Baby Registry

So, I thought I would only have to go through the nightmare of registering once in my life... for our wedding.  But, this baby registry thing is a new headache unto itself.  When I was registering for our wedding two years ago, I was sent into a downward spiral of self-doubt and insecurity that rivaled the life of Lindsey Lohan.

Thoughts of...

• "I don't know... do I need a creamer?"

• "Is my marriage going to end if I have a place setting of 8 instead of 10?"

• "What color egg strainer will make me a more understanding and caring wife?"

• "Will the Marquis or the Fluted flat wear best solve world hunger?"

But baby registry... "See you later, self-esteem!"  There is nothing out there to make you feel worse about your self confidence as a soon to be mother than the list of 140 "necessities" the stores suggest you  purchase when I don't understand what half of them are for....

Examples:
1.  Bath Support (Is my bathtub in danger of falling into an abyss?)
2.  Sleep Positioner ( Is this like an easel that displays a priceless painting?)
3.  Vaporizer (This sound like some Super Hero with a knack for turning things into gas)
4.  Bunting for cold weather (a.  bunting?   b.  cold weather... Texas?)
5.  Activity gym (Is there just a monthly membership I could sign up for?)
6.  Travel Play yard (  Yards make me think of animals... not babies)...  FYI.. just some fancy name for a play pen... hello..

Good think I had my dear sister to help me.  She took control of the "Registry Gun" (gun was definitely something that sounded interesting to me after that experience) and took care of business.  Now someone just has to show me how to use all this stuff.... :)

Cocoa butter

I always had this fear of stretch marks.  When I was in high school athletics, our genius coaches thought is was a brilliant idea to turn us into little Conan the Barbarians.  They pushed us so hard in the weight room so we would bulk up our muscles.  It's fabulous that for one year of "glory" you sacrifice a lifelong marriage to stretch marks.  So, stretch marks have been my constant nemesis these past 10 years. 

You can image my delight at the possibility of stretch marks creeping across my "equator"and the "hills of North America", not to mention the vast expanse of my enormous "southern plain".  My cousin gave me cocoa butter to help prevent the "mature marks of motherhood".  It has been a great way to moisturize and hopefully will help. There is a downside to this little tub of wonder.

BJ and I have many differences... probably why we are so well matched.  One of the greatest difference between us is his aversion to chocolate.  (I know... it's insane.. who in their right mind does not dream about chocolate at night.)  In case it is not obvious in the name, cocoa butter smells just like it sounds, like chocolate.  So there is nothing more appealing to my husband than me crawling into bed at night, slathered up with cocoa butter like a Christmas turkey.  It's probably as appealing as if he came to bed reeking of sausage and bologna. 

Not only that, but I'm all sticky.  I get my nightgown and the sheets all twisted up on my sticky body at night.  BJ will roll over and get his hand stuck like fly paper to my stomach.  I get out of bed and have all kinds of crazy lint and crumbs stuck to my body (don't ask about the crumbs).  If the beach ball in my stomach was not sexy enough, now I look like an old link brush and smell like last year's Easter Basket.  I'm dead sexy.

Give Me Your Babies

We had a youth event called Academy Awards and I was required to dress in costume.  In years past it has always been so much fun to dress up, either as my favorite celeb or in some off the wall costume.  However, this year, my costume box did not provide the necessary "room" for my ever expanding surface area.  I was challenged to think creatively.

So I dug deep into the vault of famous mothers we would all aspire to be, and I chose the most iconic of them all... that's right, Angelina Jolie.. the defender of the third world child.. adopter of the refugee.. She proves that any woman can adopt as many children as you want, in whatever color you want, from whatever far village you want.  Any woman can give birth to three children and still look like a waif who spends 20 hours a week in the gym.  All you need is a million dollar career, money to pay nannies, and a personal shopper and trainer.  Any woman... right.

Angelina... you poster woman for United Colors of Benetton.  What would People Magazine do with you?  Thank you for your contributions to the world and to TMZ.  (check out the girl's face behind me... she is definitely not impressed)

The Myth Called Tylenol

So one thing that really has my mind boggled is the dos and don'ts of medication.  It is like a list of super villians who are waiting to attack Metropolis or Gotham City or whatever cool super hero town is out there.  And I am Prescript-o-tron who is the gate keeper of the city. 

On our first visit, I was handed a list of "Safe" medication.  That's cool... the list was four lines long.  Then, I was handed the "Unsafe" medication list.. did I say list?  I meant to say novel.  This "unsafe" novel of medication included everything that makes me really happy, for example, Advil PM (love it), and Aleve (can't live without it).

So the only friend I am really left with is the ugly stepchild, Tylenol.  Tylenol must be the joke of all the other pain medications.  All the medication is having a party, and Tylenol walks in and eveyone groans.  "Why did you have to invite him?" they all mutter.  And poor Tylenol PM has to defend himself by saying, "He's a distant cousin on my mom side.  I had to invite him."

Tylenol is like putting a bandaid on a broken femur.  It's like sucking on a tick tak for Thanksgiving dinner... "No, guys, I am full... really."  So, here's to you, Tylenol, the mild mannered cousin of "real" pain medication.  I am glad you have a special place in history.

Baby Movement

Something that I am learning is that everyone who has ever given birth wants to encourage and share their own person experiences with pregnancy. This is a very sweet and thoughtful way for older women to encourage younger women. There is one downside, however. For those of us from the Land of Anxiety, we compare each person's experience with our own... and we fret... and fret... and fret.

Starting at 16 weeks, every one kept asking, "Have you felt the baby move yet?" Now, as a new preggie, I had no idea what it would feel like to have a baby "move". Some said is was anywhere from the feelings of fluttering butterflies in your stomach, to popcorn popping, to gas bubbles. Really? That is the best explaination?

First issue: Have your ever swallowed a handful of butterflies? Not really sure what butterflies would be doing in my stomach, much less what they would feel like.
Second issue: One word... popcorn? Really. (I'm not saying any more about this one)
Third issue: Gas bubbles... humm.. well, how am I supposed to know if I am feeling Fire Baby, or I just ate too many Chipotle burritos?

Come on people... give the sister a little better description.

A week ago, I was afraid I was not feeling the baby move and that something was wrong. Two nights ago, I felt Fire Baby tap dancing and was afraid something was wrong. Maybe once the baby is born I won't have any more ridiculous fears (insert laughter here)

Fire Baby Has a Head!!

Glory, Glory Hallelujah.. our Fire Baby has a head.. and two arms.. and two legs!!  What a relief.  We even found out that the little tadpole has an upper lip.  Who would have thought they would check for an upper lip, but they do?  I guess that is super important for activities like eating, whistling, growing a sketchy mustache, applying a lipstick shade you thought was red in the store but is really balancing on the fine line to orange.



I learned a few other things after going to the ultrasound appointment:


1.  BJ and I seem to be an anomaly of nature.  Our desire to be surprised by the sex of our baby seems to boggle the minds of this techno-savy; instant gratification world.  Bring on the dark ages of ignorance!!

2.  My baby looks like an alien right now... I'm cool with that... as long as it has 2 arms, 2 legs, and a head (be it an alien head), I am happy.  I love the color green anyway!!  Also, less money to spend on future Halloween costumes.

3.  I think we have a rebelliously spirited offspring.  Even in utero, Fire Baby was throwing a right and left jab, not to mention that BJ thought it was flipping us off.  (fast forward to teenage year... Lord help us).

All in all, I praise the Lord for a healthy checkup and for having a husband who can handle the reigns as I fly off into the sky of anxiety like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade Balloon. 

Cute Fetus Names

One thing I have always been told about pregnancy is that you should name the little fetus while in the womb.  Now I have heard a wide array of names:  peanut, kumquat, bean, tadpole, lizard... so cute and precious.  People choose names that evoke a sense of the cute, precious, delicate, sweet.

Not in out house.  Who names their fetus after the side effects listed in a Saturday Night Live birth control sketch?  Only those with a crazy crush on the comic genius of Tina Fey.  What is our cute fetus name?...  "Fire Baby"!!  That's right.. I've got a little fire baby growing inside me. 

Some people may disagree, but I think it's a perfectly ideal name.  I have never given birth before (obviously), but I think "Fire Baby" will be aptly named once the "volcano" errupts in "South America".

http://www.hulu.com/watch/10234/saturday-night-live-annuale