Twenty Six Weeks (Alternatively Titled: Please Don't Let Me Give Birth to Justin Bieber)

I had started to write a post last Friday, but of course, work got in the way and so now I'm carving out a little time to write on Monday.  Jeff is out of town until Wednesday at a work retreat, so I have the house to myself yet again.  And I have plans!  Although they're not exciting.  I'm going to get some boxes and start packing up our stuff.  We haven't had any house showings or requests for the past week, so I'm assuming that it's all over and done with and I can start boxing up our things for the move next week.  Holy crap, it's next week.  I was reading a few of my posts from this past summer and I started laughing when I read one that said I wanted to get everything done in June so I could relax in July and August.  What was I thinking?  Somehow I didn't have time to relax.  I can't believe how fast these two months have gone by and in two weeks' time, summer will be officially over and we'll be residents of Plymouth.  I am anxious to start working on the baby's room, though.  I think I'll feel a lot more calm once that task is completed.   

I signed up for day care last Friday as well.  I know some of you may think that I'm just a nut case, but when I went up to the center and asked about their infant vacancies, I was told that the waiting list extended out to March, so I was lucky to get a spot.  I told Jeff this was a sign that sometimes my hyper-organization comes in handy. 

We also had a visit with Duckie last week and I took the glucose test for gestational diabetes.  I passed with flying colors and celebrated with a Nutter Butter Blizzard.  As a side note, I could write a whole post about my dedication and love for these treats - they're like a little slice of peanut butter heaven.  In any case, Duckie told me that the baby is doing well and so is his mama.  Duckie says I'm a rock star and I told Jeff he should start treating me like one - for example, fawning all over me and screaming with adoration when I enter the room.  I know it sounds weird, but I keep expecting all these road blocks to get thrown up during this pregnancy.  It's taken us so long to get here and I'm continually amazed that nothing has gone wrong yet.  Seriously, every doctor's visit is an answer to a prayer and I just can't believe how blessed we've been so far.  Perhaps its time to let go of the "doomsday attitude."   

I spent the weekend doing mundane chores - I went to the grocery store at 7:00 in the morning on Saturday because I was awake and bored.  I went to the pool on Saturday afternoon for some sunshine and reading, although I didn't get much done.  Whenever I am in a public place, I find myself observing the children.  I've spent a large portion of my summer comparing and contrasting boys and the girls.  People probably think I'm a total pedophile, but it's actually helped me understand, in some respects, what it will be like to be the parent of what is sure to be an overly rambunctious little boy.  For a while, I thought I was getting out easy - that I'd never have to fight with my child about how low pants should ride on the waist.  This theory was shot out of the water when I realized that belting your pants around your butt cheeks is still fashionable to some.  Then, I was pleased because I thought we'd never have to fight about how much make-up to wear, what hairstyle was appropriate, or how low cut the top should be.  But then, I realized that those are all potential fights I could have with this little person because he will be his own individual.  And he might not like the Polo shirts and madras shorts that I want to put him in.  And then I got really scared - what if this little man turns out to be Justin Bieber?  That thought scares me more than anything.  That I would be the mother to a seventeen year old pop superstar who traipses around with the Selena Gomezes of the world.  Not to mention that he would be a multi-gazillionaire.  How do you parent a child like that?  I probably couldn't give him an allowance.  So, I pray every night that I don't give birth to the next Justin Bieber.     

So, this morning I made Jeff take updated pictures of the bump because again, I think it grew by leaps and bounds over the weekend.  We're finishing out our second trimester and heading into the last leg of this journey and I'm so excited.  I feel great, for the most part.  I do have the occasional (okay, constant) aches and pains but overall, I feel great heading into the home stretch.  So, here we are at the tail end of the second trimester:

 

Jeff decided to turn it into a photo shoot, and requested that I give him "a little sexy" as well.  This was the result:

After seeing this picture, Jeff told me that it really says something that my best "sexy" pose is Sally O'Mally from Saturday Night Live.  You know, "I'm FIFTY! I can KICK, STRETCH, and I can KICK.  I'm FIFTY!"  If you don't know what I'm talking about, just Google it. 

This week, the baby is as big as a cucumber and weighing in at over two pounds.  He's an active one, let me tell you.  His kicks have gotten so strong that they actually move my shirt and you can see them from the outside, as opposed to just feeling them.  I can also report that I did make Jeff put his head on my belly to see if he could hear the baby's heartbeat (see posting from two weeks ago) and I will tell you that I don't think he put forth his best effort.  He did say that he could hear lots of moving around in there but couldn't specifically identify a heartbeat. 

At this point in the process, the baby will just continue to get bigger and bigger.  And I will too.  His hearing and taste buds continue to develop.   Jeff and I were both over eight pounds when we were born.  I don't know if that really has anything to do with how big this one will be.  Regardless, we're rock stars right now and I'm betting we can keep it up for the next thirteen weeks and three days.  Not that I'm counting or anything.