Monday, June 30, 2008

Ramble on

Still here, still alive! Still carrying a mini David Beckham in my uterus!

And now a word from our sponsor:


Thank you, baby.

Everything is fine; thanks to those of you who have emailed. I didn’t mean to disappear for so long, but I’m experiencing a serious lack of energy these days and when I get home from work, the last thing I feel like doing is getting online.

Sleep usually sounds like a much better option. Delicious, delicious sleep.

(not that my fatigue prevented me from staying up to watch last night’s Next Food Network Star, though I’m sure my two-hour afternoon nap was helpful in that endeavor. And my god, is anyone else watching it? Why do we bother? I just don’t think it’s possible for anyone but Kelsey or Shane to win, SERIOUSLY. They’re the only ones who can cook, talk to the camera, and be likeable at the same time.)

(also, why is Lisa so squinty-eyed? Is she related to Renee Zellweger?)

(and who wears Pucci shoes and a $300 designer shirt while doing a cooking challenge? Someone who can afford to spill a quart of sauce on them, I suppose. Last night I made chickpea croquettes, succotash, and a homemade orange-walnut salad dressing while wearing boxers, a tank top, and my Nike flip-flops. Why don’t I have my own cooking show? It could be called Klassy Kitchen with Liz & Belly.)

The boxers, by the way, are a red plaid pair that my grandmother sent me years ago, and I wear them to bed every summer. They are huge, and therefore comfy, and most importantly, THEY STILL FIT.

Did I mention that Mike hates these boxers? A while back I lifted my tank top to reveal my practically-up-to-the-armpits shorts and pulled the waist band several inches from my swollen belly. “Look!” I said happily. “They still fit! I think these babies might go the distance!”

“Great,” he said glumly.

I hope to have many more happy years with my boxers. In fact, my love for them is not unlike my love for my old denim shorts (R.I.P). I’d better keep an eye on Mike to make sure he doesn’t “accidentally” spill a quart of acid on them, or something.


Despite the fact that we don’t see eye to eye on my favorite boxers, I really have to give credit where credit is due. Honestly, Mike has been more patient and generous throughout this pregnancy than I probably would be. While I seem to collapse on the couch like a giant slug with alarming frequency these days, Mike does everything needed to keep things running.

He does the grocery shopping. He picks up my holds at the library and fills my car with gas on the way. He mows the lawn and hauls old furniture to the Salvation Army and vacuums the house. He walks the dog, bathes him, and takes him to the vet. He calls the insurance company and the lawyers and goes to meet-and-greets with local pediatricians. He accompanies me to all of my prenatal appointments. And he’s cheerful about it.

My activities are pretty much limited to working, laundry (but Mike carries the hamper down to the laundry room), cooking (but Mike cleans up afterward), and watering the plants outside. Other than that, I’m not good for much.

I’m not used to having such limited energy, and it’s incredibly frustrating at times. Last night I actually clutched my head and exclaimed, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?”

Mike looked at me. “YOU’RE PREGNANT.”

See, I keep forgetting that part.


We went to the midwife last week and I said, “I’m positive that this baby is sideways.” Just glancing at my football-shaped belly, she agreed with me, but after she poked and prodded a bit she announced that she was 99% sure that he’s head-down.

“Here,” she said, taking my hands. She pressed them into my lower abdomen and helped me jiggle from side-to-side. “Feel that hardness? I’m pretty sure that’s his head.”

Then she helped Mike feel it. The baby delivered a good kick to my left ribcage in response.

So the round, hard spot on the right that I’ve been talking to and stroking affectionately (because I thought it was his head) is actually his bum.

Mother of the Year! Where will I put all my trophies?

p.s. I have pictures of many things to show you. Stay tuned! One of these days I will muster the energy to plug my camera into the computer!

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Blogger His suzy said...

Maybe he's kicking so much because he wants you to talk to his head instead of his bum.

Oh, and you should clone Mike and sell him on eBay. Do you know how many women (and maybe their husbands too!) would pay for that man? lol

12:23 PM  
Blogger bdogg_mcgee said...

Mike is definitely a keeper! :)

And I love The Next Food Network Star - haven't watched last night's episode yet, but I am glad that Kelsey dialed down the perkiness a bit. Lisa's kind of grown on me too - her restaurant is here in Dallas, I should check it out sometime.

Glad to know things are well!

5:21 PM  
Anonymous Betsy said...

Does Mike have an unmarried brother? Who would move to Minnesota? There need to be more Mikes.

10:27 AM  
Blogger BabelBabe said...

i am thrilled mike's awesome, but he'd damn well better get used to it since it only gets worse after the baby comes. Little Miss Sunshine, that's me.

and i did that exact same thing with the baby's butt EVERY SINGLE PREGNANCY. it explains alot about my kids, i think.

Glad you're hanging in there.

11:02 AM  
Blogger Bearette24 said...

I want to see the pictures! Although I understand the lack of life force in the 3rd trimester.

1:16 PM  
Blogger J.M. Tewkesbury said...

Okay, I know it's not nice to laugh at pregnant women (are there any other kind? Anyway...), but that line about talking to the baby's bum made me snort and fall off my chair! Too funny!

5:22 PM  
Blogger Caro said...

Your cooking show could be called Barefoot and Pregnant but then you'd have to continually be pregnant. Oh the joy!

10:01 PM  

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