Baby #3 for the win? TBD

If all goes well, we’ll see what happens, you never know, chances are, God willing, if we luck out, if the stars align, I don’t want to count my chicky before she hatches, BUT I’m 20 weeks pregnant!

I can’t believe I’m halfway through. Between this pregnancy and the last one I feel like I’ve been in some sort of first trimester purgatory.

I’m due early October. Twenty more weeks to go. A whole summer of being pregnant. I’m feeling hot thinking about it. Not sexy hot. Sweat dripping down my enormous belly and settling in my crotch hot.

Or not since the sweat will be absorbed by the full length compression tights I’ve started wearing. These are $50 pantyhose that I got a prescription for. That’s how sexy they are. Not just anybody can get their hands on these.

When Captain saw me in them he said,

“Straight out of a J.C. Penney catalog!”

I think he meant it as a compliment.

My varicose veins are popping. And mostly it’s an aesthetic issue, but by the end of the day they are achy, throbby and uncomfortable. If I wear the tights, they’re not, but then I get to be uncomfortable in a bunch of other ways. So so far it’s a real toss up.

My main complaint is that the compression tights are so strong that they squish everything up and then the compression stops right below my butt/crotch and everything spills over the top.

There never used to be a line of demarcation on my leg. My thighs increased in width until they somewhat smoothly met up with my butt. That is no longer the case.

I called the pharmacist back and asked about compression all the way up. That’s not a thing. I tried adding some maternity spanx on top of my pantyhose. Not only was it not strong enough to contain the thigh spillage, the number of layers was getting ridiculous.

Yes of course I would accept a million varicose veins and 10 months of being pregnant in the summer if I can get my hands on a healthy baby, but I sure as heck am not about to do it quietly. Or at least not anymore.

the-best-funny-pictures-Dogs-in-Pantyhose-1the-best-funny-pictures-Dogs-in-Pantyhose-2

 

Advertisements

Gender reveal!

20 weeks pregnant. I’m halfway! I have a feeling the second half is going to be better than the first. I don’t have anything to base this on aside from the fact that I don’t feel nauseous anymore and I can talk about tomatoes.

I have ZERO desire to eat tomatoes, but I can cut one up and put it on a sandwich for Captain without feeling like I’m going to die.

We went for our 20 week ultrasound. Our ultrasound technician had a running monologue the entire time we were in the exam room. We walk in and she asks,

“Do you want to know everything?”

“We want to know as much as you can tell us.”

The technician picks up the ultrasound wand,

“Oh this is a little sticky, I’m going to clean it again. How do you feel about Lysol? It’s lemon fresh.”

There’s a big ol’ squirt of warm gel on my belly and we’re off.

Side note, I just googled “ultrasound gel” to see if there’s a better term and found a message board inquiry:

“Can ultrasound gel be used as a sexual lubricant?”

“Yes, but it’s expensive. Is this an emergency?”

There was no reply, so we’ll never know.

Back to my ultrasound. Our technician snaps photos of the Blurry Blob’s brain, heart, stomach, bladder, kidneys, arms, legs, fingers, toes, lips, nose. She says,

“Baby, we still need to get your spine. I need you to cooperate.”

Is the Blurry Blob cooperating? The technician tries to get her shot, she says,

“Your baby just head butted me. That’s a good sign.”

“A good sign?” I don’t want head butts to be our standard form of communication.

“Yes, your baby is very responsive. Can you send a telepathic message to your baby to hold still so I can get this shot?”

So now the Blurry Blob has two forms of communication: head butts and telepathy. It also feels like somersaults might mean something. The technician asks,

“Have you been singing to the baby?”

Captain pipes up,

“She’s been singing and playing the piano.” Despite the fact that I’m tone deaf and my singing could be considered a form of torture. The technician declares,

“The baby will be a musician.”

That or the Blurry Blob will come out and ask me to please never sing again.

The technician examines all the measurements,

“You’ve got a big healthy baby, measuring 4 ounces above average. Could be because both of you are big.”

She squirts more goop on my belly and asks,

“So you want to know the gender?”

“Yes!”

“You want me to just say it?”

“Just say it.”

“It’s a girl!”

After a moment of excitement, Captain and I turn back to the screen. I say,

“How do you know? I can’t tell.”

The technician moves her pointer around the screen,

“There’s the coin slot.”

Ah yes. She continues,

“That’s what you’ll be wiping. Do you see it? She’s got her legs spread wide open.”

pregnant what are you having

baby shower cake

Best worst baby shower cake EVER.