We’re down to the last 8 weeks (give or take a couple of weeks). I look forward to holding this tiny little bundle in my arms. I want to see what s/he looks like. I want to know what his or her little personality is going to be. I’m anxious. But at the same time, I have this inexplicable sadness. Things that use to bring me joy, now kind of irritate me. I think the worst thing that could happen to me right now is to be put on bed rest. I just don’t think I could handle that. Let me rephrase that. . . it would be really tough for me to handle. But right now, sometimes, I just want to cover my head with the blankets and have the world go away. Work is okay. I have new responsibilities (kind of stressful at this point but it makes the day go by faster), but that’s not my problem. It’s everything else. I’m tired of trying to be upbeat when I’m not. I vacillate between wanting people to do things for me and wanting people to just leave me alone (add to that the fact that I completely hate asking for help. . . not a good combination). And then, I wrestle with myself. I know that I’m just being hormonal and silly. I try to talk myself out of feeling a certain way, but it’s just not always possible. It’s one thing to know it. It’s another thing to believe it. Two more months. I will survive.
My ankles are getting worse. They actually get so large sometimes that they hurt now. Talk about timing though. I have an office now so once a day I shut my door, lie on the floor and put my feet up. I “drain” them for about 30 minutes. Of course, the relief doesn’t last long, but it does make them stop hurting for a little while. I’m also starting to have trouble with my hands (and wrists). My hands hurt the worst when I’m holding a phone (and they fall asleep at night). I have read that some women get carpel tunnel syndrome due to the swelling. That might stink. Nothing I can do about it but wait and see.
Now for some good news. I passed my glucose tolerance test! Woo hoo! The nurse told me not to overdo the sugar, but I passed. ;)
Matt and Lauren graduated from college on Saturday (both with honors). ;) They are such intelligent, young people with a bright future ahead of them. We are so happy for them and were very glad to be able to celebrate with them this weekend. However, going to the graduation on Saturday was a feat in itself. I spent a great portion of the morning trying to do a pedicure on my own feet. They were in desperate need of repair (especially since I will be wearing only flip flops for the duration of this pregnancy). After a lot of groaning, grunting and straining, I was able to make them more presentable. I even got one coat of paint on my toenails before Johnathan burst into the bedroom in a huff. We had to leave immediately! It took me another 5 minutes or so to gather everything I needed to finish getting dressed in the car (mind you, he wasn’t exactly ready to walk out the door either). And so began our saga. As we neared the graduation site, we hit traffic (go figure). Everyone was circling trying to find parking. And then it started to rain (God has a wonderful sense of humor). Neither of us knows the campus so when we exhausted our knowledge of parking areas, we just started following other cars. (My husband doesn’t stress about much, but I have to tell you that every once in a while, he takes on a whole different persona. . . this was one of those times.) The longer we drove, the worse the rain got. We finally found a parking spot about a half a mile away from the arena. Luckily, there was an umbrella in the car. Unluckily, I’m seven months pregnant. . . and it wasn’t raining straight down. We squeezed together as tight as we could. Remember those three-legged races you used to do as a kid? Imagine that with a grown man and an obviously pregnant woman holding an umbrella, in pouring down rain. . . for a half a mile. At least our hair stayed dry. Otherwise, we were soaked to the bone. The good news was that it wasn’t just us. Everyone that arrived when we did were in the same boat. We saw men in suits with their entire backsides drenched. We were walking as fast as we could, but we still caught ourselves slowing down when we had to cross a large puddle. . . habit, I guess. By the time we got close to the building, we were laughing. All you could do was find the humor in it at that point. I got off easier since I had flip flops on. Johnathan’s feet squished for the rest of the day. But we made it on time. We found Donna and Barry who were saving us seats. I, of course, had to go to the bathroom before getting too comfortable. As I was headed up the stairs, a man stopped me and said (through a smirk), “Is it raining outside?” I have never wanted to hit a stranger so hard in my life.

Well, folks, only 10 weeks to go. It’s happening so fast, but I’m pretty sure that these last couple of months are going to drag on and on.
We went to the doctor last Friday. Everything checked out fine. Tater’s little heart was just beating away. I mentioned that I was having a lot of Braxton Hicks contractions and expressed some concern over my bladder “issues”. I can be sitting there, minding my own business, everything just fine, and in an instant, I have to go. . . and I have to go NOW. And it really hurts to stand up. It makes me very happy that I have a way to the bathroom at work that doesn’t pass by any offices. I can walk, bent over, holding my bulging belly. What a sight. But I digress. . .
The nurse decided that we should do an exam just to make sure that everything was fine. Apparently, the baby is very, very low. As a matter of fact, “his” hip is resting on my bladder (well, at least we know our baby has a hip. . . that’s good, right?). But I have the problem of feeling like I need to use the bathroom constantly (no, I’m not exaggerating). My mind knows that there is absolutely nothing there, but my body just doesn’t get it. So now I have to ask, what happens when I go through “lightening”? (For those of you that don’t know, that is the point where the baby drops into the pelvis and really flattens your bladder.) I guess I could just work from the toilet. . . or maybe a catheter. . . hmmm. Of course, since I know that is a minor thing, and I need something “real” to worry about, I have chosen to worry about whether the baby will be able to turn or not. Right now, “he” is frank breech (which is how I was born. . . that explains why I’m an only child). I guess we’ll see.
Speaking of worrying, I took my glucose screening this week. That was fun. It’s like a pre-screening for gestational diabetes. After one hour of registration and waiting for a lab tech, I was finally called back. They made me drink this really sweet orange drink (I had heard horror stories but I love sugar so I actually kind of liked it). The problem was it was 50 grams (I was expecting a small shot glass or something), and it was really, really cold. I had heard that drinking it quickly was best (the lab tech confirmed that). So I started guzzling. I had to stop a couple of times to keep from getting a brain freeze. Then, the wait began. I had to sit there for an hour before the lab tech drew some blood. The good news is that I finally finished one of my pregnancy books. ;) The bad news is that I failed the test. Next week, I have to go for a glucose tolerance test. This one is more intense. I have to fast after midnight. They will take my blood when I first get there. Then, I will drink more of that stuff, except it will be more concentrated with sugar or a larger volume of the same. This time the wait will be 3 hours, with a needle stick at every 1 hour mark. Lindsey has offered to come keep me company. Or I could just finish more of my reading (I’m way behind).
I’m beating myself up over this one though. I knew that the test was supposed to happen between 24 and 28 weeks, but I didn’t “force” the issue. I thought I should call but decided not to. Now, we’re at 30 weeks and just finding out that there may be a problem (trying not to panic, only about 1/3 of women that fail the screening actually have gestational diabetes, so the probability is low). I’m just aggravated that I didn’t say something. I’m mad at myself because I should have been more responsible. Hopefully, we will hear something by the end of next week. I’ll keep you posted.
One positive thing that came out of the trip to the hospital this week was that I was able to pre-register. I paid and everything. Now, all we have to do on delivery day is show up and spit the baby out (it’s just that easy, right?). They gave me a code that functions as an approval. While we are in the hospital, if you can’t reach us (which is very likely while I’m screaming and writhing in pain), you can call the hospital and get an update. But you have to have the code. Of course, I’m not going to post that here. If you want it, just call us or email us, and we’ll give it you (provided that we know you and you’re not some random person that is reading our blog just for kicks).
One last thing and I’ll let you go (I need do this more often). . . I can really see my belly move now. It’s like my belly is on hydraulics. One side will bulge, while the other side will go flat. Then, this little knot will move across a couple of times. Very active baby. It’s extremely entertaining. I find myself sitting at my desk or in meetings just waiting for it to move (no, it’s not very productive, but it is a whole lot of fun).

We went to Bogalusa a couple of weeks ago (I know, I know, Johnathan told you and you saw the pictures. . . humor me. . . I’m pregnant). I hadn’t seen my dad in over a year. Plus I wanted him to get to see me all big and pregnant. On the way down, Kylie told me that I should have worn a snugger shirt to show off my belly. I said, “Oh, they’ll notice.” And of course, the first thing I heard when I got out of the car was, “SHE”S FAT!!” ;) I guess if my husband can call me “chubs”, I’ll have to let my dad call me “fat”.
We had a great visit. Kylie loved it (she got to drive a tractor. . . what girl wouldn’t love that?) And Johnathan got to use the gas powered plow (we’ll put up some pictures of that). They got to experience real south Louisiana. It was Kathy’s 50th birthday so Dad threw a party (but Kathy spent most of her time in the kitchen…how does that work?). We had crawfish, gumbo, crawfish pie, muffaletta, fried catfish, fried shrimp. . . tons of stuff. Johnathan had eaten crawfish before. But you’ve never really been to a crawfish boil until you have stood at a table covered with paper, twisting heads and pinching tails, until you just can’t eat anymore. And the table was an authentic crawfish boil table. It was a door lying across two saw horses. That’s livin’, folks. ;)
Then, there was the door-to-door-chicken-giver (dad should get a kick out of that). Apparently, in south Louisiana, when you hit a certain age, you earn the right to just stop at a person’s house if you see that they’re home (I’m not sure, but I think it’s somewhere just after retirement). There are at least two that stop by dad’s on a regular basis. Well, one morning, while we were having breakfast, one of them pulled into the driveway. Understanding the rules, Dad just waved him in (resistance is futile). After a little small talk, he said, “Hey, you want a couple of roosters? Now, these ain’t eatin’ roosters. These are just pet roosters. They’re waking my wife up too early in the mornin’ so she wants ‘em gone.” Dad and Kylie walked outside and, sure enough, he had two big ole roosters standing up in the front seat of the truck. Kylie got to pet one (of course), but Dad declined to keep them. They probably wouldn’t set well with the dog. So the man got back in his truck, after making one of the roosters get out of the driver’s seat, and went on to the next stop. The funniest part was, after he left, my grandmother said, “Yeah, I can imagine. His wife got up this morning and told him to squat and strain. . . so he did.” (okay, it’s much funnier coming from an 82 year old Baptist woman)
Last weekend, we allowed Kylie to go to the military ball for ROTC. She’s grounded. . . for grades. . . again (anybody know the trick to motivating a teenager…besides food?). But we figured that this was a special occasion, and we would hate for her to miss it only to be ungrounded a week later. She took her best friend as her date (yeah, we weren’t disappointed that she didn’t take a stinky boy, ha). They had a great time. Kylie was beautiful. She and I went shopping and she picked out a gorgeous blue dress. Then, we spent two hours on her hair. We put half of it up, and I sprayed, straightened and curled all her of her hair, piece by piece. She had these big ringlets all over her head. We have pictures of her that we need to put up. She cleans up nice for a girl that likes to dig holes and drive tractors. ;)

I’m starting to notice that I’m getting a little cranky.  I think I do a decent job of controlling it despite what Johnathan and Kylie might think (yes. . . you guys miss out on a lot of what I’m thinking).  Let me tell you about the last couple of days.
Sunday, by the time we left church and ate lunch, my feet and ankles were pretty swollen.  We had a few things to do before going home (one of which was going back to the church to see a friend be baptized..yay!) so the day was long.  When we got home, I was trying to open a bag of mini-Twixes that I had bought at the grocery store.  Well, I couldn’t open it with my bare hands so I decided to grab a pair of scissors out of the drawer in the kitchen (we have 3 pairs that we usually keep there).  They were all gone!  All of them!!  All three freaking pairs!! I was fuming.  My first instinct was to throw the bag across the kitchen, but I knew that at least one pair had to be in the office.  I grumbled all the way to the office (probably because no one was in the house to yell at) telling myself that throwing the bag wouldn’t solve anything. . . but I almost did it anyway.  I actually found 2 pairs in the office. . . arrrggghhh (no, I didn’t move them both back to the kitchen, but I did move one).  Eventually, I had my candy so I finally sat down to put my feet up. . . around 4:30 or 5:00 (yes, I did fess up to my hubby about my hormonal fit of rage…a man should at least be told when he has been in danger of losing his head).
After my ankles were back to a recognizable size, I had to get up and cook dinner, make a dessert for Monday night small group, do laundry and vacuum (not trying to be a martyr, although I think I could be very good at it. . . I’ll admit that Johnathan and Kylie were working very hard outside).  My feet were killing me.  Later that night, while I was taking my makeup off, trying to get to bed, I thought I was going to cry.  Johnathan had just bragged on me the other day that he thought I was doing an amazing job balancing everything.  ;)  Much appreciated, but that is surely coming to an end (so far I have been trying really hard not to use my pregnancy as an excuse, mostly because I knew this day would come, and I didn’t want everyone to be tired of hearing it when I really needed help).
Last night, during small group, I was sitting on the couch and had my feet propped up for obvious reasons, when all of a sudden (well, it took a few minutes) I felt short of breath.  I thought maybe I had eaten too much and was getting indigestion, so I went downstairs and grabbed some Tums.  Didn’t help.  Every time I sat down, it just felt like everything was cramped.  So I finished the last few minutes of the discussion standing up.  That helped a little.  But it progressively got worse.  By the time we got downstairs and I started cleaning the kitchen, I felt like I was going to hurl (kind of like when you’re running really hard…oxygen deprivation).  My heart wasn’t beating fast or anything.  I was just having trouble taking deep breaths.  Johnathan told me to go sit down.  I explained that sitting didn’t help.  I needed to lie down.  So he told me to go to bed.  But there were still people there so I felt I couldn’t.  I kept trying to do little things to help in the kitchen, and he kept grabbing them from me.  He finally convinced me so I excused myself and headed to the bedroom.  On the way, I realized that I had clothes in the washer so I had to get the clothes out of the dryer and switch them over.  He actually came in there and gritted his teeth at me and “ordered” me to bed.  It made me laugh a little (I don’t know why).  But I explained that I had to get the clothes in the dryer.  So he made me promise that it was the last thing I would do.  Then, he went into our bedroom and came out with a pair of scissors.  I asked where he was taking those.  He smiled and said, “I’m putting them back in the kitchen where they are suppose to be.”  I said, “Oh, there’s already a pair in there now.”  He said, “Well, better to be safe. . . ”  Such a wise man.

Teenagers stress me out (duh. . . mull that one over for a minute).  Kylie has known for weeks that she was going to the Dominican Republic.  We were supposed to leave the house around 3:00 heading to the airport.  She started packing around 1:30 (is it just me??).  Then, on the way to pick up another traveler, we uncovered that not only had she forgotten to pack her passport, but she wasn’t sure where it was (mind you, I had just given it to her that morning. . . if she can’t keep up with it for a few hours at home, what will happen in the DR??…I sure hope she can get back into the country).  It got a little ugly, but we eventually made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare.  It was fun (and a little scary) to watch her leave.  I am comforted by the fact that I know almost all of the people going.  They went through security as a group.  We stood there and watched until she was out of sight.  She kept turning around and waving and blowing kisses (it’s a thing we do. . . and I like it).

With Kylie gone this week, it has been a little quiet around the house.  We have spent a lot of “together time”.  We have gone to hear our songwriter friends sing a couple of times (Lindsey even got to feel Tater kick. . . she had said that would make her night. . . ask and you shall receive).  We watched Monty Python (I remember that being so much funnier in college. . . wonder why).  And we registered!!!  Woo hoo!  That was fun.  It took us 3 hours, including 3 bathroom stops and a trip to the snack bar.  Comparing strollers, high chairs, swings, pack –n- plays, bouncy seats, tubs, bottles (how the heck do I know if we need fast or slow flow???), diapers (did you know that there are different sizes for newborns?), diaper bags, wipes, breast pads (washable or disposable???), milk storage bags, pacifiers (not the one that is beaded and says “BLING”). . . arrrrgghhh..  The word “overwhelming” comes to mind.  Leigh sent me a starter list months ago that came in so handy.  I spent a lot of time sitting on the floor looking at the back of the packages trying to decide “is the Baby Bjorn better than the Snuggli?. . . is it worth 3 times as much?”  And my feet. . . we’ll talk about those in a minute. . . but I’m convinced that they hate me.  I kept taking my shoes off and leaving them in the middle of the aisle.  Through all of that, somehow, some way, we survived.  Now, if I could just get the address list together for the shower. . . but that’s another story.

It has been a great week of bonding for Johnathan and Tater.  I started noticing that when I get into bed, and lie on my left side, the baby starts moving. . . a lot.  I feel all kinds of movement on my left side.  It’s like s/he slides down and doesn’t like.  I feel a lot of pushing and feet (or something) moving back and forth.  Sometimes it’s so strong it tickles.  One night, it was happening, so I told Johnathan to slide his hand under my belly.  He got so excited just feeling all that movement.  Then yesterday, I got an email from one of my websites saying that he should be able to hear the heartbeat by just putting his ear to my belly.  He wanted to try it last night so I rolled over onto my back.  Almost as soon as he put his ear to my stomach, he got a swift kick to the head.  Lol  Tater just went nuts.  There was tons of movement.  He kept kicking right where Johnathan’s head was.  Johnathan kept telling him to stop, but it just kept happening.  We had a really good laugh.  Still in the womb and already not listening to us.  ;)  He did get to hear the heartbeat though.

And finally…I am swelling now.  It’s in my ankles mostly.  But my feet are starting to hurt a lot.  I have boxes stacked under my desk to prop my feet on.  It doesn’t seem to make the swelling go away, but it probably helps it to not get worse (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it).  For the past couple of days, my fingers have been swelling.  As a matter of fact, last night my rings actually broke the skin on the side of my finger.  So today, I resorted to wearing the simple silver band we bought for our trip to Haiti last year.  It’s slightly larger than my rings.  So we’ll see how this goes.  I don’t go back to the doctor for about 4 more weeks (timing issues).  On the upside, I get to go buy new shoes. . . and Johnathan can’t get upset.  ;)

Well, I thought I should catch you guys up on the happenings at the Brandon household.  We went to the doctor.  Nothing new there.  It’s just so strange to me.  Could I really have a non-eventful pregnancy?  Let me clarify, making a baby is eventful, but so far, it has been normal.  Apparently, I just think bad things should happen to me. . . does that make me a pessimist?? (don’t answer that)

Pregnancy is the coolest thing. . . I mean, aside from the fact that my ankles are starting to show signs of minor swelling (I know you guys have been waiting for that) and that my ribs are actually starting to have muscle spasms (they have more kick than Tater does).  The baby is getting bigger so I feel it so much more when it moves.  My latest update from one of the many websites I signed up for said it should be over a pound now and 8 ½ inches “crown to rump”.  (Oh, that reminds me!  You gotta try this!  Take a regular piece of printer paper and lay the short side (8 ½ inches) on your forearm like you’re holding a baby.  That’s our Tater!  Or at least that’s how long our Tater is. . . Okay, so I found it cool.  Johnathan thinks I’m a loon.  I also held it up to my belly and wondered how in the world it fits in there.)  Anyway, I feel it a lot now.  I am a little disappointed for Johnathan though because he can’t experience it as often.  It seems like every time I tell him to put his hand on my belly, Tater stops.  I’m sure that’s getting old.  I tried to get s/he all worked up the other night with sugar and caffeine so Lindsey could feel it.  No dice.  Why can’t babies just cooperate?

Earlier this week, I got a couple of nights of decent rest.  One night, I slept a solid 5 ½ hours.  Woo hoo!  It’s not much, but I’ll take what I can get.  Johnathan took a couple of pictures of me last night.  I look terrible.  My face just screams tired.

And the big event of the week. . . Johnathan’s 30^th birthday!  We threw him a party Saturday night.  About 20 people showed up.  I totally overestimated the amount of food we needed.  I still have tons of stuff that never got cooked.  We had babies, 7 ½ month old Brady, and 6 week old twins, Arabella and Giselle.  Brady kept us all entertained for a while with his belly laugh.  Giselle kept me occupied for about 20 minutes while I tried to put her to sleep.  All small hints of what we have to come.  ;)  It was a very long day though.  Johnathan and I got up around 7:30.  I scooped poop in the backyard.  Then, he rubbed my rear end and hamstrings because I spent too much time bending over.  He and Kylie cleaned the house while I went to the grocery store.  When I got home, Kylie and I started cooking.  Once we had all of the dips made, we sent the man to his room so we could decorate.  I let Kylie go crazy with the streamer. . . and she did.  It was everywhere!  We got done around 3:30 so I hit the shower.  I was dressed by 4:30.  Just in time to put some finishing touches on the food and for people to show up at 5:15.  So, if you’re not keeping track, by this point, I had not sat down all day (with the exception of the ride to and from the store).  And if you know me at all, you know that, with people in my house, that pattern continued most of the night.  Once most everyone had left, and I had cleaned the kitchen, I plopped down on the couch exhausted out of my mind (I still don’t think my feet have recovered).  Johnathan came, sat down beside me and started rubbing my feet.  Someone said, “That’s love.”  Johnathan said, “No.  Love is a pregnant woman who will spend all day on her feet, cooking, decorating and cleaning the kitchen just to celebrate your birthday.”  Ladies and gentlemen, I have a winner.  ;)

We sent pictures to my dad for his birthday.  One was at the beginning of pregnancy and one was from last week.  I looked at the first one and thought, “man, my tummy was pretty flat. . . what was I complaining about?”  I guess it’s all about perspective. 

Contrary to what my mother predicted, I absolutely love my belly.  I like to stand and look at it in the mirror.  I like to rest my hands on it.  I like to wonder how big it will really get.  But for someone who loved running 20-25 miles a week, it is difficult to imagine myself being so sedentary on purpose.  I’m feeling more like a slug everyday.  I’m still trying to get use to the 17 extra pounds. . . so far.  Enter: the bright idea to come home and exercise last night.  Early in the pregnancy, I bought a yoga DVD and a Pilates DVD.  Kylie and I have done the yoga one a few times.  It’s good.  Not too taxing, but my ribs usually feel better for a little while afterwards.  For some reason, I thought I would be adventurous last night.  I have been putting off doing the Pilates one because I figured it would be harder (when will I ever start listening to that inner voice of mine), but the wrapper was still on it so the guilt overtook me.  I opened it and popped it in the DVD.  My first clue should have been when the leading woman said, “I’m in my third trimester.”  I yelled, “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!  I’M BIGGER THAN SHE IS!!”  (Then, I had to rewind because I missed some of the instructions.)  I was sent into a panic because one of the items that I “needed” was a wooden dowel (Where the hairy heck am I going to get a wooden dowel?)  I searched the catalog inventory in my mind of mops or brooms that I might be able to rob of a handle, but I settled on a pool cue (I’m sure it was an interesting sight at the very least).  The yoga video has a woman to represent each trimester. . . but not the Pilates video.  Oh, no.  Women in the first and second trimester are supposed to follow this skinny, limber wench (who I will further lovingly refer to as SLW).  I assume that because the leading woman didn’t show until she was into her 7^th month, she saw nothing wrong with me and my big belly trying to emulate SLW.  Of course, she doesn’t know how competitive and hard-headed I can be either.  So while the women representing the 3^rd trimester were supporting themselves on a stool or modifying poses to make them easier, me and SLW were lifting, holding and stretching our full weight.  I will admit that I made my own modification on one exercise.  The 3^rd trimester women were lying completely on their sides while SLW and I were propped up on our elbows.  (For some reason, SLW’s belly didn’t fall over like mine did.)  At another point, I was copying SLW while the 3^rd trimester wimps were supporting themselves up on their precious little stools.  I suppose that I grunted or made some kind of noise that indicated I was struggling.  Apparently, Johnathan heard me so to be “supportive” or something, he asked, “what’s so hard about it?”  grrrr. . . ..Ladies and gentlemen, he has 4 months to go.  Vegas is laying odds on his survival.

Well, the results are in, and as suspected, my gall bladder is fine.  No gall stones.  I guess the problem is that I’m just short.  Whatever the case, the pain is just my burden to bear.  Small price to pay.  ;)

Now, for my big announcement (no, the gall bladder was not it).  I am officially on strike.  That’s right.  I refuse to post anything else until the father of my child “ponies up”.  This was his big idea anyway.  (I’ll save you the trouble of scrolling way down to see the last time he posted.  It was at week 18.  That means it has been almost 4 weeks!)  If you want to complain, just post your comments here (he gets an email when a comment is posted).  Ask him about the big thing that happened over the weekend (how’s that for a teaser??).

Well, we have made it past the halfway mark.  Exciting stuff.  I love watching the ultrasound video and imagining holding that little butt in my hands.  ;)  It’s amazing to think that the thing growing in me is half me and half Johnathan (poor kid).  I wonder what it will be like to actually hold our baby.  I wonder what it will look like.  I wonder what its little personality will be like.  I look at Kylie and wonder what Tater will be like at that age.  So many questions, but so much time to find out.  Gosh, I hate waiting.

Along with the realization that we have made it halfway, comes the realization that we are only halfway.  I’m not sleeping.  Well, if you count 1-2 hours at a time as sleeping. . . then, you’re wrong.  I went home early from work yesterday because my ribs and my back were hurting so badly, and I was just exhausted.  I have decided to start looking at the clock every time I wake to determine how much sleep I am actually getting.  Tuesday night, I went to bed around 10:00 or 10:30.  I remember seeing the clock at 2 am, 4 am and the alarm went off at 6 am.  I felt vindicated that I wasn’t exaggerating about the “every two hours”.  But that means I got, at most, 4 hours of straight sleep at the beginning of the night.  Last night, I stayed home from church.  By the time Johnathan and Kylie got home, I had slept for maybe an hour.  Johnathan made me a glass of warm milk (that was gross. . . sipping it was excruciating so I started gulping it as Johnathan chanted, “chug, chug, chug”. . . it’s been years since I have been encouraged to drink something really fast).  I finally laid down and dozed off around 9:30 or 10:00, but my “loving” family thought it would be cute to call my cell phone from the office to ask me a question.  (How thoughtful.)  It took me a few minutes to recover from that, but I dozed again.  I’m not sure what time I really went to sleep, but I saw the clock at 1-something and then every hour after that.  I expected this in the third trimester, but for me, it started in the first trimester.  I want to caution you here.  I am so tired of hearing, “That’s just God’s way of preparing you for the minimal sleep you will get when the baby is here.”  That is such malarkey.  First, your body does not “get used to” going on a little sleep.  All you “get” is sleep-deprived.  Even when the baby gets here, you don’t get used to the two hour feedings.  You just do it because your baby needs you.  Second, the baby needs you to get your rest.  Nourishing and growing a baby takes tons of energy.  Your heart works 4 or 5 times harder than usual to keep an adequate supply of blood flowing.  (I can send you reference material if you need it.)  So here I am, about to start my 6^th month. . . .the last month of the second trimester. . . and it just gets worse from here.  aaarrrrgggghh  By the way, did I mention that sleep deprivation makes you grumpy?