It's that time of pregnancy again, everyone! Where I declare myself to be 75% pregnant. Yay! Also, only ten weeks left. Eek!
I had my glucose screen with the midwife last week and I, once again, do not have gestational diabetes! Yay! My blood sugar looked even more awesome than usual. My blood pressure has been equally awesome so far this pregnancy (last time around, it kept going up even though I didn't have Pre-eclampsia, and the midwife tested me for HELPP towards the end of my pregnancy). And, I made some changes to my diet a while ago that are supposed to be good for my thyroid (cutting out soy, limiting gluten) and, so far this pregnancy, I've only gained 7 pounds. And that's pretty awesome since I'm a big fat fatty anyway. Last time I gained 30 total, which is a reasonable and standard amount of weight to gain while pregnant. Though, the doctors do say for all us fatties out there that we should really only gain half that.
I'm hungry.
Hamburglar can count to nine. Well, he skips the number four, but who needs the number four anyway? Four is a total asshole.
What else? I'm rocking my job about as awesome as I'm rocking my pregnancy. I passed my Waste Water Lab IV exam (I never have to take another lab exam again!) and I was selected for a pilot leadership program for the municipality I work for. Mister Adventure is getting super close to going back to work (he's had enough of full-time stay-at-home-dadd-ing, which I totally get) and we've found a few pre-pre-schools that look promising for our favorite toddler.
Also, we get to have the Little Miss for 4th of July this year. Though she's not so little any more. I'm pretty sure she's part Amazon, because the kid is a giant.
And we are getting closer to naming Son Number Two. We are not naming him Maxwell, which had been at the top of my list, but I have pregnant friends all over the country who are naming their sons various versions of Max this year. It's still a totally adorable name and I love it, but I went to elementary school with a million Dustins, and I want 2.0 to avoid the Dustin Effect.
Mr. Adventure suggested a name that I thought was kind of douchey, so I googled douchey names and came across this. We aren't planning to name the kid Chad or Brody, so I think we're good. One of my coworkers went to high school with a Chad who eventually named his son Brody. She claims they aren't douchey, but I think it can be hard to tell if someone is a douche when you are in the web of douchiness or something.
Anyway, that's about it. It's summer. It's hot. I'm glad I work in a climate-controlled environment that is always 20 degrees Celsius.
I almost forgot! 30 weeks means Sean Connery is the size of a cucumber, a cabbage and Britney Spears's Yorkshire Terrier. So, yum! Throw all that shit on the grill and see what happens!
Friday, June 26, 2015
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Vaginal Hubris
We went camping. I haven't been in, like, a decade and I don't see much of a point in camping when we live close enough to several forests, lakes, rivers, and whatnot. Why would I sleep on the ground when I have a fancy Tempurpedic bed at home? And refrigeration? And running water? Is that what I did when I lived in Central America? Was that camping?
I left work around 10a Friday morning to go home and help finish packing. We were going less than three hours from town to meet up with Mr. Adventure's friend and his girlfriend. It was Chumby's first time camping and I thought the dogs could use some outdoor time since they've been rather neglected since Chumb was born.
I hard boiled some eggs and made a lentil/barley/feta salad and cut up some veggies and had some hummus... my goal was to have food and not have to worry about cooking anything. Except hot dogs. And smores.
We got up there and it was beautiful. They scored a great camping spot. We took my car (because I didn't want to spend three times as much on gas to take the '93 Explorer) and we parked and set up camp while Chumbercules stretched his little toddler legs and the dogs went exploring. Within minutes, I had, like, 7 mosquito bites and The Girlfriend sprayed me down with bug spray.
Mr. Adventure's friends were fresh off Sasquatch (the music festival in the Washington Gorge) and they were already drunk (or still drunk?) when we got there. But whatever. I heard a thousand times from The Girlfriend about how 21 Pilots is her new favorite band and topless fishing is her new favorite thing. When I would ask Hamburglar to do something, she was parrot-parenting me. This girl is typically pretty nice. But she was getting pretty annoying pretty quick.
What took the cake was when she started talking about how she wants to have her boyfriend's babies (oh, dear God please no!) and she was asking me if she could get a scheduled C-section because she doesn't want her vagina all mangled or something. She then proceeded to pester Mr. Adventure, for the next 45+ minutes, about what my vagina felt like pre and post-baby. Mr. Adventure is a bit more of the old school type. He doesn't like to talk about those things. WE haven't even talked about it. I thought about whipping out my lady junk and saying, "You look at my vagina! It's the best damn one on the lot!" But maybe she has like a mangled corpse vagina already and doesn't want to make things worse? I don't know. What I do know is that my vagina is fucking miraculous. And, if she really wants to know, she can look that shit up on the internet. That's what the internet is for: finding information that may or may not be true and repeating it like it's the oldest known fact in the world. Duh.
Then, as the evening progressed and they continued drinking, they started arguing. All Mr. Adventure wanted to do was fish. While he was fishing, I laid Hamburglar down to sleep. And while we were doing that, the other couple continued arguing and the campfire died. All I wanted was a mother fucking smore. So, I went down to the lake and grabbed Mr. A and he restarted the campfire. By the time he finished, his friends were down by the lake, right by his fishing spot, continuing their argument. So, Mr. Adventure came back up, the baby woke up, I made them a smore to share then I made one for me and, on my first fucking bite, I broke my porcelain tooth. I look like a fucking crackhead. A smoking hot crackhead with an amazing vagina, but a crackhead, none-the-less.
We went to bed at some point and it was cold. We didn't bring warm enough sleep gear. Then it started raining. Mr. A hadn't weather-proofed his tent in several years so water was leaking in. And it was raining HARD. And the dogs were outside. I let them in and it was instantly warmer. None of us slept well because it was freezing fucking cold and wet. And the rain wasn't letting up.
If it hadn't been for the rain, I would have stuck it out. Everything else was what it was and, like I said, it was a beautiful spot. However, the prospect of spending the day in a 3-man tent with two dogs and a toddler was probably pretty close to what hell is like. Mr. Adventure said, "As soon as the rain lightens up a bit, we will pack up." Cue rain to come down harder.
The second it lightened up, I climbed out of the tent to pee and started packing up our stuff. I was ready to go. When we were finally packed up and getting the fuck out of there, my car tire got stuck in the mud and his friends had to help push us out. And there were no coffee stands anywhere. And we were all so very tired. I'm STILL tired.
At 27 weeks pregnant, I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be sleeping on the ground anyway. Plus I've gained like, three times as much belly in the past two weeks as I did in the whole 40 weeks of my first pregnancy.
This week, Sean Connery is the size of a rutabaga, cauliflower or a roast. You can look up your own damn recipe. This isn't a cooking blog!
Do you remember my favorite pregnancy website from the end of my last pregnancy? Well, I've rediscovered it and it is still hilarious. According to him, the baby is the size of a big turnip (think Turnip Head from Lost). But my favorite part has always been the tip at the end. "You should make exercise fun and social. Meet other pregnant women and go for exercises together."
Doesn't he know that talking to people without gilling them is a third trimester challenge? And, since I'm officially in the third trimester (tomorrow) I am now accepting bets on whether I can make it to my due date without stabbing someone!
I left work around 10a Friday morning to go home and help finish packing. We were going less than three hours from town to meet up with Mr. Adventure's friend and his girlfriend. It was Chumby's first time camping and I thought the dogs could use some outdoor time since they've been rather neglected since Chumb was born.
I hard boiled some eggs and made a lentil/barley/feta salad and cut up some veggies and had some hummus... my goal was to have food and not have to worry about cooking anything. Except hot dogs. And smores.
We got up there and it was beautiful. They scored a great camping spot. We took my car (because I didn't want to spend three times as much on gas to take the '93 Explorer) and we parked and set up camp while Chumbercules stretched his little toddler legs and the dogs went exploring. Within minutes, I had, like, 7 mosquito bites and The Girlfriend sprayed me down with bug spray.
Mr. Adventure's friends were fresh off Sasquatch (the music festival in the Washington Gorge) and they were already drunk (or still drunk?) when we got there. But whatever. I heard a thousand times from The Girlfriend about how 21 Pilots is her new favorite band and topless fishing is her new favorite thing. When I would ask Hamburglar to do something, she was parrot-parenting me. This girl is typically pretty nice. But she was getting pretty annoying pretty quick.
What took the cake was when she started talking about how she wants to have her boyfriend's babies (oh, dear God please no!) and she was asking me if she could get a scheduled C-section because she doesn't want her vagina all mangled or something. She then proceeded to pester Mr. Adventure, for the next 45+ minutes, about what my vagina felt like pre and post-baby. Mr. Adventure is a bit more of the old school type. He doesn't like to talk about those things. WE haven't even talked about it. I thought about whipping out my lady junk and saying, "You look at my vagina! It's the best damn one on the lot!" But maybe she has like a mangled corpse vagina already and doesn't want to make things worse? I don't know. What I do know is that my vagina is fucking miraculous. And, if she really wants to know, she can look that shit up on the internet. That's what the internet is for: finding information that may or may not be true and repeating it like it's the oldest known fact in the world. Duh.
Then, as the evening progressed and they continued drinking, they started arguing. All Mr. Adventure wanted to do was fish. While he was fishing, I laid Hamburglar down to sleep. And while we were doing that, the other couple continued arguing and the campfire died. All I wanted was a mother fucking smore. So, I went down to the lake and grabbed Mr. A and he restarted the campfire. By the time he finished, his friends were down by the lake, right by his fishing spot, continuing their argument. So, Mr. Adventure came back up, the baby woke up, I made them a smore to share then I made one for me and, on my first fucking bite, I broke my porcelain tooth. I look like a fucking crackhead. A smoking hot crackhead with an amazing vagina, but a crackhead, none-the-less.
We went to bed at some point and it was cold. We didn't bring warm enough sleep gear. Then it started raining. Mr. A hadn't weather-proofed his tent in several years so water was leaking in. And it was raining HARD. And the dogs were outside. I let them in and it was instantly warmer. None of us slept well because it was freezing fucking cold and wet. And the rain wasn't letting up.
If it hadn't been for the rain, I would have stuck it out. Everything else was what it was and, like I said, it was a beautiful spot. However, the prospect of spending the day in a 3-man tent with two dogs and a toddler was probably pretty close to what hell is like. Mr. Adventure said, "As soon as the rain lightens up a bit, we will pack up." Cue rain to come down harder.
The second it lightened up, I climbed out of the tent to pee and started packing up our stuff. I was ready to go. When we were finally packed up and getting the fuck out of there, my car tire got stuck in the mud and his friends had to help push us out. And there were no coffee stands anywhere. And we were all so very tired. I'm STILL tired.
At 27 weeks pregnant, I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be sleeping on the ground anyway. Plus I've gained like, three times as much belly in the past two weeks as I did in the whole 40 weeks of my first pregnancy.
This week, Sean Connery is the size of a rutabaga, cauliflower or a roast. You can look up your own damn recipe. This isn't a cooking blog!
Do you remember my favorite pregnancy website from the end of my last pregnancy? Well, I've rediscovered it and it is still hilarious. According to him, the baby is the size of a big turnip (think Turnip Head from Lost). But my favorite part has always been the tip at the end. "You should make exercise fun and social. Meet other pregnant women and go for exercises together."
Doesn't he know that talking to people without gilling them is a third trimester challenge? And, since I'm officially in the third trimester (tomorrow) I am now accepting bets on whether I can make it to my due date without stabbing someone!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)