And I Get to Keep Him?

So it’s been a week, but Little A, the !@$#! Baby, arrived on June 25! Unlike his procrastinator parents, he decided to not follow my instructions and came nearly two weeks early. Between the drugs and the crying and the diapers and the feedings and the 60+ hour power outage and heat wave, I just couldn’t sit down long enough to post this. But look at this face, how am I supposed to get anything done?!

In case you were not privy to the live updates, here’s how it all went down on social media:

Stay tuned, there is plenty more to come. It’s going to be a wild ride!

To My Bubble Boy

DISCLAIMER: If you are looking for a standard Expletive Baby type rant and rage, please turn around and leave now. You may not find that here today. Apologies.

Dear %^@! Baby:

I want you to come on time, I really do. This is no time to procrastinate. This is your official two week notice. Please pack up your water apartment and vacate the premises in fourteen (14) days. You will be refunded your security deposit upon final inspection.

That said, it pains me to evict you. In the physical sense, OBVIOUSLY it will pain me to evict you, but I’m focused more on the figurative right now. You have been a model tenant, requiring zero calls to the cops for noise complaints. I’m sure that will change. I’ve gotten used to your late night ninja practice, wall-banging, drunken hiccups and booty shaking. I’ve grown (literally) to enjoy it.

It’s going to be odd not having that movement anymore. And if I do, I know it really is just gas now. And that’s gross.

It is a scary world out there and you’re safe and protected in your little uterine bubble. I feel like I can shield you from everything. You’re cozy and warm and fed and safe. I could keep you in a bubble forever, but the threat of being deflated by Costanza, mud wrestling with Stacy Keibler or ending up like this is just far too great a risk.

You and I have been a team, man.  You parasite away my nutrients and in return, I eat whatever the hell I want to.  You’ve given me a plethora of new excuses to use that have been accepted without question. It’s a bullshitting freedom I have never experienced before. And it’s amazing. TEAMWORK.

You’ve been an attention-getter without being seen, meaning the attention is on me. Anyone who knows me knows I sort of totally dig that shit. I’m the youngest, I am the only girl in my family, I was and remain a mo^&#%f$#%@^ng princess. Out of your bubble, the swooning gets passed to you. And not saying I’m not going to go banana sandwich over your little face, but no one will be looking at my little face anymore. What can I say, I’m conceited and selfish.

I appreciate the luck that you’ve brought me, courtesy of your father’s genes, however I know once you’re out it is no longer you and I against the world, it’s you and your dad against me. There is no hope for me after that. I will never win.

While you technically belong 50% to your father, for the past nine months you’ve been tied solely to me. You’ve been mine. I know you better than anyone else can. I know what you like, what drives you crazy, what makes you squirm. No one else knows you like I do. I am not really ready to share you yet.

I know you’ve been in there for 38 weeks/almost nine months/long enough, but I feel like it went by too fast and I am just starting to fully absorb and appreciate the experience. At the same time, it’s also felt like you’ve been in there so long I cannot remember my pre-fetus body. It’s an emotional tug of war, thinking it went by too fast and wasn’t long enough and that it’s time and you’re ready and I can totally see why women can be prone to depression after the fact.

I’m not going to get into the part about how we don’t know what we’re doing but we’ll always have your best interest at heart and blah blah blah. I was actually going to, but I started tearing up at work so, yeah, no, not going to happen. I AM HUMAN, AFTER ALL.

THIS IS ABOUT ME NOT WANTING TO SHARE YOU WITH ANYONE ELSE. About not being ready to let you out into the real world. Like I said. Selfish. Plus the real world? It sort of sucks.

So, Little Buddy, let’s spend the next 14 days enjoying each other’s company as you pack up to vacate. Things between us will never be the same. Things will be better, of course, but never like this. Let’s revel in the next two weeks together – indulging on our favorite things, poking each other, playing guess the body part and making your dad do anything and everything around the house as we sit and watch Storage Wars and So You Think You Can Dance.

And then you leave the building. On time. Fully packed. Taking your 20 pounds of gear with you.

You’re strong, you can carry it all out yourself. That’s why I’ve been drinking protein shakes.

Will the Real Slim Shady Please Stand Up?

May I have your attention please?

We’re gonna have a problem here.

Hi, my name is…

That’s right my friends. The world receives another A. Because that’s exactly what we all need, though it is better than a Mini Me running around, at least until we get a grasp on this parenting thing.

And yes, we fully intend to dress our little boy like Andy Bernard.

As most of my “real life” friends know, my husband’s name is one not to be spoken on the interwebz and his main online persona is Big A. Well. Now our baby’s name will be also verboten since he will be taking that same name. Henceforth, hamster fetus will forever be known as “Little A”. Or, since Big A is a Lil’ Wayne fan (who’s kidding who, I am too. MAKE IT RAIN.), fetus will also be seen as “Lil’ A”.

We found out a few days before Big A left, so the fact I’ve kept this secret for over a week is sort of a miracle. Within the first two minutes of the ultrasound, we knew. It was pretty clear. Little A takes after his father, letting his goods hang out for the world to see. Anyone who went to college with us may know this fact about Big A a little too well. Sadly, we did not receive photographic evidence of Little A’s first such moment. But rest assured it is bound to be the first of many.

Dude, you can totally see the crazy finger!

He's got leeegs. He'll know how to use them.

So there you have it! We got our wish, our practice child and we don’t have to spend days, weeks or months arguing about baby girl names. Two thumbs up.

All you other Slim Shadys are just imitating.



oh boy! oh boy! oh boy?

Dear vitamin sucking fetus.

You should be a boy. It is in your best interest to be a boy. For the love of god, please be a boy.

We need a practice child. An easy first try. A down and dirty, dog water slobber drinking first rounder that we can’t mess up too much. Boys don’t hold as many grudges. Boys aren’t nearly as dramatic. I find they are less likely to be scarred for life from three or sixteen parental mishaps.

But shit. Girls on the other hand? Especially ones containing MY genes? No. Bad idea for a first round draft choice. We would never hear the end of how tragic her childhood was. And man. Help me if she’s prissy in the slightest.

...and kitty cat tails...

Not only that, we’re stumped on naming and decorating and all that shit if it’s female. Boy name? EASY. Done. Already mapped out. Room decor? DONE. Vision solid in my noggin. After school activity? DONE. No complaining, you’re going to play baseball. HE CAN PICK UP THE DOG CRAP IN SEVEN YEARS!! MOW THE LAWN IN ELEVEN!!

I didn’t mow a lawn until last year. I was 29.

So. Child One. Be male. Besides, it’ll be way better for you this way. Someday, you could have a little sister to pick on. And that seems to be the highlight of male childhood. Trust me. I know from experience. She’ll haaaate it. And you’ll find joy in every one of her little tears.

Don’t disobey your mother, little one.


Dear !#%@# Fetus:

What the $%^! are you? Let’s find out.

Tons of old wives tales exist about determining the sex of your baby in utero. Let’s see what they say about you, shall we?  Here’s an extensive list for your reading pleasure, but I am not going to test all of them. Because some of them are a little too personal and I really don’t feel like sharing that information publicly. That and I’m too lazy.

Here’s how I stack up:

  • Heart rate was about 150 last appointment – GIRL
  • Carrying high or low – I’m not showing yet, so…Neutral
  • No morning sickness – BOY
  • Craving salty/sour (boy) or sweet (girl) – Um, both. However, I always want salt and I have developed a  bigger sweet tooth than usual, so we’ll sway this one – GIRL
  • Craving  protein – meat and cheese – BOY (when ISN’T cheese a good idea?)
  • Hands are dry – BOY
  • Dad is gaining weight? Nope – GIRL
  • Headaches – BOY
  • Gained weight in hips/butt or stomach – BRAG ALERT I can’t exactly specify where my two new pounds have gone. Neutral.
  • Moodier than usual, and that’s hard to do – GIRL
  • Age + Month of conception = 40 – BOY
  • Wedding ring on a string – that seems like effort. Not gonna do it.
  • Face breaks out – GIRL
  • Hair develops red highlights – WTF? Does it count if I pay for them? Neutral
  • Craving fruit – I have had a renewed love affair with fresh pineapple – GIRL
  • TMI ALERT Bright yellow pee – BOY (I’m sure Big A will just say dehydration)
  • I am not mixing urine with Drano because that’s just dumb.
  • Chinese Birth Calendar says – GIRL
  • Cold Feet – BOY
  • I’ve gotten prettier (boy) or uglier (girl) – really? REALLY!? Someone please tell me I’ve gotten uglier since getting pregnant. I dare you. Please then refer to moodiness bullet above and then pray for your face. Because it’s getting punched.

Tally it up.

Boy: 7
Girl: 7
Hermaphrodite: 6

I did not pick the ones out to give me a tie score, promise. So, WTF is it? Are there any random, silly or proven predictors I missed that you think I should include?

For the record, I am currently a day or two under 15 weeks and we have our next ultrasound at the end of this month to find out the sex. We have our wish. What’s your prediction?