Week 33 & 34, Knocked up and Sexy

So I asked my girlfriend to come over and take some sexy, artistic maternity pics of me.  Photography is a hobby of hers, but more importantly, I didn’t feel like getting naked in front of some random photographer and taking directions.  In my bitchy, hormonal state, that sounded like a recipe for disaster.  So she came over, and we played around with lighting and backdrops and poses.  She patiently snapped pictures while I waddled around the house, and had to heave me off of the floor after taking some pictures lying down and sitting.  I also frequently pestered her to look out for fat arm, and thigh dimples, while she just rolled her eyes at me.  Needless to say, we both had very low expectations for these pictures.  She had low expectations because she was clearly underestimating her ability, and I had low expectations because how in the world could I take a sexy and artistically beautiful picture while I feel like an elephant.  Well, they turned out amazing, and I really am Knocked Up and Sexy!!!

Here are a few of them.

So this really got me thinking that this must be what Nate sees when he looks at me.  See, I’m feeling like Jabba the Hutt over here because I can’t move, I’m sweaty and cranky, and I’m always hungry and spilling food all over my ginormous belly.  Blaaahhh.  Meanwhile, he can’t get enough of me and my belly.  So I’ve heard from most girlfriends that the men pretty much go one of two ways.  Either they are a little bit uncomfortable or grossed out by pregnancy, or they are excited by it.  Nate is definitely the latter.  I always tell him he’s just proud when looking at the manifestation of his manhood, but truly I am so incredibly grateful he feels this way.  I used to be more private and embarrassed about my bodily functions, so having Nate be the opposite was really a Godsend.  My first pregnancy came as quite a shock when every doctor and their mom want’s to take a good thorough look at your whoohah, and ask you highly personal questions with the same tone of voice as, “Pass the salt.”

One night when I was about 10 weeks pregnant with my first baby, Maverick, I woke up to pee and found that a bunch of blood had come out as well.  That’s not a good sign.  So we immediately drove to the emergency room, terrified that I was having a miscarriage.  When we get there, the front desk lady asks how many pads I would have filled with blood, had I been wearing one.  I was baffled because I didn’t really scrutinize the toilet that much.  Then Nate whips out his phone and shows her a picture he had taken of the toilet to show the amount of blood, and they both avidly took note.

I was completely mortified.  When did he take that picture?  I literally had to walk away to recompose myself.  Everything turned out fine, and I gave birth seven months later to Maverick.  But I look back at this moment and love that Nate had absolutely no shame.  Because throughout the rest of my pregnancy with Maverick, and forevermore raising kids, there is no more privacy or modesty.  And honestly, I’m happier this way.  It’s a relief.  For the men who are grossed out, well hopefully you get over it quickly, and hopefully your pregnant wife is like Nate and just doesn’t give a fuck.  There needs to be one of those in the relationship.  And for the men who think they are hitting the baby’s head during sex, my response is don’t flatter yourself.

Speaking of pregnant sex, it is the best or the worst sex you’ve ever had in your life, and really has nothing to do with what you and your partner are doing.  For one thing, your body is changing dramatically and rapidly.  It’s like the house is the same, but the furniture is constantly being moved around.  So sometimes it feels absolutely amazing, and other times, nothin.  For another thing, hormones can either amplify or detract from the mood big time.  And for another thing, it’s a logistical nightmare.  Try duct taping a large watermelon to your stomach the next time you want to get intimate.  Although it has brought out some teamwork and playful problem solving imagination at times, usually it’s just a cluster.  Anywho, being knocked up can be sexy at times.  But most often it’s just downright humbling.

P.S.  Here are a few pics of our adventure to the Ocean Beach Kite Festival with the kids:)

Week 29, 30, 31 & 32, Nesting

OMG where has the month gone?  Well, we spent the first two weeks celebrating.  First was kids’ military appreciation day at the SD Zoo.  Then Easter.  And then my birthday!  Nate took me on a couple dates, and then we drove up to Palm Springs to my parents’ weekend house to swim in the pool and eat all of my mom’s delicious cooking.  It sounds glamorous, and it was!!  The kids had a blast too.  Here are some pix of those first two weeks.

The second two weeks have not been so glamorous.  You see, I am nesting big time in preparation for this baby.  Now, I know my urge to nest is strong, and I have gone a little overboard in the past… Well, let me tell you, this time, it’s downright loony tunes.  Not only are we recarpeting and repainting all three bedrooms, we are also rebuilding the closets in two of the bedrooms.  And besides the carpet installation, we are doing everything else ourselves.  That’s just how we roll.  So all three bedrooms and two closets worth of furniture and belongings were in the backyard for a few days.  Thank God it didn’t rain!  First we reframed, drywalled and painted the closets.  Then repainted the rest of the bedrooms before the carpet was installed.  We installed custom built in storage and lighting in the closets.  Then the new closet doors and ceiling fans.  Then moved all the furniture back in.  And just yesterday we rebuilt the crib and started unpacking baby stuff!

So as I mentioned, we do have three bedrooms.  However, I am keeping all three of these gremlins in the same room for as long as possible.  Not only do we use the guest room as our everything room, but also I enjoy having one space that I can keep clean all the time, lol.  Having the kids in the same room means all of their crap is in the same room, which is so nice.  But the best part is that they understand that they are equal and together, and they seem to grow more tolerant and patient with each other.  Like they are a little team in this world.  I did not anticipate this when putting them in the same room, but it’s an awesome result.  People ask, “Well, what if one starts crying and wakes the other one up?”  And I respond that they cry and scream at me all day long.  So I feel that when I close that door for bedtime, they can cry at each other all they want.  Pretty quickly they learned to either ignore, or console each other.  This works out well for everyone, lol.

Coincidentally, they are also going to share the same birthday celebration every year.  Summerly’s birthday is June 16, this baby is due June 25, and Maverick is July 9.  People tell me, “Oh, no, you can’t have joint birthdays!”  And I’m like, first of all, if it’s all they ever know, they won’t care.  Secondly, we would literally be throwing a party three weekends in a row.  And not only is that financially ridiculous, but none of our friends or family are going to come to three birthday parties in a row.  Please.  When you produce children with factory precision, you start treating them like they are all one.  We didn’t plan this timeline.  But obviously about four months after I’m done breastfeeding is when I even consider that MAYBE I could do it again.  Bam!

Meanwhile, Nate is just now starting to freak out about having a third.  He says to me, “Babe, you realize we are going to be outnumbered?!?”  And I’m like, “Well, since you’ve been gone training and deploying for about 60-80% of their lives, I’ve been outnumbered forever.”  I’ve been saying this whole time that if I could have two alone, I could definitely have a third with my husband.  So probably I’m in denial, but I just feel like it’s a drop in the bucket at this point, lmao.

So another thing that happened right in the middle of this whole house project is that our little dog Yoshi, (my first baby,) spiked a 104 fever, and was completely sick and lethargic. So I’m taking her to the vet every morning for three mornings in a row, and running all kinds of tests to figure out why she was so sick.  At the grand total of $450, I might add.  Then on night three before going to bed, Nate takes Yoshi’s temperature with an infant’s rectal thermometer I had picked up at Target earlier that day.  And from the other room, I hear him mutter 107.  Now, for a dog, 100-101 is a normal temp.  103-104 is a definite fever, and the temperature she had been at for the past few days.  107 is the point where she would be having a seizure.  So I run into the room and ask, “What was the temp?”  Hoping I heard him wrong.  And he says, “107.  Is that bad?”  And I’m like, “Yeah, Babe, it’s really bad.  Like brain boiling bad.”  I can see on his face that he’s thinking that I’m just being hormonal dramatic, and he’s not taking me seriously.  Perhaps it was the bottle of Tito’s Vodka he and his brother had just polished off that was affecting his judgement.  So he just stares at me blank drunk, and I not so politely tell him to get his ass online and on the phone with the 24hour emergency vet.  Mind you, it was 11:30 p.m.

So as he and his brother get online and start brainstorming, I put Yoshi in the sink and drench her in cold water.  I am in a panic.  They call out to me that probably my brand new thermometer is broken.  I’m about to start screaming at them to take me seriously when Nate sees the panic on my face, and threatens that he will put the thermometer in his mouth to prove to me that it’s wrong.  And I respond, “Well, it’s a rectal thermometer.”  And he asks, “Will that put you at ease?”  And I nod, “Yes.”  So my sweet husband who will do anything for his family, (especially after half a bottle of whatever,)  proceeds to clean off the thermometer to test it on himself.  He then realizes that once inserted, he can’t read it.  So he waddles over to his unsuspecting brother, and now it’s just a big joke.  I can barely understand what they are saying through the screaming and laughter.

I wrap Yoshi in a towel and attempt to dig out an old infant thermometer that I know I used to have for the kids, and I am literally praying to God that I didn’t throw it away.  Bingo!  I take her temperature, and it’s 103, which is what it had been for the past few days.  It’s a fever, but not emergent.  I come out of the bathroom to tell Nate and his brother the good news, only to find the two of them attempting to take Sasebo’s temperature.  Remember that Bobos is a 90 pound, highly athletic Labrador with all of his faculties, dealing with two giggling drunkards.  It was quite the scene.  In the end, they did succeed in taking his temp with both thermometers to officially prove that the new thermometer is broken, and the old one is accurate.

So finally at 12:30 a.m., I am feeing calm enough to sleep.  And then the next morning, the heavens opened up, and Yoshi’s fever broke.  The vet told me later that day that it was a fever of unknown orgin.  And I’m thinking, jeez, couldn’t you have told me that $300 ago?  But whatever.  Such is life, and my dog is healthy.  And when these things happen, it reminds me to be so incredibly grateful for my family’s health, because life is precious.  And I just can’t wait for our next little one:)