Pregnancy=Insanity ranting continued

I have been known to have wildly fantastic dreams, super vivid and detailed. (I wrote this post about the ridiculousness of my dreams last year just after Lucy was born). My dreams seem to be, many of you will relate, particularly potent while pregnant. Probably because I am waking up a lot more and seem to have multiple dreams every night. Jason only remembers his dreams once in a very great while, but when he does, we make a big deal out of it. He'll sit up and announce, "I had a dream!" and then every dream seems to be a variation of him as Jack Bauer somersaulting into windows with a machine gun and fighting terrorists. I'm all invigorated every time he recounts one of these. Crazy little sexy flair that hubby of mine has in his subconscious.

I had a dream last night. Dreamt that I came home and Jason was snuggling/making out with someone on our couch. All of our family pictures were taken down. I proceed to start freaking out. Apparently, and no one told me this in my dream, it was just made clear in my mind like a flash of revelation, Jason had told this girl that there was a single mom and baby he felt sorry for that he was letting live with him for a short time. How noble. So that would explain the appearance of Lucy and me on their date. I start yelling at her and she looks at Jason and says, "She is a complete psycho, isn't she?!" to which Jason sortof nods, looking uneasy. I'm yelling at her to get out, that this is my husband, and to, "Look at this child! This is his daughter!!" Jason then pulls me into the other room and tells me he has a right to have a girlfriend, because I have been so mean to him, and that I should have seen it coming. And he tells me, as if in consolation, that he would only have a girlfriend while I was pregnant, and he'd break up with her when I had the baby.

So, I'm recounting this to Jason in the wee hours of dawn this morning in bed. He is laughing a little next to me adding in an appropriate, "Oh my gosh," with the revealing of additional ridiculousness. I tell him I need some extra snuggling, and tell him he needs to tell me that he is happy we are having another baby, that he doesn't need a girlfriend on the side, that I'm not that bad to live with, etc. He repeats back verbatim all that I had told him he needed to tell me. But it doesn't really sound convincing does it? Because he is just regurgitating everything I just told him to say.

Obviously the "morning" sickness has taken over my personality and life. I don't really wanna be around people because I feel like a complete hag. And deep down I am feeling guilty for the condition of the house and lack of cooking. My boy is an old fashioned, home-grown boy, who does not mind cooking up something for himself and would never complain about it, but when a meal is ready for him when he comes home from a hard day, he is extra "fat'n happy". Feels extra loved and special. If he was a cat he'd crawl right up in my lap, purring up a storm. And I like that. I enjoy cooking for him and taking care of him. Because he takes care of me. He really does put up with a lot, and I'm starting to feel like he really doesn't even like me right now.

And then of course I have this internal conflict with the guilt I feel. Suddenly this miniature devil appears on my left shoulder and shouts, "You shouldn't be feeling guilty! Shame on you! You just rest! You are a sacred vessel transporting his child from heaven to earth!! He loves being a daddy more than anything! Look at that beautiful Lucy you baked him! And now you're baking up another baby that he will love and adore just as much!" And this is how we (actually, how I- just me inside this head here) continue back and forth. Like I am sacrificing my total self for nothing in return. Like I'm doing this all for him and like I get nothing out of it.

I'm so ready to be done with this first stage. I LOVED being pregnant last time once I got past this first stage. Some women hate it the whole 9 months, but I really loved it. I was more cheery and domestic than ever. I am just now 10 weeks. I was almost to tears last night because Jason wanted to watch a movie and I wanted to read. Told him he was being way inconsiderate and selfish. What?!?? Apparently I preferred that he lay next to me in bed and watch me while I read. Why can't he just see that's obviously the logical solution?

Poor, poor Jason.

The evolution of the ol' weave

I started out as a little girl with short, short hair. Football helmet style.

I had an extra sensitive head, and could NOT handle my mom brushing through my hair when it was longer. People would always say to my mom, "What a beautiful little boy!" and I would repeatedly run away crying. I remember telling my mom, in tears, "I can't wait to have boobs! So everyone will know I'm a girl!" Despite childhood trauma, the short hair just sortof stuck with me. And for some reason all throughout my varying lengths and colors of hair, random strangers have always said to me, "Ya know who you look like? You're a spitting image of..." (some celebrity with the exact same hair style as me at the time). And would honestly be like, "I don't really know what it is..." and I would say, "Actually, we have nothing in common except our hair." and they would say, "No, no... that's not it. You just really look like her!" And I would be like, "ok, if you say so." This went on all through adolescence into adulthood. Funny.

High school: hair was ridiculously short. And many different colors. So easy. But the pics make my husband cringe. I got Charlize Theron, Susan Powter, the lead singer of the Cranberries, and Pink, all of whom coincidentally had ridiculously short hair at the time as well.

First few years of college: little longer, piecy and slightly unruly. Halle Berry was an interesting (and flattering) one to get, but again I'd always say, "Really it's just the hair. She is black...and flawless." I have a couple girlfriends who get asked all the time if they are sisters because they have the same length and color of hair. Doesn't matter that one is like a foot taller than the other, and absolutely nothing else physically in common. Kinda like Halle and me. I mean, unless of course you're referring to our chests, those are very similar.

Jim Carrey was another one I heard. When I first chopped my hair short again in 8th grade, my brother Abe told me I looked like Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber. And I cried.

Ouch. No pre-pubescent girl should ever be told she looks like a grown man, let alone one as grotesque as him. This particular comparison was always a little cruel, but at least it wasn't from strangers. Only family. And it was good fun. We were actually talking about this phenomenon the other night at a little family get together. My sister's brother in law Seth, was like, "Oh yeah, I can see it, but Jim Carrey is a really good looking guy, it's not bad." What?? It gets better. He then proceeds to say, "People tell me all the time I look like Will Ferrell, and it doesn't bug me," which we kindof laughed about because he looks nothing like Will Ferrell. Come to find out at the end of the night, he very casually says, "Oh wait, did I say Will Ferrell? I meant Collin Ferrell." (As if it changed NOTHING about the story.) We all stood there exchanging confused glances, realizing that we had become stupider because of the verbal exchange that had taken place.

Come to think of it I do see some similarity between ol' Jim and me.

The one that has actually endured the longest (this photo was just taken this summer), much to my husband's delight, is a comparison to his long time Hollywood crush Mandy Moore. I see nothing, again, except an occasional similar hair do. Stop copying me Mandy, get your own hair style. Geez. And stay away from my husband. You do look exceptionally saucy though in that bottom pic.

And for the record, I did grow my hair out on my mission in Paraguay, just to do it, because I was sick of people saying, "I wonder what you'd look like with long hair." And when the mop was long, every single day looking in the mirror was a complete identity crisis. "Who am I?" No one really told me I looked like anyone during that time, but I felt mostly like Tiny Tim. The extra chin didn't help my cause.

That's why I promptly chopped it all off again within weeks of returning home. Identity crisis resolved.

Pregnancy=Insanity

Turns out there is in fact a little something going on in there besides indigestion. Turns out this little something has a sweet little speedy heart-rate of 163 bpm. Our estimated due date was a little off though, (which I suspected because it was with Lucy) so our official due date from the doc is April 27th. It just does not matter that this is the way every single human being who has ever lived on this earth came into the world, when it is going on inside your body it is pretty surreal.

And surreal how something so teeny-tiny can wreak such havoc on your system. I guess in every sense of the word it is totally life-changing and monumental to mother a child , so why should I expect it ever to have little or no effect on me, even from the very beginning?

Lucy and I went on a walk last week. It was the first time out of the house in like a week, and I must say it was very invigorating. This time of year is my very favorite. The crispness in the air really does something to my lungs I can't quite describe. On our walk, we happened across an obviously VERY pregnant kitty cat. She waddled towards us and gave a friendly yet exhausted meow. I wanted nothing more than to sit down and massage that little pregnant frame. Massage her little paws and back. I wanted to tell her she had a right to have attitude, that she didn't have to be a friendly cat. I even gave her permission to scratch a few people, but adults only. No one could blame her.

It's an interesting thing, with husbands during pregnancy. Jason makes me toast every single morning while I'm still in bed writhing and moaning feeling like I'm on a bad ride at six flags that will not end. He has been wonderful (understatement). He has cleaned the kitchen several times and has been more than satisfied with making himself a sandwich for dinner. But, in my extreme heffer-ness, I still find room to resent him a little, simply because he has no uterus. (Not his fault. If he did have a uterus, things just never would have worked out between us.) Bottom line, he can never comprehend it. (Anyone who has never been through it can never comprehend it.) And I always think he's annoyed at me when he's not. I always think he thinks I'm just putting on a good show, like he's thinking, "It can't really be that bad, knock it off." And then I cry and I tell him that's what I think he's thinking and he tells me it's ridiculous and he's not thinking that at all. He comforts me and I feel better and then suddenly my eyes narrow, my head shoots towards him again and I say, "Yeah but you'll never really understand what this is like! So how can you really have the patience you say you have?! You know you despise me right now, I can feel it! And that makes me despise you because this is all your fault!" (And he should despise me, mostly because I'm despicable in every way). And then we burst into laughter and hi-five and say, "Phew, glad that was all pretend! You really had me going! Now let's go make some jello!" Poor, poor...poor Jason. Luckily, I evened out a lot by second trimester with Lucy and was actually less hormonal than I was when not pregnant. We are crossing our fingers that I'll be back to sanity by then. Crossing our fingers but not holding our breath.

I think my favorite part about this all, and it should be your favorite part too, is when I'm reminded that this little darling is headed our way in no time flat! What a little cutie-patootie she is. (Go ahead, enlarge it. You know you want to.)

I lied, that's my second favorite part. This is in reality my favorite part to be reminded of. Something this sublime was our end result last time. Isn't she lovely.

Staircase: a world of wonder.

For the past several weeks we have been graced with my sister Vanessa, her hubs Sam and their cherub Leah. They have since departed, and I must say it was almost as sad separating Leah and Lucy as it was us. They became bestest friends- often conspiring against us, plotting and scheming. I'm afraid to admit our daughter was the one heading up most of the conspiracy. Just before bed seemed to be their finest scheming hour.

Leah has been in one-story, stair-less living quarters her whole life. So, naturally, Lucy was a big show off most of the time. Nessa caught on tape a glimpse of what happened over and over again while they were here. Up and down the stairs. What Lucy won't tell you is that the sore on her cheek is from falling down the stairs. She could get bucked off a horse a million times and get right back on. She is crazy. This is especially for you Grammy and Papa. :)

Tejas.

Birthday Celebration+Dallas World Aquarium+Cougars (previously ranked #20) beating Sooners (previously ranked #3) in new Cowboys stadium+New Birthday Camera+Insanely cute kid= really long post and too many pictures.

We started off the trip at the Dallas World Aquarium. Highly recommend it! (Where do you draw the line when you entitle something an aquarium? Are you really allowed to call it one when there are large cats, monkeys, birds of all kinds and reptiles? Pleasant surprise!)

This kitty took an obvious liking to me. I had a feeling it was the right move wearing those leggings.

Turning 26 didn't really phase me. I cried with 25, but really didn't mind 26. Maybe 30 will be traumatic. But those in-between years don't really feel like much, do they? I guess it helps to remember how many people I know who are lots older than me and way cooler than me too. Anyway, it was a great day. That evening we went to dinner at The Capital Grill. Don't recommend bringing your one year old to a place like this. I almost got in a few full-on fist fights with Lucy in between her chucking my phone and yelling at everyone (wanted to run around). And then I almost got in a few fist fights with people who I thought might have been looking at us and possibly thinking, "Why would they bring a baby to a place like this?" Luckily, she ended up pulling through for us, what a champ. We got out of there scuffle free and with a free dessert. :)

So, can we say the events of this following day were nothing short of monumental? Thought we were going to get spanked. Everyone did. Being in that stadium was unreal. I know Bradford got injured and was out the second half, that's all anyone seems to talk about on ESPN, but what about the fact that we played the entire game without our star running back? And won the game!! Has anyone mentioned that? Give credit.

Lucy was not scared to strut her stuff. Not scared at all.

Dallas treats us well!

*Welcome-to-Pregnancy highlight of the trip*: Running late as we board for our return flight. Flight leaves at 7:30 AM. Not a good time for me. Had been munching on cookies but fighting not to toss them since we woke at 5. Order biscuits and gravy for some absurd reason right before boarding. A full flight. Can't sit next to Jason. He sits behind me, I sit in between two rather interesting individuals with Lucy on my lap. Fighting the need to throw up. The large man I sit next to visibly rolls his eyes and sighs as I sit next to him. Adrenaline pumping. Planning the things I'm going to say to this baby hater. Decide I can't be angry at him the whole flight. Strike up a conversation with him. Immediately realize it's a big mistake. Smell his breath. I could probably smell the pilot's breath from here at this moment in time. Lucy falls asleep on my lap. I try not to breathe out of my nose. He drones about Obama, breathing heinousness in my direction. As a desperate attempt to escape, I throw my head in the opposite direction. Woman on other side of me hasn't looked up at us once. I glance down at the book she is engulfed in. Read one line, "He throws her onto the bed, they know this can only happen just this one time..." Whoa! I quickly avert my eyes, startled and embarrassed. She is sweating and wiping her brow. She is getting hot and bothered squished next to me. I look back at Jason in desperation, with a sleeping baby on my lap, feeling my stomach preparing to empty itself. Jason is fast asleep. I feel anger that he is asleep. I start to pray. Man is still talking about Obama and Texas and power plants and hunting. I keep praying. Lucy starts to wake. I reach back and grab Jason's leg, passing her back to him over my head. In attempt to relieve nausea, I completely inhale the now cold biscuits and gravy, pretty sure without chewing. Another big mistake. Halfway through eating them, I know it's not the last time I will see them. But we are preparing to land, and the fasten seatbelt sign is lit. I pray again. Please let me make it off this plane. Please. As we descend I am unbuckling my seatbelt, ready to dash. We land in Denver, taxi, and I run for it. Make it to the bathroom with not a second to spare. Big time heave, and start to cry. Ugly-face cry, big tears. Call my mom. Receive the necessary nurturing while my husband is getting our stuff ready to board again on our final leg home. Feel a little better but still need to cry. I thank Father in Heaven for getting me to the toilet.

Positive.

I do as of late have the retching to back this up. Otherwise I might not believe it myself. It's true. We will welcome family member #4 sometime in April of 2010. We are slightly surprised. No, we're not asking, How did this happen? But it did happen sooner than we expected. Slightly surprised and slightly terrified (mostly me). And mostly thrilled.

Closet Pillager

Lucy has a special place in her heart for her mother's clothing; specifically her mother's braziers and swimsuit tops. (After all, these articles have held the very keys to her emotional sanity and physical well-being since birth, so who can blame her? Such a sentimental girl.) On any given day, she'll string out 4 or 5 from the closet, one at a time, and model them for all to see. Sometimes struts them individually, sometimes collectively. She's pretty thrilled with herself when she has one on, I will say that. Makes me wonder why I don't feel that cool wearing a bra. I should feel that cool. I'm gonna start.