Stop being so unpleasant, I'm trying to love you!!

My parents have been out of town this week, so I've had to plan meals not only for Mike and me but for my Granny too, since she's at a point where she can't really cook anymore. She'll put biscuits in the oven, sit down to wait, fall asleep, and wake up 30 minutes later to burnt biscuits. She can't stand long enough to mix anything up or even watch a pot, so she relies fully on meals we provide for her not just at dinner but also for her lunches, when we're all at work. And her memory is a little fuzzy, so she'll forget we've left her a plate in the fridge or not realize it's lunchtime and go all day without a real meal. It's frustrating for us having to take extra measures to be sure she doesn't starve or only eat snack food, particularly when my mom and I are both trying to get ourselves ready and out the door in the mornings, but mostly it makes me sad. Growing up, whenever Emily and I spent the night with Granny, she'd cook anything she could think of that we might possibly want. She would make huge meals for the whole family, all by herself, and never complain. She loved it. She still tries to be that person, offering to help in the kitchen and always asking "what can I do?," but she's just not capable of doing most of what needs done. I know she'd give anything to feel like she was contributing, and she can't stand feeling helpless or uninvolved, so I try to be patient and find ways to include her. I'll take all the help I can get, but when it takes 20 minutes to cut a bell pepper it's hard to classify it as 'help.'

She's also become a lot more blunt in recent years, making disapproving faces when she doesn't understand something we're making or hears that we're having any sort of pasta or chicken. (She does NOT like chicken, which she will passive-aggressively remind us of by saying "we've had enough of that lately!" when she hasn't had any in weeks. I guess maybe it doesn't have any taste for her so she's not interested.) She'll start eating from her plate the second I put it in front of her, even though nobody else has been served or seated and we haven't said the blessing. (Mike will attest that this sends me into a rage. OMG SO RUDE.) She struggles to breathe when she's eating, so meals are always a smack-y, noisy affair, and we can count on at least one bout of coughing and choking per meal. She takes pills with her meals but often forgets to bring them and will ask "did you remember my pills?" or say "we need a supper pill" and tap the piece of table where she wants them to be, as though it were anyone else's responsibility but her own and how could we be so stupid? And no matter how much is on her plate, she will finish every. single. noisy. bite. and then give us the "where's dessert?" face. Sometimes it's a lot like having a 79-year-old preschooler. I love cooking and I really love eating, but those tend to be the most stressful, tense parts of my whole day when Granny is involved. When I do get frustrated, like I was last night, I try to tell myself that she has done way more for me than I will ever do for her, and she doesn't WANT to be this way, and then I feel like a huge jerk for being short with her and give her extra ice cream with dessert and aim to do better next time, because when she's gone I don't want to worry that she so much as entertained the idea that we'll be better off without her.

Anyway I started writing this to tell you about the dessert I made last night. It was so awesome. I got the recipe from Deb over at Smitten Kitchen. I bought blueberries on sale last week without a plan for how to use them and I didn't want them to go to waste, so I was really excited to find a recipe that wasn't for scones (so time-consuming) or pancakes (so blah). It's got pretty much the best name I've ever heard for a dessert, and it is delicious beyond my capacity to convey deliciousness. We had it with ice cream, because I was worried it would be cake-y and rather dry, but I wound up eating most of it by itself because it just didn't need any ice cream. And then I had more for breakfast. And I'm wishing I'd brought the whole pan to work so I could have it for a snack and lunch and then another snack too. Seriously, make some.

It's true she IS growing!

Well.

IT'S A GIRL!!!!!!!!

We found out yesterday. And I can hardly believe it. She seems so REAL now!

Only a couple people are allowed in the ultrasound room at a time, so I went back with Mike and his mom first. The plan was for the three of us to find out what the baby is, then switch out and I would tell my mom and Emily. So the ultrasound tech did all the routine anatomy and measurements (1 pound 3 ounces!) and said "okay, we can switch out now." I figured maybe she was planning to do all of it over again for Mama and Emily, so I guess it didn't occur to me that hey, she didn't say what it is yet. Mike was like "uhh... when do we find out the sex?" Oh right. That. ::sigh:: Can't the momentous occasions in my life not be marred by awkwardness as a result of my not knowing what on earth I'm doing? I mean, what is my deal? Before me, has anybody in the history of babies ever attempted to shoo their husband and mother-in-law from the room before they've heard whether it's a boy or a girl?

So the tech starts looking, but our sweet baby had its legs all stuck together (mermaid baby?). I wish I could remember the tech's name, but hello, clearly I'm awful at this, so I have to call her the tech. The tech smashed the doppler wand around on my belly to get the baby to move around. It worked, and she said rather softly "it's a little girl!"

Y'all. I was floored. I actually said "no it's not!?!" because I was so sure she was going to tell me it's a boy. I had a very quick moment of prayer that took a lot less time to think than it takes to read through. "Does this pregnancy's awesomeness know no bounds? October, arguably the best birth month. No agonizing trials or years-long wait for my baby. No morning sickness, nothing worrisome or abnormal or painful. AND I get to buy tu-tu bathing suits and watermelon dresses???" I am seriously in awe of how much love God has for me. Back in April for my birthday, my stellar friend Brock gave me some ballerina socks for my baby. We had no idea what it was yet, but she said she just couldn't resist. And I thought Lord, if this baby is a boy, I'm going to ask that you take away my love for these socks. If I were a better listener, I'm sure I would have heard him being like "Woman. Stop stressing out. It's me, the God who loves you so much that I give you exactly what you need." I'm not proud that I had to be reminded of that, but I can't think of a more awesome way to be reminded.

And look what her aunt Emily bought her!

He wants us to change our last name so he can be Dr. Danger. Would that fly in the Natural State?

Here is what I know about Arkansas:
1. It's the Natural State!
2. Razorbacks
3. It's about a 13 hour drive from South Carolina. Don't ask me how long a flight it is, because until Southwest comes there is no direct flight from here to there.
4. A tiny little university whose school of business you're all going to wish you could attend because the smartest, hottest, funniest professor of all times now works there.

What do you know about Arkansas?

Underwhelming You Monthly, Edition May

You know how sometimes you can feel someone staring at you, but you pretend you don't notice because you don't want them to be staring at you and you don't want to talk to them? That is what I'm doing when you come see if I've written anything new in the last four weeks. So. I've been very busy.

This week is the halfway point in my pregnancy! No real news-worthy updates I don't think. I felt the baby move for the first time a couple of weeks ago after an employee appreciation lunch, and since then it's been pretty quiet. A few pokey movements that could be a baby or could just be my insides trying to digest all the nonsense I send down there. I've got an appointment on Thursday, but at my practice they make you wait until 22 weeks to do the big ultrasound, so this week's is just a regular check-up and I'll go back in 2 weeks for the important one (therefore we have not yet registered for anything). I'm starting to show, but in a way that sometimes looks like baby (I find dresses to be most flattering) and sometimes looks like a girl who refuses to buy clothes in a size up because she's in denial about how well everything is fitting (t-shirts and shorts, you are dead to me). My mama and I went to Target this weekend and I bought three of the same cotton skirt because they're extremely soft and comfortable, so if you actually see me in person or pictures for the next few months, you should expect to see a lot of outfit recycling. I have taken exactly 1 belly picture, back at 17 weeks, which in truth looks the same as if I'd taken it 18 weeks before that, but I will begin regular photographing this week since I feel like I have something to show. Don't let me forget!

Also this weekend my mama and I painted a room in her house. Initially the plan was for Mike to help (a lot), but he got sick and spent the weekend developing an addiction to nasal spray, so we did it without him. All weekend. We had planned to go to a baby thing at a convention center this weekend but couldn't fit it in with all the painting. So every time I look upon those walls, it'll be a sweet reminder of all the things I still don't know about babies. Really though, I feel decently equipped because I'm not that different from a baby in a lot of ways. Mostly I want to eat, sleep, and play, and I've been known to pitch a righteous fit when something doesn't go my way. The hard part is just that now Mike will have to deal with two of us. Boy is he in for it.

Lastly, I bought some Crocs. In my opinion, Crocs are rather ugly. Particularly the traditional ones with the big fat blob with holes all punched in it. To my eye, they look silly on anybody's feet. So I tried to fight it, but when Emily told me how much better her legs and feet feel after a day in Crocs than in regular shoes, I couldn't resist. I don't know if I have a dreadfully low pain threshold or an unusually vigorous walk/stance, but if I spend more than about fifteen minutes on my feet at a time, it hurts. After a day at the mall or any kind of event that requires a lot of standing or walking, or being on my feet in the kitchen cooking, it's like I'm walking on raw, bare bones. Really unpleasant. So I bit the bullet and ordered some Crocs. I've worn them once when I had to stand up for about 30 minutes and several times to cook, and I can't be sure if it's all the shoe or partly the shoe and partly my brain thinking I'm supposed to feel different, but I can tell a difference. So I am currently debating whether or not to get another pair. And that's about all I've got going on.

I'm 0.12% baby! And 30% peanut oil.

This morning I had my 16-week doctor's appointment. Everything looked good, so it went very quickly. Just a little specimen and blood pressure check, then a fast and tiny heartbeat, and we were out of there. Oh yeah, and I've put on about 5 pounds in 4 weeks. I'm sure some of it is water, and although my pants are getting tight, my rings aren't fitting any more snugly, so I don't know how much to trust the scale. But it's still disheartening, and a little embarrassing, because based on what I reported as my pre-pregnancy weight, my chart shows a 9 pound gain so far, and sources say that at 16 weeks the average fetus weighs about 2.5 ounces. OUNCES. I can't even bring myself to do the conversion to know how many of those I've gained. And there's only one fetus in there, so I have no choice but to assign the other 4.9 pounds to french fries, chicken fingers, and cheese.

Basically, unless I want to give birth to a salt-encrusted deep-fried baby, I've got to take it down a few nothches in terms of sodium and instead have an apple or a salad or some air. That should be a cinch, particularly since we're having a cookout this weekend for Mike's birthday with steaks and twice baked potatoes and onion rings. I guess I ought to install some counter space across the arms of my treadmill so I can make dinner while I preemptively burn off all of those calories. Although maintaining a brisk clip and wielding a sharp knife sounds like a recipe for birthday disaster. But if I do end up in the hospital, at least I can request the no-sodium meals they give to heart patients.

I don't really think my diet is that bad overall. I've noticed my appetite has increased over the past few weeks and I'm eating more at every meal, so I know that's not helping. I could certainly stand to add in some daily exercise, and I need to lessen the frequency with which I go places that have fried food. As it turns out, I'm too weak to resist when it's there, so the best solution is to do more of my own cooking, which will be easier now that Mike isn't gone half the week. I hate buying groceries when we're rarely there to eat them, but now there's no excuse. Plus the longer I can make it in my regular wardrobe, the better, because I can think of a million ways I'd rather spend my money than on maternity clothes. Lucky for me, my mom and Mike's mom have given me several maternity shirts and a fantastic pair of maternity dress pants, and a lot of my shirts and dresses will work for most of my pregnancy. Erin asked if I was going to post belly pictures, and I'd be happy to, except there really hasn't been any change yet, but I guess what's the point of the pictures if there's not a starting point, so I'll try to remember to have Mike take one when I get home and put that up later. For you, Erin.

So in 4 weeks I'll go back for another regular checkup, and 2 weeks after that will be the ultrasound that tells us whether we'll be getting my little ponies or hot wheels at the drive thru! Except at Chick-Fil-A when I plan to always ask for the ice cream instead of the toy. Did you know you can do that with their kids' meals? Just thank 3 of my pounds for that tip.

I'm going to need to work on throwing a ball and making noises

I think this baby is a boy. People say your instinct is usually right, but I wouldn't really say I KNOW it's a boy or that I have secret mom instincts about it. I suspect it may be my brain's way of trying to gear me up for the possibility of not a girl, because I know absolutely nothing about little boys (circumwhat?), and their clothes bum me out. Erin and I have talked about this before. I feel like I've been to enough stores to have a pretty good idea what kinds of things are out there for boys. Sweet pastel-colored smocked jon-jons, and then onesies and shirts with cars, balls, tools, stripes, farm and sea and jungle animals, dinosaurs, monsters, nautical things, and "mommy's lil so-and-so." And that's about it. No skirts, no dresses, no ruffles or frills or pink or even purple. I know that this is a tiny tiny complaint, not the end of the world, some people have REAL problems, and hey, I can spend more money on my own clothes this way! But there's just something about a little yellow bathing suit with a tiny tu-tu sewed on, and you can't put your son in that. Can you?

So tell me what you (would or do) like about having boys. Also I am taking name suggestions, because currently my list reads like a bunch of last names. That end in -n. Names that end in -r are discouraged since our last name ends in -r also. We won't have the boy/girl ultrasound until the very end of May, so I've got a while to go before we know for sure, but I'm still trying to focus on the boy names and clothes and nursery designs in the mean time so as not to get my heart set on pink ruffly things. I absolutely won't be disappointed or sad if my baby is a boy, just to clarify. I don't have a preference for the baby itself; it's just that everything about boys is so new and foreign.

This week marks 100 days of pregnancy! So far I really have not felt pregnant, save for having to pee a lot more often. I haven't been sick at all, and I don't think I've gained any weight yet (or Mike is monkeying with the scale, and that would be all right), but the weight does seem to be distributed differently. My clothes fit a little tighter around the middle and it's harder to suck in my fat, but also I feel like maybe my love handles are being pulled forward, so I look a little worse from the front but a little better from behind. I get full a lot sooner, and between meals I have absolutely no appetite, whereas before I could pretty much always eat, so that's been difficult to get used to, though I wonder if that is how regular people feel all the time between their meals.

The thought of tomatoes turns my stomach and I don't ever want to see lasagna again, but other than that there haven't been any food aversions or noxious smells. I always want salty or tart things like fried or cheesy things and fruit and lemonade, but that was the case even before the pregnancy. So my diet hasn't been stellar, but certainly no worse than before. I try to get in lots of fruits to counteract all the veggies I'm not eating, since I'm not interested in bitter or earthy-tasting things like bell peppers or carrots or mushrooms or beans (unless they're covered in butter or cheese or dressing), or things that have a peanutty taste (which sadly includes Chick-fil-A chicken, since it's fried in peanut oil, but it's so salty and good going down that I eat it anyway). I haven't had any freaky dreams, but they all seem so REAL. Really vivid and like actual life. My aunt Pam had two dreams, before she knew I was pregnant, that I was having a baby girl, and she says she's always heard that the baby is the opposite of whatever you dream, so there's that. Really I think God knew what it was before I even existed, and no amount of Chinese lunar calendar studying or salty cravings or baby girl dreams or ballerina swimsuits is going to change that, so my prayers are mostly of the "help me find the best boy stuff and don't let me mess up our baby" variety. And of course I'm praying for a healthy baby. What's more important than that? Not ruffles, that's for certain.

Think I can recycle the gift for Mike's sister?

I know how boring it's gotten around here lately, and I am going to do a lot better starting next week. For now, I'm just popping in to say that I hope you have a fantastic weekend, cause I won't be back for a few days. Tomorrow we're headed down to Charleston for the weekend to celebrate Emily's and my birthday. We'll be 24! I got her a present, but I sort of feel there's like nothing I could buy to say just how glad I am that she's my sister, so Mike and I decided to make her something too. An aunt!