Alright, here ya go.

A belly pic. Now, if you know me at all, you know these come few and far between. Usually on days that I'm feeling particularly ballsy. This was taken yesterday. Just shy of 24 weeks. It's a front view, because a)I'm also showing of the new 'do and b) the side view is horrendous.

I heard pre-pregnancy that we big girls often don't show until the very end. Bullshit. I'm enormous. Again, I'm rocking that giant belly...but still.

Don't say I never gave ya nothin'.

And P.S. The silly face was my attempt to hide the double chin and look cute. Face FAIL.
Love y'all.

"V-Day"

I'm writing this a little early. Mostly because I'm awake, at the computer, and thinking about it.
I'll be 24 weeks on Sunday. That particular day is often celebrated by pregnant women as a milestone.
Why, you ask? Because 24 weeks is considered the point at which a baby has a chance of survival if born prematurely. The point at which Dr's will do everything to save said premature baby. The point where a baby is considered to be "viable" outside of the womb. Viability day. Hence V-Day.

Lots of women look forward to it. They celebrate it. They talk about it. Post about it on the interwebs. Relax in the pseudo-confidence that comes with this milestone. I am not one of these women.

I have some pretty strong feelings about this "milestone". The short of it is that I think it's bullshit. The truth is that a premature baby, whether born at 24 weeks, or 30 weeks is going to have difficulties. Sure, 30 weeks provides much greater chances of survival. But ::everybaby is different dust:: there are going to be complications. Some greater than others.

I have a several friends who recently lost their babies after going into labor early. Very early. Some not quite at "viability". Others, past it.

Why do some babies who are born at 24 weeks survive? While others born later don't? What sets apart a baby that is 23 weeks 6 days, from one that's 24 weeks? I just don't like it. It feels false.

And maybe I'm oversensitive because of what my friends have gone through. Maybe I'm jaded. Maybe I'm realistic. But when I see someone get all excited and celebrate (read: AW) their "V-Day", I"m overcome with feelings such as anger, and annoyance. And sometimes it takes all I've got not to pop that bubble with words that probably aren't so kind and really should remain unspoken.

The moral of the story? Celebrate every day that you are pregnant. Celebrate 23 weeks as much as 24. As much as 41. (Easier said than done, I'm sure).
Celebrate the life that lives within you. Now. Today. This moment. Every moment.

You will not see a V-Day post from me. Beyond this one, but that doesn't count - smartass.
That day will come and go, like any other. With immense gratitude, a healthy, mild, and motherly fear, and intense orders for Jude to stay put all the way until he's forcefully removed (more on that later) from my uterus.

Please and Thank You.

I'm going to need one of y'all to go ahead and stop time for me. Mmmkay? I have entirely too much to do and the glaring presence of the calendar makes me itch.

TIA. LYLAS. XOXO

I'm still alive.

I have not dropped off the face of the earth as this blog would suggest. I will spare you the apology. So, I am 22 weeks pregnant. Well, a little over 22 weeks actually. Time continues to fly and will continue to do so, I'd assume.

Yes. I am 22 weeks pregnant. And looking....oh, I don't know...about 32? 35? Big. Bigger than I am. Now, don't get me wrong. This is merely an observation. Not a complaint. I am glad to have a healthy baby cooking in there. I've just decided that I'll tell people that ask that I'm much further along that I am. Or perhaps that I'm having twins. Yes, that should work.

We have also had a name change. Now, if you know anything about me - this will shock you about as much the man whoreness of Tiger Woods. I am the single most indecisive person I know. What do I want to be when I grow up? I don't know. What do I want for dinner? I don't know. What do I want to name my first born? Well, you get the idea.

So here it is. My decision. Our decision. Our commitment to a name....take two.

Jude Kilren

There it is. We have traded Elliot, for Jude. And I am, as of now, content with that. Actually, I'm very excited. It was always our number 2. And it continued to haunt me after we "settled" on Elliot. So, we promoted Jude to number 1.

It feels so right. I love him to pieces already.

Y'all take care, now. xoxo