How’s that?

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?

I have found the weirdest thing.  You know when you get a fountain drink and the lid has those little “bubbles” that you can push down to indicate whether it is diet or something else?  And you know how sometimes you get that one that keeps popping out?  No matter how many times you push it down, it just keeps popping out!  Well, apparently, a pregnant woman’s belly button is a lot like that.  I was sitting around the house the other night, and I decided to check out my belly button (don’t judge. . . this is my life, you’re just a spectator).  I was fascinated to find that it’s getting really shallow.  Suddenly, I had this unexplainable desire to push on it (don’t forget, still MY life).  Well, it did something that I totally wasn’t expecting.  It pushed in! (like the little button on the top of a soda. . . get the correlation now??)  Of course, when I let go, it popped right out.  As you can imagine, I was shocked, so I immediately told Kylie, “Oh my gosh!!  You gotta try this!”  (come on, you can’t keep something like that to yourself. . . it would be rude, or something)  Being a good daughter, and quite inquisitive anyway, she obliged.  Then, she and I took turns pushing on my belly button.  I love my husband dearly, so I just couldn’t leave him out of the “magic of the moment”.  He was apprehensive but tried it anyway.  He immediately jumped back and looked at me like he had been struck with the realization that he had married a circus freak.  But we all know that “train wreck” theory, so he tried it again.  On his second attempt, he noticed that there is a hole behind it in the muscle.  Of course, Kylie and I had to get in on that action.  I think we were all completely entertained by my belly button for a good 15 minutes.  Just another exciting night at the Brandon home. 

Keep in mind I am completely grossed out by anything remotely related to feet, but strangely enough, I find myself inviting people to stick their finger in my belly button.  I have been dreading the day that a perfect stranger walks up to me and wants to rub my belly (the lady that works in the cafeteria at our corporate office didn’t really count).  Now, I can’t wait!  My response will be, “I’m really not comfortable with that. . . but here, check out my belly button!”

Well, to catch you guys up, we got the results from our alpha-fetoprotein test.  This test is the one that gives some indicators about things like spinal bifida, Down ‘s syndrome, and other abnormalities.  We were a little leery about the test because it has a high false-positive rate (at least I was leery, Johnathan doesn’t sweat much of anything. . . I worry enough for us both).  But the results were good.  They reported no abnormalities.  The doctor said they marked my age abnormal, but I think they’re crazy.  My age is perfectly normal, so we’re good.  ;)

Now, for the other part.  I have been so uncomfortable for weeks now.  My ribs are killing me.  It started off just in front on the right side.  It seems that they start having spasms or something.  Typically, I can sort of massage it out and go on with life.  Yes, I understand that this is part of pregnancy, but (as a “friend” of mine so eloquently put it) I still have a long way to be this uncomfortable.  The problem is that for the last week or so, the pain has started migrating around to my right side and into my back.  My doctor is worried about my gall bladder.  I have to stay away from really fatty foods (there goes McDonalds’s and Taco Bell. . . but I gained 6 pounds in the last 4 weeks so that’s probably not such a bad thing).  If I’m going to eat a steak, it needs to be a filet (pretty big sacrifice, but I think I’ll manage).  But the worst part is that I have to eat 2 Tums every 2 hours between meals (of course, I have a meal every 2 hours so it gets a little tricky).  It has only been a couple of days so I’m not gagging on them yet, but the anticipation is killing me.  However, I am back at work today with my “stash” so I have found that candy Valentine’s hearts wash them down pretty well.  ;)  To be honest, I think it’s muscular (my mom says it’s twins), but I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry.

We get to have our first glimpse of Tater on Wednesday.  I’m so excited.  I hope he/she is doing something really cool like sucking his/her thumb.  That would be fun.  Judging by my reaction to hearing the heartbeat for the first time (not to mention my current emotional state) I’m planning to take lots of tissue.   We are going to see our baby for the first time (oh, wait. . . I need a tissue now).  Big news of the day: Johnathan has been given “permission” to purchase a VHS/DVD recorder (since he rarely posts, I figured I should tell).  That means that we will be able to post the footage from the ultrasound.  Pretty exciting, huh?  (A baby and an electronic – I’m expecting my “wife of the year” award pretty soon.)

So the tally for ultrasounds this week is two, one for baby and one for gall bladder.  Personally, I’m more looking forward to the first one. 

When we were looking at buying houses, we prayed for guidance.  When God blessed us with this wonderful home, we promised to use it to His glory and open our doors to others. . . .but did that include teenagers??  For Super Bowl Sunday, we had 47 teenagers and 9 adults in our house (I’ll save you the calculation. . . that’s a total of 56 people).  In church that morning, one of the girls asked me if I was excited about having them all over.  Not exactly.  “Anxious” was the word of the day. 

They started showing up around 4:30 (since when did teenagers become punctual?).  There is a standard protocol for youth group parties – boys bring chips and drinks, girls bring baked goods.  So for the next 30 minutes, teenagers and food poured through our front door.  The eating commenced immediately and so began my eternal saga of picking food off the floor.  (My mantra for the night was “I’m too uptight for this.”  Kylie kept saying, “I know.”)  At one point, there was a minor struggle over a ponytail holder (don’t ask) and a poor, unfortunate cookie with icing was caught in the crossfire.  (Ummm. . . no, I did not clean that up.  The perpetrator was assigned community service for the crime.)

The night progressed rather smoothly, with only an occasional exciting moment like me getting chased around the house with finger that had been up a guy’s nose (to defend my honor, Johnathan held him while I carried out the just sentence of a “wet willy”).  But then, as if from nowhere, came the words that still ring in my ears, “Little Johnny is puking downstairs” (the name has been changed to protect the innocent).  Poor kid.  Poor bathroom.  To this day, we are still confused as to how he completely missed the toilet (to those that have never been to our house, the half bath downstairs is just big enough for the sink and the toilet).  He was still sitting in there on the floor, but the light was off.  I stuck my head in to see if he was okay and realized the carnage that once was our half bathroom.  I also realized that there was no way on God’s green earth that I could clean that up.  So Kylie, beautiful Kylie, wonderful Kylie, best daughter in the world Kylie, jumped right in and helped him (actually, I think she did more than he did).  Within about 15 minutes, the puke was gone. . . even the smell (note to self: Clorox Disinfecting Wipes, lemon scent. . . buy stock).  And the party rocked on.  Once the game was over, Andy gave instructions and clean up began.  They picked up all the trash, and then they all just disappeared.  It was actually very strange how quickly they were all gone.  But as much as I love them, I wasn’t complaining.

Once the house was empty, I realized that my darling husband had cleaned up the kitchen and the dining room.  He even did a quick sweep of the floors.  God has richly blessed me with a wonderful family that not only loves me in spite of my OCD, but also helps relieve the stress by taking care of those things that might make me flip out…but then again, they could just be really selfish and just don’t want to hear me complain…I’ll go with the first scenario (hey, this is MY neurotic condition, I get to choose).

So the tally on the night was a couple of tiny spots of chocolate on the carpet in the bonus room and our bedroom, smashed brownie at the bottom of the stairs, chocolate on the wall outside of Kylie’s room and a bathroom in need of a paint job.  And I’m still finding heart-shaped sprinkles, but I figure Cole will eventually get all of them (we’ve changed his name to “Hoover”).  Now for the big question, will I agree to it again next year?  Yes, I believe I will.  However. . . puking, brownies and anything with sprinkles are outlawed.

It’s hard to believe that we are approaching the halfway mark. It seems like just a few weeks ago, I was in the shower, and Angie was peeing on a stick. The funny part is, and please don’t tell Angie, that I’m starting to get a little anxious about getting some of our stuff done. I’m the one that tends to procrastinate and not worry. Worry is a strong word, but I think we are going to carve out some time this weekend to go order our crib. We also need to find some time to register. We are trying to avoid registering at Baby’s R Us, but we’ll see. All we need is a few bottles, some diapers and a crib, right!?!?!

Angie has started to feel the baby moving around, and for the first time, I find myself a little jealous. I felt her belly a couple nights ago, and I felt “some” movement, but I couldn’t tell if it was Tater, or just mom holding one in. It should just be a few weeks before I am able to start feeling things. After all, Tater is about 5.5 inches (that’s rump to crown). They say he (yes I’m going with “he for now) is about the size of a sweet potato. Guess that means that “Tater” is a good name… though I’m a little worried it will stick. Won’t be too bad if we have a little boy, but I’d hate to have a little girl called Tater.

Angie was reading last night about how the heart develops during the pregnancy, and I have to admit, it’s amazing. I learned two new facts though. The first is that the mother’s blood never mixes with the baby’s blood. They come pretty close, and the nutrients transfer, but the circulation systems are completely separate. The second is that the baby’s heart has a hole it in which keeps the blood from cycling through the lungs… that is until birth. During birth, the heart seals, and for the first time, blood flows through the baby’s lungs. It’s just amazing how much happens, and everything that must happen in perfect order.

Finally, Angie goes Saturday for some blood work. This is where we will find out about any detectible abnormalities. The doctor prepared us though, since the readings should come back higher than normal because Angie is 35. Am I allowed to say that on the Internet? It’s anonymous on here, isn’t it?

If you can’t get enough about babies and specifically their 18th week, try the link below:

Baby Center – 18 Weeks

Tater is getting much more active these days.  I have read so much about how it feels and that “it’s hard to distinguish from gas”.  So I have devised a method.  If I feel movement in the front below the belly button, it is deemed as being baby.  If it is anywhere else, it is considered “supporting systems”.  That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. 

I have really only started noticing it more in the last few days.  We went to visit Johnathan’s Maw over the weekend.  One night, we were sitting in bed reading, and I felt something.  I tried to be very still so I could really concentrate, but my ADD kicked in and all I could pay attention to was my own heart beating in my ears (have I told you that if I stare at a blank wall I can see my heartbeat in my eyes?…crazy). 

Monday, during small group, I noticed it right after I ate and got settled into a comfy recliner.  I think it’s really neat because I am very aware of this little baby while everyone around me is oblivious.  Way cool!  Later that night, when we got into bed, I told Johnathan that it was moving.  He immediately put his hand on my belly.  He couldn’t feel anything so he pressed hard on the left side.  Then, I could feel it moving on the right so he tried over there.  Then, I could feel it moving on the left.  (Tater isn’t even born yet and already knows who to avoid.)  Then, he decided to press really hard on my entire belly.  I thought he was going to mash the pee out of me.  He said he could feel “stuff” but he wasn’t sure if it was gas or what.  But it was in the front, below the belly button so we all know what that means.

This is a notice to the free world. . . at least to those that live in our area. . . Kylie now has her license!  Now, granted, it’s only a level 1 so she can’t have more than one passenger (I assume so she can’t take too many people down with her at a time), and she can’t drive after 11:00 pm.  So if you can minimize your road time to the hours between 11:00 pm and 6:00 am, you’ll increase your odds.  ;)  Of course, I’m kidding.  She does just well. . . as long as someone reads the signs for her.  ;)

But I just have to tell you the absurdity that is the DMV.  A couple of weeks ago, it came to my attention that her 6 months were up, and it was time to take her to get her license.  It seems to be a rather neat process.  You can go online and schedule an appointment.  They even show you what times are available for each testing station.  Because I was being proactive, there were plenty of time slots to choose from, so I picked one that was convenient and didn’t conflict with anything on my calendar.  1/23 at 3:30.  Perfect.  They even ask for a contact number in case they need to cancel or something. . . emphasis on “something”.  On the confirmation, they print the address (this will be important later), the time of your appointment and instructions that tell you to be there 15 minutes early.  You are considered late at 6 minutes past your appointment time. 

Everything was going well.  I left work early, picked her up at school and proceeded on to the DMV with plenty of time to spare.  We arrived at the testing station 10 minutes before our appointment (those that know me well will be impressed).  We were pleasantly surprised at the lack of cars in the parking lot (in hindsight, that should have been the first clue that something was amiss. . . emphasis on “something”).  With confirmation in hand, we walked to the door only to find a sign saying they had moved.  Brilliant.  A “pleasant” woman met us at the door and informed us they were having a meeting (whoever “they” were).  At least she was helpful enough to give us directions to the new address because I have yet to install high-speed internet service in my car, which leaves MapQuest to be of little assistance.  I raised my handy little confirmation and opened my mouth to express my extreme displeasure (surely they knew 2 weeks ago that they were moving!!), but resistance was futile, and time was wasting.  We frantically hopped back into the car, realizing that in less than 15 minutes we would be considered late for our appointment.  I referred to the helpful confirmation that I had printed from the internet. . . no phone number (keep in mind, they had mine. . . too much to ask, I guess).  Two calls to 411 finally got me the correct contact information.  The woman was short but nice and just told us to come on to the new office.  I mellowed a bit at that point. 

When we walked in the front door of the nice new facility, I saw a big waiting room to the right and people standing in line behind a sign that said “Please wait here for a number.”  (Yes, read it again if you need to.)  There was a line to get a number.  However, there was no sign telling you what to do if you had an appointment.  Kylie stood in line while I took a couple of minutes to get the attention of someone behind the counter.  I asked what I believed to be an appropriate question, “Where do we go if we have an appointment for a driving test?”  To my dismay, I was told to stand in line and, they would give me a number.  (One can only assume that’s why they tell you to be there 15 minutes early.)  Approximately 10 minutes later, Johnathan calls.  The conversation went something like this:

“What are you doing?”
“Standing in line for a number.”
 “Standing in line for a number?”
 “Yep.”
 “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
 “How long have you been waiting for a number?”
“About 10 minutes.”
 “Just to get a number?”
 “Yep.”
 “I thought you had an appointment.”
 “Yep.”
 “And you still have to stand in line for a number?”
“I am as amazed at the absurdity as you.”

At 4:50, we finally left with driver’s license in hand.  The good news is next time, she can drive herself.