27 weeks pregnant, almost 28! Captain and I just got back from our modified babymoon. Before we were trying to make a baby we had a trip planned to Puerto Rico. Then Baby Bop appeared and the trip seemed even more well timed.
That’s right, we’re calling Blurry Blob ‘Baby Bop’ now. My nickname in college was Bopple because I bop around when I walk. When Captain heard this, he pointed at my belly and told me,
“That’s Baby Bop!”
So she is. I tell some friends. One offers,
You know Baby Bop is a character on Barney.”
Huh. I offer this information to Captain, along with a Baby Bop Barney dance video that a friend was kind enough to send along. I figure that’s the end of this name. Captain watches the video and declares,
So Bop she still is.
Then along came the Zika virus. I’m not sure about the current state of Baby Bop’s brain, but the virus is not nice to fetuses. We cancel our trip to Puerto Rico. I really want to go somewhere. I’ll go visit my friend in San Diego. This is a brilliant idea.
Then it turns out that there’s a person in San Diego who once met a mosquito with Zika. Captain and my mom veto San Diego. I want to go somewhere warm and Captain prefers to be near a major city with a hospital, even though I’m pretty sure Baby Bop has no intention of coming early and is trying to steal my July birthday.
We head to Vegas. I can enjoy Cirque du Soleil, Captain can enjoy operating an excavator and we can both enjoy a king size bed.
This is a photo of Captain in the excavator in case you’re wondering what the heck I’m talking about:
This is a photo of a king size bed and hopefully not my future. Although I would love a king size bed:
Captain and I get in line to board the plane to Vegas. As we near the ticket counter, they announce,
“The overhead compartments are full. All carry-on bags that do not fit under the seat will be checked to your final destination.”
Shoot. I really dislike checking my bag. It’s gone missing more than once. I drop to the floor to remove essentials. I grab my rolled up security blanket. Everything else is replaceable.
The lady behind me commends my move. She tells me,
“Good job rescuing that wine. I wouldn’t trust it in my checked bag, plus you don’t want to lose it.”
I smile at her. I have no idea what she’s talking about. She continues,
“You know they make special bubble wrap bags for wine bottles? That’s what I use when I travel with wine.”
Ah. She thinks my security blanket is padding a bottle of wine and that I’ve got quite the wine gut to go with it. She keeps talking,
“Now you’ll be able to drink it on the plane.”
Am I going to have to reveal Blankety’s true identity?
All our bags, Blankety, Baby Bop, Captain and I arrive in Vegas. Half-dressed women are everywhere. I’m ready for this. Four years ago, while observing a friend shop for maternity clothes, I tried on a 6-month, strap-on belly.
I was going to say I was helping my friend, but I was not helpful. I learned then that I have zero idea how nursing bras work. I was encouraging her to pull her boob out the side. WRONG.
So four years ago, I tried on the strap-on belly and I was so impressed with how well my dress still fit, that I swore someday I will wear this leopard print dress when I’m pregnant. And so I did.
The truth about strap-on bellies is that they don’t also come with strap-on: thighs, butt and back bitts.