Friday, July 30, 2010

Dear Carter, We Love You More Than Carrots.

Dear Carter,

  If you're anything like your mother, you will stick with The Plan and make your appearance in just a few short hours. If you're anything like you're father, you'll go with the flow and whatever happens, happens. Either way, your Daddy and I couldn't be more excited to finally meet you. And for the record, we secretly hope you inherit just a bit of your Momma's stick-to-it-tiveness and follow through with The Plan.

  We fell in love with you when we first fell in love with each other. You may find that hard to believe, but it's true! We always knew you would be our son, but waited for the timing to be right. Now that the time is here, our hearts are bursting with the anticipation of your arrival.

  We've heard your heartbeating with the rhythm of one-thousand galloping horses. We've felt your kicks and couldn't help but think of you playing in the World Cup. We've counted your hiccups and read you stories at bedtime. We've planned for you, prayed for you, waited for you. We've counted our blessings, readied the nursery and believe me, Carter, we've got a list of hopes and dreams for you nearly a mile long.

  Your Daddy and I hope to instill in you so many things. We wish for you the best of both of us and the best the world has to offer. Carter, always know that your Daddy and I will be your biggest believers. Your biggest fans in life. We will be here to support and encourage you. To kiss your boo-boo's, to pick you up from a fall and to give you a swift nudge in the right direction. Follow your dreams, son and dream big. But be patient, too.

  Laugh and share that laughter with everyone. Believe me, Carter, in this life, you'll need a sense of humor. Your Daddy and your Poppy can you teach all about that. They're the two funniest guys I know.

  Trust your instincts and be confident in your ideals. Love unconditionally and loyally. Always be repsectful of your friends, your elders and especially, your enemies. Play nice with others and don't ever run with scissors. Maintain in your heart a kindness to strangers and those less fortunate. Don't ever let anyone take advantage of you.

   Live in the moment and be happy. Your Daddy and I will teach all of these things. We will try our hardest to teach you humility. When to stand up and be outspoken and when to sit back and listen. We'll teach you how to find passion in the things you set your heart in. Most of all, we will teach you to count your blessings and to always be grateful. We will do all of these things for you, Carter, with nothing but overwhelming love in our hearts for you.

  Baby Boy, you've already brought your Daddy and me countless hours of love, happiness and laughter. Up until this day, we could only imagine how different our lives would be once you're in our arms. Now that this day is here, we're ready. Ready to hold you, cuddle you, snuggle you and smother you with kisses. To love all over you. To introduce you to your Sheepie brother. Believe me, Sullivan is just as excited as we are. He can't wait to share his toys with you and hopes you'll do the same!

  We already love you so much, Carter and we pray that each day we'll be able to show you just how much we love you and are thankful for you. Now hurry up and come on out! 

  Love you more than Carrots,
 (Don't worry, your Poppy and I will explain this one to you as soon as you're old enough) 

Mommy and Daddy

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Nursing Wear a La.... Houdini?

All those books I've been reading fail to mention how ridiculous nursing wear can be. I guess you can say I had a minor freakout when I realized that I'm due to be induced in t-minus two days and own nothing that resembles nursing wear. No nursing tanks. No nursing bras. No nursing gowns. No nursing anything.

Just as I'm about to take matters into my own crazy and hormonal hands, in steps my wonderful and fabulous Momma. Who basically pays far too much to overnight me a package full of straight jackets. Okay, I kid. She mailed me two surprisingly adorable and shockingly cute and classic-looking nursing tanks. However, I will admit it took me several minutes to figure out how to get them on.

They're not the simple kind with spaghetti straps. They're more the super cute wife-beater look with a layered "tank" beneath it. Well, fooled you guys! The "tank" really isn't a "tank" at all! It's just a built-in nursing bra!

With two holes.

An arm hole. And a boob hole.

What. The. F*&k. 

These things should come with instructions. Have you ever tried getting your arm out of the boob hole? While simultaneously trying to draw the tank up over your 9 and a half month preggo belly? Yeah. It's not easy.

Like I said, these things should come with instructions.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

You Would Have Thought He Brought Home Diamonds...

At this point in the game? I try not to leave the house. Why? Because I spend the majority of my days wearing, as we all know, my husband's mesh athletic shorts and sports bras. I've given up on his Fruit of the Loom T-shirts because they are way too constricting for this belly and when I do wear them? They're usually hiked up beneath my bubbies anyway. Classy, I know.

I also try not to leave the house because I'm a bit over all of the sad, pathetic pity looks that my current state of being garners from random pedestrians, shoppers, cashiers, etc. I even had one elderly gentleman approach me in the market and ask, "Ma'am? Do I need to follow you around the store with this here hand basket? I'm not very good at baby-catching, but you look like you're about ready." Really.

At this point in the game? I try to avoid these awkward social scenarios at all costs.

Unfortunately, I also try to avoid any social situations that do not involve a comfortable couch in which I can put my feet up. Therefore, this past weekend, I decided I just couldn't make it to church. Which, after finally falling in love with a church in our new hometown, really upset me because I LOVE winding down my Sundays with this church's particular 6pm Mass.

Ok, now for the point of this story. Whew, pregnancy does make you long-winded, doesn't it? My apologies.

Hubs heads to church without me on Sunday evening. I remind him to pick up some tomatoes on his way home for fresh tomato, basil and mozzarella.

Obligingly, he strolls through the door and I can hear the rustle of plastic grocery bags. Upon reaching the kitchen he asks, "You're not going to believe what I found?"

And it's true. Chances are I'm not going to believe it.

He proceeds to tell me about this ridiculous sale he noticed that the grocer was having on Turkey Hill ice cream. Hubs does not eat ice ream. I, however, considering it one of the most important food groups in itself.

The sale? Five one-and-a-half-quart servings for $2 each.

Here is where I zone out and begin thinking to myself, "If this boy tells me this entire story and does not begin pulling multiple quarts of ice cream out of that bag, I'm going to lose my shit. He wouldn't do that to me, right? He wouldn't tell me this whole story and only come home with one dinky serving of ice cream? Right? If he did, this would go down in the books as one of the meanest tricks ever played on a pregnant lady..."

And just as I'm about to punch hypothetical Hubs for potentially not bringing home multiple servings of ice cream, I'm snapped back to reality by the sound of his voice...

"I got Rocky Road, Mint Chocolate Chip, some Chocolate Cookie nonsense, Coffee and a Neapolitan Frozen yogurt for me."

My face lit up like a 5 year old's on Christmas Eve. I got so excited, I literally sat up and contemplated jumping off the couch to hug my wonderful, darling, thoughtful husband. And let me tell you, I do NOT jump at 38 and a half weeks pregnant.

You would have thought he brought me home diamonds.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Plan Obsessed. The Worst Thing to Be While Pregnant.

I need a plan. I thrive on plans. You can most definitely say that I am "plan obsessed." Plans and pregnancy, however, although both beginning with the letter "P," pretty much have nothing else in common.

I write lists. I mercilessly fill out calendars. In pencil of course, because we all know things can change. And nobody likes a messy agenda. I am the queen of post-it notes.  

Knowing this, I'm sure you can imagine how difficult it is to "let go" during one's pregnancy, such as my own. Everything is out of your control. And what is within your control? You cling to like Linus clings to his blankey.

Here I am. 38 weeks pregnant. Armed with the knowledge that Baby Boy is STILL not fully in the correct position for birth. Armed with the knowledge that I'm very quickly approaching the end of my pregnancy. Armed with the knowledge that without a recent growth scan, no one even knows if Baby Boy is small enough to fit through my pelvis. Granted, I've been reassured time and time again that with a "normal, uncomplicated pregnancy" such as my own, it's standard not to perform a "growth scan" in the third trimester. Especially since my belly has been measuring on target, albeit a week ahead, since the beginning. But then why do I have this nagging feeling that Baby Boy just cannot properly engage his head?

Somebody needs to get this kid a GPS so that he'll disengage his head from my right hip and engage it in my pelvis where it belongs.

Here I am. Armed with the knowledge that going into spontaneous labor without Baby Boy's head (or butt) engaged in my pelvis, I run the risk of running into a nasty little situation known as "cord prolapse" where the umbilical cord slips through before baby, often compressing itself, completely blocking circulation and oxygen supply to Baby Boy.

Say what.

Like I said, I need a plan.

I have a doctor's appointment in a few short hours. I've done my research and dug up what little medical knowledge I had tucked away from my L&D clinical back in college. My goal is to have an honest, educated discussion with Dr. Silver Fox today and walk out of his office with... a plan.

Wish me luck and pray that I find the answers I'm hoping for!

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Mocktail, Momtail.. Whatever It Is, I Never Want To See It Again.

Behold, my drink of choice throughout this entire pregnancy:




Seltzer with a splash of cranberry and a lime wedge.

Yes, this might sound delicious to you now, but after drinking it for the last nine months with delicious dinners that warranted a glass (or two) of wine, my palate pretty much cringes at the thought of another glass. Do you know how embarassing it is to order this mouthful while your husband and dinner guests sip on thirty, fourty and fifty dollar bottles of wine? Sigh.

I am so sick and tired of cranberry juice. And grape juice. And the Motts Tropical Fruit Cocktail concoction that also mixes well with seltzer water. Don't get me wrong. I am no saint. I've indulged in a half-glass or two of Chardonnay. I have had my fair share of Classic Coca Cola's this pregnancy, but for the most part I've tried to satiate my carbonation cravings with seltzer water rather than high fructose syrup and caramel color. And er, wine.

Again. Just another reason why pregnancy only lasts so long...

Counting down the days until Baby Boy decides to make his appearance and out of celebration and with a hearty "Happy Birthday, Baby Boy!" Hubs and I finally get to enjoy my wedding gift to him, given almost three years ago, a 2003 bottle of Opus One. Mmmm..

Sunday, July 18, 2010

If I Wasn't 37 Weeks Pregnant, Style Torture Edition.

As if the pudgy fingers and toes, the constantly aching back and the vicious heartburn wasn't torture enough, I thought I would further drive myself out of my mind by checking out some of the things I would be wearing if...

I wasn't 37 weeks pregnant. Cue: massive amounts of drooling and swooning.

For those of you who are new to the blog and don't quite know me, I love clothes. More specifically, I pink puffy heart JCrew (and Lands End Canvas and Nordstrom). But truth be told, 95% of my wardrobe hails from the Crew. At least, it did before becoming pregnant. And before choosing to take a break from working full time and becoming a stay-at-home wife turned soon-to-be stay-at-home mommy.

If I wasn't so embarassed, I'd share with you all the time, upon arriving at our new house in Maryland, I cried while unpacking my suitcases, bins and storage boxes full of summer Crew clothes only to immediately pack them right up again for storage in the guest room closet.

Did someone say cry? Never. Let's just say that I have an entire walk-in guest room closet filled with motivation to regain my pre-baby body as quickly as post-baby possible.

Here are just a few pretties that would certainly have found their way into my closet if I wasn't 37 weeks pregnant, on a strict money diet that prevented me from shopping anywhere but WalMart:

Silk Chiffon Taryn Dress, JCrew

Coral Reef T, JCrew

Kelsey Ruffle Cami, JCrew

and my personal absolute favorite:
Rosetree Trellis Taryn Gown, JCrew

Boyfriend V-Neck Sweater, Lands End Canvas

Canvas Cotton Lawn Skirt, Lands End Canvas

I know, I know. My time will come. I will work my hiney off to fit back into those Citizens, Sevens and Chip and Peppers that have been hanging in my closet, sticking their tongues out and teasing me mercilessly each time I open my closet door.

But until then? I'm going to proudly rock my husband's Fruit of the Loom white T-shirts and his Under Armour athletic shorts as if they're going out of style.

You know, since even my maternity clothes aren't fitting these days...

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Husband vs. Stretchmark Fail.

Always one to give credit where credit is due, I will preface this post by saying that my husband truly should be put up for sainthood. Every "Honey, will you rub this?" and "Honey, will you rub that?" and "Honey, will you get (move) (change) (buy) (scratch) this?" has been met with nothing more than a smile and a, "Sure, babe. Anything for you."

Okay, so maybe there have been a few death stares and grunts exchanged here and there, but for the most part? This man has been amazing. Admittedly crazy, whiney and often hormonally challenged, I know it hasn't been easy. I don't think I could have put up with myself these past few weeks. However, I have to say, Hubs, you recently dropped the ball. We may have to put your nomination for sainthood on hold for a bit. Here's why.

It happened. I knew it was inevitable. I found my first stretchmark. In my 36th week of pregnancy. That sonnofabitch. It's on the bottom of my belly. Right where Baby Boy has been keeping his head nestled so conveniently above my right hip.

Walking into the family room with my tanktop hiked up underneath my bowling balls boobs, wearing a look of utter devastation on my face:

AP: Hubs? Will you still love me post baby and want to jump my just-having-birthed-a-linebacker bod, even with this terrible, horrible stretchmark on my belly?

Hubs: [Truly giving this question much more thought than necessary] Is it permanent?

Erghh. That wasn't quite the answer I was going for. Wasn't there a whole chapter on this in that baby book you've been reading? Something along the lines of, "Things Your Wife Wants to Hear When She Asks You Crazy Questions Like Will You Still Love Me Even With This Stretchmark?"

I was hoping for a resounding, "Stretchmark? What stretchmark? Ohmygoodness, of course I will!" Don't worry, Hubs. We'll keep practicing. Because god knows there will be plenty more crazy questions where that came from... And then we can reinstate that sainthood nomination.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Gratuitous Sheepie Picture Post. Quick, get your Sheepie Fix!

Remember this guy? I'm starting to have nightmares that we're going to forget all about him once Baby Boy arrives and it's really been unsettling for me! Some of the books I've been reading suggest that in the weeks before babe's birth, you should start "weaning" your attention from your pup ever so slowly. Are you kidding me? There's no way I'm giving up sheepie snuggles! If anything, I can't spend enough time with the big guy right now! Since moving down here and taking on the new role of Stay at Home Wife, we've been virtually inseparable. We nap together. We watch Regis and Kelly together. We've even graduated to sharing some midnight snacks together! (Don't judge!)

Yes, we've begun preparing him. We've been practicing our "good boy" behavior when we're in the nursery together and I've begun playing for him wav files of newborns crying, screaming and downright wailing. In true Sheepie-fashion, Sullivan couldn't care any less. Nothing phases this dog and I'm pretty sure he's excited to meet his new little brother. How do I know? Well, he just told me, of course!  Here's just a few quick iPhone pics of one of the cutest sheepies I've ever seen (aside from Stella, of course!)

Showing off his new haircut

One of his favorite napping spots, displaced rug and all.

Quality snug-time with Teddy, while Mom blogs.

His other favorite napping spot...

I can't help myself! Most days, I just can't get enough of this ridiculously goofy, cuddly lovebug!

Friday, July 2, 2010

Wait, Is That A Picture of Me?

Whew. After closer inspection, I was able to deduce that this is in fact, NOT a picture of yours truly. However, the belly did throw me off a bit. With the way my clothes have been fitting recently? I wouldn't have been all that surprised. Even my maternity tanks and t's are turning into belly shirts and let me tell you folks, it's not a pretty sight. Slap a flannel cut-off on me and I feel like I just might be the next spokeswoman for John Deere. Or some new fangled brand of "chewin' tobaccky."

But seriously. I really am headed off to Walmart soon. I need to pick up some baby detergent as well as a few last minute storage bins for Baby Boy's new fancy shmancy closet. I'll be on the lookout for any creepsters pointing their camera phones at me. I just might be the next picture on

people of walmart . com

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