Thoughts at 32 (ish) weeks

So I haven’t done much of the whole “document my pregnancy” crap on this blog. In fact, I haven’t really documented it at all. Anywhere.  I realized the other day that I have only taken like 5 “belly pics” in the last 7 months and they consist of gems like this one, snapped with my phone yesterday at work:

(yes, I still have a thousand-year-old flip phone. Ghetto).

And one from the front, taken today:

Here's one at 27 weeks:

And a dark, blurry one at 30 weeks, complete with scary devil eyes:

So anyhoo, I’m at 32 weeks now. 33 on Sunday to be exact. And the two questions I seem to be asked constantly are “how are you feeling?” and “are you ready?”

To the first question I can honestly say that I’m feeling pretty good. A bit of heartburn here and there, some swollen feet  on hot days, and bending over is getting more and more difficult. But other than that things are normal.

The second question, however, elicits responses ranging from “no, but luckily we’ve still got some time” to “Oh my hell no. Now please hold me while I dissolve into a massive hormone-fueled anxiety attack.” Because at this point we seriously haven’t even bought the kid so much as a pack of diapers, and the room reserved for a nursery has only recently been emptied of its former contents.  Plus I’m slacking on the hypnobirthing prep bigtime (mostly because I can’t listen to any of the CDs without falling asleep after about five minutes. Did you have that problem, Meg?)

But despite the anxiety created by my procrastination habit, being less than 8 weeks away from Baby Butch’s due date is also quite the thrill. One of the highlights so far was my first baby shower on Saturday, thrown by my fabulous girlfriends. It was so fun to spend time with some of my favorite people, including friends that I don’t see often enough, and I felt so overwhelmed by everyone’s generosity and good wishes. Of course I forgot to bring a camera, but luckily Megan’s iphone came to the rescue.  We didn’t manage to get a pic of everyone that came but here is one of some of the girls that attended:

So that’s what’s up these days. Mike and I are both a little anxious about this change in our lives, yet so excited to meet this little person and see what he’s all about. I still can’t believe we’re actually going to be parents. It blows my mind on a regular basis. 

Hurray for camping season

This year, we spent Easter weekend camping in the San Rafael Swell with the Hanson family and some other friends.  It felt so great to get away from the city and all the remodeling craziness going on at our house and just breathe in some fresh air, spend quality time with Butchface, and soak up some dessert sunshine.  I love a good campout.

And the whole being 7 months pregnant thing (31 weeks is about 7 months, right? Pregnancy math is a mystery to me) actually ended up working in my favor on this trip, since sleeping in our little tent was still as comfortable as ever and I felt great, but everyone on the trip treated me like a queen incapable of helping with camping-related chores. Plus Mike even let me sit in the “nice” camp chair— you know, the one that I have been banned from for years after I said I was fine with the ghetto five-dollar chair I had and why in the world would you spend 30 bucks on a nicer one? I now see the light, Butch. 

Working on the cars before heading out four-wheeling. Butch's face is classic:

The Hansons are known for their fine camping cuisine. This is a typical breakfast of Troy's famous mountain man breakfast scramble and fruit. The morning before this we had scones, eggs, and bacon. Let's just say I was happy to be eating for two.

Esmerelda (Mike's jeep) finally got to be out in her element:

Hansol's land cruiser:

Taylor's jeep:

First campfire of the season. Not pictured: first s'mores and roasted starburst of the season. My favorite. 

The girls:

Our trusty go-cart:

Esmerelda resting up after her four-wheeling adventure:

Thanks for letting us tag along on your trip, Hansons. It was good times as always.

Tutus and Chimps (or just a really random and pointless string of thoughts that needed to be shared for some reason)

So you know this annoying McDonald’s shamrock shake commercial?

The first couple of times I saw it I was so bugged because I knew I recognized the girl in it from somewhere, but couldn’t quite figure out who she was. And it bothered me to no end. Then one day it clicked and I was all “holy crap it’s Jody Sawyer!” If that name doesn’t mean anything to you watch the trailer below:

Man, I love me some Center Stage. Actually, even though I have zero dance ability I find myself loving all things ballet. Except I still haven't seen Black Swan cause even the trailer gives me the heebie jeebies. I’m a sensitive soul when it comes to movies.

But anyhoo, my next thought after arriving at this mind-blowing realization was “what in the world is Jody Sawyer doing in a McDonald’s commercial? And why isn’t she wearing her leotard or pointe shoes?”  

An IMDb search revealed that Jody’s name is actually Amanda and she was a legit ballerina but now she is trying to be an actress. Which, good for her and everything but it’s still strange to see someone that I know from one ballet movie that I first saw in Junior High pop up on TV ten years later professing her love for mint milkshakes. It weirds me out for reasons that I can’t really explain. And watching the commercial didn’t make me want a milkshake, but it did send me straight to my computer searching for Center Stage on Netflix. I wonder if the McDonald’s advertising department anticipated that effect. 

And while we’re on the subject of movies, I saw this trailer over the weekend and it just about made me cry:

Does this movie look adorable or what? 

Because cruises are for sissies

At my last doctor’s appointment my OB informed Mike and I that our job right now is to have tons of fun as a couple before Baby Butch joins our clan. He then started talking about how long I can safely fly, travel on cruise ships, etc. And since neither Mike nor I are particularly great at following orders, we were like “Meh, that sounds great and all, but I think we’d rather demolish our whole kitchen instead.”

Apparently our idea of fun consists of pricing out cabinets and tile, debating over paint colors, and stressing out over the state of our savings account. Throw the constant hum of power tools and a very cluttered living room into the mix and the party really gets started.

In all seriousness though, it might not be the smartest idea to take on this project at a time when we should probably just be soaking up the luxuries of kid-free life, but we both figured that if living without a kitchen for a month and doing all this work feels kind of overwhelming right now, it definitely won’t be any easier when we add an infant to the equation. Plus this is something that we have been wanting to do since we first moved into our place, and we are really excited to enjoy the finished product.

So instead of spending a week lounging on the beach in Aruba, we’re going to commemorate the final months of our pre-parenthood era by transforming our outdated, inefficient kitchen into something that looks more like this (although obviously a much smaller, budget-friendly version):

We’re going for a clean, airy, modern look with a bit of fun color. Cabinets, flooring, and countertops are taken care of—now I just need to decide on the backsplash. At first I was quite taken with that glass tile in the first photo, but now I’m gravitating toward something a little more subtle, like this:

But so far I've had a hard time tracking down something similar. Anyone know of any good tile resources?

P.S.- It really needs to be said that, although I throw the term "we" around a lot in this post, Butch is the one taking on the brunt of this task. In fact, he is spending his spring break working tirelessly on it while I scamper around trying to do the stuff that doesn't require inhaling dangerous chemicals, doing any heavy lifting, or using construction skills of any kind. Which means I am pretty much in charge of running the Shop-Vac while he takes care of the important stuff. My husband's legit.  

Thoughts on love, friendship, and vampire demon babies

Most of you know of my love of bad movies. There are few guilty pleasures I enjoy indulging in more than watching a Lifetime original movie or something equally awful (a low-budget rom com, anything starring the Olsen twins, etc.) and making fun of it the whole time.*

Luckily I know many people that can appreciate an ABC Family special as much as I do, and one Valentine’s Day some years ago my little sister and I hosted a girls night in which our single friends came over and we watched some of these choice flicks and had ourselves a good laugh (a wide selection of Little Debbie snack cakes were also involved. It’s a long story).

I remember thinking at the time how this was a great way to spend Valentine’s Day—no elaborate plans or high expectations, no need to get dressed up or stressed out. Just an excuse to spend time with loved ones while doing something silly and random.

Fast forward to this Valentine’s Day, when Mike and I decided we would celebrate by cooking a nice dinner together and watching a movie at home. On a whim I selected what I’d heard was one of the crown jewels of the “so bad it’s actually awesome” movie genre:

And oh my friends, it did not disappoint. Like the other Twilight movies that preceded it, Breaking Dawn is deliciously awful: Terrible acting, the cheesiest dialogue this side of daytime TV, and—heaven help us all—a handful of talking wolves thrown in for good measure. What more could you possibly want? Perhaps a total bloodbath of a childbirth scene involving a c-section performed by vampire fangs? Done and done.

The best part was that Mike totally appreciated the crappiness of this movie right along with me. Although he kind of scratched his head when I suggested watching it, he was a good sport and we both ended up laughing through Bella and Edward’s awkwardly long wedding makeout session, shuddering at the sight of R. Patz’s gnarly teeth, and continually marveling at the extent to which Stephenie Meyer drew on her Mormon roots to create that twisted little fantasy world of hers. I mean really, Bella getting married at a ridiculously young age, acting nervous beyond all reason about her wedding night (granted, homegirl was about to engage in some potentially deadly vampire sex, but still), getting knocked up on the honeymoon, and giving her child some fugly name pieced together from her family tree? Is this a fictional character we’re talking about or half of Provo’s female population?

I guess by most standards our way of celebrating Valentine’s Day was decidedly unromantic, but to me it was perfect. I’ve never really put too much stock in the whole traditional “red roses and candlelight” take on Valentine’s Day in the first place (although Mike bringing me flowers and an extremely thoughtful gift was definitely appreciated), which is why I enjoyed it even as a single gal watching crappy movies with her girlfriends.

Nowadays I just consider myself extremely lucky that the person I spend the holiday relaxing and laughing with is my husband. As odd as it sounds, I guess the whole “marry your best friend” cliché has never rung more true for me than when I realized my husband and I were both cool with spending a holiday devoted to romance collectively cringing at the sight of a pregnant-yet-even-more-freakishly-pale-and-scrawny-than-usual Kristen Stewart sucking down cupfuls of human blood (really puts my relentless snack pack cravings into perspective, no?)

Oh, and in case you were wondering, both Butch and I are Team Jacob. Although neither one of us really understands what that imprinting crap was all about.

*Why this has not translated into me jumping on The Bachelor bandwagon yet remains a mystery, but maybe one day I will join the rest of you guys and start watching that train wreck.

What I would have liked to blog about today

Today I would have really liked to post about how sweet it was to see the Patriots beat the Giants in the Superbowl. I would have talked about how yesterday’s victory almost took away the sting of the loss in 2008 and made me forget all about the conflicted feelings I have as a Patriots fan. I might have even included pics of Masha, Smeegs, and I (the only Pats fans in attendance at the Knaphus superbowl party, as usual), celebrating with plates of Leslie’s superbowl bread while images of Tom Brady hoisting the Vince Lombardi trophy played on the TV in the background.

But alas, that was not meant to be. And I’m guessing no one reading this really cares about the outcome of the game anyway, so instead of writing a sports-related rant I will just post some photos of my dog dressed up in the puff coat that makes him look like a small, furry version of a ‘90s rapper.

It even has the classy phrase “Pet Life” embroidered on the hood. Tupac would be so proud:

Now all he needs is a gold chain with a “Rigg Daddy” nameplate and his ensemble will be complete.

Oh and for the record, I am normally anti dog clothing and things of that nature, but when I found this little number for like 5 bucks at the Overstock.com store I couldn’t resist. Here's hoping this isn't a slippery slope.

Snips and snails and puppy dog tails

That's what little boys are made of:

Last week was the "big ultrasound" and it confirmed my doctor's initial assessment that our baby is a boy. And, more importantly, he seems to be healthy and developing well. I totally had a Juno moment (fingernails!) when the ultrasound tech went through and showed us his liver, kidneys, etc. We could even see all four chambers of his tiny heart. Even though I knew that stuff was there, seeing it on the screen made it seem so much more real. And we have less than 20 weeks to go until we meet the little fella. Crazy.

When Opposites Attract: Home Improvement Edition

This is how it goes around our house:

Me (looking at upholstered headboards on pinterest): I want one of these sooo bad! Why can’t we ever get anything nice and why is our bedroom so ghetto and awful and life is just so hard!!!

Mike (glancing over my shoulder): I could make that.

The next day:

Mike: I built a headboard out of some spare wood that I had and got some free foam from a carpet guy. Let’s go pick out fabric so we can get this finished.

Me: Whoa aren’t we moving a little fast? Before we pick out fabric I need to sift through all the options and figure out exactly what I want and price match cause upholstery fabric is super expensive and I should probably get some swatches and maybe buy some fabric online and agonize over it and return it and then get some new fabric and go through the process all over again. It could take a while.

Mike: Let’s just go look.

Lo and behold we end up finding fabric for like 3 bucks a yard that day. So then it’s up to me to figure out how to upholster the box spring to match the headboard and I’m thinking that I’ll spend the next couple of weeks attempting it and failing, but then my rockstar of a little sister comes over and pretty much does the whole thing for me because she is the greatest ever and also shares my husband’s strange addiction to DIY projects. We finish by midnight that night using a slight variation of this tutorial (Smash came up with the brilliant idea of sewing the fabric onto a sheet instead of onto the top of the boxspring. Genius).

After a coat of grey paint left over from our living room and some new lamps, a room that I thought was bound to remain a total eyesore for years is actually looking decent in a matter of weeks and all for about 100 bucks (not quite perfect yet, but it’s getting there. Also, this photo makes it look like the headboard is the same color as the wall but in real life it’s darker):

The embarrassing “before” picture. We seriously put zero effort into this room and it ended up being a random mess of old wedding gifts and cheap furniture (Hey Annie, recognize the Al Rounds masterpiece? Oh, the memories):

This whole project was a great reminder of how Mike balances out all my complaining, overthinking, procrastination, and complacency by simply getting crap done. The man’s a keeper.

It’s also an experience I should probably remember when he wants to build yet another outhouse-looking shed in our backyard this summer.

Just a few things I've been loving lately

1) Judging by my addiction to TV shows on Netflix, it’s a good thing I’ve never been introduced to say, crack cocaine. Or even alcohol for that matter, cause I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t be a “one glass of wine with dinner” kind of a gal. More like one of those binge drinkers that stay sober for a few weeks before indulging in a days-long bender.

Case in point: A few weeks ago I started watching Downton Abbey and finished the whole first season in about three days (there were only like 7 episodes, but still). Maybe it’s nerdy to admit to this kind of enthusiasm for a show that’s on PBS Masterpiece Theatre, but it is truly fabulous and is apparently winning all kinds of awards and stuff. The second season is currently airing on PBS so I thought that would bring me back to some kind of normal “one episode a week” routine but I stumbled upon a sketchy website that has the whole second season available to watch online (cause I guess it already aired in England or something?) so I’ve fallen right off the proverbial wagon.
2) I pretty much quit wearing makeup other than basic concealer and mascara after I graduated high school and stopped feeling compelled to buy all the stuff pushed on me by the drag queen-esqe employees at the MAC counter (including lip liner. Bless my heart.) But now that I’m knocked up my skin is freaking out so I needed something to make me look presentable without actually having to wear foundation or something equally intimidating.

My sister told me to try Bare Minerals and so far I can safely say that should they want to hire me to do testimonials for their infomercials I would totally be game. This stuff evens out my skin tone, is super light and wearable, etc. Plus swirling all the powder with the brushes and whatnot makes me feel like a fancy lady.

3) One thing that my pregnant self and my childhood self have in common is an undying love for chocolate Snack Pack pudding. I swear I could eat this stuff by the gallon lately. And I keep telling myself that if I have to eat chocolate pudding I really should just try making it from scratch, but that’s probably not going to happen anytime soon since this monstrosity found its way into my cart at Costco yesterday:
I’m trying to limit myself to one or two of these suckers a day but that’s proving to be quite the challenge since I frequently find myself thinking about how awesome it would be to just scoop the contents of like four of the little containers into a big bowl and just go to town. What can I say? When I dream, I dream big.

On this fine Tuesday morning

Today Butch is happy because:

We found out that our future kid is most likely a boy (we won't know for sure until the big 20-week ultrasound but at 16 weeks the doctor says he's pretty sure it's a boy in there, so we're going with it.)

He got to eat Nielsen's frozen custard at 11 in the morning, which is what happens when your wife's doctor's office is conveniently located down the street.

I'm happy because:

Baby looks healthy and has flailing little arms and hands that were waving at us during the ultrasound, which melted my heart a bit. Also, although I know most women wouldn't be, I'm pretty jazzed at the prospect of having a boy. The thought of bows and ribbons and the color pink and all that stuff scares me a bit.

My doctor told me that I am good to go skiing during this pregnancy, and that I can go ahead and eat sushi if I feel like it. I almost kissed him on the mouth.

Oh, and I got to indulge in some mid-morning Nielsen's as well.

After all, that baby weight isn't going to gain itself.