Bigger Is Better. I Guess.

I had a special relationship before being pregnant that isn't feeling quite as special anymore. I was quickly becoming best friends with the gym. Now...just seems we don't click like we used to. I'm still going. But what used to be almost an addiction and very gratifying, is now a little bit of torture. However, I refuse to gain more weight than what would be considered normal, because I was on a mission before all of this, and that mission WILL BE COMPLETED. That's right, Jillian Michaels. I will have your body. My deadline has just been pushed back a little.

What's frustrating is the lack of progress. Maybe I'm not really supposed to be progressing as far as losing weight goes. I'm certainly not trying to do that. But it's a very strange feeling to work out, but still have to watch the numbers on the scale make that slow, ugly climb. I know this is different. I do. It's just so hard to accept. I had finally started to realize some goals with my health and appearance. I got down to the size I wanted to be, I was able to wear a bikini with no shame for the first time in years, I was even starting to see some real muscle definition in my arms and abs - two places I never thought it would happen. To top off all the outward stuff, I was even in the best health, internally, that I've been in years. Hopefully, that's still the case. Trying to reconcile all of that with my expanding waist is just turning out to be more of a struggle than I originally thought.

At the gym, I'm walking instead of running. I tried running a couple of times, and although I'm told it's fine, it just didn't feel fine. It sent me into a panic and I had to slow down to a normal, non-jarring speed that wouldn't break the baby's neck. (Have I mentioned I'm a worrier?). I'm also still doing weights, and I'm not having to make any changes there except to not work out my abs. But WOW...there is a new level of pain I experience the next day that reminds me very much of the day after being in a car wreck. And stretching? That has turned into kind of a little eight-minute joke that I play on myself before hopping on the treadmill for my leisurely stroll. Every day, it gets harder to touch my toes, my body feels more stiff each time. Doing the stretches I'm even allowed to do at this point is making me feel...well...old.

Like I said, I know this is all ok. I know that touching my toes, and doing crunches until I'm sick and running 5 miles are things that are just going to have to wait. Maybe I just miss them though. Those things had all become something I looked forward to every day, and I wasn't ever really given the chance to say goodbye. Well, it's not goodbye. It's "see you later." And when my body belongs to me again, I'll be bringing a new friend into the relationship. A jogging stroller. With a baby in it, of course.

Houston, We Have a....

Penis.

It's a boy!

It's sort of hard to believe that something has actually gone my way, but it seems the universe has spoken, and its exact words were, "I like you, Sass. Here's a small favor." Sorry, little girl. It just wasn't your moment. Maybe next time. Although there isn't going to be a next time. I do remember saying there wasn't going to be a first time too, but look at us now. Hmmmm... Let's not go there and ruin the moment just yet.

Now I feel like one of those women who's so desperate to get married that once a man finally proposes, all she needs to do is call up all the wedding vendors to give them the green light on the plans she made three years prior. I can just take my secret list of boy things to the gettin' place now and make everything official with the scan gun. Right after I run it by Peyton, of course. I wouldn't want to be rude. He does get all of the credit for this, after all.

It took me about ten seconds after finding out I was pregnant to decide that this baby was going to be a boy. It was an immediate gut feeling. Intuition. I just knew. Well, now we are three days away from finding out if I can ever trust my instincts again, and I'm getting nervous. I have fallen in love with a little boy that I haven't even met yet, and it's going to be hard if I'm told that I'll never meet him. I'll make the necessary adjustments if that is the case, but...yeah, we'll see. Wish us luck. I've told God many, many times already that it's not too late for him to change things. No one but Him knows what's happening in baby's nether-regions, it would be our little secret. But I'm not going to dwell on this right now. We will have our answer very soon, all that's left to do is wait and eat a few pieces of cake.

In the meantime, I have done two things to get myself even more into baby-mood. Both of which back-fired. First, I browsed around on YouTube last night for birthing videos, at the suggestion of this week's advice installment on my What To Expect app. Ok, so now that I know what THAT'S all about - I'm wondering how exactly this baby plans on being born, because I'm pretty sure I'm not doing that. And all the crazy comments below the videos were about how "peaceful" and "inspiring" and "moving" it was. Not to be completely unsentimental but, I'm going to spend nine months growing this baby and will very familiar with each and every move it makes, every hiccup I endure, all the fun side-effects and mood swings. Yes...there is some fun involved in that part. I'm also really excited about holding our baby for the first time and not being in labor anymore. But the in-between part is not what I want to capture on DVD and remember for all eternity. I'll pass on that one. Baby was in my tummy, and now baby is in my arms. That's all I ever need to know. Peyton has also been given very strict instructions to remain next to my head at all times, and to never glance in the wrong direction. Never.

After losing sleep over that little episode last night, I decided today to really think about registering because it seems so much more lighthearted and pleasant. Step one...I looked at cute crib bedding and diaper bags and then sort of got stuck when I tried to think of what else we need. Step two...I found a link to a "registry checklist". Great! Someone else did the work for me! I opened it up and my jaw dropped. The font was really small and the list took up the whole page and everything was divided up into categories that I didn't even know existed. Like "Layette". I don't even know what that is, but apparently there are twenty-something things we need to register for in order to complete it. There are approximately as many things needed in order to feed a baby. Up until now, I thought there were just two and that we were already good to go on that part. But no...I will need a nursing stool. Although I really kind of just pictured myself hanging out in bed while that took place. Why would I want to sit on a stool? And can I assume that's what the "splat mat" goes under? Probably not. With my complete lack of knowledge, I'm sure it has some genius and very necessary function and in a couple of years I'll be telling a pregnant friend that I'd just have died without my splat mat.

Whatever happened to just winging it? Although, no matter how much of this stuff we actually acquire, I'm pretty sure that's what we'll be doing anyway.

The Answer is NO.

I knew the first question out of my grandmother's mouth would be, "Are you getting married?" And it was. I was prepared for that. She was very good (that day) about not bringing it up again after I firmly told her no. Since then, the china I was promised two years ago upon her eventual passing (she likes to prepare) has suddenly become conditional. Now I can have it when I get married. Isn't that cute? For a minute there, she almost had me convinced that six place settings were fair trade for committing to a lifetime with someone who doesn't really like to commit. That goes for both of us. He's been there, done that and doesn't ever want to do it again...and I make bad choices and don't really trust myself to "choose wisely". For obvious reasons. But all of this was expected. She is my conservative, Southern Baptist grandmother and truly believes there is only one way to do things. (Until recently, when she landed a boyfriend, but that's another story.)

As for co-workers, I guess I kind of thought that since this has no effect on them whatsoever, that the marriage question would not be an issue. Until this morning. I was actually asked the question, "So are you two going to make this official?" I asked what we would be making official, exactly. "Well, you know, are you going to get married?" There was actually a hand gesture that went with that part, but I'm unfamiliar with its origins. My response was, "Well you see...this is actually already very official. The baby is alive and happening and I'm not really sure how much more official a metal ring would make that." He said he was sorry. He has to say that to me a lot. However, this is the guy who has been insisting to the other knocked up chick (which is how I like to refer to us) that she simply must get a mid-wife. He's very modern in his thinking, clearly.

Suffice it to say, I will not be defending myself at any point for the decisions that Peyton and I make about our relationship. It belongs to only us, and we are the only ones who need to worry about whether or not we're married, and right now, neither one of us are worried at all. There is a baby on the way and that is much more important.

SPEAKING OF BABY!!!!

He is currently living on my right side, moving a tiny bit and has the new ability to hiccup and suck his thumb. He must also be going through a growth spurt because I'm up to about 8 meals a day. Snack-size meals, obviously. Mostly. He actually looks human now, so they say. I personally can't wait to see that for myself. We have a doctor appointment next Thursday, after many years of waiting, that will prove that for me. If things go my way, which is almost never but I'm holding out hope, we will also get to see baby's um....wiener? We're going to have to discuss what to call that once he's here and discovers it for himself, because mom's about as mature as a preschooler about that stuff. He's going to think his little thing is referred to as the sound of giggling. Things could also not go my way, and we might have a girl on our hands, but we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. (She'll have to look good in blue, that's all I'm saying.)

Chupacabra vs. Pants

Remember back when I was saying how great maternity clothes are? Well, I was referring to the jeans. Because so far, I have managed to find one...that's right, ONE PAIR...of maternity pants. They are black. Of course. Because why would anyone make maternity pants in another color? Well, I am not buying two pairs of pants that look exactly alike to wear for 5 months of my life. I'm annoyed every time I have to spend money on this stuff anyway, because there are much more important things at which I could be throwing my truckloads of cash. Stuff for the baby? Medical bills? Babyker's savings account which only seems to decrease? Pizza? Really, just about anything. Hunting for a stupid pair of unblack pants is starting to get on my nerves.

So if anyone happens to see these elusive creatures while out and about (and it's not likely) go ahead and snap a picture and send it to National Geographic. After that, come tell me the store name and its exact coordinates, and provide a hand-drawn map guiding me to the very rack on which you spotted these rarities. Just a warning, you will probably encounter Bigfoot at least twice along your journey and I'm guessing a whole pack of "mythical" chupacabras as well. Which aren't mythical at all, you know. I have one. Her name is Zoe. And she was a lot easier to get my hands on too.

Waiting

All I want to do today is hug our baby, who isn't even here yet. But all I can think about is the fact that Janelle's little sister, who gave birth to an absolutely beautiful little boy this weekend, can't even hug her baby who IS here. Reid was born with some very serious complications when part of the placenta ruptured away from the uterus and he was left without blood or oxygen for fourteen minutes. As of yesterday, he had little brain activity, was barely breathing on his own, every organ in his little body had been compromised and he was fighting to stay alive. And today...everyone's just waiting and hoping for better news after his brain scan today.

I can't even imagine going through this whole pregnancy healthy and happy, and having to face something like this at the end. The Opons are an incredibly strong family of fighters, but it is through hardship and pain that they have become that way and it just doesn't seem fair that their strength is being tested yet again. I know that they will be ok, but it would be nice if this didn't have to end with them just being ok.

I'm praying my heart out for that little boy, and for his whole family, who has waited so long to meet him.

And of course, I'm praying for our baby as well. I don't think I realized how important s/he already is to me until now.