Not an apology post.

One word: Cheeseburger.

Ultimate satisfaction. I've been thinking about you, dear burger, since 9am. When I first learned of your presence via the daily cafeteria menu email. I must say it. I love you.

On a side note, I will add that the feeling of a aptly satisfying a food craving is unmatched. You know that feeling when you have to pee so badly. And then finally....FINALLY, you sit down in pure bliss, as your bladder empties its contents?

It's like that. Only 847,629, 498 times better.

I'm sorry that I've been non-blogging.

There is a parasite in my uterus that is draining every ounce of life from me.
Your regularly scheduled programming shall return as soon as I can stay awake for more than 90 minute intervals.

Whoop.

There it is.



Measuring perfectly. Healthy heartbeat. Pretty much the coolest thing ever.
I'm already totally smitten.

I'm scared.

There. I said it. In fact, I'm really, really scared.

My first ultrasound is Thursday morning. Which seemed so very far away when it was scheduled two weeks ago. Then all of a sudden, I'm talking to a friend today and I say something about tomorrow being Wednesday. Then it hits me. If tomorrow is Wednesday, then tomorrow I can say, "tomorrow is my ultrasound".
Still with me? If not, you may exit slowly on your left.

Now I have tried really hard to be positive about everything. Power of positive thinking, right? Keep telling myself that I have absolutely no reason to believe that things are less than stellar in my ute. None at all. And it's true. But still, I find myself terrified. That we'll get bad news, that there won't be a heartbeat, that my doctor will look at me with a solemn gaze and whisper, "I'm sorry."

And you know what? I'm angry that I'm so scared. I'm angry that these are the thoughts that flood my mind less than 2 days away from this big event.
I want to be excited. I want to be imagening the blinking blob on the ultrasound screen. Or the look on Mr. J's face as he discreetly wipes away a tear. I want THOSE thoughts.

Not the ones I have. The crazy part is that aside from these insane thoughts, I feel really good about everything. My gut instinct is that all is well. And yet, still I cannot shake this fear. I cannot make it go away. Or even take a backseat to the excitement, anticipation, and gratitude.

But I will keep trying. Keep telling myself the things I have been chanting for two weeks.
That I'm going to have a happy, healthy baby.
With ten fingers.
Ten toes.
And my nose. Fingers crossed.

All IS well.

The Holy Grail of Pregnancy

The sleepgasm.

As a woman of child bearing age, you hear about this phonomenon often. And if you are anything like me, you hope and pray that you will one day be a pregnant woman who gets to experience such. I like to think of it as a consolation prize for the constant gas, constipation, and vurps.

Well. I had one. And let me tell you, it was nice. So nice that my climactic moment woke me. Almost propelling me out of bed.

Here's my one issue. I had imagined that this sleepgasm would include a super hot set up.
You know, I'm Meredith Grey and I'm getting it on with McSteamy a la prom night at the hospital. Or...I don't know...maybe Johnny Depp and I are sailing across the Riviera on his yacht. Naked.

No. Let me tell you the set up that the Pregnancy Gods bestowed upon me.
I dreamed that I was lying in bed. Next to Mr. J. He was sound asleep. I reached over to my nightstand drawer and pulled out Ol' Faithful. And went to town on myself.

Riveting, no? Seriously? That could be any random IRL night in my house.
Not sleepgasm material in my book.

Hopefully, they will continue. With something hotter than marriage bed masturbation.

Healthy eating FAIL

Yesterday I went to the grocery store. I walked through the isles with stellar focus. Baby in mind. Chanting to myself, "eat healthy...the babe needs more than chocolate", etc.
I bought cucumbers, carrots, peaches, bananas, apples, wheat thins, all kinds of stuff.

Fast forward to today. I'm sitting on the couch, snuggling with my pups. And suddenly, I remember that there is a box of brownie mix in the pantry. Now don't ask me how on earth a box of brownie mix managed to survive in this house longer than one hour post purchase. I have no idea. But there it was. In all it's Betty Crocker red box glory. Fate. A gift from the gods of yummy. For a moment, I thought I heard angels sing as I opened the pantry door. And I think perhaps I saw a light shine down.

So I made brownies. Then I topped it with ice cream. And enjoyed every bite.

I'm pretty sure the peaches were mocking me.

Baby Letter: Week 5

Dear Munchkin,

You have a nickname! I let Daddy pick it. I figured that's the least harmful way to let him have some say in this whole thing. So, Munchkin you are! It's been a busy week. I'm still feeling okay. And for that, I am grateful.
Exciting things are happening this week. You are the size of an apple seed. And many of your major organs are starting to form. Heart, liver, stomach, etc. How cool is that? Mabye that's why I've been so tired. Growing a human is hard work.

My favorite part of this week? It's over. Which means Daddy and I are closer to getting to see you! The ultrasound next week should show off your pretty, healthy heartbeat! Exciting stuff, kiddo.
You just stay nice and warm all snuggled in Mama's ute. I'll do the rest.

One other thing before I go. If there is anything you can do to make my boobs chillax, I'd be appreciative. I'd even consider a deal involving a Sophie. They are completely NSFW. We can't have Mama losing her job over her soon to be triple D's making a cameo at the morning meeting.

Sophie. That's all I'm saying. Squeak. Squeak.

Love you, Munchkin. See ya next week.

Until then,

Mommy