Confession #10

Confession #10

Today, I cried over toothpaste.

There are a lot of ups and downs during pregnancy, but for me, waiting to go into labor is a special kind of torture.

People keep saying stuff to me like, "enjoy this time, you'll never get it back," and "just relax and get a lot of sleep cause you won't be able to after." Ok, here's the thing. I've had 9 months to enjoy this time and relax and get a lot of sleep. I am straight up sick of it. I'm sick of the insane hormones and the contractions that don't actually do anything. I'm sick waiting to meet my son. 

In case you haven't heard, I'm also on bed rest. My blood pressure has been doing weird stuff but it goes back to normal when I'm resting. So now I'm not allowed to cook anything, to clean anything, or even walk over to the mailbox (which is at the front office. I live in an apartment). It wasn't that bad the first few days, but both Bruno and I are sick of the inactivity. But, of course, I have to take it all easy and everything until the baby gets here.

My hormones are freakin' nuts. I cry over everything, and I know it's stupid, but honestly, there is nothing I can do about it. Not only do I cry, but I suddenly snap at people, especially my poor husband, who is basically a saint at this point.

Not being able to go to the store myself, I asked Jaden to pick up some things on his way home from work: toilet paper, toothpaste, ice cream... And of course, I wanted specific ones for specific reasons. My dear husband came home with toilet paper, toothpaste, and ice cream, but not the specific ones I had asked for. I just broke down and cried. I felt so bad because I felt like the world's biggest jerk. He had gone and done this for me, and then all I did was cry and complain when he didn't get the right ones. 

I also keep having contractions. Baby finally dropped and now I keep having these contractions, but they're the ones that don't do anything. They get your body ready for the real thing or whatever. I've been having them for a month. It would be super cool if my body would just be ready now, because I am so annoyed at this crap. 

Last night I was having a ton of these fake contractions, like 7-8 in one hour. I called the on-call doctor to see if I should go into labor and delivery, but he said no, so I went to sleep. I barely had any during the day today, but now they're back to torture me tonight. 

So honestly, I am physically and emotionally exhausted. Completely drained. At the end of my rope. So done. I get all the rest and relaxation that people keep telling me to get, but it doesn't feel as great and glorious as people make it sound. In fact, it sucks. 

I got a blessing from my husband tonight. Whenever I ask for one, he asks me specifically what I want the blessing for. I wasn't sure how to answer. It's not like a blessing would magically make me go into labor or fix my blood pressure so that I can do stuff, but I just needed something to help me out. A little spiritual infusion was sure to help. And it did. I feel a little better, but I still feel like sitting in my bed and crying my eyes out. I still hate having these stupid fake contractions and wacky hormones that mess with my head, but I feel like now I have a better handle on it. Like a renewed energy to deal with it. 

The baby will come when he is supposed to come. There is nothing I can do to make him come quicker or to make the suckiness of waiting go away, but at least I can find a new strength in myself. God is pretty awesome that way. The power of prayer is real and it can do so much. I am really grateful for that. So while I might still cry over the wrong toothpaste, I feel like I can deal with everything a little better.

Confession #9

Confession #9

Revenge is a dish best served never.

Remember being in second grade on the playground with your best friend? Remember how there was that one time where she said something in haste, without thinking, and not realizing that it would really hurt you? Remember how you reacted out of anger and said something even meaner back? Remember how you could never be friends again because of that one little spat? Do you remember learning anything from that?

So here's the thing: Recently, one of my good friends did something that really hurt me. I acted like it didn't, but it did. She did not intent to hurt me, and did it without thinking of how I might feel. This thing she did not only hurt me, it really pissed me off. I found myself making snide comments about her, not to anyone, just myself. I even got to the point where I wasn't sure I still wanted to be friends with her. Yes, over this little thing. 

Well the situation came up where our roles were reversed and I had the opportunity to do to her what she had done to me. "Perfect!" I thought. "This will really teach her! You can't just do that to a friend and not expect it to hurt. I hope she learns her lesson from this." 

Yeah, cause that's not hypocritical right?! 

Well, fear not, I did figure that out. And I thought about the little girls on the play ground and how their entire friendship was ended over something mindless. Then I thought, did anyone end up happy? Did teaching the other girl a lesson really solve anything? Really all that this ended up producing was two upset girls, each with one less friend to play with and talk to. 

That's when I decided I was being a whiney second-grader and I needed to grow up. 

Unfortunately, it seems like as adults, we keep this crappy part of childhood with us and act upon it. Someone says something absentmindedly at church that offends us and we never go back or a friend accidentally says something rude to us and we never text them back. Another parent makes an observation about our child not realizing it can be taken badly, and we don't have play dates with them anymore. 

It's a lesson we all learned in second grade. Revenge, or teaching someone a lesson for something they have done to you, only makes you angry and alone. If we could only remember this lesson like we remember how to multiply 6 x 5. Then maybe we could stay friends with our friends, or happily keep going to church, or get our mommy time at the play date. We wouldn't end up bitter, angry, and with one less person to call a friend. 

I remembered this lesson just in time. I did not do what my friend had done to me. We ended up having a very nice time and I found that I did not even have to consciously forgive her. It sort of just happened. Now we can still spend time together and confide in each other just as we had before. It's really nice to still have her as a friend. Who knows what would have happened if I had decided to take my revenge. I'm sure glad I didn't. 

When Christ told us to turn the other cheek, he wasn't necessarily talking about letting someone beat us up or abuse us. I like to think he was talking about things like this. Where you can get angry and fight back and you can both lose, or you can turn the other cheek and things can go back to where they were without the bitterness and resentment. And if what happened caused such a riff that if can't go back to where it was? Well, then you can decide not to cause more pain than was already caused. You can decide to let go off the anger and just be happy. It works. Trust me. No, it's not always easy, but I've found practice certainly helps.

So stay friends, my friends. It's far better that way.

Confession #8

Confession #8

I have pregnancy amnesia.

I have something I like to call pregnancy amnesia. It's not the same as pregnancy brain. Pregnancy brain is where you walk into a room and forget what you were going there for, when you forget your best friend's name right in front of her, and when you forget your point halfway through a sentence. Pregnancy amnesia is different. Pregnancy amnesia is what women get that makes them want to get pregnant again. They forget about all the aches and pains and stretch marks and Braxton Hicks and hop on board for another baby. 

I must have early onset pregnancy amnesia. I think this is due to the blissful second trimester I've had. As I head into the third trimester, I get ready for less sleep and more uncomfortable days. But, I feel the need to look back on that first trimester and remind myself that this pregnancy has not been all peaches and cream. Maybe if I document it, it will delay that full on pregnancy amnesia that will make me want to get pregnant again. Note I said delay. I'm sure I will have more kids, but I don't want to be too hasty.

So, come with me, let's reminisce about that first trimester.

Let's start with this. At one point I declared that someone should name a Catholic school after me. We could call it Our Lady of Perpetual Barfing or of Perpetual Morning Sickness, whichever is more tasteful. 

Morning sickness kicked in at about week 4 for me: right after I found out I was pregnant. And man, did it hit hard. Automatically, I couldn't hold anything down. That included water, food, and prenatal vitamins. I hit a point where I had gone 3 days without being able to hold anything down. I obviously began to drop weight rapidly and got to a point where I was just at the end of my rope. Don't think I didn't try everything in the book. I did. I tried everything with ginger, crackers by my bed, eating before I got up in the morning, eating and drinking all the kinds of things I read about and people told me about. I even started brushing my teeth a different way. Nothing worked. 

 

I had made an appointment with a doctor's office in my area that I had heard was good. I gave them a call, concerned that I was getting dehydrated. I asked them for help, and you know what they said? They said no. For real. 

The woman told me there was nothing that they could do for morning sickness and that if I thought I was dehydrated to go to the Emergency Room. I told her several of the things that doctors could prescribe or give me to help, but the woman told me no. She said they didn't do any of that at their office. I asked her if I could move my appointment up (it was still 3-4 weeks away) and talk to the doctor about it. She told me if I wanted to change my appointment, the only times she had open were 6-8 weeks away. So obviously I said no. Like duh. 

I decided to go looking for another doctor. I had asked around but I only knew a couple of people because we had just moved here a month before. Besides that, apparently a ton of people in my area go to their family practice doctors for babies instead of an OBGYN. And I wanted an OBGYN. I finally found another place that was relatively close and was actually at the hospital. Well, in one of the neighboring buildings to the actual hospital. I decided to give them a call. The woman who answered the phone was sympathetic. She suggested some things that I could do. When I told her I had already tried those things and was still beyond sick, she went ahead and made me an appointment, for the next morning. I called the first doctor and told them to cancel my appointment. I would not be their patient.

I went in the next morning, a total mess. I was pleased seeing the building and the hospital though. They looked good, clean, and newer than the hospital I would have been going to with the first doctor. I also found out later that this hospital had an amazing NICU. Knowing that I would probably have some high risk components to my pregnancy, a good NICU was more than welcome. 

I was in an exam room within 10 minutes. The head nurse was the one who saw me, since the doctors don't typically see patients that early in the pregnancy. She gave me a huge bag full of sample prescription prenatal vitamins that supposed to help with morning sickness (a month and a half supply). She told me to take it for a few days and if I was still super sick to call her and she would call me in a prescription for Zofran (which, can I just say, is like THE PROMISED LAND of morning sickness medicine). 

I started feeling a little bit better after that. Of course, that weekend I flew to Utah for my niece's baby blessing. The flight was miserable. Thanks for asking. Let's just say I most definitely used the air sickness bags, several of them. 

When I got to Utah I stayed with my brother and his wife and had to try my hardest to hide my pregnancy and outrageous morning sickness from my family. I thought I did a pretty good job. The blessing was beautiful and it was so good to see my family. I then turned around and flew back home. The way back was also miserable. When I arrived back home, I called the doctor's office and got the Zofran. 

I started doing much better after that, and when we finally told our family, I asked my brother and sister-in-law if they at all suspected while I was staying with them. They said no, but that was just because I'm always sick. A very fair point. 

A little over a month ago, one of my close friends told me that she is pregnant. When her morning sickness hit, I tried to help her as much as I could by bestowing on her all my morning sickness knowledge. A few weeks later, when I was at her house, she had thrown up a total of 3 times. She said she was going to keep track and see how many times she threw up during her pregnancy. Then her husband asked me how many times I threw up. I told him somewhere upward of 40 times if I had to guess. He was astounded. Then I told him my record was 7 times in one day. He couldn't believe it. When I said I was super sick, people, I was not kidding. 

In those first two weeks that the morning sickness hit, I lost 13 lbs. It took me until around week 20 to gain back what I had lost. It was incredibly awful. The Zofran helped me stop losing weight and I was finally able to eat, but not much. 

I got around a month into the second trimester and suddenly life was good. I wasn't sick. I had energy and wasn't tired all the time. My mood was great and I started to feel my baby move. Soon after that we found out the gender. And cue pregnancy amnesia. This little flashback to my first trimester has been a good reminder. It has also prepared me a little more for the third trimester, which I hit next week. It won't be all rainbows and unicorn poop anymore. I know I'm going to get so uncomfortable and miserable in this last stretch of time. 

Au revoir, second trimester, you've been good to me. Hello third trimester, please be more gentle than the first trimester was. And let us all avoid pregnancy amnesia as long as possible. 

Confession #7

Confession #7

I feel spoiled that I get to feel my baby move all the time and no one else does.

Can we just talk for a minute about how cool it is to feel your unborn baby move? All you mommies out there know what I'm talking about! My baby wakes me up in the morning by moving around. He's already like, "Mommy!!! Wake up and feed me!" You know, practice makes perfect. And, since my husband goes to work ridiculously early, I don't wake up for another two hours after he goes to work, so Jaden doesn't get to feel the morning gymnastics routine. Oh, and on the weekends, he sleeps longer than me so he doesn't get to feel then either.

Baby loves to kick me but, as these things go, when he's kicking and I want someone to feel, he stops. Then it's just me and the person's hand on my belly and it's awkward... And I'm just thinking, "for real Baby? Now you stop?!" 

Over the holiday weekend, we went to see my parents at their new house. Luckily, this house is only 7 hours away instead of like 11. Still, getting there was and back was a chore because I was incredibly uncomfortable the whole time. Anyway, on with the story. One night, we were all sitting in the living room watching a movie or something, and my mom decided she wanted to feel the baby move. She stuck her hand on my belly and waited. I was like...uhhhh....he's not really moving right now. But, Jaden then had a little chat with his son and Baby threw in a few squirms for her. 

What I've noticed is that Jaden can talk to him a little Baby does exactly what Jaden says. It's weird. One night Baby was kicking me in the most uncomfortable of places and just would NOT stop. I asked Jaden to "have a little talk with his son about it." He rubbed my belly and asked Baby to stop kicking me, and you know what? He did! Father-son bond much? 

Anyway, I am so lucky. I get to go through my day and feel my son move all the time. It's so cool and I feel spoiled because other people don't get to feel it. It is seriously the most marvelous thing ever. And, even though he kicks all the time and wakes me up, I still just enjoy it. I've been able to feel him for almost 2 months and I'm still not sick of it. Not even a little. 

Special Birthday Confession!

Special Birthday Confession!

I am really happy to be turning 23, but probably not for the reason you think.

Ok so here's the thing. I got married at 21. In the Mormon world, that's a normal age for a girl, if not even a little late. In the non-Mormon world, it's young. Getting married really had nothing to do with age for my husband and I, but rather it just being the right time. We had been together for 4 years when we got married (almost unheard of in Mormon culture). I had finished my school stuff, and it was really just the perfect time for us. 

Living outside the Mormon bubble of Rexburg, I started to feel incredibly young to be married. We were the only people we knew, our age, in our situation. But it didn't really matter, because we had done what was right for us, and it was great. 

I won't lie though, getting pregnant at 22 felt like too young. You already know our reasons for starting a family now instead of later, but man, I was like, holy crap I'm only 22. 

Today, I am 23. 

Age is just a number, but that number makes me feel better. For some reason, in my weirdo mind, having a baby at 23 feels more acceptable than 22. I know, it doesn't make sense. 

This year, I could probably care less about presents and attention. All I wanted was that number. Don't get me wrong though, I won't refuse the presents or attention ;). 

You might be thinking right now, "Albs, you're a weirdo." Well, you would be right. 

Confession #6

Confession #6

I was perfectly comfortable with my changing body, that is, until it became pool season...

Ok. Before you launch into the "what's happening to your body is natural" and "pregnancy is beautiful," let me explain.

First off, I have never been this big before. That's probably common among first time pregnant women. Nonetheless, I was loving my growing bump and the way I looked so dang cute in my little maternity clothes. I wasn't even bothered by the stretch marks or by my older clothes no longer fitting. Seriously, after I got over morning sickness, I hopped on the train to happy-loving-pregnancy land. 

I was still on that train the first day I headed over to the pool for some reading and sun. My bump wasn't all that big yet, so the only uncomfortable part about my poolside afternoon was trying to get sun on the back side of my body without laying on my belly. 

As time went on, though, and my bump grew, things got....strange. 

I started getting...looks. Weird looks. Mean looks. Rude looks. Of course, this could be another case of "pregnancy paranoia," but in the end, whether it is real or in my head is basically beside the point.

Surrounded by the beach-ready bikini bodies at the pool, I started to feel self-conscious. I'm no longer thin, which I was totally cool with, especially because if you don't get a belly while you're pregnant, you probably have a problem. But I still started to feel weird.

Then I started getting the looks. The looks that said, "I look better than you fatty," or "we're hot and young and you are big and pregnant." These looks didn't stop me from going to the pool. At that point, I was hoping that I was just being paranoid. 

Then yesterday I got straight up stared down. It was like the lady wasn't even trying to hide the fact that she was looking at me. Her look was even worse than the others. It felt like cancer-causing rays even worse than the ones from the sun were bearing into me. And her nasty look said, "You don't belong here. Skinny, tan people in bikinis belong here. Go away." 

Suddenly I was all like, "I'm Shamu." 

I went home soon after, feeling not so great about myself and my body. But then I had an epiphany! Don't you just love those!

I am growing a baby. It is by far the coolest thing I have ever done in my life. I get to make a person, and then have a sweet little boy, and be a mom forever. That is beyond awesome. In order to do that, my body has to change, and that is just part of the experience. Yeah, skinny and tan can be beautiful, but I know that pregnancy is beautiful. I am beautiful. My unborn son is beautiful and when he is born he'll be even more beautiful. 

So now I go to the pool, and I look around at all the pretty women (look, not rudely stare...) and think, I belong here too. Then I slip on my sunglasses, pull out my book, and enjoy the sun. 

Confession #5

Confession #5

I most definitely lost the gender bet.

Yes, this means baby Aronow is.......

A BOYYYYY!!!!!!! (Photos and editing by Lindsey McLaughlin)

I'm actually really really excited! I'm going to be greatly outnumbered but I don't even care. 

So here's the whole story: You already know about the diaper bet between my husband and me. As the days counted down to our ultrasound, I got more and more excited. My mom came into town the day before the appointment. 

Little fact about my mom: She did ultrasound for 15 years, which is a big part of why she came to this appointment. 

This appointment for our ultrasound was made at a high risk specialist's office because of the risk of heart and/or kidney defects courtesy of moi. Sorry baby, bad genes :( My mom wanted to come not only because she has never been there for the reveal of the gender for one of her grandbabies, but also so that she could have a good look for herself at baby's heart and kidneys. I also really appreciated her coming because she could explain what she was seeing to me. Sometimes the techs and doctors don't really want to explain it all the way.

So, we all showed up at the appointment: Me, Jaden, and Momma. 

The first thing we had to do was meet with a genetic counselor and go through this in depth family history of illness and disease for both sides. I was really glad my mom was there for that part because she knew all the details and fancy disease names that I just didn't have a handle on. It was during the genetic counseling session that it was decided that baby's kidneys also needed to be monitored. Good thing this kid has a really healthy dad, right! 

After we finished with the genetic counselor and I had a lovely dose of holy-crap-I-hope-my-baby-is-ok, we went in for the actual ultrasound. The tech was really nice. She knew that we didn't know the gender, but were excited to find out. She started and it was so cool to see our baby looking like a baby! We got to see such cool pictures of his head and his spine and all that. It was also really funny because he had his hand on his head and his arm kind of up in the air, which is exactly how Jaden sleeps!!! I'm not even kidding. He's taking after Daddy and he isn't even out of the womb yet! 

The tech continued with what she was doing, measuring, and checking, and, I don't know, whatever it is they do, and suddenly my mom lets out this crazy gasp. I, of course, am thinking she saw something wrong with my son and I immediately freak out slightly. But then the tech turns to my mom and says, "Do you want to tell them?" 

My mom breaks out in this huge smile and says, "ITS A BOY!" 

Jaden also broke out in a huge smile and I was just like, "Wait, are you sure?" 

Don't get me wrong, I didn't feel disappointed. I didn't feel upset or let down in anyway. I felt shocked. I was convinced that this baby was a girl. But let me tell you, he is definitely a boy. He was not shy at all! 

Jaden smiled for the rest of the appointment :)

The doctor came in after that. He got a really good look at the heart. From the look of it, there are no defects and it's working how it's supposed to. Also, there are two kidneys. They can't tell if the kidneys are working from inside the womb, but there are two so he's got that going for him. All in all, my baby looks good. I am so thrilled!

Because I was so small at birth, I have to go back for ultrasounds on a pretty consistent basis to monitor baby Aronow's growth. But things are looking really good and I am so glad. This baby gets prayed over every day and God is certainly looking out for him. 

Confession #4

Confession #4

My husband and I have a bet going on the sex of the baby.

The stakes are high my friends. Technically, we each have a 50/50 chance of being right, but of course, we both believe we have a little more on our side. That's why, when the idea came up to make a bet, we were both all in. 

The stakes? One week's worth of diaper changes. The rules? You may pawn off diaper changes during work hours, but after-work hours are all up to you. We made this rule because while my husband is at work all day, if--I mean when-- he loses, I have to change the diapers. Depending on who wins, *cough cough* me *cough cough* it wouldn't be fair that I would have to change the diapers during the day and he wouldn't. So, if I lose, which of course won't happen, I can pawn off during the day to make it fair. This is assuming that there is someone here to pawn off on, of course. One of the many downsides of having family far away is that they won't be there to help as much. 

So, why are both of us so confident? 

I guess you could say my husband has genetics on his side. He thinks this baby is a boy. I'm no statistician (but my brother is... Perhaps I should ask him?) but, the probability of this baby being a boy is probably higher than 50%. This is because the sex of the baby is determined by the father, and the men in this family have a lot of boys. My father-in-law is the oldest of three boys. His brother (one of those three boys) has two sons. My husband has two brothers and only one sister. That's a lot of boys. My husband is very confident that this baby is a boy, and logically, that makes sense, but I have a secret weapon: mommy's intuition.

When I first found out I was pregnant (you remember my staring contest with the pee stick), I realized that I had no preference when it came to the gender of my baby. I know that a lot of people say that but don't mean it, but honestly, I didn't care either way. I just wanted a happy, healthy baby. Of course, I did have one concern with having a girl. Endometriosis runs in my family, and, of course, only in the women. With each generation, the disease seems to get worse. If I had a girl, I would most definitely pass this painful disease on to her, and that just doesn't seem fair. Still, I would be just as happy with a girl as a boy.

But here's the thing: I am almost certain this baby is a girl.

As I said before, I didn't have a preference, and as soon as I discovered the little jelly bean growing inside me, I started to imagine the baby being born and growing up. Here's the weird thing: No matter how hard I try, I cannot imagine a boy. Trust me, I have tried. I have tried imagining him playing soccer and doing his homework. I tried imagining him driving me crazy (no doubt taught the art by my husband), but I simply could not. It seems nuts, I know. I should be able to imagine this baby as a boy but I can't. The only way I can imagine this child is as a girl. The only way I can get a picture in my head of this baby growing up is as my daughter. So...Jaden may have genetics backing him, but I have my imagination, so I'm totally gonna be right....right? Whatever, call it what you will, mother's intuition, I guess, but I am convinced this baby is a girl.

We find out next week. Game on.

Confession #3

Confession #3

I often wonder if my dog will like the baby....or not.

Those who know me personally are aware of my relationship with my dog. Yes, relationship. Bruno, my long-haired dachshund, is my current baby. I treat him like he is my child, which is probably good news for my human child, because that means I'm gonna take really good care of that kid. Anyway, I spend lots of time with my little  Baby Bruno, my puppernickle, my cuddlebutt, my teddy bear. I often take him with me when I go places, and we frequent the dog park several times a week. He sleeps in our bed (to my husband's discontent) and cuddles with me all night. I often stay in bed just a little longer in the morning for a little cuddle time. Bruno usually stays in bed a lot longer, he's not much of a morning person. 

Yes, person. Because that's how I regard my dog. 

You might think I'm a little bit crazy: the dog equivalent of a cat lady. You might be right, but you're not gonna see me care. My little dog makes me very happy. He takes care of me when no one else is home. In fact, we acquired Bruno in the first place because I needed to care for something, and something needed to care for me. 

AND flashback...

We had been married for only four or so months. I was in that weird place between graduating college and "graduating" college. You know, that point in between finishing all your classes and being all done and the university acknowledging your success. The school district wouldn't let me start working until I had an actual copy of my degree. As I'm sure you know, universities take a little while to get those out to you, especially when you are living 2,000 miles from the school. The school promised to rush my degree to me, but, as you might have guessed, it still took a few months. 

During this down time, I was bored out of my mind. I was stuck in a tiny studio apartment in Upstate New York during the middle of winter. Every one I knew was at school or work during the day. My husband was finishing up his last year at school also, so he was quite busy. Being stuck in a tiny apartment with nothing to occupy your time and with snow up to your knees outside is a recipe for unhappiness and slight insanity. 

The cure? Well, you get a dog. Obviously. 

I love dogs. We had dogs growing up, and when I was in middle school, we rescued a little miniature dachshund named Daisy. Some people would call her our family dog, but come on, let's be real; she was my dog. When we got Daisy she was 7. We had 7 more good years with her before she died. So, when we started looking for a dog and trying to decide what breed, miniature dachshund shot to the top of my list. 

Of course we tried several shelters before finding Bruno. The shelters had some great dogs, but the dogs we liked were all a little too big for our tiny studio, and the small dogs were....well, they were annoying. 

I finally found a family in the middle-of-nowhere, New York that had dachshunds. They had a new litter of short-hairs, and a slightly older long-hair that we could have at a discount. My husband and I discussed names and finally settled on Pike for a boy. When we went to visit the puppies and saw the long-hair, we knew that name was just not going to work. The long-hair was a little bigger than the 6 week old puppies, and he played rough with them. We knew he was the one we wanted, and the only name that could possibly fit that little long-haired brute was Bruno. 

We brought him home and the rest is history, except for the fact that a new member of the family might disrupt the order of our household. Scratch that, definitely will disrupt the order of our household. I mean, its a baby, so obviously. I think in time Bruno will love our little addition, but the question remains, how will he act when there is another tiny one stealing all his attention? 

Don't worry readers. I'll let you know. 

And now for your enjoyment, pictures of Baby Bruno. I seriously take way too many pictures of him. Its weird. 

 Baby Bruno as a little puppy, just out of the bath (he's now about a year and a half old)

 

Baby Bruno trying to look innocent....    

                             Baby Bruno laying in bed an hour after I had gotten up.

                          Baby Bruno shaking off the water in Letchworth, New York

Confession #2

Confession #2

The whole home pregnancy test thing was a very awkward experience for me.

Besides the awkward notion that you have to pee on a magic stick that reveals whether or not your entire life is about to change, my experience, from start to finish, with my home pregnancy test was, for lack of a better word, awkward.

My naturally awkward personality probably had something to do with this necessary  action taking a turn for and speeding down Awkward Highway, but I cannot be the only person that felt that a home pregnancy test made for a weird experience.

First things first: They never tell you how awkward it is to actually go and buy the home pregnancy test. If you thought buying tampons when you were fourteen was embarrassing, this is that shot up to a whole different level. 

We had just started trying and I had not been showing any symptoms of pregnancy yet, and I figured it was still a little too early, but hey, I couldn't help myself. I went to the store to buy my first pregnancy test. I turned down the aisle to see the tests and had to squat to look at them all. Suddenly something I like to call "pregnancy test paranoia" set in. "Pregnancy test paranoia" is my term for that feeling you get that everyone that sees you looking at pregnancy tests is thinking something about you; probably mostly, "Is that girl pregnant?" Makes sense, right? Well, I just so happen to look like I'm still a teenager. In fact, a year or so ago, when attending a middle school play for a friend's daughter, I was asked if I was a student at the school. So yeah, I kind of look younger than I am. This trait, which I am sure I will appreciate someday, made me all the more paranoid. Perhaps they were thinking, "Is she a teen mom? Does the boy know? Will she tell her parents? Will she keep the baby? She is ruining her future. What will happen to college? Its the end of the world!!!" Or you know, something like that. 

I finally picked a test and headed to the register, sort of trying to hide the fact that I was carrying a HPT, in order to avoid make believe thoughts from strangers. What happened next is the peak of the awkwardness, although, don't worry, there was more to come.

I think most of us can agree that there is an unwritten rule that there are some things that you just don't comment on. For example, when we newly married couple leaves the reception and heads off to that fancy hotel on their wedding night, we all know what's about to happen. However, we don't comment on it. We don't slap the groom on the butt as he passes through the bubbles we're blowing or the sparklers we're holding and say "Go get'em tiger!" Why? Because you just don't. 

I thought that someone buying a pregnancy test would fall into that category of "you just don't comment." At least, I was sure hoping it did. 

I arrived at the counter to find a nice elderly lady as my cashier. For some reason this seemed to calm my paranoid little nerves and I gave her one of those weird pursed lip smiles that indicate "Hi, let's not talk about this." She didn't get the message.

"SO ARE YOU HOPING?" she asked as loud as could be. I kind of just looked at her and all that I could think was, "You are my drunk groomsman that yells 'GET SOME' as we drive away on our wedding night." 

After a moment, I tried quickly to formulate my answer. I'm not big on lying, even if its socially acceptable to lie. Kind of like in the case of someone asking how you are and you're supposed to say good even if you're not. I usually tell them how I really feel, even though I'm sure they weren't actually asking. On one hand, yes, I was hoping because I wan't to have a kid and a family and be all happy and whatever, but on the other hand, I'm very nervous and almost hoping (I know this is terrible. Don't judge me.) that it will say no because as we covered before, I was totally not ready for this. So I quickly gave my answer, realizing that I had waited longer than comfortable to talk. "Um," I said, "I don't know yet." I then picked up my semi clear bag (awkward) and went out the door. 

So, yeah, that happened.

When I got home, I wanted to take the test right away. So I did. 

The people who make HPTs must know that in reality it is a rather sadistic form of torture. You are supposed to take the test and put it on the counter and leave it undisturbed for 3-5 minutes before checking it to see what the magical stick oracle has said about your future. Well, I sort of sucked at that part. Instead of leaving it and all that jazz like you're supposed to, I stood over that sucker and watched it like if I blinked it would change and say something else. I still didn't know how I felt, whether I wanted it or not, and I'm sure I looked like a lunatic standing there staring at it. But whatever. If awkward silence means anything to you, it was like that, for 3 full minutes, just me and the stick. 

One line appeared.... 

and then...

nothing. 

I waited a few more minutes, maybe it takes longer right? The test was clear: I was not pregnant. 

That was about the time I knew how I felt. And I felt disappointed. 

Well, a couple weeks passed and something weird started happening. My period was wicked late. I had just gotten off of birth control, so I figured that was what was messing up my little monthly guest from hell. I mean, I took the test and it said no, so I should be having a period right? 

The next day, I made the ever-so-fun trip back to the pregnancy test aisle to be judged by random people that probably weren't judging me. This time, when I checked out (with a different cashier this time), there were no awkward comments or overly awkward pauses. This made it all just a little bit better. I got home and peed on the magic stick again, which, I don't care how many times you do it, is still weird. This time, since I was convinced it would say no, I went about my business and returned to the bathroom 5 minutes later to see my future. 

Two lines had appeared. 

Woah now, what?! This test had to be defective. And this time, I had been wise enough to get a three pack in order to hopefully avoid having to go back to paranoia-ville again. I took out the other two tests and took them right there and then. I set them both on the counter next to magic stick #1 and once again began my staring contest with the inanimate objects. 

All three were positive. 

My next awkward moment? My own voice in my head screaming, "What the crap do I do now?!"

Confession #1

Confession #1

I am SO not ready for this. 

Let me paint a pretty little picture for you. A little girl grows up playing with dolls and dressing them up, pretending that the American Girl Doll or Cabbage Patch Doll is her baby. When she hits that certain age, she starts babysitting and she loves it. She's good with the kids and all the parents in the neighborhood hire her for date night so that they don't have to worry about their little ones all night. The little girl grows up and goes off to college and, in order to make some extra money, works as a nanny for a nice little family with three kids. The girl meets the boy of her dreams, they fall in love, and get married. Soon after, the girl and her husband decide that it is time to start their family. They are both giddy and excited about what is to come, especially when that home pregnancy test comes back positive. The pregnancy goes well with some nausea, but no complications. Before they know it, this sweet young couple has a sweet little baby that never cries and poops rainbows. 

Yeah cause that happens. 

I am not that little girl. 

I was a pretty normal little girl, I guess. As if "normal" is even ever an applicable term when it comes to childhood. Yes, I had dolls that I loved and played with often, I worked as a nanny, and I married the man of my dreams, but I am by no means good with kids.

Babysitting was never something that I really enjoyed. In fact, I am not a big fan of most little kids. Of course, there are exceptions. For the most part, though, small humans scare me. Especially in large groups. (I went to college for secondary education. Any kind of elementary education was completely out of the question. There is no way I would be able to handle that. Older children, however, I am very good with.) I did some babysitting, usually for close family friends or when a parent volunteered me. On a select few occasions, I babysat for others when I decided I really needed the money for something. As I got older, in high school, I babysat very rarely and only for people who's kids I enjoyed. This was a very limited group, as by that time I had learned very well how to say no. 

Instead of earning money through child care, I took to fast food in high school to make money for college. I loved my job, except for when I had to clean the play area and deal with the aftermath of children that day (I kid you not, on more than one occasion, I cleaned a pile of poop out of that thing, and often found clothing articles that I was astonished a parent had not noticed were left behind--like pants. Their kids went in with pants, and out with no pants, and no one noticed.) The play area experiences did not help the case for liking small children. 

In college I worked as a teaching assistant and writing tutor. Those were jobs I adored. They didn't pay much, but I learned so much and was so fulfilled from them. When I was off from school, I would go back to working at the restaurant. And, one break, I took up work as a part-time nanny. The nanny job probably made the best case for having kids in my eyes. The family was amazing and I adored the children. I watched their two-year-old son, and their six-month-old daughter. There have been few times where I have liked small children more than those two. At that point, I got to thinking, maybe little kids aren't that bad. 

I finished up at school and married my high school sweetheart, Jaden, and happiness ensued. On our first anniversary, we took the train into New York City to stay in a fancy hotel, see a show, and eat overpriced food. It was the best first anniversary I could have asked for--hands down. On the train home, my husband and I discussed when we thought we wanted to have kids and were both relieved when "at least another two years" was our mutual answer. I was not ready to give up my current way of life for another human being. Straight up, I decided I was not ready to be selfless. I liked being selfish. 

My first anniversary was this past August 2013. It is now May 2014, and I'm 18 weeks pregnant. Obviously, something changed.

My health, actually, is what changed. I had undergone one surgery during college for Endometriosis. To learn more about this disease, read about it here. The pain was so bad by September 2013, that my doctor and I decided it was time for another surgery. At the wise prompting of my mom, I asked my doctor to check my tubes while she was in there. She agreed. 

Unfortunately, when I awoke from surgery, I was told that they were not able to remove any of the Endometriosis because of it's location. Removing it would have done too much damage. Also, my fallopian tubes were blocked. Having children would be difficult for me, and would probably require some extra fertility help. 

I was surprised at how devastated I was. Suddenly, all I wanted was a baby. Probably some side effect of "we all want what we can't have." But still, I always knew that I eventually wanted a family, and I assumed I would like my own children. This news was a secret fear confirmed: I might not be able to have children. 

But let me tell you something, readers: Miracles happen. 

I went in for a procedure to see where exactly my tubes were blocked. My doctor told me that every now and then they can unblock to the tubes, but that it was unlikely. During this procedure, she unblocked my tubes. I call that, miracle #1. 

Following miracle #1, I began to pray about what to do next. I wanted to know if two years was too long and if we should start sooner. I didn't want my miracle to go away by waiting too long. Endometriosis, by the way, also progresses and gets worse, making it more difficult to conceive. I got the feeling that we needed to start sooner.

At my next appointment with my doctor I asked her to tell me straight up, no sugarcoating, if waiting two years was a bad idea. Her answer was that if I wanted kids, I should start now and not wait. 

That was all the confirmation I needed. 

My dear husband was just as terrified as I was. We talked and prayed about it and we both knew that it was what we needed to do, but neither of us were close to ready. I think maybe that maternal instinct that had yet to make an appearance kicked in because although I was terrified and very much not ready, I felt comfortable and peaceful about starting. My poor husband though, took a little longer to feel comfortable and peaceful. We are young people. My husband is 23 and I will be 23 next month. Although we married young and were very okay with that, we didn't expect to have a baby so young. I knew exactly where he was coming from. 

Nevertheless, we moved forward. We decided to start trying in January, and guess what, Miracle #2 took place. I got pregnant right away. The rest of this story will have to wait for my next confession about how pregnancy is.....well, you'll see. But now you know, I am 22, married for less than two years, 18 weeks pregnant, and SO incredibly not ready for this. But, here I am, stepping onto this ride called Motherhood, that never stops.