Guess what I’m getting for Christmas! No, its not a shiny car. Nope, not a pet either. Not a new house.
Is it killing you? OK, I’ll put you out of your suspense: This year, Christmas will come to the Monkey family between Dec. 12 and Dec. 18 — give or take a few days.
Internet, meet the Peanut:
The Peanut likes margaritas and long walks on the beach. I am 12 weeks (and 3 days) pregnant, which puts me at the very tail end of the first trimester.
Today, Hubbs and I went to our first screening at the hospital, and everything checked out just fine and dandy. Best thing about the screenings? The pictures. We get to watch the ultrasound on the big machine — which means a HUGE flatscreen TV, which is much nicer than the OB’s office — where you have to strain your eyes to see what’s happening on her little 11-inch screen.
I have to say — this pregnancy has felt much different than the last one. For one, the nausea early on was horrible and like clockwork. Sometimes, it would last for hours. Compare that to the Monkey, where I might get nauseous every couple of days, and it was always solved by eating something. Then there is the fatigue. I was way tired with the Monkey. But it doesn’t even come CLOSE to this one. I felt like I could barely get out of bed most mornings. I’d also get dizzy spells. Those are a HOOT — let me tell you.
I also think I’m carrying lower this time — as in, instead of my pooch being right under an empire waist shirt/dress? It’s down around the belt-line. (Which, coincidentally, means that belts are now banned from my wardrobe.) Speaking of the pooch, I’ve been playing the “fat or pregnant” game for about a month now. Hoo-boy, try not telling people you’re preggy when your pooch is just HANGING out there, and people you know start to do double-takes.
Or flat-out call you on being preggy: Which has happened TWICE already.
Both are close friends who hadn’t seen me since the Monkey’s birthday party in April. The first one gave me a hug last week, then pulled back abruptly, “You’re pregnant!” she whispered. The second one was waiting for me to meet her for lunch. After she gave me a hug, she asked: “So … do you have something you want to tell me? Because I KNOW you didn’t just gain 10 pounds in your belly and that it just HAPPENED to form this perfectly round little bump …”
For the record, the Monkey will be about 18 months old when the Peanut is born. Our OB has already made the Irish Twins joke. (And who’s kidding, so have I.) Little-known fact: The “mini” birth control pill doctors put nursing mothers on? It has a 3% fail rate, although my OB thinks its higher than that. And it wasn’t human error either — I was taking the pill correctly and I was still breastfeeding at the time.
I’m thinking about making Hubbs a shirt that says “I beat the pill.” He’s VERY proud of himself.
So even though the Peanut wasn’t planned — we were just starting to talk about adding another kiddo to the family, but were talking about when the Monkey turned 2 — we’re happy about it. And being that we’ve got another cyst with this one: We’ll definitely take it. We’ll figure the rest out.
So now you know why I haven’t been posting too much recently. There was SO MUCH I couldn’t tell.