done, keep my cool, and travel across time zones without the help of Tylenol PM. I think that last part has been the hardest.

2. Yoga. I went again on Wednesday, and did some more struggling trying to keep up with the other ladies, who are all 30+ weeks pregnant. How embarrassing is that?!? I keep hoping it will get easier.

3. The chicklette. [TMI alert!] As of yesterday, she has taken to kicking me in the ass -- from the inside. Little jabs all night long in my tailbone, and um, other places in the rear. I wish I could describe the sensation, as it's honestly the weirdest thing I've ever felt. Plus, it makes me feel like I have to poop ALL THE TIME, which, given my issues in that area, is like the biggest tease EVER.

Despite the multilateral ass-kicking, I am enjoying every minute of the journey. I may feel differently tomorrow, when I have to attend a wedding with my in-laws at which I cannot employ my usual in-laws coping mechanism (i.e., alcohol).

Hopefully there will be some good cake.

Yum....and yuck

I'm in Chicago this week for work (yay! love me some Chicago) and just capped off a 2.5-hour delay + 4-hour flight + rush hour traffic + 100 unanswered e-mails with two pieces (slices? slabs?) of deep-dish pizza. Mmmmmm, so good. The chicklette apparently thought so too, since she unleashed a giant kick right after I swallowed my first bite. (Or maybe she was saying "Maaaaa, stop clogging my arteries already" -- we'll never know.)

Except now I have what feels like a 10 pound cheese baby strapped to my front. Attractive, no?

Not going to lie....I'll proabably be back for more tomorrow night.

The jury's still out

On prenatal yoga, that is. I went to my first class today, after two false starts where the instructor didn't show up. (You want to see angry? Try hanging out with a group of preggos who all peeled themselves out of bed at 8 on a Saturday morning only to get stood up. But anyway.)

So, the class. First of all, I've never gone to an actual yoga class, unless you count my electronic Wii Fit instructor. I was prepared to be totally humiliated, and actually wasn't, really. The instructor only had to "adjust" me twice, although maybe she just gave up.

It was surprisingly difficult, and I found myself sweating by the end, which was good. But some of the poses -- there was this one squatty thing (sorry, can't remember the name -- I sort of stopped paying attention after "cat and cow," "pigeon," and "camel" -- I'm sure it was an animal, though) that made me feel like the chicklette was going to shoot out of my hoo-hoo and splat on the yoga mat. Also, the pigeon pose? The only time I've ever seen a pigeon look like that was after an encounter with the front wheel of a car. And don't get me started on the music -- one more "hare krishna" and I was going to find a way to "accidentally" knock the instructor's iPod over with one of my sun salutations.

But. I felt pretty darn great afterwards. And it was nice to hang out and chat with a bunch of other women, especially since I don't have any IRL friends who are pregnant right now. So I'll keep going.

Just don't laugh at my downward facing dog.

Silent

I was all set to write a horribly self-centered post about some anxiety I've been feeling about becoming a parent. But then I saw this terrible news. And spent some time catching up on the latest from these three women, who are all getting through each day with an amount of strength I can't even comprehend.

So I've decided to keep my trap shut, and instead focus my energy and prayers on the many women about whom, though I couldn't pick them out of lineup, I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking.

Still a girl

We had another scan today, to follow up on our 18 week anatomy scan. Apparently the little chicklette was too small to see some of the finer points (like, say, her heart), so back we went. 

First of all, I want to say that my husband totally took one for the team today, and I probably owe him some sort of sexual favor as a result.  I had invited my mom to join us, since she hasn't seen the babe live and up close, but when we went to head back to the ultrasound room, the tech told us that they had a "strict policy" of no more than one guest in the room at a time, and no switching off. Bummer news that would have been good to know, like, yesterday. Now, the Mr. has been excited for DAYS to get another look, but he totally shrugged and sucked it up and told my mom that she could go in with me. I didn't think it was possible to love the guy more, but today I do.

Anyway, on to the scan. Don't tell the Mr., because he'll be upset, but it was so frickin' cool.  And my mom totally cried, which made the Mr.'s waiting room heroics even more, well, heroic. We could see so much more detail than during the 18 week scan, and they spent lots of time on the heart which was really neat. Four chambers, all pumping together. We got a measurement of her big melon, and saw all of her brain parts inside. We got to count fingers and toes again, and got a good look at her nose and little lips and chin. Totally cute.

The best part? The money shot. I had joked when the tech was lubing me up that I was anxious to see if she was still a she, before we go all in on the pink bedding. So we got towards the end of the scan, and my 12-oz. daughter just opened her bony legs right up and gave us a full-on view of her little girly bits.  The tech, who had a sense of humor for a change, drew a big arrow pointing to the goods, and labeled it: "STILL A GIRL."

Of the dozen or so photos we got today, which one do you think is hanging on the fridge right now? That's right. Poor baby girl.

She has no idea what she's in for.

What not to eat

Apologies for the lack of posting -- I've been on a hell week of work and business travel, and don't have much to report other than that the baby either loves or hates L.A., since she started kicking the crap out of me as soon as the plane landed and didn't let up for a few hours.

I do have one little tip, for those of you who might have reason to be at LAX in the morning with a craving for a breakfast burrito. You might want to avoid Baja Fresh. This is, apparently, what their breakfast burrito entails (wish I had been paying better attention when they were making it): one giant tortilla, a pile of eggs, potatoes with red peppers (agh!), cheese and 2 jumbo sausage patties (double-agh!!). Let's just say that I was burping peppers and sausage for the rest of the day, and I think the baby went into food coma because I didn't feel her move again until the next morning. Sorry, baby. Sorry, gastrointestinal tract.

I hope to have more exciting things to say this week. We go for another scan tomorrow, since the baby was too small at our 18 week anatomy scan to see all they wanted to see of her heart. Hopefully we can get some extra confirmation of the whole "girl" thing, too, before we start the serious baby gear spending this weekend.

Although really, what little boy wouldn't want to be scooted around town in a pink carseat?