Go Home, Ice Maker, You're Drunk.

I love the fridge we have at our townhouse. If we actually owned the place I would probably upgrade it, but for being in a rental home it's the nicest fridge we have had. The only thing that is a little wonky is the ice maker in the freezer. Works like a charm, but earlier this summer we learned something quite interesting:

If there is no ice in the bin below the ice maker it will not make any more ice. In order to get it to start making ice again we had to make ice cubes the old fashioned way in an actual ice cube tray and then dump said frozen chunks of water into the bin until it was at least half full of ice. It was more about random discovery when it came to it making ice again. We had no idea it would start up again and figured we would have to call the landlord at some point.

That being said, unless we manually lift the lever arm thingy all the way into the off position and there IS ice in the bin, the ice maker will churn along making ice all the time... Like, if we were to leave it on and go away for a month it would probably fill our entire freezer with ice... Ah, modern conveniences.

So, it has finally happened. At least I am pretty sure that it has, but you can judge for yourself:

 

Whilst partaking my morning meal, Spaz was draped across my lap as per usual. Her back was snuggled up against my lower abdomen (she was actually leaning into me pretty decently). As I was finishing my cereal the baby decided to start thrashing about and kicked out. I wasn't sure if Spaz felt anything until she suddenly changed position and stared intently at the area the baby had just kicked. She looked up at me, I gave her a pet and told her that her baby sister just wanted to say good morning. She then proceeded to look back down at my tummy in wide eyed shock and awe. I gave her a few more loves and all was well. For now at least.

 

I'm sure as the belly grows and the movements become more visible she might be more intrigued, or even a little freaked out about it.

 

The highlight of my otherwise craptastically exhausting day (I spent the night before thrashing about, not due to discomfort, but just because I couldn't get into a deep sleep) was when of the Unknowing at work told me that I look like I am still losing a bunch of weight. Part of me feels like I am lying and I even feel a little guilty about not sharing because the compliment came from one of the people that is always very nice, and I don't think would be obnoxious about my pregnancy. More and more lately, I think I should just start randomly dropping it into conversations with people that don't know.

 

About 75% of the people who work at my company don't know I am pregnant. The biggest reason for this is that I do not crave attention in any way, shape or form. I would much rather just come to the office, put in my time, and go home. I have some fun, and like a good portion of the people I work with, but I am human and try as I might there are some people I just don't care for. I don't treat them any differently than those I get on with, but I don't go out of my way to be super buddy buddy with them either. I just kind of coexist with them.

 

I am figuring that by the end of September (maybe sooner) I won't be able to easily hide the growing bump. Maybe I should start wearing really chunky cable knit sweaters... LOL. I have begun wearing some of my old "fat" shirts that I purposely saved just for this event. They are insanely huge on me, but I am confident that I won't NEED to buy any additional maternity tops for the pregnancy (I have two).

 

I don't think I will be able to re-use my "fat" shirts for kid number two in a few years since my goal is to finish my weight loss plan BEFORE having our second child. This means dropping about seventy to eighty (or more) pounds beyond the one hundred and fifty I have lost. I also am hoping I can get the excess skin removed after I am down that seventy plus pounds more, which could equate to another significant chunk of weight coming off. That's something I will address when I get to that point. 

And now my oven timer is about to start going off. So until next time, find a few minutes to enjoy a moment of blissful insanity.

New Years 2015

I am referring to December 31, 2014 - January 1, 2015.

 

Considering our little winter baby is due mid December and that I am hoping my boobies do their duties in producing sustenance for the little bugger, it won't be until around her first birthday that I am able to consume alcohol or real coffee again.

 

The alcohol has never been a big thing for me, but goddammit I miss my coffee. It has been four months and one week since my last caffeinated beverage, and I will hold on to the fond memory of that blended Annihilator from Dutch Bros until such time I am able to partake in one again.

 

All this said. My hopes for New Years 2015 are as follows:

 

-Convince my lovely father to watch his grand daughter for the night and a big chunk of the next day.

 

-Go somewhere and get completely schnockered. Which should be cheap and easy to do since it will have been one year and nine and a half months since I will have had any alcohol in my system.

 

-When I wake up, where ever, the next day proceed to remedy potential hangover by ingesting copious amounts of coffee. True blue, fully caffeinated, beautiful amazing coffee.

 

I know, not really a mother of the year worthy plan. But, if you care to notice, ensuring my child is in the hands of someone for safe keeping is the first part of the plan, and the most necessary part. I think after all that time I should be allowed some small concession. I realize and understand that sacrifices come with having a child. So before you get your panties in a twist, understand that this is a 100% hypothetical plan.

 

Reality will more than likely play out as follows:

 

-Collin and I have nice dinner at home and maybe have a drink.

 

-We will struggle to stay awake until midnight.

 

-Wake up next morning, at home, in bed, and just have coffee with breakfast.

 

And as for anyone anti-coffee and its addictive qualities thinking, "Oh, but Alicia why would you drink coffee after not having it in your system for soo long?!"

 

The answer is quite simple. I effing love coffee. I have sacrificed so much to improve my health. Things, that though they were never good for me, I greatly enjoyed. Things like soda, candy, dessert foods in general, and smoking. Yes, I will still partake of the sugary stuff on occasion; moderation and all that jazz, but coffee... Ohhh, coffee, my sweet mysterious energizing lover, is the one vice I will never give up. Obviously I did for my pregnancy and I will continue to be cut off until I am done breastfeeding, but if it weren't for the preggo factor I would still gladly be taking in my two to three cups a day.

I can't explain why I am getting all defensive about something as trivial as coffee... Blame it on the hormones. Might as well get some use out of that excuse while I can, right?

So not really as apocalyptic as one might have expected. You can take heart knowing that THIS coming New Years will be rather apocalyptic for me and Collin. I am using the term in regards to the baby being an event that will change life as we know it, and lord howdy, she already has! 

Dinner smells so deliciously divine... Chicken Chennai Masala (my bastard combo of chicken, chick peas, and tikka masala) mixed with a ton of veggies! I will be serving it with dried cranberries on top (I love the spicy/tart combo!), and a smidgen of brown rice on the side. I hope you've eaten already, and apologize for any reading induced salivation. 

Now I am going to go kill my husband because he keeps talking while I am typing...

Like I'd let him off the hook that easily? By murdering him? Pshaw, I think not, this bastard in it with me for the long haul!! Muahahaha!!!!

To The Left, To The Left

To the right, to the right.

 

This about sums up the kicking action from my little rock princess. And she is most certainly a rock princess. We watched Rock of Ages last night (which was corny and funny) and she started rocking out in my uterus like she was at a show!

 

We have had some pretty big milestones in the kicking department in the last week. Collin felt his first tiny kick the weekend before this last one. Then on Thursday after our doctor's appointment she was just going to town in there so I asked him if he wanted to try and feel. He readily said yes. I laid down (for the time being it's an easier way to feel her kicks), and told him where to place his hand. He was quickly rewarded with a pretty strong kick from her followed by another.

 

Last night when we were watching the movie and she started rocking out I got to feel her kick from outside for the first time. Obviously, I have been feeling her movements internally but until yesterday I had always missed out on feeling the kicks with my hand on the outside. It was amazing. After relishing in a couple jabs I grabbed Collin's arm and yanked his hand into position so that he could feel her moving too. He says, "Oh, I felt that... And that... And that!"

 

She has also developed what I call her "old lady" habit. If I am awake and talking past when we generally go to sleep it's like she gets all fussy and starts raging in the womb. It reminds me of having a cranky old lady as your downstairs neighbor, and if you make an audible peep after Wheel of Fortune she takes a broom to the ceiling telling you to quiet down. As soon as we stop talking and I relax she stops. She has done this twice now. I find it hilarious, and can only imagine what it will mean for her post partum sleep schedule. She has only managed to wake me up once in the night time and that was because she kicked me in the bladder.

 

In leaps and bounds of discovery, it seems she has also learned the spinny chair game. You know as a kid when you would play in a swivel chair of any kind? How you would spin and spin and spin, using your feet to kick off from the floor? (Admittedly some of us still play this today!) Yea, she seems to be sommersaulting like that in the playground my uterus has turned into. It's not uncomfortable... Yet. For now it is mostly an interesting feeling because until the last forty eight hours she only kicked on the left side and now I get left and right, and up and down... Good times. Now she just needs to learn "Start" "A" "Start" "A". (digital fist bump if you get the reference)

 

We had a great weekend of buying fabric for various baby accessories I plan to make in the coming weeks, and attending some open houses in an effort to become comfortable going to them, and also to start scoping out potential real estate contacts/agents. We had fun with it, and as of now I know my limit is about three to four houses any given weekend. We also are starting to get a feel of the things we really want vs. things that are deal breakers (like super creepy old toilets or old people smell; which were not in the same house surprisingly). 

I really need to focus and write up a list for our pregnancy announcements versus people we can reasonably invite to our shower. The more time passes by, the more I am thinking we will just be hosting our own. That has it's ups and downs, but oh well. I probably won't go as crazy as I did with the games as the one I hosted in May. Ideally it will be in early to mid-October, so I am thinking I will kind of use some Halloween decor for it (like purple, black, etc), since that is more our color scheme. I figure I will start making the list by printing off our holiday card list and then going over who would be within driving distance to come versus not. I should be working on this instead of typing this post... Shit.

Next Post: Apocalyptic New Years Plans

The New Normal & Water Spouts

In an effort to show me how super protective and vicious my little hell beast is she has taken to leaving me presents by my chair at the dining table.

 

At this point you are asking, "Isn't her evil fluffball an indoor only pet?" The answer is yes, yes she is. So what are these glorious gifts that exploit her prowess as a hunter/protector?

 

Her toys... Two toys in particular. Her little stuffed squirrel and her catnip ball.

 

At first I thought it was strictly coincidence the first time it happened, but it has since happened a few times. I think she wants her mommy to know that she is still a rough and tough little guard dog.

 

As it is, in the past few months she has taken to sleeping RIGHT outside our bedroom, or on the floor at the foot of the bed on my side. She also (much to Collin's annoyance) developed this habit of crying when Collin is there but I am not. This also applies to when Collin is in the living room and I am upstairs in the shower. It's almost as though she is asking him where the eff I am.

 

I hope all of this is a positive sign towards her being accepting of the presence of the new tiny human which will be entering the world in about four months. We shall see how her behavior develops in the coming months, especially when the baby is big enough to start "kicking" her when she is on my lap.

The other night I had a super bizarro dream, and all I remember was that there were water spouts popping up all over the place. To ensure that my meaning is not lost; I am not speaking of water spigots or faucets. I am referring to the weather phenomenon encountered when there is a "tornado" over a body of water.

 

It was just odd.

 

And that's all I remember about it, seeing multiple water spouts.

 

I have been having a ton of amazingly epic dreams lately. Silver screen worthy. It's just I only wake up remembering the most finite random details. I.e. the water spouts.

 

The only dream of late that stuck with me in its entirety was a nightmare preggo dream. The basic synopsis is I woke up in the hospital and started wandering the halls looking for anyone who could tell me why I was there. Finally I found a nurse that informed me that there was something wrong with my uterus. I freaked and started to ask if I had lost the baby or if it had been saved. I was hysterical in the dream. They never said what, exactly, the issue was, but the baby was still in me and okay. And then I woke up for realsies.

 

That's just one of a million "stereotypical" pregnancy dreams that many women have whether they remember them or not.

 

Another reoccurring (I imagine this one is common, or it's just after affects of what a friend just went through) is that I am dreaming, about anything or any situation really, and I start leaking out of my chesticles. Collin has caught me half awake after one of these dreams checking myself and the bed for any signs of boob leakage. Especially with how my chest region has felt over the last week or so  I feel hyper aware of their presence.

 

I went in for my bridesmaid's dress alteration the other day. That was fun standing there for about thirty minutes, trying not to move while the awesome seamstress pinned my bust and then my hem. The sides around the bust had to be taken in about three to four inches... More than I had expected at first. We ordered it two sizes too big with an empire waist to allow for the potential bumpage. At least this way I won't need to worry about it falling off of me when I am walking down the aisle and standing up in front of all of K & G's friends and relatives... LOL. 

Now I just have to wait for it to be ready. I am scheduled to pick it up on the 11th... Collin HAD to point out that this is FOUR DAYS before the wedding... I'm like, "yep, I know." This is why they wanted me in ASAP after I picked up the dress and found it to be HUGE in the boob region.

 

Oh, and icing on the cake as I left for my alterations appointment: I was wearing the black flip flops I planned to wear for the wedding and the left one broke as I got into the freaking car! Now I am not sure what I am going to do for footwear... No one will really see my feet but yea... Need to find something... Probably some cutesy ballet flats or something... Argh!

Going to look at some shoe websites... 

Enlightenment

I kind of feel bad for people who sound like they are laughing when they are crying. I know of a couple people like that.

 

Phew! What a whirlwind the last week proved to be. After my last post, Collin and I had a heart to heart about the whole getting a second car. Originally we had discussed doing it in September or October, but realistically there wasn't much sense in waiting until then. Our budget isn't going to change drastically (and if it does it will be in our favor) and our credit ratings aren't going to change in the next sixty days. It came down to "Why prolong the inevitable?"

 

We took the plunge and applied for the financing with our bomb ass credit union, and after a wait found out we were approved. While we had been waiting we had been perusing cars on CUDL and found the One. It was like angels singing and lightbeams and shit. We found this goregous 2009 Subaru Outback listed at 2.5k UNDER Kelly Blue Book. As soon as we got the green light we were at the dealership who had it listed and taking that puppy out for a test drive. It is in FABULOUS condition, and what would be "high miles" for some is actually about on par with the average

Subaru. This car is Collin's car specifically, as I still have my little green monster, Jude.

 

This addition was necessary on so many levels.

 

First, Collin is looking at moving forward in his career which will most likely involve changing companies. His current mode of transport to and from work is the Max. His current company offers a subsidized Trimet pass each year. Once he leaves the company he loses that pass. Plus he won't necessarily get a job right along the transit line.

 

Second, if Collin does continue to rely on Trimet that could get interesting as my due date approaches.

Hypothetical future me: "Um, Hi honey. It's time. She's on her way."

Hypothetical future Collin: "Okay, I will be at the hospital in about an hour to an hour and half." (His normal commute is fifty minutes from the time he gets on the train.) Yea, that just wouldn't work.

 

And finally, though the car seat does fit just fine in Jude, the front passenger would need to be pretty up close and personal with the dashboard for any family outings. The Subaru affords us MORE than enough space for us and the car seat comfortably, plus any occasional outings with my dad in tow.

 

My sister hooked us up with a ton of awesome things for the baby. A swing, a bouncer seat, and a crap ton of clothes! It's a big help. I think she is pretty stoked about becoming an aunt. Other than her, I am the only other one out of us three kids to have a kid so far so she hasn't had the opportunity to play the auntie roll yet.

 

We had a great talk this weekend and she shared a ton about her three pregnancies, which were also hopefully insightful to what I have ahead of me. Both her girls came within a day of their respective due dates, and were relatively quick deliveries. She also gave me better insight as to why she didn't want to have her second and third at the hospital and opted to go with a mid-wife. In 1997 when she had her first, they didn't leave the baby in the room with the new mom, and also they didn't do the skin to skin contact at birth. Obviously, I could understand instances when and why they wouldn't do skin to skin immediately after birth and also I know things have changed A LOT in the last (almost) sixteen years. On the whole it was a very enlightening conversation.

I'm sure there were other things from this past week, but with the busy schedule I face this week it's kind of not in the forefront of my thoughts. Hopefully in the calamity I will have time to grace you all with my wisdom and anecdotes... I know how you loves you some wisdom and anecdotes from a late twenties pregnant chick.

Anecdotes such as:

While at the store checking out I almost blurted out to my husband in the crowded self check out area that I was having a hard time holding on to his nuts... I was trying to grab and scan the can of mixed nuts he had picked out for work. Thankfully the filter kicked in before I expressed that glimmer of awesome.  

Wishing you laughter and mild bouts of insanity! (Gotta keep shit interesting some how!)

Nesting? What? Me...?

Okay, maybe a little. Alright, I can hear Collin protesting so I will admit it. There was some hardcore nesting action this weekend. 

I swore up and down that I wasn't going to make any humongous changes to the house for our upcoming little one. Not because I am mean and heartless, but because we plan on buying a house next Spring so it seems a waste of energy to go all crazy rearranging furniture and decorating a nursery just to pack it all up a couple months later.

 

The baby's room is where our office was in the second bedroom. Note the use of past tense in referring to the placement of our office. We have more than enough floor space so we made some pretty drastic changes. The way our living room is set up you'd expect it to be a living/dining room combo. There is a pendant light that hangs down in the oddest place, it just makes sense that they meant for it to be an informal eating area or something. That said, we moved our dining room table and chairs into position there. The ginormous book shelf that had previously resided in the corner near our new dining set up was moved into the dining room. We then brought down both our desks and placed them in opposing corners of said dining room turned office.

 

This thereby frees up the second bedroom for the baby and only the baby. I felt kind of douchey making the baby share space with our office stuff. Plus it gives us more freedom with the placement of the crib... It bothered me where we were more or less forced to place it with our desks and such in the room.

 

Let's see if this makes sense now:

 

The huge-o living room is now the living room/dining room. Which for clarity's sake I will let you know the actual "dining room" was carpeted too, so I am not bothered by the fact our dining area is in the carpeted living room.

 

The dining room is now our office area. It contains all of my non-cooking related books, our two desks and our respective machines. 

 

The second bedroom that was our office is now strictly a bedroom for the baby. For the time being it only has a crib and a storage shelf/changing table. I hope to add a rocking chair at some point but it's not a priority. I have no doubt as the event closes in on us that the room will begin to fill up with various tiny human related items.

 

And now I would like to thank my super hero husband for indulging me and making this living space transformation possible. Lord knows that there is no way in hell I would have been able to move any of the furniture. 

He also deserves super awesome kudos for making me a super nommy omelette for breakfast yesterday.

 

Now to go through ALL the pictures I took at Street of Dreams this weekend. Next post will be some of my favorites from the homes. :-)

Cheetah vs. Greyhound

I figure we will start off with the gruesome part of this post. Most of my true readers know me well enough that this will be just as humorous as the gender anecdote, but any of you who are new might be a little taken aback by it... Brace yourselves for another twisted imagining from the epic duo that is my husband and myself.

 

The discussion started as normally as any of our discussions. We were finishing dinner and chatting about our respective days. Collin made mention of the fire that was all the news aired that morning, and about how one of his dear coworkers had made mention of it like no one else had heard the story. Collin had jokingly said something in response to his coworker about a baby rhino being born at the zoo within the last five minutes and that was more current news. Me, being me, asked in all seriousness if there was a baby rhino born and he dashed my hopes by informing me it was just him being a smart ass.

 

I then responded that it's okay, I'd be more excited if it had been a baby big cat. He said like a cheetah, and I said I'd prefer a lion or tiger more so. Cheetahs are adorable fluff balls but they grow into the skeletor of the big cats. This then brought to light the fact that they are essentially the feline equivalent of a greyhound. This realization/observation brings us to the dark part of the humor. (And I have no doubt it could be googled for an answer but this is more fun so roll with it. And your reward for indulging my disturbing imagination is the factual answer at the end.)

 

In a land speed contest who would win? Cheetah or greyhound? We both assumed cheetah, but what if you were to race the two? And what if you gave them additional incentive... Like, starve the cheetah? Our reasoning for this is that the cheetah would be unimpressed with the lack of meat on the greyhound otherwise. And if we needed to we could put gravy on the greyhound. The greyhound's incentive is obvious: to no be eaten. We would also give the greyhound a bit of a head start and hope it is smart enough to start running. Collin decided that the best atmosphere for this trial would be a gladiator style coliseum. At this point we were both laughing so hard we almost fell out of our chairs. This is 100% normal dinner conversation for us.

 

Now for the factual answer: According to Live Science, a Wild cheetah would win hands down clocking at about 60MPH top speed. But now for a twist: the greyhound's top speed is about 43MPH whereas the captive cheetah's speed topped out at 38MPH. They believe the slower speed is due to the zoo raised cheetahs (having been bred in captivity for several generations) never had the opportunity to truly run wild at full throttle. So it would ultimately come down to the cheetah used in the land speed trial: wild or captive bred? You just learned something! Bam!

 

Now for the lighter side of life. A funny anecdote about the similarities in discovering our babies' genders. I am referring to both Spaz (our furry monster child) and our unborn baby girl.

 

We'll start with the human baby. With all the pregnancy symptoms I have been NOT experiencing everyone (myself included) was certain she must be a boy. I had nothing more than mild nausea for "morning sickness." The baby was sitting "low" in my pelvis. I have been craving spicy, savory, and tart more than sweet. And on and on the symptoms all screamed boy. Even my gut instinct was that it was a boy. Well, lo and behold, at the anatomy scan our darling baby was showing the world she was most certainly a girl. Legs wide open like a little hussy... I swear. She had us all fooled. I shocked a fair number of people when I gave them the news that the baby was a girl.

 

Now for the fun parallel story of discovering Spaz's gender. Collin wants it on the record that this was not a fun experience for him. At All. She probably still hasn't forgiven us (well, namely Collin). Spaz was a scrawny runt ball of fluff when Collin got her for me. She was six weeks old and the smallest of her litter. As Spaz entered adolescence and started to fluff out more and fill out a little, she truly looked male. The markings in that vicinity looked like little kitty gonads; especially with the fluff factor. As she neared the six month mark she started to behave a little oddly, and we thought, "Great, HE is going to start spraying soon." We knew we needed to get Spaz fixed ASAP. As the odd behavior continued and grew, we realized that it was similar to a cat in heat... Finally, after checking forums and so forth on how to detect the gender we found the best and most reasonable method was to simply check for testes physically... We snagged Spaz and Collin proceeded to check (I don't feel the need for elaboration on the "how"). And by golly, there was nothing under the markings/fluff... We had one very agitated little girl kitteh at this point. During her first estrus she fell madly in love with my father in law... She followed him everywhere and insisted on presenting herself like a little hussy. It was beyond disturbing. 

So that's it. Both our babies we originally thought were boys and they were most certainly not! Luckily with medical science we didn't have to wait any longer to learn the tiny human's gender. 

Now for the weekend! Tomorrow we are going to the Street of Dreams where I hope to snap a TON of pictures of stuff I can't afford, and decorating ideas I can copy on the cheap! So excited!

Stuffs We Wants

Sitting here looking at a sheet of paper and contemplating its dimensions. I get these weekly emails about the progress of my pregnancy and this week I am at week twenty one. So as I look at the piece of paper it is odd to think that my little girl is almost as long as this piece of paper. At twenty one weeks a baby is roughly ten and a half inches head to heel. It's all about perspective.

 

Each day it feels more and more like she is practicing to be the next karate kid... I can only imagine how this will progress. o.O

 

I found a baby stuff site that has a ton of stuff that I want. It's called RockerByeBaby and I seriously am in love with their stuff. I am thinking of asking for Etsy gift cards so I can shop them. Here's a few pics of the type of stuff they make that I want:

I might have to look at finding some similar fabrics to try making my own stuff (unless I win the lottery), but that could be easier said than done. My sewing machine could always use the work out though!

 

Funny non-baby/preggo side note. I am curious/afraid of what my co-workers are doing on the interwebs at break time. If I have to track a package for a customer during the company break (I take mine later than others) the speed is about 56k dial up... Someone is hogging bandwidth like a crack whore.

 

Someone taught my mother how to text sometime in the last six months... And now she texts me all the time. Almost daily to "See how we're doing." She has no concept of the fact that I am at work, or busy, or that my phone died, or I was out and forgot to text back when I got home. I am not one of those people who drops everything to respond to a text, even from my mom. And it is exhausting. I know she means well, but for the love of god once a week is plenty. I would be a bit more understanding if I were in the last couple weeks leading to my due date, but I am just over the half way point. The only reprieve is when she is over at the coast. Her phone has a shitty signal over there and she won't text me at all, but woe unto me if she is at home... I will admit this, I'd rather she text than call. Half the time when I speak to her on the phone I end up feeling mildly enraged, and I don't like that, nor do I need it during my pregnancy. Oh well, I guess she is just being a mom the only way she knows how... 

Now for some more IKEA catalog. I hit the "Sleeping" section last night and decided it was a good point to stop and go to bed.  Next post you can look forward to a fun gender discovery anecdote and a gruesome discussion on the speed of animals.

Why I Heart My OB

I'm not going to lie. At first I was utterly terrified of my prospective OB. I have Kaiser Permanente for my medical, and when I called in to set up my first prenatal appointment they assigned me to the doctor that was available. This available doctor happened to be a dude. I know, they are just as capable as medical professionals, even for parts that they don't possess, but I had never had a male doctor so I was about five shades of worried. I knew that if I didn't feel completely comfortable with him I could always change doctors, but I didn't want to be labeled a "picky patient." (Not that I think there is a labeling system, but you know what I mean.) I also didn't want to have a different doctor for each appointment. So I decided to tough it out and meet this male obstetrician.

My first appointment finally arrived, and I was so nervous my blood pressure was way up. One, this would be the first time I got to see my little jelly bean, and two, dude doctor was going to be all up in my business. The moment he walked in the door and introduced himself I was completely put at ease. He just has that extremely sweet and caring attitude about himself; something that I had always felt tended to be lacking in the current medical industry. After all the introductions and basic information exchanged, we got down to the nitty gritty not so fun parts of the appointment which actually weren't as bad as I had expected. After that stuff was out of the way we had a great chat about my concerns with the pregnancy.

My biggest issue/concern (and he naturally agreed with me) was my weight. I explained to him that I had originally planned on waiting on the baby thing until I lost another eighty pounds or so (he was over the moon proud of my weight loss accomplishments thus far). I then asked the truly terrifying question: How much weight would I be expected to gain over the duration of the pregnancy? His answer locked down my decision to stick with him for the pregnancy. He told me that at my weight I'm not really "expected" to gain any weight. Ideally, maintaining where I am would be best, and that I could even continue to lose weight as long as I am eating healthy and the baby is growing properly. I was so relieved. I had heard horror stories of other plus size women (including bigger than me) being told by their doctor that they weren't going to starve the baby just  because they were fat and that they needed to gain the amount recommended for women at healthy weights (roughly thirty five pounds).

Another point he made while we were discussing my weight that gave me more confidence that he was the best doctor for me: The baby is a parasite. It will take what it wants and needs with little regard for the host. I 100% agree! Go parasite fetuses!

He also covered all the basic dos and don'ts that you would think would be common sense in this day and age. But then again I think about our society and I am not as shocked that they still have to remind pregnant women that they shouldn't smoke, drink, or use drugs.

Every appointment I have to go to will be with him, and so far every appointment I have had with him has been great. He's got a great sense of humor (as I am sure you could deduce from the parasite comment), and he always seems happy to talk to his patients. He doesn't talk down to them either.

At my last check up I finally asked THE question: Would he be the one to deliver the baby? I didn't want to have a Knocked Up moment where I was told he would be it and then him not be there. Sadly, the answer is, "Probably not." He does works shifts at the hospital, but there is no guarantee that he will be on a hospital shift when I pop. Sad face. After he left the room I looked at my tummy (at this point we still didn't know the gender) and told the baby in the strictest of tones that he or she could only come out if my doctor was on shift. Yea, we'll see how that goes.

Other than the protein level scare at the beginning, my pregnancy has his stamp of approval of going perfectly fine so far. Fingers crossed that we keep this up! :-)

Now I am going to go drink a glass of cranberry juice and pretend it's red wine (come on you can't tell me you didn't do that as a kid) and peruse my 2014 IKEA catalog!!! My next post will hopefully be soon. I am thinking the topic will be about awesome baby stuff and the "style" I think ROCKS!