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If you saw the Today Show yesterday or any major news network, you probably heard stories about the record breaking flooding in Rhode Island. Towns across the state are under water. Roads and schools are closed, houses are evacuated, belongings are floating in basements.
It’s bad. One local river is supposed to reach 20 feet above flood stage by the time all is said and done. TWENTY FEET.
We live on a river, and woke up this morning to find the river in our yard. Most of our yard.
(The water is about halfway up this gate, and comes up to about my mid thigh. IN our yard.)
A quick look confirmed what we expected…our basement was flooded. Fun! Since this has never happened to our house before, we weren’t prepared and did not have a pump. Unfortunately, you couldn’t find or buy a pump in the state to save your life today. After a little bit of panic, we figured out some people we could call to beg, beg, beg for theirs, and luckily, they came through.
Hours and hours of pumping later…it’s still filling up. We’re fortunate to not be in the part of the state that’s under evacuation, but it’s sure not pretty.
We’ve become something of a neighborhood side show, as people have literally been parking in front of our house to see what it looks like to have a river run through your yard. We’ve even had people ask if they can take pictures!
All and all, a major pain. Kodiak agrees — he does not like having half a yard.
Awhile back, armed with my friend who is also a new mom, I ventured into Babies ‘stupid backwards letter’ Us to create my registry. I wasn’t looking forward to the experience at all. Not even a little. Unlike registering for my wedding, which seemed exciting and fun (“Oooh I like this color Kitchenaid mixer! And these sheets! And blah, blah, blah””), the task of registering for a wee little baby seemed nothing but daunting because it was more Need instead of Want this time around.
I knew the basic needs, but what about all the other crap. Did I need, for example, a swing AND a bouncy seat? The answer is probably no. But what about the advice of all those moms warning that their baby loved the swing but hated the bouncy (or vice versa), and so it was good to have both on hand for trial and error. After all, they said, you can always return one. Just save the box.
Sure, our parents probably didn’t have all this stuff when they were raising us, and we turned out just fine, but if these products are available now and make life a little easier, maybe it’s worth it?
I registered for both. And the car seat, the stroller, the bassinet, the Baby Bjorn, and a handful of other foreign objects that I have never once used, but will probably become well-versed in soon. And then I went home and looked at it all online, reading customer reviews and adding or removing things I previously registered for based on what people had to say.
The registry still stresses me out. Mostly because I picture our already small house swimming in a sea of “essential” baby items and getting smaller every day. Tonight, Michael and I purchased our crib — something I consider to be an actual essential — and while we were there, I showed him some of the stuff I registered for. I know he would have been pulling his hair out had he come along for the actual registering, but he was really great tonight offering opinions and helping me sort through some of the items that have been nagging at me for a while. The “we don’t really need this” items. And after the removal of some things (the Pack and Play, specifically. A monstrosity that is big enough for Kodiak to sleep in.), and the discovery of a new bassinet that I feel good about, I left the store feeling a little less stressed.
I realized that we don’t need all the Stuff. We’ll still have a lot of it when all is said and done, but at least it’s more streamlined than it was. And in the end, as long as he’s fed, clothed, has a place to sleep and is in clean diapers, our little boy is going to be just fine.
More than fine.
I was a total slacker and forgot to take an official belly shot last week, so Belly Friday will have multiple pics next week. At least it will be cool to see progression. (Sorry to lovely reader MB, who checks in every Friday just for those pictures!)
So, the head cold. It’s a LOT better. It peaked Wednesday evening and by this morning it’s not more than a runny nose with some intermediate stuffiness. I still don’t feel 100%, but it’s definitely on the up and up.
While I was searching for sinus relief, a lot of people suggested using a neti pot — a small pot used to irrigate your nasal passages with a salt water solution. My mom, especially, has been suggesting I try one for years. She’s a firm believer in them, yet I’ve resisted.
I don’t know why I’m so weirded out by the neti pot. Well, no, that’s not true. I do know why. It just seems WEIRD. I get the point of it and logically, it probably does exactly what it’s supposed to do. However, in order to make it work, you have to do this:
We’ve all seen people doing stupid human tricks like running a piece of string up one nostril and out the other, and although it’s natural that the body is made that way, it always skeeved me out. This is no exception. And yes, I know I’m going to be pushing a human being out of my nether regions and there’s way more going on with that than with a neti pot, but STILL. What can I say, I’m weird!
I’m kind of a believer that things don’t belong up your nose. Your fingers (unless you’re alone and they’re clean, because sometimes, you just need a pick. No judgement here.), drugs…neti pots. It’s kind of an exit only area, if you ask me. I was even grossed out using the saline solution this week.
I’ve asked around and the general conscious is that until you get used to it, the salt runs down your throat and it’s kind of like getting water up your nose in the pool. And you have to do it often to have a noticable effect. Which means lots of neti potting. Meh.
I passed on the neti pot this time around. Maybe if this cold was still raging I would revisit the idea of it, but for the time being, I’ll stick with my tissues.
Another week gone by. Week 25 comes to a close by shaking its jazz hands obnoxiously in your face. Well, my face, specifically, in the form of a big, fat head cold. A head cold that is sitting directly on my eyes and nose. In fact, I feel like my big belly is crushing my face. Yes, that’s what I feel like. I’m not usually a complainer when it comes to being sick, but I swear, right now you would think I had a Man Cold the way I’m going on and on about it. I just feel crappy, crap, crapster, and since I’m still trying to remain drug-free during this pregnancy, spritzing saline solution up my nose is proving to do nothing more than make me gag on salt water running down my throat. Hopefully the cold will pass soon, and in the meantime, I will fantasize about a Nyquil-induced sleep and contemplate finally using that weird Neti pot. (More on that tomorrow.)
Weight. According to my bathroom scale, 19 pounds in total, including another seven pound weight gain this month. I’ll have the official weigh-in tomorrow at my doctor’s, but my scale as proven to be pretty accurate. I’m still taken aback when I see the numbers rise, but my mentality about it has shifted a bit. I’m a bit more comfortable each time I see a new number and can pretty much just shrug and think, well, he’s growing!
Sleep. Sleep? What sleep? I’m up at least twice a night now to use the bathroom and since rolling over now includes sort of a hurling motion, sleep is no longer and solid stretch of time. Especially with this head cold. I mean, uggggggggghhhhI can’t breathe, complain, complain, complain. I’m writing this post at 6:34 a.m. after lying awake in bed since 5, so that should tell you something. The silver lining to not sleeping is that I wake up to This Little Baby putting on a tap dance, and get to spend some time just lying there and feeling him. If he stays true to his nighttime routine when he’s outside the belly, he’s going to be up and ready to party at around both 1 and 4 a.m. Mamma hasn’t partied at 4 a.m. in quite a long time, but I’ll gladly put on my party shoes for him.
Movement. Speaking of tap dances, TLB is trying to rival Fred Astaire. He is active most of the day, except if I’m in the car. Maybe this means he’ll be a good car sleeper. Many people have spent time with their hands on the belly feeling him kick, and my sister spent a good amount of time yesterday just watching my stomach bounce. It’s pretty cool in an alien sort of way. He’s very still during my yoga class until the very end, when we lay perfectly still on our sides. That’ s when he wakes up and is all, “Hiiiii, Mom!!!” He also really likes it when we “om”, which means he must be a zen baby, right?
Yesterday, I was lying in bed when all of the sudden he spazed. It felt like what I imagine a flying squirrel taking flight looks like. Kind of a BAM! All limbs out! sort of feeling, pummeling me all over at once.
Am having baby, not squirrel. I think.
It made me gasp, then laugh and pull Michael’s arm around me, where he spent the next half hour just lying there feeling his son kick. The belly is cute and all, but nothing compares to feeling him move. Nothing.
Body. I haven’t really noticed any changes in what I think are stretch marks, and I’ll take it. (She says, clearly jinxing herself.) What I have noticed is the creepy one-sided belly button protrusion is continuing. I don’t know when it’s going to happen, but the right side is definitely about to pop out and say hello to the world. I mean, I can’t blame it, really. It’s been in seclusion for 27 years. I’d want to say, “Hello, World!” too.
I’m becoming more clumsy, as my center of balance has significantly changed, as well as my depth perception. I’m constantly bumping into things — and people — with my stomach. The other night I impaled myself on the corner of a pizza box while taking it into the kitchen. I bumped it into the banister and it bounced off and stabbed me in the gut. A quick Google search confirmed that no, you cannot dent your baby’s head with the corner of a pizza box while it’s in utero, stupid. (I’m pretty sure at least 11 of those 19 pounds are purely pizza and I will be disappointed this summer when I learn that I actually delivered a medium cheese pie and not, in fact, a baby.)
I’m providing Michael with endless amusement, at least, as I propel myself forward off the couch with a grunt, or need help getting up from a low sitting position. So, at least there’s that.
I can’t believe there’s only two weeks left until the third trimester, which means just over three months until we meet this little person. I really can’t wait.
Shoes still visible, only slight less so.
I vacuumed the dog. Not on purpose. By accident. He was being stubborn and didn’t want to move so I was gently getting closer and closer to him with the rug attachment in an effort to annoy him enough to move.
Except, I got too close with the beater bar and he has really long belly hair and all of the sudden….YEEEEEELP!!!!!!
I sucked up his belly in the vacuum. It all happened so fast. He jumped up, I instinctively yanked the vacuum off of him, then shut it off, and he went to cower behind Michael. Then proceeded to bark at the thing that attacked him. I felt horrible. I buried my face in his side and sobbed and sobbed until Michael assured me that he was fine, just startled. Bad mom, party of one.
Of course, he’s fine. But he’s a little wary of the vacuum now.
I had a kitchen accident. Last week I made phenomenally good peanut butter cookies, but when it came time to use my brown sugar I discovered it had harden into a rock. I tried to no avail to break it up, but made no more progress than making a mess on the counter. On the side of the box, I discovered a solution for softening hard sugar: place in bowl, cover with wet paper towel and seal with plastic wrap. Microwave for 1.5-2 minutes until soft.
So that’s what I did. I went for two minutes because the sugar was so hard. But…
…it exploded. Like, everywhere. It bubbled up inside the plastic wrap and oozed over the bowl into the microwave in a sticky, smelly, sugary mess. The plastic essentially melted to the bowl and the sugar smelled burnt.
I managed to salvage the sugar inside the bowl and everything turned out fine, but it was quite the kitchen disaster.
I fell over. And crushed some flowers. My sister and I spent some time transplanting daffodils from the yard to the flower beds yesterday. We discovered quickly that if you’re six months pregnant, squatting to dig doesn’t work out too well, so sitting on a bucket makes things easier. But see, I didn’t account for the shift in my balance and I fell.
And then I stepped on some crocuses.
Today I’m smiling because…
- my sister arrives tomorrow for an entire week’s visit!
- It’s warm, sunny, and perfect weather for walking Kodiak on the beach. (Even though I’ve started to waddle when walking on soft sand…)
- I’m definitely indulging in a chai today.
- Little Boy finally moved his foot (elbow? knee?) out from under my rib.
- My daffodils are blooming.
- I have a stack of library books waiting to be read.
- And a grilled cheese sandwich with my name on it.
Why are you smiling today?
My sister sent me this little gem recently:
“Pajama Jeans! Pajamas you live in, Jeans you sleep in!”
I’m sorry, this is a real thing? It IS.
For only $39.95 you can have your very own pair and look like this.
Huh. Well, she looks like she’s wearing jeans, I guess. But…really? Why not just wear JEANS?
Actual testimonial, supposedly from a Creative Director at Elle says, “They look so chic…I love it. They look like a sharp, clean, polished denim. I’m always a big fan of something that can look slick and be comfortable. I don’t think we always need to suffer for style every single moment of our lives.” It also goes on to say that he wore them to Fashion Week. I think I’m calling BS on that one.
The website and some blogs I stumbled across think it’s so great because you can wear sweats while still looking chic. No more shlubby sweats! But, here’s the thing. Sweatpants are sweatpants. Sure, I’ve worn my stretchy black ones out in public, but I KNOW I’m wearing them out in public. I’m not trying to look stylish is sweats.
And conversely, if I want to be comfy in the house, I don’t need to look stylish. At the end of the day when I’m kicking back on the couch, who is going to care if my pants look like jeans? Kodiak? I doubt it.
In the end, if you feel the need for some non-jean jeans, may I suggest “jeggings“?
Just, you know, don’t wear them as pants.
Oh hey, 5:27 a.m. How are ya?
It’s been a long time since we’ve hung out, but today I guess you figured why not? I know I haven’t really been sleeping through the night anymore, but I usually konk back out between six and eight for a few more hours of rest. But today! No way! You were intent on some quality time, so quality time we had.
I didn’t want to leave the warmth of the covers, even if we were hanging out, so we watched some TV. Well, I guess you could call it watching. It was really a lot of channel flipping because do you know what’s on that early, 5:27 a.m.? Do you? I’ll tell you.
Local news. But the earliest version of local news, which means the anchors are still a bit punchy. So punchy, in fact, that the meteorologist spent a good three minutes guessing where a village was located in the state. Yes, guessing. There was a lot of hmmms and ummms and then, “well, my best guess is…”, until the producer apparently told her where it was. And since she was right (and punchy), she was excited. So excited, that she whipped out her travel mug from off camera and cheered with the other anchor. Cheers! We know where a village is located! Go us weeee!!!!
And then they did a story about a baby elephant born in Australia and talked about how the mother was in labor for nine days. Nine. Days.
I had to change the channel.
Infomercials. So many infomercials! For steam mops and mineral makeup and P90X workout DVDs which I have to say, is at least an interesting infomercial to watch if you have some time to kill. And that weird leg contraption that’s supposed to help your back pain, oh! And the ab machine that makes you look like you’re going to dislocate your top half from the bottom. Nearly ever channel features a different infomercial, so really, there’s something for everyone.
Exercise programs. I had no idea so many people were exercising along with their television so early in the morning. I mean, they must be, right? If all those shows are airing. But why aren’t most of them current? At least, I don’t think they’re current, because have you seen the sets? With their airbrushed neon zig zags and fuzzy lighting? Or the hair styles? With the mullets and the crunchy, curly high ponytails?
Or the outfits? HAVE YOU SEEN THE OUTFITS? Scrunchy socks and high-cut, shiny unitards with belts. BELTS! THEY’RE WEARING BELTS! I don’t think I could seriously follow along with the exercise without my mind wandering to the obvious questions. Like, WHY the belt? What is the purpose of the belt? And why is it metallic?
Oh, 5:27 a.m., I didn’t really want to hang, but at least you kept me entertained until Law & Order came on at six.
I just can’t resist a Newfie nose.
Here’s a lesson for you: it doesn’t matter how much lotion you use. Stretch marks happen. Lotions and potions, while great at keeping the pregnancy itchies away, will not prevent the stretch marks. You’ll either get them, or you won’t. And apparently, I’m getting them.
I found my first this week on what used to be my waist. I’m pretty sure only I can tell at this point, but there they are — in all their stretchy glory. Right now they’re basically the color of my skin, but in the sunlight I can see them and I’m just hoping this is as bad as they get. (Ha. Hahahahaha HA.) I know they’re supposed to be a “badge of pregnancy”, but meh. Isn’t the baby badge enough?
Of course, this hasn’t prevented me from rubbing EXTRA lotion on during the day. You know, just in case.
The one place I expected to see a big change was the scar from my belly button piercing. I took it out years ago and it closed completely from the inside, but there’s still a teeny hole right above my belly button that never closed. Knock on wood, but aside from it flattening out a little, it hasn’t really changed all that much. If I could go back and tell 18-year old me one thing, it would be to forget about piercing my belly button. Stupid.
This is the first week where my size has begun to really shock me. Depending on what I’m wearing, sometimes I look bigger or smaller, but when I see my bare belly I sometimes can’t believe it’s mine. I can, however, believe the big ol’ face and arms are mine. I knew they were on their way to visit.
This week’s photos reflect my surprise, I think.
Nothing major to report from week 23, except that I think the kid at the pizza place last night couldn’t tell if I was pregnant, or eating way too much pizza. He kept looking nervously from my stomach, to my face, and back to my stomach.
Don’t worry, kid. I’m not going to eat you.
Now give me my pizza.