The US Has Issued a Code Orange Belly Button Alert

20w 6d

Time for a Belly Button Watch 2008 update. I want to introduce you to my, er, the United State's new code system for Belly Button Alerts:

Code Blue - Normal, not even pregnant
Code Green - Just pregnant, still an innie
Code Yellow - Starting to become shallow
Code Orange - Completely flush with the rest of the belly skin
Code Red - Full-on outie.

Ladies and gents of the internets, we are now at a full code ORANGE, I repeat a full code ORANGE. The in-depth description for a full code orange is as follows: Belly button is completely flush with the rest of the stomach skin. It no longer looks like a cut piece of a hot dog, but a smashed piece of a cut hot dog. The top portion of the belly button now protrudes a small amount out further than the rest of the belly button. Full disgust of husband is now complete. He will start giving you strange looks and is almost afraid of said belly button. He will hesitate when you demand that he feels it, YOU MUST FEEL THIS!

Image of code orange (please ignore the nasty scar of my youth):

Typical response of person attached to code orange belly button:

I hope that your meals for the rest of the week have not been ruined.

They found SOS written on the bathroom floor in blood.

21w 5d

10pm - Slowly roll off of couch after House is over. I have been sleeping off and on throughout the show and pretending to know what Paul is talking about when he asks questions.
10:15pm - Finally make it upstairs, change, watch some of The Hills.
10:30pm - after washing face, taking out contacts, and peeing, crawl into bed.
10:35pm - Finally done positioning the wedge under my belly, body pillow between legs and arms, and a pillow under my head. Shit. Can't see TV, reposition head pillow.
11pm - STILL awake. I could have swore I was exhausted when I was on the couch. Baby is now having a disco. Jon and Kate are so funny. How do they do it?
1am - Wake up. Have to pee. Might pee pants. Ahhhhh. I made it. Hey, where's Paul? Asleep on the couch I presume. Turn off TV.
3am-ish - Wake up, dripping wet with sweat. Hey! There's Paul! And Binx! On my legs. Can't move. Pee again. Reposition all pillows that have since shifted. Fall back asleep 15 minutes later.
4:15am - Wake up in pain. Sciatic nerve is killing me. Must change positions. Move body pillow and wedge. Slowly turn over. Baby is not happy. Now kicking again. Reposition pillows, kick Binx off bed. Nudge Paul because he is snoring. Elbow Paul VERY HARD because the first time didn't work. Throw covers off because I am sweating again.
4:45am - Pull covers back on, freezing.
6:15am - Alarm goes off. Hit snooze. Bladder is nearing it's limit.
6:24am - Alarm goes off again. Hit snooze again. Listen to birds outside.
6:31am - Alarm goes off again. Can't hold the pee any longer. Slowly get up, can't put pressure on right leg because of sciatica. Feel something warm run down my face. AWESOME. A nose bleed. Limp into bathroom, pee, shove tissue up nose to stop bleeding. Don't get blood on the cream rug! Success.

And I wonder why I am always tired?

Caution: Makes Wide Turns. Objects in Mirror May Be Closer Than They Appear.

21w 1d

WARNING: Hit the parental protection button for this post now. It may get R-rated. It's a free country.

The belly keeps getting bigger kids and I often feel the need to protect it. Whether it be consciously or subconsciously, I protect it. I often find myself walking around with my hand on it just in case something or someone pops out of a closet screaming BOO! and I jump back Mary Katherine Gallagher-style into a wall and the baby gets all shaken-not-stirred in there. I still have a whopping 18 weeks and some odd days of growing to do and by that time I am sure Paul will be slapping a WIDE LOAD banner across my ass.

"Stand back folks, this one makes wide turns!"
"What's that? I just dropped something? Funny, I can't see it. Can you point me in the general direction it fell? Oh, and can you pick it up for me?"
"Eeeeeee my sciatic! Give me ten minutes, I need to roll over."

Can't wait.

And it isn't just a fear of someone or something hitting or poking the belly (and don't give me the whole "Relax, he's well protected" speech either, because as he gets bigger, he gets less protection), sometimes when I, or Paul, or whoever says something like, "Fuckity fuck fuck, etc." I feel the need to cover the belly up so he can't hear. Funny huh? Well, I am a funny gal. I do make him listen to Wu Tang (shh don't tell Paul) and he loves Ushers new jam.

It really is funny though that I felt so big at 10 weeks. Then WHOA! 16 weeks. Then came 20. In all seriousness, I do love the belly. I really, really do.

Congrats to Kristin and Lee! Ty Robert made his appearance yesterday-ish in Italy!! We can't wait to meet him!

Dear Baby - 21 weeks

21w

Dear Baby,

Well it's official. Your mom has lost her foot bones. The bones in my feet. My cute little feet. They are no more. They are beginning to form into Stay Puff Marshmallow Man feet. At least my hands are still okay. Well my left one anyways. The wedding rings are still on, but I had to retire my right hand ring. It was always tight anyways.

Enough about me. Let's talk about you muffin. I have a feeling you are going to be a big, strong boy. You kick me so hard sometimes I think you are trying to bust out through my belly button! You are now 10.5 inches from head to toe (7.2 crown to rump) and weigh 3/4 of a pound! So that's why it takes mommy 10 minutes to roll over at night. Your main concern at this point is putting on the pounds and getting nice and cute. Your eyelids are completely done forming, but you are still going to keep them closed for a few more weeks.

You love when I eat. Every. Single. Time. You hold baby disco dance party USA after each meal. It is hilarious. I actually sit at my desk at work and giggle to myself. You also love to play poke-and -tickle with my bladder. I know when I am starting to piss you off because you will will repeatedly use my bladder as a punching bag if I let it get to full and cramp yo' style, homey.

Alright big boy. Hang tight and continue to grow, and keep the party going! I love it! 19 (19?!) weeks until you are getting evicted (hopefully).

Set the record straight.

20w 6d

I have talked about Old Wives Tales before (OWT) and their undeniable hilarity, so now that we know we have a penis on our hands, lets revisit those. Shall we?

I am carrying high. OWT say it should be a girl. WRONG! The way you carry actually depends on your uterine tone (aka how tone your stomach muscles are).

Baby Luc's heartbeat has been above 140 for the majority (if not all) of the times it has been checked. Heart rate's over 140 usually mean it's a girl. WRONG. Heart rate is actually not affected by the sex of the child until after it is born, when a baby girl's heart rate will increase during labor.

I will usually take a Sour Patch Kid over some chocolate. Sour cravings usually mean it's a boy. RIGHT. Although I do indulge in some chocolate or other sweets from time to time so this is a moot point. Some scientists will even tell you that cravings don't even exist.

Paul has not gained any weight. This usually means it's a boy. RIGHT. But if you know my husband, you knew this wouldn't be happening anyways.

My face has stayed about the same. Only a couple break outs here and there, but mostly from me switching moisturizers. This would say the baby is a boy. RIGHT.

My instinct always said that it was a boy. RIGHT. Did you know that 71% of pregnant women guess their unborn baby's gender correctly? Maybe some of you should have listened to me!

Chinese gender charts. One said boy, one said girl. I guess it depends which kind you are using.

So the final score 4 right, 2 wrong (not counting the Chinese Gender charts). Though fun, OWT are just that. There is no truth to them and usually they will annoy pregnant women after a certain point. But what doesn't, right?

Signs of Life

20w 5d

Baby boy's first stuffed animal. This little guy plays Brahm's Lullaby. Every time I hold it up to my stomach, the baby goes crazy. He either really likes that song, or really hates it.

New Spring wreath. On sale. At Joann's.

Magnolia number one.

Magnolia number two. Aren't they pretty?

A leaf from one of our flaming spirea. I love these.

One of our hydrangea bushes, showing some little leaves of Spring goodness.

Mr. Binx enjoying the fresh air from his window perch. That we purchased this winter. For $25. That he just started using.

The view from above. And look! Flip-flops! Green grass!

Here she goes again.

20w 4d

I don't know why, but I always feel the need to apologize before I write posts like this. So, here I go: I am sorry men. Men who know me, have known me since I was little, etc. I am sorry Paul's family; although somehow I know you will all get a kick out of this. I am sorry Paul. I am sorry I am airing out some probably-embarrassing-for-you-but-hilarious-to-me comments you have made this past weekend.

My husband was hilarious this weekend. I don't know what he was smoking, but he was funny as hell. Not that hell is in the least bit funny. We decided that it is because we took the day off Friday and he was able to actually relax and emerge from the fog that work sometimes puts him in. It could have also been because of the circumstances Friday and how it was agreed to be the second best day of our lives (behind our wedding day).

After the doctor appointment on Friday, I made Paul tag along to all men's favorite place on earth: Victoria's Secret. I love when I see men there. They all follow so closely to the woman they are with like lost puppy dogs. I am sure they fear the moment that they hear, "Okay, I am going to go try this on.". I mean, what the hell are they supposed to do for those 5 minutes? Try on lotion?

Of course I ended up buying a HUGE bra. HUGE for me at least. And I am sure it will only get bigger. Once we left the store, Paul was all, "How can we keep your boobs this big?" and I was all, "I can have back to back kids, get implants, or breastfeed your son until his is 15. Your choice."
I am convinced that my boobs are the size of Pam Anderson's...at one point in time.