Things 233-236

Today, we have some workout clothes:

From 365 things

There are three tops that aren't long enough. For being relatively short, I have a crazy long torso. So it's common for shirts to be too short, letting a little belly hang out. And these shirts didn't look good on me pre-baby. So it's time to admit it's not gonna happen. Also, I'm ditching the soccer shorts I wore in high school. See-through white shorts probably weren't a good idea at 15 (although I didn't have a choice at the time), and they definitely aren't advised for a 30-something.

And speaking of working out: Once upon a time, I said that running was way harder outdoors. I'd like to retract that statement. Running inside is harder. At least it was on Monday.

I'm training for the Soldier Field 10 Mile. And now that my training runs are getting longer, I have to take them indoors on weeknights because it gets dark before I can get in my miles. So Monday night I ran the farthest I've gone so far (7.25 miles). And I did it on the treadmill at the gym.

Um, that sucked. For starters, it's hot inside and there's no breeze. When I run outside, my mind wanders and I problem-solve and think about stuff my little brain doesn't have time to think about during work hours, and suddenly I've run 5 miles without realizing it. At the gym, all I can think about is running. And my brain keeps telling me to stop.

Anyway, that's all for tonight. So much catching up to do...

Things 138-144

I swear this is still happening. The holidays, people. That, and Maya's walking.

Anyway, here are some more Things, all found on one shelf of the bookcase.

From 365 things

In no particular order, we have:

- Broken Chicago Fire picture frame
- Wrist band certifying that one of us is, in fact, of legal drinking age
- Stack of receipts
- Cards from my baby shower
- Expired Gap certificates
- Ticket stub
- Casino player's card

Most of the Things above pre-date Maya. You know, that walking, sort-of talking 14-month-old kid. Which goes to show how long it's been since I've cleaned off the shelves of the bookcase.

It also illustrates our pre-baby life. One filled with things like casinos, shopping, and events requiring tickets and/or wrist bands. A life I hardly remember. But as awesome as that life was then, you know what I didn't have? Baby wipes in my purse. Greatest thing ever.

Oh yeah, and Maya.

Things 91-109: A new room

Surprisingly, the back room purge didn't take as long as I thought it would. I wish I had taken a before photo, because it looks so much better (albeit possibly dustier) than before.

My efforts have now turned to the bedroom. I don't think this room will take too long, either, because I actually don't keep much in here. The room's only closet and dresser belong to Chris (they're too small for me). I do keep my jewelry in here, but that collection's been abridged already.

Really, the only place where Things accumulate in here is on the book shelf, which we use as a TV stand. Behold:

From 365 things

It's a mess. Today, I tackled just the top shelf and managed to get rid of Things 91-109:

From 365 things

These Things include:

• A file folder of hotel and flight information for a trip Chris took in May
• Some very old gum
• A branded pedometer received at a conference
• Some very old lip balm
• Unopened soap bar taken from a hotel
• Unopened Raisinets
• Random ribbons
• Swim goggles that don't fit
• The manual that came with Chris' watch
• A collection of pregnancy magazines, GQs and the newsletter Chris' old fraternity still sends him. (Hmm, in order of life events, perhaps those publications should be reversed. First comes fraternity, then comes yuppiedom, then comes the baby in the baby Bjorn.)

Things 83-85: This one's for the doggies

For Valentine's Day 2009, Chris, Rosie and I visited Nashville. Other than being pregnant (and therefore, unable to drink while bar-hopping), and suffering one of my only bouts of morning sickness (which is why, to this day, I'm still not a huge fan of ribs), the trip was wonderful. I had the chance to reconnect with an old friend I hadn't seen in a decade, we got to take in tons of live music, and best of all, we got to bring Rosie with us.

We stayed at a Loews hotel, which is one of the few pet-friendly hotels out there. We booked the room during their President's day "Presidential Pooch Package" special. It included a reduced rate and free goodies for the dog, including treats, dog food, a bandana, and Things 83-85:

From 365 things

These Things comprise a small food/water dish, a dog tag bearing the hotel's web address and a dish place mat.

A combination of my appreciation for finding such a great, dog-friendly hotel, and my natural tendency to hoard stuff, led me to save these Things, even though both the dish and mat are far too small for my Rosie, and the dog tag is pretty much useless.

So, I'm letting them go. Fortunately, other than the bandana, Rosie ate the other stuff we got from the hotel. She still wears the bandana, and even though she has more than enough others, I'm holding on to it for now.

Listen people, I'm making progress. I swear.

Things 66-73

As usual, I continue to run behind in this quest. Not that I should be making excuses, but I had one heck of a busy week. In fact, the rest of September and first half of October are looking pretty darn busy, too.

That said, I played Wii frisbee golf for about an hour yesterday while Maya napped – a whole hour when I could have been doing more productive things, but instead chose to play a Wii game chosen primarily because it doesn't require me to get off the couch. 

And speaking of restrictive movement, can we just stop for a second and reminisce about how absolutely huge I was last year at this time? One year ago today Laura and I threw my parents a surprise 40th anniversary party. Combined with the stress of that, I had also spent most of the night before at the emergency vet because Rosie was battling some kind of nasty stomach virus. So, I should have known then that six days later, I would be in labor.

But I digress. Here are Things 66-73:

As someone who doesn't wear much jewelry, I own an awful lot of it. Like so many Things, I hold on to this stuff for sentimental reasons. These Things, for example, were all acquired before we moved back to Chicago from Syracuse:

• The two bracelets on the left are from ex-boyfriends in high school. 
• The green necklace and earrings on the right I bought from a street vendor in New Orleans, and never wore once.
• The silver necklace I bought for one of Chris' law proms, and never wore again.
• The red dress pin at the top I got while covering a story on heart disease while I was a reporter in Syracuse.
• The silver earrings on the left I bought from the store I used to work at in the mall in Syracuse. 
• As for the red and black necklace in the middle, I can't remember where or why I got that. I'm pretty sure I got it in Syracuse, but that's about it. I guess not everything I save has sentimental value. Sometimes, I'm just lazy.

Me and Bret Michaels

When I was pregnant, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes, and part of that diagnosis meant that I had to get tested again after having the baby to determine if I'm actually diabetic. So a few weeks ago, I took a follow-up glucose test, and my numbers came back high. So, I made an appointment with my doctor, and in the days between receiving my results and my doctor's appointment, I freaked out a bit. But eventually, I came around to the idea that although I was diabetic, it was something I could control and live with. I even decided that whenever I would blog about diabetes, I'd use the label "Me and Bret Michaels" because on Rock of Love, Bret Michaels often mentions that he has diabetes and he pronounces it weird ("dia-bettis").

So I went to my doctor's appointment last week fully expecting to get educated about my condition, get prescriptions for more lancets and testing strips, and be on my merry, little low-carb way. Instead, the doctor gave me a quick A1C test, took a look at my results, and determined that there was no way I'm diabetic.

Although I'm very relieved that I'm not diabetic, the news was a bit jarring. Since July, I've been counting my carbs and trying to eat a healthy, balanced diet. And now I don't have to anymore. Which, believe me, is welcome news. But at the same time, I sort of enjoyed having to follow a diet. So despite this diagnosis, I'm going to try to continue eating the same way. (Although if my eating habits of the past four days are any indication, this will be short-lived.) Having gestational diabetes means I'll always be at an increased risk of forming diabetes later in life, so hopefully, I can always keep that "later" part 20 years away.

Restless

It's flu season, and I have an infant, so we haven't left the house much. Which has been fine by me, because I've been resting, relaxing, healing and nursing and all that good stuff. Also, it's been really, really crummy outside for days. So, staying cooped up with a newborn, having soup for lunch everyday and not doing much day after day hasn't really bothered me.

Until now. I'm ready to get out of the house now. I'm kind of surprised it took 3 weeks for me to get restless. Guess I needed the relaxation.

So it's official. The Wunder girls are ready to come visit you. Just tell me when and where, and we'll be there. Assuming you don't have the flu.

When the baby sleeps

Oh my. It turns out finding time to blog when you have an infant is more difficult than I first thought.

You see, there's this magical time known as "when the baby sleeps." When I was pregnant, lots of people gave me the advice to "sleep when the baby sleeps." And back then, I was all gung ho about following that advice. Take naps everyday? Yes please. But it turns out that when that magical time arrives, it's my first chance to do other important things, like eating, drinking and going to the bathroom. Occasionally, I take a shower, do the dishes or change my clothes. And then if I'm really lucky, I'll do laundry or read. And sadly, blogging has sort of fallen to the end of the list. Which stinks, because I feel like I have so much to blog about. I write them in my head while nursing. Blogs about how Rosie's adjusting to her new sister, about Maya's well-developed sense of comedic timing, and about my bellybutton's refusal to return from outie to innie.

But those will have to wait for now because 1). Although I'm upstairs in the office, and Maya's sleeping downstairs in her pack n play, I clearly just heard some explosive poop action, and 2). Price is Right starts in 15 minutes.

The gory details

First of all, today was my due date. I can’t even remember what being pregnant and not being a mommy feels like right now. Crazy.

So, everything started two weeks ago today. That day was like any other Wednesday. Went to work, came home and went to the church to pick up our CSA food. We ate dinner, watched the greatest night of television ever (SYTYCD, followed by Glee, followed by Top Chef. God, I LOVE Wednesdays), and went to bed. But, I didn’t sleep too long. Around 3 a.m., I started having what I thought were Braxton-Hicks contractions. They weren’t too regular or extremely painful, but they were enough to keep me up. I went down to the couch so I wouldn’t wake up Chris, watched some TV and tried to get some rest.

The contractions continued through Thursday morning, and I wasn’t sure if they were the real deal, so I decided to stay home from work that morning to see what happened. The more I moved around, the less intense they got, so I went into work around 11 a.m.

At this point, even though I was pretty sure my contractions weren’t yet the real deal, I kind of knew labor wasn’t far off. So, I tried to tie up as many loose ends at work as possible. While there, the contractions continued about every half hour. Again, not terrible, but enough to take my concentration for a minute. I was also moving really slowly. So, just about everyone I saw at work could tell baby time was close, too.

That night, I just tried to relax and get some rest to see if the contractions slowed down, got more intense, etc. I was supposed to have a prenatal appointment Friday morning, so I thought I’d wait until then to see what was going on. We called my good friend and doula, Holly, to let her know what’s up.

The contractions were pretty steady through the night and started developing a pattern by Friday morning. Realizing this was finally happening, we called the midwife on call at our hospital to let her know what was going on. From the beginning, our plan was to labor at home as much as possible. I didn’t see any point in going to our prenatal appointment, and the midwife agreed, so we skipped it and stayed home. Holly came over and the three of us tried to get me to relax through contractions.

There were a few things that weren’t textbook early on. For one, the baby all on the left side of my belly. And second, although my contractions were getting closer together, they lasted between 60 seconds and 2 to 3 minutes each. (Normally, they should regulate to 60 seconds each.) To address to lopsided belly, Holly suggested a few different positions to try to get the baby to line up. Friday is kind of a blur now, but I remember walking around the backyard while Holly applied counter pressure on my lower back. It was a little show for the neighbors.

I also remember laboring with my yoga ball, laboring in the shower, and mostly, laboring in the rocking chair. That was the most comfortable position. Looking back on it now, I probably wasn’t helping myself my sitting in that rocking chair. I was so focused on getting comfortable, but if I had embraced the pain a little more, I probably would have moved things along faster.

Eventually, my contractions got to about 3 to 4 minutes apart (although their length still hadn’t regulated, nor would they ever regulate for another two days, but I’m getting ahead of myself), so we went to the hospital around 6 p.m. on Friday. Once there, we found out that I had fully effaced but only dilated to about 3 or 4 cm, which in natural childbirth terms, is pretty much nothing. I wanted to get to the hospital dilated to at least 6 cm or further. However, now I’m not sure that ever would have happened on its own.

So, we labored some more at the hospital. Again, Friday is kind of a blur, but I remember laboring in the tub, laboring in the bed, walking around and vigorously tapping my right foot to get through contractions. Chris would tap along with me to help. He and Holly took turns holding me, massaging me, applying counter pressure. My mom and sister came around 7 or 8 p.m. and joined in, too. I had an awesome support team.

At some point, I think after midnight but I don’t remember, the midwife checked me and I had only dilated to 4 or 5 cm. Frustrated, we kept laboring. My mom and sister left around 4 a.m. to get some rest, and my mom and dad went to my house to get Rosie and take her home with them for the night.

We kept laboring through the night and Saturday morning into the next midwife’s shift. (I feel like I shouldn’t name which midwives I had, but both were absolutely amazing.) Saturday’s a bit of blur now, too, but I remember trying out all kinds of different positions and techniques. I also remember starting to ask for drugs. I warned Chris months ago that even though I was totally set on a natural childbirth, when things got really bad, I knew I’d ask for drugs. And his job was to ignore me and change the subject and get me to work through it. So, he and Holly both got me to focus on each contraction and tried to distract me from insisting on drugs. It worked for the most part.

By Saturday afternoon, I still hadn’t dilated much more. We tried everything. The breast pump, showering, bathing, everything. But not only was I not progressing, I was starting to regress. The midwife said my cervix started to get swollen (sort of the opposite of effacement). We decided to break my bag of waters to see if we could get things moving forward. So I kept laboring. At this point, I was tired and weak and frustrated and scared. We were starting down a path toward a c-section, which was the last thing I wanted. (Later on, I would beg for one just to be done with everything. Luckily, my midwife rocks and talked me out of it).

Unfortunately, breaking the bag of waters did little to dilate me more. I think I got to about 6 or 7 cm, although Chris says I was further along. I don't remember. So, around 10 p.m. or so Saturday night, we had to move on to pitocin, a drug that makes you contract, and something I never wanted to have to use. But I pretty much had no choice at this point. This was the last option before a c-section. Pitocin makes contractions extremely strong, and I was physically kaput. I hadn’t slept in days. I hadn’t eaten much. I had been in active labor for close to 48 hours. I was done. So I begged for drugs again, and this time, my team didn’t fight me. So I got an epidural. I have to admit, it was pretty great. I passed out and slept for a few hours. Looking back, I wish I had been stronger. I’m disappointed because not taking drugs was extremely important to me. But I also know that I might not have gotten through pushing had I not gotten those few hours of sleep.

Which brings me to the happiest part of this whole experience. The pitocin worked, I fully dilated, and I was able to deliver my baby without having a c-section. (I’d should note here that I know a lot of women who have had c-sections and I don’t mean to suggest that it’s a horrible thing. Personally, I just wanted to avoid surgery at all costs. I’ve had enough surgeries in my lifetime.) We had to wait a bit for the epidural to wear off because I couldn’t feel a thing, which made pushing really difficult. According to Chris, I pushed for 2.5 hours. It didn’t seem like that long to me, but I hear it’s common for women not to realize how much time passes during labor.

Eventually, after three days of hard work, I had beautiful baby girl on Sunday morning. She came out slightly at an angle, with the umbilical cord around her neck (this is super common, and her heartbeat never dropped), and with her elbow up near her face, which explains why the labor was so long and complicated. But she’s perfectly healthy, and beautiful, and well, perfect. I’m a proud mommy.

So that’s my birth story. I’m sure I’m forgetting stuff, like how pushing hard made me dry heave, and the weird show about donkeys we watched on Saturday in between contractions, but this little post is nearing 1,500 words, so it’s time to wrap it up. I promise to post more often, especially because like other mommy bloggers, I’m getting good at this typing with one hand thing.

Meet Maya!

Baby TK is now Maya Adeline Wunder. She came two weeks early, but took 3 days to come out. It was rough, but totally worth it. I'll write out the gory details later this week, but for now, here are some pics of our little Wunder Baby:

Maya, born Sept. 27, 2009. 6:51 a.m. 7 pounds, 11 ounces.

Maya's glamour shot.

Me and Maya

Chris making faces.

The new Wunder family (minus Rosie, of course).

Stick a fork in me

I've been trying to write a recap post of the past month and a half, but things like lack of time and motivation keep getting in the way. So instead, here's a little story and a picture.

My sister and I both have very fine, naturally curly hair, which, in our youth, lead to knots and tangles that far surpassed those of the average kid. My mom likes to tell this story about how when she tried to comb my sister's hair — which, as you might imagine, was an involved process — after a few minutes my sister would run away, comb still stuck in her hair, repeating, "I'm done, Mom. I'm done, Mom. I'm done, Mom."

That mantra has been repeating in my head for about the past week. I'm due in three weeks, and I'm so, so done. Everything is starting to hurt, I can't get comfortable, I have to get up to pee at least four times a night, and I have cankles.

Typically, complaining is my pet peeve — especially when the act of doing so has no effect on the situation. But right now, I want to complain incessantly even though there's nothing I can do except wait. (Well, I suppose I could demand to be induced early, but that's definitely not happening.) So, I'm just going to keep waiting it out. And complaining. Sorry.

In the meantime, here's a pic of my very pregnant self and the hubby from this weekend. We celebrated our third wedding anniversary at Wildfire, which is where we had our rehearsal dinner. It's a steak and seafood place, so for someone who's supposed to curb carbs and pack on the protein, it was pretty much heaven.


I promise to post more soon detailing things what I've been up to for the past 6 weeks, which doesn't include anything too exciting, actually. Well, maybe there were a few exciting moments. But for the most part? Blah.

Not so grown-up, either

So, despite all my apprehensions, my nutrition appointment wasn't too bad. Basically, she said that I'm already doing everything right and that I just have to make a few, small adjustments. Then we went over the whole blood testing process, and it seemed easy enough. I tried it out once at the office, got my result quickly, and went on my merry way.

Unfortunately, that testing ease significantly diminished as soon as I left the nutritionist's office. I'm supposed to test my blood sugar four time a day: once right when I get up, and then one hour after eating breakfast, lunch and dinner. So, after lunch yesterday, I went to the bathroom at work to test myself. But this time, I couldn't seem to get enough blood out of my finger and onto the strip. After two finger pricks and two "error" messages on my monitor, I finally got a reading on the third try. But the number was really low, so I'm guessing I did something wrong.

Then, last night after dinner, I tried to test my blood sugar again. This time, I pricked myself three times, tried to squeeze out enough blood, and ultimately received three "error" messages.

And that's when I had a total meltdown. A meltdown of the order that would make my 3-year-old nephew look mature. And then, for some reason, all this crying and tantrum throwing gave me a bloody nose. (And no, I didn't test my blood sugar using my snotty nose blood. And yes, I briefly considered it.)

I next spent the better part of an hour crying in the bathroom, trying to get my nose to stop bleeding, all the while making the blood run faster by my continual crying. I kept wondering how I'd become such a failure at something as simple as getting a drop of blood onto a test strip, and then realizing that this is nothing, nothing, compared to how hard raising a child is going to be. And holy crap, what am I going to do?

Poor Chris, who has been my rock through this whole pregnancy, was exhausted after a long day and kept trying to get me to calm down and come to bed.

This morning, I tried to do a reading again and again got an "error" message. Then Chris tried on himself and succeeded the first time. He showed me his technique for getting more blood to come out — in his words, milking your finger like an udder. Since trying out this technique, I've gotten two good reads, so hopefully we've finally figured this whole thing out. At least I hope so, because I can't spend any more nights crying in the bathroom. The Wunder household would really like to enjoy these last 10 weeks of blissful, baby-free sleep.

Not so healthy

Remind me never to write things like "I've been blessed with a healthy pregnancy" on my blog. Because, of course, I jinxed myself. It turns out I have gestational diabetes.

I just found out on Tuesday. I gotta admit, when I found out, I was shocked, and pissed. My initial glucose screen came back on the high side, but that screen has a high rate of false positives. My sister actually had a false positive on her screen, but after further tests, was determined to be just fine. So naturally, I assumed I'd be OK, too.

I had my second round of tests on Saturday. It involved fasting for 12 hours, then drinking this nasty sugar water and having my blood taken four times over a three-hour period. (Yeah, worst way to spend a Saturday ever.) On the bright side, as a reward for having to go through this, Chris and I went to Kuma's Corner after the test and ate mac n' cheese and giant burgers until we were literally sick to our stomachs. Unfortunately, that little indulgence turned out to be a last hurrah for me. No more pasta, fries and pretzel rolls. At least, not for the next 10 weeks.

The reason I'm pissed is because I already eat healthy. Other than the occasional indulgence like the one mentioned above, I don't eat simple carbs like pasta, white bread and white rice. We don't even have any in the house. And I rarely eat sweets. My diet pretty much consists of fish and lean proteins, fruits, vegetables, eggs, milk, cheese, yogurt, nuts and whole grains. And I exercise. And I'm not overweight. And with this new food co-op we joined, I've been eating tons of fresh kale, greens, arugula and cabbage for the past month. WTF?

I suppose this means adopting a new "diet" won't be difficult. I have an appointment tomorrow to learn about all this stuff. I'm trying to be positive, but the idea of sitting through a lecture on how I shouldn't eat ice cream, fried chicken and pizza for every meal is infuriating.

Argh. I need to stop and remember that this is temporary. Lots of people have much worse conditions, none of which were deserved. And they don't get to say goodbye to those problems 10 weeks from now. So yeah, I'm just being a brat.

Countdown

I've been blessed with a very easy pregnancy so far. Never had morning sickness. No health problems (at least, not yet). No mood swings or insane fears. But I have to admit, I'm kinda looking forward to NOT being pregnant anymore.

There's the obvious reason: I can't wait to meet this baby that already seems to have a personality and sense of humor. For example, when Chris tries to listen to the baby's heartbeat, Baby TK has taken to kicking him in the ear. I'm so proud.

But then there are the day-to-day things I miss, like being able to bend over to tie my shoes, or walking up a flight of stairs without getting winded. This morning, it took me 30 minutes to walk from our house to the train. Usually, it only takes 10.

Part of me feels selfish and weak for mentally being done with this whole pregnancy thing only 70% of the way through. I'm not a C- kind of gal. But then again, this week, three people told me I'm starting to waddle. What's up with that?

Further proof that I am an adult

As of yesterday, I am now the proud owner of a home with central air, as well as a fancy, new furnace that, unlike our previous one, was actually constructed after the McKinley administration.

Add the A/C and furnace to the new windows we recently had installed throughout our home, and you'll get the next sure sign of our adulthood: a home equity line of credit.

And if those four things weren't enough, we now have a fully assembled baby crib, rocking chair and stroller/car seat combo. We are, undeniably, grown-ups.

Part of becoming an adult must involve turning into your parents. Less than 12 hours after the A/C was installed, I became my father and started scolding Chris for running the A/C too much. Our electricity bill's going to skyrocket. It's nice outside. We don't even need to run the A/C. Just open the windows.

But Chris wanted to play with our new household toy, so I caved. But after the novelty's worn off, I'll put my foot down because it really is too nice outside to run the A/C at night, and our electricity bill really is going to skyrocket.

Politically, I might be pretty liberal, but in MY house, I'm a fiscal conservative, dammit.

I am huge...

... and not in the Paris Hilton "that's hot" kind of way*, but rather in the "are you sure you're not having twins?" kind of way.

Seriously, one of my co-workers asked me that this morning. When I said no, she suggested that perhaps I'm carrying both a baby and a puppy. Which is kind of gross (birthing a puppy? ewww), but also pretty funny. Chris and I have often said that the baby should get its own dog, because Rosie's our dog and we don't want to share, not even with our first born.

To date, I've gained 16 pounds since getting pregnant, which is actually a smidgen on the low end — so much for gaining weight too rapidly in the beginning. The main reason I've slowed down is because eating has become quite difficult. My stomach must now be the size of a grape, because I get full extremely fast. As a result, I have to graze all day, eating little bits here and there. Which is actually really good for maintaining a regular blood sugar level for the baby. But it's also really good for your metabolism, meaning I probably burn a crazy amount of calories schlepping my massive self to the bathroom 50 times a day.

So, even though I haven't gained that much so far, currently it's ALL BELLY. This has also led every woman who sees me to say that, without a doubt, I'm having a boy. The fetal heart rate would suggest otherwise, but you know what? Both of these things are old wives tales.

All I know is this: I'm having a baby. Just one. And possibly a puppy.

* I just learned this term from a recent episode of "Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List," which, other than SYTYCD, is quickly becoming my favorite thing on television.

How I spent my 4th of July vacation

For the 4th of July this year, we spent the weekend at my sister's friend's annual multi-day party. We've been to this bash before, but this was the first year we stayed most of the weekend.

It was pretty much the perfect 4th weekend: there was swimming, fireworks of legal and illegal varieties, mass quantities of grilled meats and foods served in salad form, and hours of backyard whiffleball.

Here are a few highlights from the weekend:

Me and my new niece, Lucy. Also featured in this photo is my rapidly expanding belly. Thankfully, Lucy is obscuring most of that (because really, nobody wants to see a pregnant chick in a bikini). Next to Lucy's teeny right foot, you can make out my bellybutton, which is mere millimeters from becoming a full-blown outie.

At night Chris, Rosie and I camped out in the backyard, and Jack joined us as well. It was his first time sleeping in a tent, and I think he's a fan. Also a fan? The hosts' dog, Chewy (above), who wanted to hang out in the tent all the time, even when we weren't around.

Chris, demonstrating how with the use of baby sling, your hands are free for important tasks, like drinking a margarita and eating a burger. He is so ready for fatherhood.

Birth and birthdays

About five months ago, I wrote this nice little post about how I planned to celebrate Chris' 30th year for all of 2009. I still have a list in my desk at work with all my ideas for the 30 things I'll get/make/surprise Chris with over the next year. And that list has sat mostly untouched since Jan. 31, the day we found out I was pregnant.

Suddenly, all those lovely weekend trips I had planned and big-ticket purchases I thought we could afford have disappeared as I sink every extra penny into the "maternity leave/day care/holy shit, we're having a kid" fund.

In my the last post on this topic, I wrote about gifts 1 - 6. Since then, I did manage to check off a few more items:

7. New York trip - We went the weekend of Jan. 23
8. Carbomb cupcakes - Made a bunch for Chris to bring into work for St. Patrick's Day
9. Massage in Arizona - I got one, too. Week of March 23.
10. Another weekend in New York, but this time with his guy friends, sans wifey - weekend of May 22

And that's it. My average so far ain't too good, unless I manage to pull off five more gifts in the next four weeks. Unfortunately, most of the ideas on my list are no longer doable, due to the aforementioned lack of funds, or my own lack of ability (like that ski trip I was going to plan for last February, until I remembered that pregnancy and downhill skiing don't mix. Although, now I can add "carrying your first born child for nine months in my womb" and "childbirth" to the list.)

Pretty much, the only things left of the list that are affordable and doable are food related, which are fine, but I need more variety. I've got some brainstorming to do.

A new niece and a belly

Sorry this took a few days, but here are some pics of my new niece, Lucinda Joy. She was born on Sunday at 7:33 am. 6 pounds, 15 ounces, and 19 inches long.

From My pictures

She looks a lot like her big brother Jack. Check out his birthday pics here.

From My picture

The happy family

From My pictures

Lucy, doing her best Mr. Burns impression. Excellent.

And because a few folks have asked, here's me showing off the bump.

From My pictures

It's sort of a weird pic. I think I was moving or something.

I want to ride my bicycle

I miss running. And riding my bike to work. And working out so hard that I'm drenched in sweat and totally energized.

My rapidly expanding butt misses those things, too.

Walking and the elliptical machine aren't cutting it for me. Technically, I could still jog and bike. But I worry too much about falling or hurting myself or the baby. And don't suggest swimming, because the pools at the gym I attend and the park district buildings are usually too packed to even get a good stride going ... not that I've tried. I've just watched from afar, and that seems to be the case. That, and I don't feel like buying a maternity swimsuit. And the feet don't really like being barefoot.

OK, I'm done complaining now.