Pregnancy Journal #2

Greetings, sweet readers.  Per the usual, I have many thoughts.  Last night as I was word-vomitting to Danz (typical), I stopped and said, "You do know that I just need to hear myself say this."  His response: "Yeah, I figured that out about 10 minutes ago."  Lolz.  I just gotz lotz of thoughtz in my head and they ALL need to be said or written. So without further adieu, here are some of the latest  capers of baby scallion.

Daycare.  Let's just go here first.  People, BUCKETS of tears have already been shed about this one.  Completely serious.  Most would think the financial piece of daycare would frighten me (which, by the way, HOLY COW, how can something so small cost so much!!?!?  Talk about sticker shock...).  But it's not the price that bothers me so much.  I'm just already so dang attached to the little scallion swimming inside me and head-banging after I eat sweets.  And the idea that someone else will get to hang out with the little stinker 8 hours a day is killing me.  Mommas of littles in daycare, I completely welcome any encouragement you could offer.  You guys, it's gotten so bad this week that I actually texted Daniel on Tuesday and requested that he swing home in the afternoon because I was such a hot mess.  Full disclosure - I have yet to vomit as a result of this pregnancy, but I actually threw up on Tuesday thinking about daycare.  I got it bad for this little person inside me.  Who knew I could love someone so much without even knowing if it'll have the petname "sis" or "buddy"? 

Shin splints.  I'm not a runner.  I tried once several years ago and it was okay.  But my gangly body, I'm convinced, is just not built to run.  It's built to be graceful and dainty (hahahahahahahaha, nope).  Instead I prefer to walk.  Plus, then I can actually carry on a conversation with someone or hear myself think instead wheezing the whole time.  My co-teacher bestie, Courtney, and I have been walking a few times a week after school.  And I have developed shin-splints.  Those closest to me don't believe me and even laugh (how cruel, right!?), but I swear to you it's true.  Maybe my body just isn't accustomed to carrying extra weight or maybe I'm waddling when I'm walking.  But whatever it is, it's weird.  And painful.  And hilarious.  The only other time I've experienced pain like this is when I ran long-distance in 8th grade (cue uproarious laughter).  So I had my mom write a note to my track coach explaining that I could no longer compete in the 2 mile.  So cute, I know.

Registering.  Pregnant mommas, this it the only piece of unsolicited advice I will give you.  Take a seasoned momma with you to register.  Otherwise I promise you will implode.  We are thankful to have a momma of twins in our midst (holla sis-in-law Tammy!), so we coerced her into joining us.  And I just made her make all my decisions.  I quite literally would have burst into tears in every aisle.  Especially the bottles.  Um, excuse me, but is it really necessary to have 85,000 types of nipples?  Perhaps, but to this emotional and extremely hormonal prego, it was just stress-inducing.  Our first stop (Baby's R Us) was hilarious and actually enjoyable, but by the time we got to Target, my eyes had glazed over and I just made Danz and Tammy make all the decisions.  I was done and overwhelmed.  But it's done.  And I think we did a bang-up job. 

Nesting.  Not really happening yet.  I've looked at the closets in the nursery three times already with the full intention that I will clean them out and get them ready.  I stare for about 3 minutes then decide that I still have time, so I close the door and walk away.  The nursery is painted (have I told you that my parents and I actually painted it last summer in hopes that baby scallion might make its presence known sometime this school year?  Well, we did.  #typeA) and I'm in the middle of making valances, ordering black-out blinds, and prepping for carpet.  But other than that, the nesting has yet to officially begin. 

Belly-rubbing. Those of you who follow me on facebook might remember a post from a few months ago:  "I experienced my first unauthorized belly-touching today. Not only did I flinch at the awkwardness and suddenness of the pat, but I also yelped a little. Pregnant women, unite!"  I've identified why it bothered me so much.  While it was sweet that the Mexican exchange student just wanted to touch baby blueberry, she was quite literally just touching my stomach.  The babe was extremely low at that time, and there was no way I was going to say, "Oh sweet student, the baby is lower!  Just move your hand about 8 inches down."  #awkward  But now that the bump is finally visible (holla tall pregos who don't show until week 23, I get you) I love it when people touch it.  Within reason.  I'm sure my first stranger-danger touch will make me bust out my two Taekwondo moves, but I love it when friends and family get all up in my bidness.  Especially girlies who have never been pregnant.  They're the best.  Their eyes get all sparkly when I point out the head and the legs and the bum.  So fun.  So if I see you, I give you full permission to wax on.

Prayer.  I'll end on a more serious note.  My current prayer for baby scallion is that (s)he'll be a leader and not a follower.  That (s)he'll know from an early age that mops and pops love him/her but that Jesus loves him/her even more.  That (s)he'll be more concerned with honoring Jesus than pleasing others.  That (s)he'll use his/her influence to change the world.  And that (s)he'll have a killer head of hair and not need braces.  It's the little things.  

#14moreweeks