Tourists in our own town

WHEWEE, what a weekend! I think we walked somewhere around 4 miles all around various parts of the city, so the bean babe (not to be confused with a beanie baby--seriously) is quite the trooper (aka, I'm quite the trooper since the babe is living INSIDE me at the moment). I'm just going to take this opportunity to pat myself on the back. I don't think we do enough of that these days, the patting ourselves on the back. It's nice. You should try it. DO IT.

So anyway, the in-laws were in town and wanted to "see the sights," so "see the sights" we did. Thankfully it was the pretty much the most perfect weather weekend ever, especially seeing that today we've got cloudy skies, temps of 55, and 50 mph winds. Brief synopsis: Michigan football game at neighborhood rowdy bar (GO BLUE!) where someone got a little carried away with the cowbell (more cowbell!), Navy Pier, water taxi, Chicago River, Michigan Avenue, Hancock Tower, Signature Room, gorgeous sunset--see below, Lake Michigan (as opposed to that "other" Chicago lake?), Lincoln Park, Lincoln Park Zoo (lions, penguins, monkeys!, giraffes, alpacas, etc.), childrens and lots of them (yup, we have them here--big tourist attraction), Orchid House, the highly elusive Lincoln Park yuppies, Belmont trannies, Trader Joes, Bears football, Ann Sathers cinnamon rolls, and in conclusion, homemade deep dish pizza. And when I said brief, I guess I should've said extensive. Soooooo, that happened.

I'm now recovering. For the next 3-5 days.


Lately, each evening around 5 or 6pm I get all antsy and my muscles feel tight and all scrunched up, if that makes sense. Whenever this starts to happen, I become even more of the squirmy worm that I am and can barely sit still. I beg the Feej, "PULL ME!" In regular people speak, this means I want him to pull on my arms and legs--preferably simultaneously, which is basically impossible so I settle for lying on the couch and him pulling my legs and then pulling my arms. I cannot even begin to tell you how good this feels. Well, I can try: It feels really, REALLY good. Like, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Whenever he stops I am basically like, "MORE MORE MORE!" Or rather, "MAS! MAS! MAS!" (We're practicing Spanish--or rather Espanol.) I've also taken to stretching in random places around the house, like holding onto the back of the couch to stretch my lower back, or up against the kitchen wall, or in the shower, or in the elevator (which could lead to potentially awktown situations, but it's worth the risk). I've also noticed how OMG similar I am to my Mom. Like, frighteningly. (p.s. I love you, Mom.) I remember being in the grocery store with her when I was about 15 and just about dying (in my head slash in my totally raging social life) as she started to bend over, leaning her hands on the checkout conveyor belt to "stretch." I'm starting to understand the allure.

Next topic! I haven't "popped" yet. But I am on the verge, I swear. It's much "poochier" after dinner, which is kinda fun/kinda weird/kinda what the hell is happening. When Fiji got home from work tonight, he reached for my belly so I lifted up my shirt and as we gazed/fondled/poked and prodded at the pouch I realized it was LOPSIDED. "That must be the head," he exclaimed. I mean, WHOA.

The Turnip

As you may have guessed, the babe is the size of a turnip this week. I have no ridiculous jokes for you seeing that I can't honestly say that I've ever actually had a turnip. And, since we're being ridiculously honest here, I can't say that I'd want one. What I do know is that it's a root. So there you go.

In other news, I had my first official visit with the midwife we've chosen. Her name is Hillary and we're totally becoming best friends. And by best friends I mean when she sat next to meet (as in on the SAME love seat) at the appointment to go over some paperwork, I didn't want to die. Also, I didn't want to punch her in the face. BONUS! This is pretty big for me and my personal space issues. I just like the way she does things, like she actually EXPLAINS what is happening and why and stuff like that. I know, I know. You'd think that doctors and other birth professionals would do that as well and you would be wrong. Well, at least in my experience-- if you're going to be all politically correct about it. And let's be honest (since that's the precedent I had to go and set today), I'm not always (slash possibly ever) going to be political correct. Because this here is MY space. Where I talk about MY experience. Not the "normal" or "average" experience. Mine. So, if you don't like it (7 readers), then you can get lost. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. Honest. You probably have an iPhone or GPS anyway, so really, no harm no foul.

I also got to hear the babe's heartbeat again and holy hell I die. It is the most amazingly wonderful thing--to hear our little beaner's heart just pumping away, growing stronger and healthier and more robust each and every day. I just sat there (well, lay there) smiling a big goofy grin like the love-sick fool I am. We are so in love, this kid and I. Fiji's a little nervous actually. Sometimes when he gets home from work and kisses me hello and neglects to say hello to my tum, I'm all, "UM..." and he's all, "uuuuuhhhhhh?" and then I'm all, "uh, your CHILD!" and he's all, "OH! Hi BABY!" And I'm all, "PHEW. You just narrowly escaped what could've been an awkward and potentially dangerous scene." I think he's slightly to intensely afraid of me. But he's learning. I think we'll keep him.

p.s. The babe is growing bones and moving elbows!

Guac Attack

Hola! Today the babe is an avocado, so in honor of it's Spanish heritage we're having free brats at our gym's annual Octoberfest (um, in September). We're so traditional!

Today is also the start of week 16. 4 months, a.k.a. 1 month from "half-time." I've been starting to read some baby blogs (shocking, I know) and it appears that my fellow mama-to-be's are much more organized with their postings and they don't just bitch and moan about going pee at all hours of the night. They actually talk about the baby's development and shit like that. So get ready to be geeked out on fetal stuff, alright?!

Week 16 babe:
-4 1/2 inches long (head to rump) and 3 1/2 ounces (I just chugged 3 1/2 ounces of water. EASY!)
-eyes are moving closer to the front of the head (no more fishy-ness)
-toenails are growing (which reminds me, I need to cut my own...)
-patterning of scalp (scalp is a weird, weird word) has begun, but "locks" aren't recognizable (I could add something here but I won't. I am SO nice.)
-heart is now pumping about 25 quarts of blood each day (um, that's a LOT. No wonder why I get lightheaded so easily--s/he's stealing all my BLOOD.)
-eyebrows, lashes, and hair (called lanugo) are filling in--Awww, eyelashes!
-tiny bones forming in ears so babe can now pick up my voice (good thing I already put my cursing on lock-down(ish) OR NOT. But I've been trying, alright)--also, this means we can start making sure this babe has good musical taste from the get-go. No Raffi for this baby!

And for your visual pleasure (or something), try imagining this sucker in my uterus. Or don't. Actually, no, please don't. I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry. Bye.

Apple Baby

We made our very first baby-related purchase, and it was a big one: the crib. It's still sitting disassembled in the den (slash nursery-to-be) but it's fun to go sneak-a-peek (also known as stare at it in disbelief.) We have a crib. A CRIB. That a baby will be sleeping in. A BABY. A baby that according to the Chinese Lunar Calendar is a girl. But who the flip cares. It's a real, live baby child. Plus, despite widely held beliefs, the Asians don't know EVERYTHING. In fact, I've now had two dreams about a shaggy-haired darling little boy. (Which, come to think of it, could've possibly been a girl. What, with the hair and all...)

In other news, I'm 15 weeks today. Someone tried to confuse me by saying I'm 15 weeks along, but the baby is only 13 weeks old. I told them to GET BENT. I have no need for that nonsense. All I know is that there is a baby the size of an apple in there (preferably a pink lady...in fact, I just ate one. Uh, again with the weirdness...) and it loves me so much it likes to sit on my bladder all night. And I love it too, despite the bladder thing. That's exactly what I told the apple baby this morning: "I love you apple baby, even though sometimes the steady, slow trickle in the middle of the night makes me want to sleep on the bathroom floor so I don't have to walk as far to take care of the non-business that I think I need to take care of, but really I don't because you're just camped out like a little camper on my not-even-full-bladder. But then I just go back to sleep and get to dream of you and it's like nothing ever happened and we're totally bestests again and balance is restored to the universe. So yeah, kisses!"

So, we leave for Portland today. Portland, Oregon, for those of you who for some unknown reason think that we would be going to Portland, Maine. I mean, who really goes to Portland, Maine? (Besides my uncle, who lives there, and maybe some other people. Yes, I know. It's a nice place. Been there.) Anyway, tomorrow we're going on a bike tour of the city--exciting! The other people wanted to go on a Vineyard Bike Tour and I was all, "Um, no thanks." COME ON people. Do our lives have to revolve around booze or WHAT?! I mean, yes, FINE, I wanted to go on that like 4 months ago before I knew about the baby apple. Also, it still sounds fun and pretty and nice and all. But I'm much more mature now. MUCH. Very, very much. Ask the Feej. He'll tell you all about it.

While in Portland we are also going to Eugene (yes! hippies!) for the Purdue vs. Oregon football game. I am even wearing Purdue colors. (Although I secretly wanted to pack my GO BLUE shirt for fun. But then I remembered how this one time I wrote a list about all the things that annoy me--there were a LOT--and one of them was when people at sporting events wear team shirts that support neither of the teams that are actually playing. GAH. The nerve! So I didn't.) Anyway, my point (ish) is that the game starts at 7:15 PST, which is 9:15 CST, which is also known as BED TIME in the TillyFeej household. And I'm not even kidding. Even pre-pregs. Sad, very sad, but true. So anyway, do some math, add in the hour drive (in a party bus--SOBER), plus the time it takes to actually play the game, and basically you come out with a very tired, very cranky, probably hungry (it's a safe bet), possibly passed-out pregnant lady wearing a Michigan t-shirt for no reason. Sounds fun, huh?!

Panic & The Bean

This week the bean proved it's total and unabashed rock stardom. With our bestest's in tow, we attended two shows in two nights on Northerly Island (which used to be a airport! on an island!). Take a look at the view of our city at sunset from our terribly impressive seats:


Yeah. We're awesome. The first night the Allman Brothers opened up for Widespread Panic and once the sun went down the crazies took to dancing in the aisles...among other things. AHEM. In fact, it was probably the most lenient security scene I have ever witnessed in my entire show-going life. And that's a lotta lotta shows people. Old hippies and less-old hippies unite. Anyway, it was super super fun and I proved to all the world (um, that were seated next to and/or up to a few rows behind me) that I can totally still dance my face off while stone-cold sober. Maybe not that shocking. But still, a nice reminder that I STILL GOT IT.

The only part that I could've done without (and when I say "done without" I mean "HATED") was the fact that everyone and their neighbor happened to be chain-smokers (except for my people, DUH). They also seemed to enjoy blowing smoke directly into pregnant lady's faces (or so it seemed). I die. And then I kill you. It's pretty crazy (a.k.a. hypocritical) how Sears-(NEVER to be called Willis)-tower-esque-high on my anti-smoking horse I sit these days. Ahh, pregnancy.

I mentally bonded with the other pregsters there, despite the fact that I don't technically LOOK pregnant yet (to the naked eye), but trust me, there is a lemon-sized baby in there. FOR REAL. I might even post a picture. Maybe. Maybe not. But just don't expect me to call it Bump Watch 2k9. OR DO. Whatever. I should also note that I've adopted this new technique of living called "being flexible." Also known as, "trying not to be such a cranky pants mcgee all the time." It's an experiment. And we're on Day 2. So, please keep your expectations low and your encouragement to a minimum. I don't like to feel pressured to be cheerful. KTHANKSBYE.