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?

Still a miracle, even if it makes me miserable

My co-worker, who is 41 weeks pregnant and scheduled to be induced tomorrow, gave me a copy of Pregnancy Sucks: When Your Miracle Makes You Miserable last week. Because it is my wont to semi-obsessively research every major purchase/event in my life, I tore into it over the weekend. Overall, it's pretty good -- similar in content to The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy, but a bit more, I don't know, mature in tone. (I don't know if anyone else reacted similarly, but I found the Girlfriends' Guide to be a little, well, silly. And full of some bad advice, such as not worrying about exercising because you might hurt the baby and you're going to gain so much weight that you might as well give up. But anyway.)

Now, perhaps it is because I am in the "honeymoon" of my pregnancy (so they say), or maybe it's the whole infertility thing, but I'm having a hard time being truly miserable about anything this pregnancy has thrown my way. Even when I was bleeding during the first tri, and yes, even when we lost the twin (which was terrible), I have been so incredibly grateful. And usually hopeful. And endlessly fascinated by the things my body is doing.

Don't get me wrong -- I will continue to make fun of my giant knockers and the fact that my thighs are rubbing together and that I have sex dreams about Sacha Baron Cohen and that I am GROWING LONG, DARK HAIR ON MY BELLY. But I'm totally not miserable. So I think I'll keep to reading the book at home, lest anyone spotting me on the train think that I am a pregnancy ingrate.

Now watch me gain 37 pounds in my third trimester. Then I guess we'll have to revisit the topic of misery.

Waxing not-so-nostalgic

There are many traits I would love for my daughter to inherit from her parents. Athletic ability, musicality, acne-free skin and math smarts are all on the list. However, if there is one thing I hope she is spared, it's this:

My eyebrows.

My thick, unruly, "Oh, you waxed me? Let me sprout back forth in record time!" eyebrows.

I went to get an eyebrow wax today, and while I was having hot wax slathered and then ripped off my face, I reflected back on my long and illustrious eyebrow-waxing history. Some fun facts:

--I've been regularly waxing my brows since high school. If you figure I've averaged a wax a month since then (more frequently these days, less so in college when my very limited disposable income was more likely to go towards beer and *gasp* fake tanning), that's 192 delightful dates on the waxing table. So, I've probably spent somewhere around $3K getting hair ripped off my face.

--I play a little game of over/under each time I go in. How long will it take the waxer to say "My, what thick eyebrows you have!" or some variation thereof? It's not a question of if. It always happens. My favorite variation: "Your eyebrows are like tree trunks!" No shit!

--It is a big, giant, liar-liar-pants-on-fire myth that waxing hurts less the more you do it. If anything, it hurts MORE. Particularly when a cocktail of IVF drugs is running through your veins. (Hey, I may be infertile, but I wasn't about to add the indignity of a unibrow to my list of woes.)

I know, I know, I should be happy that I'll never have to use an eyebrow pencil to draw brows on. And the thick eyebrows come with nice things like thick hair (which, unfortunately, grows EVERYWHERE and creates a variety of other grooming dilemmas). But I hope that 16 years from now, I'm not giving my daughter the old "Oh, honey, it won't hurt at all after the first time" line. At least not about waxing!

The upside of the day is that I did get myself a fine pedicure, the results of which can be seen at right. So it wasn't all bad.

Now excuse me while I go put a bag of frozen peas on my throbbing forehead.

Melt my heart, why dontcha?

Earlier this week, I was in my favorite place -- the pool. More specifically, in the locker room after finishing my swim, when I probably feel physically better than any other time of the day/week.

I had just finished up a swim that was pretty special. For most of the time I was doing laps, I could feel the chicklette burbling around in there, kind of like we were swimming together. So I was already in wistful mode as I was heading towards my locker.

Right next to me were a mom and her 3-ish year old daugther, getting dressed. The mom was doing her hair and makeup, and the little girl was sitting on a bench, swinging her legs and quietly watching every move. Suddenly, she says:

"Mommy? I loooove you."

After a few days of trying to picture what having a daughter would look like for me, this scene totally brought it home, and gave me a little glimpse into the future.

Unless, of course, my daughter hates me. But I'm hoping that won't happen until she's at least 12.

Is it ICLW again?

Apparently it's ICLW once again! I'm not sure if it's arriving more quickly, or if my brain has just further deteriorated. I'm betting on the latter.

So, for newcomers, welcome to Barefootland. As you can probably glean from the title of my blog, I am pregnant. 19 weeks pregnant, in fact. It took 2.5 years, a bunch of Clomid, a bunch of tears and an IVF cycle to get here, but we're thrilled. And we're having a girl, which I hope to reflect more completely in my toenail color when I go for a pedi this weekend.

As a warning for those of you who might not want to read about pregnancy-type things, this blog is these days mostly about being pregnant. But I'm still an infertile, and that is touching this journey in more ways than I ever could have imagined.

For those of you thinking about or embarking on an IVF cycle, there are a slew of posts in March and April detailing that exciting rollercoaster ride.

Welcome to the blog, and happy ICLW!

Beware the overheated preggo

I learned something today:  102 degrees + 19 weeks pregnant = cranky.  Actually, beyond cranky. Maybe a little bit hostile.

Don't get me wrong, it could be much worse. I could be my friend S, who is due in two weeks and roughly the size of Danny DeVito (but in a very cute way).  But. It's hot. So very hot. And I am so very cranky.

I would like to apologize to the salesperson in Sephora, at whom I semi-yelled when they were out of my Medium Beige Bare Minerals foundation. I would also like to apologize to the salesperson in Pea in a Pod -- it is not your fault that I've grown from a 36DD to a 38E in the last three weeks. And finally, I would like to apologize to my dear husband, who gamely followed me from shop to shop all afternoon, and witnessed some pretty bad behavior.

I hope that everyone else in hot weather is staying cool -- physically as well as mentally!