Boy or girl?

After living with a wild child the past few weeks, I'm really starting to wonder what this next kiddo is going to be like. Another silly, energetic boy? Or perhaps we'll be blessed with a more relaxed lad who takes after his/her daddy. Because Mac is pretty much his mommy, through and through. ...A little high-strung busy bee.

Some people don’t want to know what they are having—they want to be surprised after all that effort of labor. And I can appreciate that. But us? We want to know ASAP. For me, realizing that I could order a turkey sandwich via touch screen in my hospital room was enough of a surprise surrounding Mac's birth. Oh, and that whole surgery thing.

So, we just want to know NOW—is it a boy or a girl?

...And next week, we will!

Nope, I'm nowhere near the 19-21 week window when most people find out the gender of their baby at the OB's office. I'll be just 14.5 weeks next Wednesday. And that's when the wonderful world of technology will grace us with its super early determination of whether this tiny little bean is a He or a She.

We're traveling on up to Powell to Ultrasona Columbus, a 3D/4D sonographer that can tell you what you're having in as little as just 14 weeks pregnant. And you can invite up to 18 people to partake in the magic! But we're taking just Mac. Sorry, but I think it's kind of creepy to have a sizeable audience watching while goo is smeared on your naked belly and a photo of the fetus is blasted onto a 50" plasma. To each his own, of course, and you can bet that we WILL share the news shortly after.

We're getting just a 2D ultrasound, because that's the best for early gender recognition, and I think the 3D and 4D ones are totally bizarre. I'll wait to see my babe's actual facial features after he's born. That's at least one more surprise for me. ...Even more surprising that automatically-delivered turkey sammies!

If it's a boy, this will be the second test that has confirmed the baby as such. See, we are so crazily eager to find out the gender that we plopped down $45 for an Intelligender at-home test a few weeks back. It's kind of hokey, but why not try it out for the fun of it? (Although the cashier at Walgreens said, "That's a lot of money for fun.") And it was, I honestly wouldn't recommend it. But we did it, and it said "Boy!" We took the same Intelligender test when I about 16 weeks pregnant with Mac and it also said "Boy!" So, we'll see if we're two for two in the goofy pee-test department.

We also paid for a 3D ultrasound of Mac at about 18 weeks. This time, we're just doing everything a bit earlier.  Obviously, we are losers with nothing better to do, and nothing better to spend our hard-earned money on. I mean, we have a kid, so we don't go out anymore and blow it on ourselves. And I'm fat now anyway, so my Target clothing expenses have come waaaaay down the past few months.

So, I say it's fun to splurge a bit if you are as gender-hungry (ewe, sounds weird) as us. Or, you can try out some of the free, online options—also fun in my book!

Gender prediction quiz (This one says "boy" for us, too.)

Chinese gender prediction (But this one? – "girl.")

The mind of a 20-month-old boy

I love my son Cormac James to an infinite amount of little bitty, itty witty, wittle (made-up word) pieces. So much so that it hurts. In fact, this morning as I drove him to daycare, I cried as I looked at his adorable contemplative face in the rear-view mirror (Yes, he faces front now—In your face, AAP child seat guidelines!) Anyway, I cried because this sweet little child is MINE. I made him (with some help) and I get to watch him grow up, and learn to do really cool things, and become a respectable young man who loves his mommy more than any other girl in the world!

But I also have to watch him fall down sometimes (tear), get sick occasionally (double tear), and nearly stick a fork in the head of an unsuspecting customer at Tee-Jay's. ...Yeah, I think I'd definitely cry at the thought of getting sued for that one.

It's a good thing I love this kid so much, because there are the occasional days when he drives me absolutely nuts. I mean, he's a toddler and can barely speak and is only like 33 inches tall and wears a diaper. He poops in his own pants. But somehow this seemingly helpless and innocent little one has the upper hand on me and daddy, most of the time.

Maybe it's a boy thing. I don't know, I only have a boy and I only have one of them so I have nothing to compare it to, really. But it seems like they are typically more mischievous than their female counterparts. Not smarter—definitely not smarter—just more willing to push the envelope and all sense of peace and orderliness.

Now I fully expect every child to be just that—a child. To run around, pull out toys, occasionally scream at the top of their lungs for no reason, to smack the dog and laugh each time. But then they have their down time, right? ...Sit and read a book for 15 minutes? ...Right?

I swear I see little girls doing this.

But Mac? No way, Jose. And I bet if you have a little boy(s) you can relate. Or maybe you have a crazy little lady and can relate. Do you sometimes feel as if the following is what is going on inside your kid's head at night? That wonderful little "witching" hour right before bedtime?

Try to pull cord out of wall. Yank hard, yank hard, yank hard. (laugh, scream, run)
Glass cup on corner of table. Reach for it, grab it, throw it down. (laugh, scream, run)
Laptop is open. Hit every key. Pick it up. Drop it. (laugh, scream, run)
Everything on the coffee table, throw it on the floor.
Everything on the side table, throw it on the floor.
Everything in the toy bin, throw it on the floor. (laugh, but definitely don't actually play with anything)
Everything in mommy's purse, pull it out and throw it on the floor.
Everything in your diaper bag, pull it out and throw it on the floor.
A new pack of diapers! Pull each one out and throw it on the floor.
Take a second to notice the clippers you recently removed from the diaper bag, and act like you're trying to clip your toenails.

...Awe, that's actually kind of cute. (tear) But the second I think he's sitting for a second, he gets bored and jumps up.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy!"
"Cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese!"
"Wawa, wawa, wawa, wawa, wawa, wawa, wawa, wawa, wawa, wawa!" (water)
(Five seconds of chugging)
Throw cup at Roxy. Smack Roxy repeatedly. Hit daddy with a book repeatedly. (laugh, scream, run)
Climb atop window seat and bang head and hands against window for 20 minutes.
Pull a leaf off of every plant on the window seat.
Launch yourself off of window seat and start crying.

BEDTIME!!!!

And you know what? The kid just grabs his Binky, waves bye-bye to daddy, and walks (crawls) upstairs to his bedroom for "night, night." And then I hold him, and rock him for a second, and kiss his forehead, and lay him down, and rub the temples of his forehead, and walk out the door. And he falls asleep. (We have it easy, for now, I know).

And then I pass out on the couch. And wonder how the heck we will deal with two of them come August.

My love affair with GAP

Ah, nothing fills me with more Valentine's Day love than scoring a super dealio at Gap.com. And not just Gap, but Old Navy, too—double awesomeness.

I only have a few store credit cards: Best Buy, Kohl's (you know, so I can soon buy 30 pairs of second-rate Rock and Republic jeans), Macy's (only for Clinique make-up), Express (I sooooooo don’t shop there anymore since I quit moonlighting as a go-go dancer) and wonderful, always-has-what-I-need-at-the-right-price Gap.

I know, I ride high atop the bland and yuppie "we sell every plain shirt in 17 different colors" bandwagon, and well I really don't care. Because when you have a child that grows out of pants in 17 minutes and a burgeoning belly that has to be conservatively and professionally dressed for work five days a week, you go with what's easy and affordable. And that's my little Gappy.

And it's not only Gap, but Old Navy... and Banana Republic and Piper Lime... and that Athleta store I've never bought anything from. It's this great five-for-one'r when you are ordering online! I just add a pair of $10 clearance pants for Mac from Old Navy into my shopping bag, and then click a tab over and find a pair of $40 half-panel black dress pants in long from Gap on sale for moi, and BOOM—I get free shipping for my combined "over $50" order AND I can use coupon codes for each site PLUS my rewards dollars because I spend a mortgage payment with them each month.

I like my kid in mini-adult clothes. So these plain, slightly darker washed jeans are perfect.

 Kidding, I do not spend that much. But I do spend enough to get some pretty sweet discounts occasionally. And, I've been upgraded to Gap Silver. Which means a limo picks me up and takes me shopping to the Gap at Easton on select Saturdays. And I'm able to turn water into wine.

Again, I jest.

OH, and I also got this one-piece maternity bathing suit that my cutie-pie pregnant friend down the street recommended. Since I surely will be a beached whale this summer. I think the side shirring will help hide the protrusion.

We'll see if I can squeeze into this at 7-9 months this summer.

All-in-all, my bill should have been $120...but with the discounts I only paid $70. That's $50 for Target this weekend, baby!

So really, why am I so truly, madly, deeply in love with Gap? (And not like I was with Savage Garden circa 1997.) It's because little boy clothes and maternity clothes typically suck, and Gap actually gives me some decent options at prices I can stand to spend on stuff that barely will be worn.

...more on maternity clothing shopping  in my next post.

Blog of a wimpy mom

By now, most of you know that I am not a big fan of pregnancy. Let me rephrase that—While we are super duper excited (with vanilla and a cherry on top) to add another kiddo to the party pack, I do not enjoy how the presence of a human being in my uterus makes me feel for 9+ months.

I just don't.

For the past few weeks, I have been miserable. And Brian can attest, because it's likely I'm making him quite miserable, too. My energy has been zapped. Nausea in the morning. Headaches all afternoon. In bed by 8pm. Back pain. Sciatic never pain. Constant metallic taste in the back of my throat. I mean, seriously, try concentrating at work when it feels like you just downed 13 pennies.

Sounds like a Tosh.0 video challenge.

About six weeks ago, I felt like an invisible person was sticking the middle of my back with his little invisible hot poker. It really, really hurt. So I went to the hospital for a really fun ultrasound of my innards. I couldn't eat or drink for eight hours prior, and that in itself is a dreadful feat for a typically pigging-out preggo lady. But when I got to the waiting room, they didn't have my paperwork from my doctor, so I had to wait an extra hour and a half. Oh yeah, this hormonal girl 'bout went crazy up in Riverside Methodist Hospital. I think my eyes turned red. Red, I tell you. And they bled scarlet tears of hunger and fury.

And so... the testing found nothing. "It's just your hormones, honey!" said the doctor. Oh trust me, Captain Obvious, I'm blaming everything on those hellacious hormones right now, don't you worry.

Including eating. Ain't no eating like a preggo mom eating and this preggo mom eating can't stop. This kid is already eating me out of house and home and car and Target. I just spent $9 at Einstein's. At 3:30 in the afternoon. I got a bagel sandwich, milk and chips. This is in addition to the following already consumed today: Cereal, cottage cheese, a granola bar, a pack of instant oatmeal, almonds, a cheese stick, a banana, carrots, a tuna sandwich on wheat, pretzels, a cookie and some chocolate Teddy Grahams. Let's see if I can pack in about 1,000 more calories before the day is over. You know, the baby needs it.

Honestly, I don't think raising a kid is tough. But growing one? It's a nightmare. And yes, I know there are so many women out there who love being pregnant—they relish the time and wouldn't mind doing it 10 times over if they could. They enjoy it...they actually love it. And I'm dumbfounded.

And jealous. Maybe they just have easier pregnancies? Or maybe mine are just worse than your average bear's?

Nope and nope. You see, I do actually realize the simple truth of the matter—I'm a yellow-bellied baby-carrier. And I just need to tough it out for seven more months. (tear - clear this time)

Electric youth

Back when I was a pre-teen, I used to despise wedding and baby showers. Not because I disliked holy matrimony or slobbery babies, but because I was dragged to a an adult event during non-school, supposed-to-be-fun, me-time—Like when watching Saved by the Bell. Hanging out with old people was definitely the last priority on my self-centered pre-pubescent to-do list, and I always had to put on a lacy, flowery dress for the occasion.

Think Fashion Bug. We're talking late 80's here, folks. Forever 21 had yet to make dresses cool.

And then there was the weird food. "Appetizer" was not part of my general vocabulary at the time, and I definitely didn't see anything around that resembled Friday's loaded potato skins. Did they forget that my mom RSVP'ed for one child? ...Or, wait, I don't think people RSVP'ed back then. You just showed up. Or you didn't. They just made enough food for the entire neighborhood.

Diaper cake at my Cousin Jenny's baby shower - How did I not think this was adorable at age 12?

And then there were the nauseating adult-themed games. Like I'm supposed to know the average contents of a 30-year-old woman's purse? Ewe, I'd rather not know. They carry, like, period stuff around.

At one baby shower, I was crowned winner of a game I didn't even know I was playing. We all had to look at the bottom of our plates, and if there was a rubber ducky sticker, we won. Well, I won, and I was given a rose-scented Crabtree & Evelyn gift pack with lotion and little mauve soaps. The grandma scent definitely would never get me to hand-holding level on the playground. Couldn't they have at least sprung for a little vile of Debbie Gibson's signature spritz? Throw me a bone here, ladies!

Fast forward 20 plus years, and I get so excited for baby and wedding showers that I could just pee my pants. In front of people. Getting that free pass to stuff your face with amazing hors d'oeuvres and fancy drinks, watch someone open gifts you surely will have to comment on ("Oh, those big packs of diaper/burp cloths are fantastic, you will wash at least 30 of those a week!" or "I saw that glass bowl at Crate & Barrel, it is to DIE for!") and play games you know you can win (fo shizzle, this lady can recall what every candy bar looks like melted in a diaper).

Unlike my sis-in-law, I did not have "Shake Weight" on my wedding registry.

And personally, as a boring mom, I love the excuse to get dressed up on a random Saturday afternoon and have photos taken with friends or family. These are my prime hours, baby—noon to 4pm. I have the most energy, and I can play the speedy version of catch-up-on-the-past-six-months-that-I-haven't-seen-you with the best of 'em. While downing a glass of wine, three chocolate cupcakes and a heaping helping of spinach dip. And hummus. And queso.

Awe - With our Grandma Alma at Aunt JJ's wedding shower.

"Who wants to write down the gifts?" Oh, me, me, me, me, me! Yesssss...Front row view, and I get to touch every new item. ...If I lick one, do I get to keep it for myself?

You'd think I was medicated. But really, I'm just high on adult me-time.

We crazy

I said I would never do it again. "No way, not a chance, count me out." Why on this lovely green earth would I choose to put myself through such discomfort and physical pain—again? I'm not that whack, am I?

But time heals all wounds, right? And you tend to forget the challenges you have been through before; Like it never even happened? (Sorry, I think that's the tag line for the company that cleans up after fires.)

Anyway, please note—I don't forget. Oh heeeel no, I do not forget. That process was not fun. And I really don't know if I can do it again.

But I'm going to have to.

And for the past few weeks I've started to remember all the fun little things that come along with it. The nice little perks. The little jabs in my side. Yep, it's already started. And much earlier this time.

My dreams are super vivid.

Is that heartburn? I only had a stinkin' banana...

Eye twitch. twitch. twitch.

I smell oranges.

Did I just fall asleep at my desk?

I smell Clinique Happy. ...Do they still sell that?

Why do I want to punch everyone in the face today?

I smell copper.

I taste copper.

This headache is going to make me pass out.

Why is the room spinning?

Clinique Happy-lady is going to make me throw up.

Well now my nose is stuffed. Solid.

Oops, now it's bleeding. Ewe.

Uh-oh. This can all mean just one thing. One intense, intimidating, immense thingy-ding-ding.

One incredible thing.

We're going to have another baby!