Well, I thought I should catch you guys up on the happenings at the Brandon household.  We went to the doctor.  Nothing new there.  It’s just so strange to me.  Could I really have a non-eventful pregnancy?  Let me clarify, making a baby is eventful, but so far, it has been normal.  Apparently, I just think bad things should happen to me. . . does that make me a pessimist?? (don’t answer that)

Pregnancy is the coolest thing. . . I mean, aside from the fact that my ankles are starting to show signs of minor swelling (I know you guys have been waiting for that) and that my ribs are actually starting to have muscle spasms (they have more kick than Tater does).  The baby is getting bigger so I feel it so much more when it moves.  My latest update from one of the many websites I signed up for said it should be over a pound now and 8 ½ inches “crown to rump”.  (Oh, that reminds me!  You gotta try this!  Take a regular piece of printer paper and lay the short side (8 ½ inches) on your forearm like you’re holding a baby.  That’s our Tater!  Or at least that’s how long our Tater is. . . Okay, so I found it cool.  Johnathan thinks I’m a loon.  I also held it up to my belly and wondered how in the world it fits in there.)  Anyway, I feel it a lot now.  I am a little disappointed for Johnathan though because he can’t experience it as often.  It seems like every time I tell him to put his hand on my belly, Tater stops.  I’m sure that’s getting old.  I tried to get s/he all worked up the other night with sugar and caffeine so Lindsey could feel it.  No dice.  Why can’t babies just cooperate?

Earlier this week, I got a couple of nights of decent rest.  One night, I slept a solid 5 ½ hours.  Woo hoo!  It’s not much, but I’ll take what I can get.  Johnathan took a couple of pictures of me last night.  I look terrible.  My face just screams tired.

And the big event of the week. . . Johnathan’s 30^th birthday!  We threw him a party Saturday night.  About 20 people showed up.  I totally overestimated the amount of food we needed.  I still have tons of stuff that never got cooked.  We had babies, 7 ½ month old Brady, and 6 week old twins, Arabella and Giselle.  Brady kept us all entertained for a while with his belly laugh.  Giselle kept me occupied for about 20 minutes while I tried to put her to sleep.  All small hints of what we have to come.  ;)  It was a very long day though.  Johnathan and I got up around 7:30.  I scooped poop in the backyard.  Then, he rubbed my rear end and hamstrings because I spent too much time bending over.  He and Kylie cleaned the house while I went to the grocery store.  When I got home, Kylie and I started cooking.  Once we had all of the dips made, we sent the man to his room so we could decorate.  I let Kylie go crazy with the streamer. . . and she did.  It was everywhere!  We got done around 3:30 so I hit the shower.  I was dressed by 4:30.  Just in time to put some finishing touches on the food and for people to show up at 5:15.  So, if you’re not keeping track, by this point, I had not sat down all day (with the exception of the ride to and from the store).  And if you know me at all, you know that, with people in my house, that pattern continued most of the night.  Once most everyone had left, and I had cleaned the kitchen, I plopped down on the couch exhausted out of my mind (I still don’t think my feet have recovered).  Johnathan came, sat down beside me and started rubbing my feet.  Someone said, “That’s love.”  Johnathan said, “No.  Love is a pregnant woman who will spend all day on her feet, cooking, decorating and cleaning the kitchen just to celebrate your birthday.”  Ladies and gentlemen, I have a winner.  ;)

We sent pictures to my dad for his birthday.  One was at the beginning of pregnancy and one was from last week.  I looked at the first one and thought, “man, my tummy was pretty flat. . . what was I complaining about?”  I guess it’s all about perspective. 

Contrary to what my mother predicted, I absolutely love my belly.  I like to stand and look at it in the mirror.  I like to rest my hands on it.  I like to wonder how big it will really get.  But for someone who loved running 20-25 miles a week, it is difficult to imagine myself being so sedentary on purpose.  I’m feeling more like a slug everyday.  I’m still trying to get use to the 17 extra pounds. . . so far.  Enter: the bright idea to come home and exercise last night.  Early in the pregnancy, I bought a yoga DVD and a Pilates DVD.  Kylie and I have done the yoga one a few times.  It’s good.  Not too taxing, but my ribs usually feel better for a little while afterwards.  For some reason, I thought I would be adventurous last night.  I have been putting off doing the Pilates one because I figured it would be harder (when will I ever start listening to that inner voice of mine), but the wrapper was still on it so the guilt overtook me.  I opened it and popped it in the DVD.  My first clue should have been when the leading woman said, “I’m in my third trimester.”  I yelled, “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!  I’M BIGGER THAN SHE IS!!”  (Then, I had to rewind because I missed some of the instructions.)  I was sent into a panic because one of the items that I “needed” was a wooden dowel (Where the hairy heck am I going to get a wooden dowel?)  I searched the catalog inventory in my mind of mops or brooms that I might be able to rob of a handle, but I settled on a pool cue (I’m sure it was an interesting sight at the very least).  The yoga video has a woman to represent each trimester. . . but not the Pilates video.  Oh, no.  Women in the first and second trimester are supposed to follow this skinny, limber wench (who I will further lovingly refer to as SLW).  I assume that because the leading woman didn’t show until she was into her 7^th month, she saw nothing wrong with me and my big belly trying to emulate SLW.  Of course, she doesn’t know how competitive and hard-headed I can be either.  So while the women representing the 3^rd trimester were supporting themselves on a stool or modifying poses to make them easier, me and SLW were lifting, holding and stretching our full weight.  I will admit that I made my own modification on one exercise.  The 3^rd trimester women were lying completely on their sides while SLW and I were propped up on our elbows.  (For some reason, SLW’s belly didn’t fall over like mine did.)  At another point, I was copying SLW while the 3^rd trimester wimps were supporting themselves up on their precious little stools.  I suppose that I grunted or made some kind of noise that indicated I was struggling.  Apparently, Johnathan heard me so to be “supportive” or something, he asked, “what’s so hard about it?”  grrrr. . . ..Ladies and gentlemen, he has 4 months to go.  Vegas is laying odds on his survival.

How’s that?

Well, the results are in, and as suspected, my gall bladder is fine.  No gall stones.  I guess the problem is that I’m just short.  Whatever the case, the pain is just my burden to bear.  Small price to pay.  ;)

Now, for my big announcement (no, the gall bladder was not it).  I am officially on strike.  That’s right.  I refuse to post anything else until the father of my child “ponies up”.  This was his big idea anyway.  (I’ll save you the trouble of scrolling way down to see the last time he posted.  It was at week 18.  That means it has been almost 4 weeks!)  If you want to complain, just post your comments here (he gets an email when a comment is posted).  Ask him about the big thing that happened over the weekend (how’s that for a teaser??).

Well, we have made it past the halfway mark.  Exciting stuff.  I love watching the ultrasound video and imagining holding that little butt in my hands.  ;)  It’s amazing to think that the thing growing in me is half me and half Johnathan (poor kid).  I wonder what it will be like to actually hold our baby.  I wonder what it will look like.  I wonder what its little personality will be like.  I look at Kylie and wonder what Tater will be like at that age.  So many questions, but so much time to find out.  Gosh, I hate waiting.

Along with the realization that we have made it halfway, comes the realization that we are only halfway.  I’m not sleeping.  Well, if you count 1-2 hours at a time as sleeping. . . then, you’re wrong.  I went home early from work yesterday because my ribs and my back were hurting so badly, and I was just exhausted.  I have decided to start looking at the clock every time I wake to determine how much sleep I am actually getting.  Tuesday night, I went to bed around 10:00 or 10:30.  I remember seeing the clock at 2 am, 4 am and the alarm went off at 6 am.  I felt vindicated that I wasn’t exaggerating about the “every two hours”.  But that means I got, at most, 4 hours of straight sleep at the beginning of the night.  Last night, I stayed home from church.  By the time Johnathan and Kylie got home, I had slept for maybe an hour.  Johnathan made me a glass of warm milk (that was gross. . . sipping it was excruciating so I started gulping it as Johnathan chanted, “chug, chug, chug”. . . it’s been years since I have been encouraged to drink something really fast).  I finally laid down and dozed off around 9:30 or 10:00, but my “loving” family thought it would be cute to call my cell phone from the office to ask me a question.  (How thoughtful.)  It took me a few minutes to recover from that, but I dozed again.  I’m not sure what time I really went to sleep, but I saw the clock at 1-something and then every hour after that.  I expected this in the third trimester, but for me, it started in the first trimester.  I want to caution you here.  I am so tired of hearing, “That’s just God’s way of preparing you for the minimal sleep you will get when the baby is here.”  That is such malarkey.  First, your body does not “get used to” going on a little sleep.  All you “get” is sleep-deprived.  Even when the baby gets here, you don’t get used to the two hour feedings.  You just do it because your baby needs you.  Second, the baby needs you to get your rest.  Nourishing and growing a baby takes tons of energy.  Your heart works 4 or 5 times harder than usual to keep an adequate supply of blood flowing.  (I can send you reference material if you need it.)  So here I am, about to start my 6^th month. . . .the last month of the second trimester. . . and it just gets worse from here.  aaarrrrgggghh  By the way, did I mention that sleep deprivation makes you grumpy?

I have found the weirdest thing.  You know when you get a fountain drink and the lid has those little “bubbles” that you can push down to indicate whether it is diet or something else?  And you know how sometimes you get that one that keeps popping out?  No matter how many times you push it down, it just keeps popping out!  Well, apparently, a pregnant woman’s belly button is a lot like that.  I was sitting around the house the other night, and I decided to check out my belly button (don’t judge. . . this is my life, you’re just a spectator).  I was fascinated to find that it’s getting really shallow.  Suddenly, I had this unexplainable desire to push on it (don’t forget, still MY life).  Well, it did something that I totally wasn’t expecting.  It pushed in! (like the little button on the top of a soda. . . get the correlation now??)  Of course, when I let go, it popped right out.  As you can imagine, I was shocked, so I immediately told Kylie, “Oh my gosh!!  You gotta try this!”  (come on, you can’t keep something like that to yourself. . . it would be rude, or something)  Being a good daughter, and quite inquisitive anyway, she obliged.  Then, she and I took turns pushing on my belly button.  I love my husband dearly, so I just couldn’t leave him out of the “magic of the moment”.  He was apprehensive but tried it anyway.  He immediately jumped back and looked at me like he had been struck with the realization that he had married a circus freak.  But we all know that “train wreck” theory, so he tried it again.  On his second attempt, he noticed that there is a hole behind it in the muscle.  Of course, Kylie and I had to get in on that action.  I think we were all completely entertained by my belly button for a good 15 minutes.  Just another exciting night at the Brandon home. 

Keep in mind I am completely grossed out by anything remotely related to feet, but strangely enough, I find myself inviting people to stick their finger in my belly button.  I have been dreading the day that a perfect stranger walks up to me and wants to rub my belly (the lady that works in the cafeteria at our corporate office didn’t really count).  Now, I can’t wait!  My response will be, “I’m really not comfortable with that. . . but here, check out my belly button!”

Well, to catch you guys up, we got the results from our alpha-fetoprotein test.  This test is the one that gives some indicators about things like spinal bifida, Down ‘s syndrome, and other abnormalities.  We were a little leery about the test because it has a high false-positive rate (at least I was leery, Johnathan doesn’t sweat much of anything. . . I worry enough for us both).  But the results were good.  They reported no abnormalities.  The doctor said they marked my age abnormal, but I think they’re crazy.  My age is perfectly normal, so we’re good.  ;)

Now, for the other part.  I have been so uncomfortable for weeks now.  My ribs are killing me.  It started off just in front on the right side.  It seems that they start having spasms or something.  Typically, I can sort of massage it out and go on with life.  Yes, I understand that this is part of pregnancy, but (as a “friend” of mine so eloquently put it) I still have a long way to be this uncomfortable.  The problem is that for the last week or so, the pain has started migrating around to my right side and into my back.  My doctor is worried about my gall bladder.  I have to stay away from really fatty foods (there goes McDonalds’s and Taco Bell. . . but I gained 6 pounds in the last 4 weeks so that’s probably not such a bad thing).  If I’m going to eat a steak, it needs to be a filet (pretty big sacrifice, but I think I’ll manage).  But the worst part is that I have to eat 2 Tums every 2 hours between meals (of course, I have a meal every 2 hours so it gets a little tricky).  It has only been a couple of days so I’m not gagging on them yet, but the anticipation is killing me.  However, I am back at work today with my “stash” so I have found that candy Valentine’s hearts wash them down pretty well.  ;)  To be honest, I think it’s muscular (my mom says it’s twins), but I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry.

We get to have our first glimpse of Tater on Wednesday.  I’m so excited.  I hope he/she is doing something really cool like sucking his/her thumb.  That would be fun.  Judging by my reaction to hearing the heartbeat for the first time (not to mention my current emotional state) I’m planning to take lots of tissue.   We are going to see our baby for the first time (oh, wait. . . I need a tissue now).  Big news of the day: Johnathan has been given “permission” to purchase a VHS/DVD recorder (since he rarely posts, I figured I should tell).  That means that we will be able to post the footage from the ultrasound.  Pretty exciting, huh?  (A baby and an electronic – I’m expecting my “wife of the year” award pretty soon.)

So the tally for ultrasounds this week is two, one for baby and one for gall bladder.  Personally, I’m more looking forward to the first one. 

When we were looking at buying houses, we prayed for guidance.  When God blessed us with this wonderful home, we promised to use it to His glory and open our doors to others. . . .but did that include teenagers??  For Super Bowl Sunday, we had 47 teenagers and 9 adults in our house (I’ll save you the calculation. . . that’s a total of 56 people).  In church that morning, one of the girls asked me if I was excited about having them all over.  Not exactly.  “Anxious” was the word of the day. 

They started showing up around 4:30 (since when did teenagers become punctual?).  There is a standard protocol for youth group parties – boys bring chips and drinks, girls bring baked goods.  So for the next 30 minutes, teenagers and food poured through our front door.  The eating commenced immediately and so began my eternal saga of picking food off the floor.  (My mantra for the night was “I’m too uptight for this.”  Kylie kept saying, “I know.”)  At one point, there was a minor struggle over a ponytail holder (don’t ask) and a poor, unfortunate cookie with icing was caught in the crossfire.  (Ummm. . . no, I did not clean that up.  The perpetrator was assigned community service for the crime.)

The night progressed rather smoothly, with only an occasional exciting moment like me getting chased around the house with finger that had been up a guy’s nose (to defend my honor, Johnathan held him while I carried out the just sentence of a “wet willy”).  But then, as if from nowhere, came the words that still ring in my ears, “Little Johnny is puking downstairs” (the name has been changed to protect the innocent).  Poor kid.  Poor bathroom.  To this day, we are still confused as to how he completely missed the toilet (to those that have never been to our house, the half bath downstairs is just big enough for the sink and the toilet).  He was still sitting in there on the floor, but the light was off.  I stuck my head in to see if he was okay and realized the carnage that once was our half bathroom.  I also realized that there was no way on God’s green earth that I could clean that up.  So Kylie, beautiful Kylie, wonderful Kylie, best daughter in the world Kylie, jumped right in and helped him (actually, I think she did more than he did).  Within about 15 minutes, the puke was gone. . . even the smell (note to self: Clorox Disinfecting Wipes, lemon scent. . . buy stock).  And the party rocked on.  Once the game was over, Andy gave instructions and clean up began.  They picked up all the trash, and then they all just disappeared.  It was actually very strange how quickly they were all gone.  But as much as I love them, I wasn’t complaining.

Once the house was empty, I realized that my darling husband had cleaned up the kitchen and the dining room.  He even did a quick sweep of the floors.  God has richly blessed me with a wonderful family that not only loves me in spite of my OCD, but also helps relieve the stress by taking care of those things that might make me flip out…but then again, they could just be really selfish and just don’t want to hear me complain…I’ll go with the first scenario (hey, this is MY neurotic condition, I get to choose).

So the tally on the night was a couple of tiny spots of chocolate on the carpet in the bonus room and our bedroom, smashed brownie at the bottom of the stairs, chocolate on the wall outside of Kylie’s room and a bathroom in need of a paint job.  And I’m still finding heart-shaped sprinkles, but I figure Cole will eventually get all of them (we’ve changed his name to “Hoover”).  Now for the big question, will I agree to it again next year?  Yes, I believe I will.  However. . . puking, brownies and anything with sprinkles are outlawed.

It’s hard to believe that we are approaching the halfway mark. It seems like just a few weeks ago, I was in the shower, and Angie was peeing on a stick. The funny part is, and please don’t tell Angie, that I’m starting to get a little anxious about getting some of our stuff done. I’m the one that tends to procrastinate and not worry. Worry is a strong word, but I think we are going to carve out some time this weekend to go order our crib. We also need to find some time to register. We are trying to avoid registering at Baby’s R Us, but we’ll see. All we need is a few bottles, some diapers and a crib, right!?!?!

Angie has started to feel the baby moving around, and for the first time, I find myself a little jealous. I felt her belly a couple nights ago, and I felt “some” movement, but I couldn’t tell if it was Tater, or just mom holding one in. It should just be a few weeks before I am able to start feeling things. After all, Tater is about 5.5 inches (that’s rump to crown). They say he (yes I’m going with “he for now) is about the size of a sweet potato. Guess that means that “Tater” is a good name… though I’m a little worried it will stick. Won’t be too bad if we have a little boy, but I’d hate to have a little girl called Tater.

Angie was reading last night about how the heart develops during the pregnancy, and I have to admit, it’s amazing. I learned two new facts though. The first is that the mother’s blood never mixes with the baby’s blood. They come pretty close, and the nutrients transfer, but the circulation systems are completely separate. The second is that the baby’s heart has a hole it in which keeps the blood from cycling through the lungs… that is until birth. During birth, the heart seals, and for the first time, blood flows through the baby’s lungs. It’s just amazing how much happens, and everything that must happen in perfect order.

Finally, Angie goes Saturday for some blood work. This is where we will find out about any detectible abnormalities. The doctor prepared us though, since the readings should come back higher than normal because Angie is 35. Am I allowed to say that on the Internet? It’s anonymous on here, isn’t it?

If you can’t get enough about babies and specifically their 18th week, try the link below:

Baby Center – 18 Weeks

Tater is getting much more active these days.  I have read so much about how it feels and that “it’s hard to distinguish from gas”.  So I have devised a method.  If I feel movement in the front below the belly button, it is deemed as being baby.  If it is anywhere else, it is considered “supporting systems”.  That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. 

I have really only started noticing it more in the last few days.  We went to visit Johnathan’s Maw over the weekend.  One night, we were sitting in bed reading, and I felt something.  I tried to be very still so I could really concentrate, but my ADD kicked in and all I could pay attention to was my own heart beating in my ears (have I told you that if I stare at a blank wall I can see my heartbeat in my eyes?…crazy). 

Monday, during small group, I noticed it right after I ate and got settled into a comfy recliner.  I think it’s really neat because I am very aware of this little baby while everyone around me is oblivious.  Way cool!  Later that night, when we got into bed, I told Johnathan that it was moving.  He immediately put his hand on my belly.  He couldn’t feel anything so he pressed hard on the left side.  Then, I could feel it moving on the right so he tried over there.  Then, I could feel it moving on the left.  (Tater isn’t even born yet and already knows who to avoid.)  Then, he decided to press really hard on my entire belly.  I thought he was going to mash the pee out of me.  He said he could feel “stuff” but he wasn’t sure if it was gas or what.  But it was in the front, below the belly button so we all know what that means.