The Newest Member of the Hair Club for Men...

...is not my right breast.

I think it is important to clear that up. My right breast is not the newest member of the Hair Club for Men.

You are familiar with the club? The whole, "Oh, I was balding and thus greatly unloved, but then I joined the Hair Club for Men, and now I have a comb-over and all these young ladies in bikinis are swimming in this pool with me and also I have a Ferrari. Not only am I a member of the Hair Club for Men, I'm the president."

But. About righty. People are always getting confused about her status with the Hair Club for Men, because I have a real Hair Club for Men-type situation here. Involving my bosom.

My less-than-ample bosom.

Now I know that right now you are all grabbing for your tissues and getting ready to cry on my poor, pathetic, flat chested behalf. Please do not fret. I am a proud card carrying member of the Tiny Titty Committee, and have been since...well, puberty.

I'm not only a member of the TTC*, I'm the president.
If you're finding this whole comparison to be quite the stretch, you are so totally right...

But anyway, I'm kind of a fan of my little ladies. I mean, it's nothing that Victoria can't help with her Secrets, right? I find them to be cute.

Well. I found them to be cute. Until this morning I noticed that there was complete ANARCHY happening on old righty.

Being the president of the TTC, I realized that pregnancy would not make me into a brunette Pamela Anderson (or, Pamela Anderson without a bottle of peroxide and Hep C). I did not expect to be mistaken for the St. Pauli Girl. And so far, I've been completely correct.

The ladies have grown - in fact, they have long since outgrown their holster. But they really are nothing to write home about, and they are still rather small. However, righty seems to have grown enough to have developed some STRETCH MARKS.

Bah! I am prepared for belly stretch marks, since my mom has described her pregnancy marks in a way that makes me think that some sort of wild beast was trying to claw its way out. (That wild beast would be me. You're welcome, mom.) But boob stretch marks? On just one? What.the.devil?

I suspect the under-the-shirt anarchy will continue, since my belly skin has been feeling like my face after a terrible sunburn: tight and itchy.

I should go buy a Ferrari.


*1,000,000 bonus points for everyone who wondered why I was talking about Trying to Conceive, and had to figure out that I was talking about the Tiny Titty Committee.

Goodbye Second Tri

Hello third trimester, you sexy thang! Why don't you slip into something a little more comfortable? A t-shirt from the Big 'n Tall store, perhaps? Let me get you 5 oreos and a chilled glass of skim. We have much to celebrate.

So many things to say, yet so many accounting papers to write. Big events: 27 weeks, 16 pounds, finally purchased maternity jeans.

I think I may be giving off the misconception that I am completely uncomfortable. I am not. I am slightly uncomfortable, but really enjoying myself (mostly)(ish). The whole kicking thing is more of a distraction than anything else - like this: Wait, what were you saying? I wasn't listening because THERE IS A PERSON MOVING IN MY STOMACH.

This weekend, I spent my time like this:
9 hours: writing papers for school OH MY GOD.
5 hours: designing our baby announcements OH MY GOD.
2 hours: rearranging the baby's closet OH MY GOD.
1 hour: crying about stupid things OH MY GOD.
20 hours: sleeping.
Remainder: eating.

I fear that the end of school in two weeks will only serve to redistribute my time between sleeping, thinking about the baby, worrying about the baby, and eating.

Things that have made me cry or seriously want to cry this week:
- Walking into Target and seeing all the Christmas decorations. (Because Christmas is fun and I loooove it.)

- Seeing "Community Caroling" on the Community Event board on my way to work. (How cute is that? Need figgy pudding recipe ASAP, just in case.)

- Having the dog lay across the top of my belly. (Awe, he loves her already!)

- Reading that the baby hiccups. (OH MY GOD.)

- More things that make me sound stupid, and maybe I should just delete this list altogether??

27 weeks?! 13 more weeks to go?! I would post belly pics, but who has time, what with all the diaper packages needing restacked, and the closets needing rearranged, and the baby still needing a pediatrician and some daycare...and some other stuff...I don't know, but did you feel that? Was that an earthquake, or my child getting comfortable?

Cheers! From my uterus!

Ready? OK!

*clap*

My name is Cupcake.
*clap clap*
And I'm unborn.
*clap clap*
I step on mom's intestine.
*clap clap*
So she farts like a bullhorn!

*back handspring*

We've got Punches
Yes we do!
We've got Punches
How bout Youuuu?!

*clap clap clap*

1,2,3,4
Does this uterus have a door?
I don't know!
I'm not sure!
Let me try to claw my way out
Just a little bit more!

*clap clap clap*

*toetouch*

Gimme An O!
Gimme A R!
Gimme A E!
Gimme an O!
What's that spell?
HEARTBURN!

*clap clap clap*

*herkie*

1! I am your fetus,
2! You haven't met me,
3! I will eventually poop on you,
4! More, more, more!

Aaaaaaaaaaannnnddd...

Jazz hands!

25 Weeks: Our daughter is a total kick tease.

When we went to the Bahamas on our honeymoon, we went snorkeling. We were amazed by the ability of the fish to sense our movements when we reached out to touch them. They'd be right by our hand, but as soon as we reached a little further, they moved just the tiniest bit further so that it was impossible for us to actually touch them.

Total fish tease.

The baby does this to us - mostly to Mark. She will be kicking all day long, and as soon as he puts his hand on my belly, she is dead asleep. Until he takes it off, then she's back at it. I'm afraid that she's not much of a crowd pleaser. People are randomly rubbing my belly expecting a friendly kick, and Cupake flips them off and floats away to tromp on my bladder or possibly on my butt hole (seriously...I feel like she is walking. On my butt hole).

Total kick tease.

Tomorrow starts my last week of the second trimester, and I definitely admit that I'm starting the feel the whole "Oh Shiz, Am Unprepared" anxiety. I think I'm ahead of the curve on the shopping front. Not so much on the being an organized adult front. No idea about pediatrician, birthing classes, middle name, daycare, etc. For the most part, these things don't bother me. Until the middle of the night, when they are all I can think about.

Speaking of middle of the night - nights are super fun around here. You know, since I have been getting super nauseous followed by RAGING HELL FIRE heartburn. The only relief is to sleep sitting up. And if you think that sounds sexy? You'd be right.

Pregnancy is fun during the day, and a pain in the esophagus at night.

24 Weeks: Stretching this Ann Taylor Loft shirt to the max. Perhaps I should just wear my maternity clothes?


25 Weeks: According to my professor, I'm "as big as a house." But he has stinky breath. So I think I win.

Anatomy of An Advertisement

Or: Perhaps I Need A Hobby.

Don't you ever wonder who the people are that sit around and think of ways to mold our feeble minds into purchasing crap we don't want or need? And furthermore, how much do they get paid? AND furthermore still...are they hiring?

I thought it couldn't possibly get worse after the Viagra commercial where all these men are sitting in a shed or garage or some other sort of manly shanty, probably with a "No Girls Allowed" sign hanging crookedly on the makeshift door. And they are all playing instruments in some sort of derranged stiffy jam-session celebration. And really, does it make you wonder why they can't get a boner? What message are they really trying to send? That their product will really help you play your instrument while hanging out with all your man friends?

Now there is a commercial for some type of erection pill, not sure if it's Viagra or Cialis or something else, but it always confuses me. It ends with a couple on a beach at sunset, atop a BIG WOODEN PLATFORM, sitting in separate old-fashioned bathtubs. Why? Why are they sitting in bathtubs on the beach atop a BIG WOODEN PLATFORM?! I suppose I get the BIG WOODEN PLATFORM reference. But to me, it seems like they might want to sit in the same bathtub? You know, for logistic purposes?

So. Yes. I way over think ads, especially male enhancement ads.

I got a Target Baby Registry book yesterday, and it started out with this ad:




I suppose I could have just taken it at face value. But I couldn't get past the look on the guy's face. It's like, "Look, you're crazy if you think we're buying one more piece of clothing for this baby. I mean, I need the extra cash for Gap sweaters and snappy leather accessories. And I've really been needing some large aviator shades."



I can't help but imagine that the woman is smiling through her irritation, making good for the camera but actually saying, "Listen, you condescending prick, I have to push a watermelon through my vagina and thus will do/buy/eat what I want and if you have a problem with it, then you should promptly expect a dutch oven while you sleep tonight and I am TOTALLY NOT KIDDING."

24 Weeks...you know, last week.

Gah!
Gaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Not too much happened last week pregnancy-wise, mostly because I was so busy that I managed to ignore the whole expanding waist thing in order to...survive? Yeah. Three more weeks of school, then finals, then done with school forever and ever amen.

Mark did get to feel the baby last week. She gave him one kick and then said that she was done performing and please go away. Oh, but does she kick all the time! I can see it, and I find myself strangely inclined to speak with her when it happens - hello baby! Good morning, baby! Let's eat, baby! But instead of baby, I call her by her real name.

(I haven't decided if I want to tell the internets about her name, because my head would probably get all explod-y if there were any negative comments about it.)

We also got our registries going at Target and Babies R Us. Registering kind of stresses me out, probably unnecessarily. I am overwhelmed by all things feeding, and instead of wanting to research the options I find that I just want to take a nap and maybe just get a bite to eat, since someone brought up feeding. Feel free to leave your advice on how to prepare for breastfeeding followed by mad back-to-work pumping at around 9 weeks. I need all the help I can get.

I am starting to get really worried that I am going to make our daughter into the same flavor of weirdo as me. I may be outing myself as the last person in the world who remembers when Tom Green was funny, but the other day while Mark was washing a pan, I couldn't help but to rub my butt on his butt and sing, "My bum is on your bum, my bum is on your bum, look at me! My bum is on your bum!"

(I may need to start acting more...normal...when the baby comes.)

(More accurately, my bum was on his upper thigh because he is way taller, but upper thigh just didn't fit well in the song.)

Another Reason to Marry Target

As if there weren't enough reasons already?

Today, I went to vote. I only had to wait about a half hour to rock my vote, which was long enough for the RAGING HELL FIRE HEARTBURN that plagued me all night last night to return in full force.

I went to Target to get my free I Voted Give Me Free Stuff coffee from Starbucks, but ended up with a Peppermint Twist Mocha, because yum. Then I went off in search of something potent enough to tame the RAGING HELL FIRE.

The Target pharmacist must have sensed my Rapunzel-like distress, because she came from behind the counter and asked me if I needed help.

Me: Well, I can't remember what I can take for heartburn, other than Tums, since I'm pregnant.

She: *looks at belly* hmmm...well, let me look. You're not too pregnant yet, right?

Me: 6 months today, actually.

She: REALLY?! You don't look it - my goodness!

Now, given my experiences with the general public lately, you can certainly understand my reaction: a ridiculous Ally McBeal-like fantasy, in which I totally make out with this pharmacist in the bathroom, and everyone breaks out into song and dance and then I snap out of it and the pharmacist is looking at me like I am a flaming moron. Then a weird baby starts dancing around...

Me: Wow, thanks!

She: I remember how bad my heartburn was. Every time I bent over it would start, and then the only thing that would help me were these Tums Smoothies. Want to give these a try?

Me: Ok. Thank you so much!
(And I love you, and Target, and if I could figure out a way to marry you both, we could all be happy forever and ever with unlimited Tums Smoothies and as many of those Choxie treats as we want.)


Speaking of babies dancing around: Holy Kicks and Punches, Batman! A couple nights ago, I was trying to watch a movie, but was instead preoccupied with watching my belly move around and jiggle with each kick and punch. It was crazy!

I think the baby likes me better, because every time I try to call Mark over to feel her, she completely stops. Like, one second she is Tae-Bo-ing, and the next she is taking a little snooze. He has yet to feel her and I'm quite certain he thinks I am making it all up.