It's A....

Zombie baby!

Seriously? How freaky is this picture?

Who is also a girl! A girl with two legs and two arms and perfect in every way. And she was moving and  kicking so much I had to do yoga poses for the tech to get all of the measurements. Turns out every reasonable, rational person was right and the placenta is anterior, which means she's got a handy little punching bag in there. She measures a few days early, but that's to be expected since neither C or I are especially large people. And the figure that she's 12.5 oz. So now I'm picturing this feisty little soda in there.

I can't begin to explain how relieved I am. I knew I was being crazy, but I just couldn't get past the fear that this was all too good to be true. Thank you so much for all the kind words and reassurances, both here and elsewhere. And for those of you that got to personally witness the crazy, thank you so much for your patience and for not laughing in my face.

Sisters! I cannot wait to paint their room pink and torture them with matching outfits!

Nerves

Today is the "BIG" ultrasound and because this pregnancy is the pregnancy where I lost all ability to be logical, rational, or reasonable (and had better access to the internet) I have come up with about eleventy million things that could go wrong. Enough that finding out who's going to tip the gender balance in the house is an afterthought. Gah! I know I'm crazy, and yet I just can't stop. I googled "Bad news at 20 week ultrasound" for God's sake (DON'T DO THAT! EVER EVER EVER!). Because I'm insane. For example, there is a large part of me that reasons that if I put this on the internet then everything will be just fine because of course that's the way it works.

On top of that, we may be in the final stages of buying a house. Our inspection is today, right before the ultrasound. It was a moment of really beautiful scheduling and perfectly exemplifies how C and I operate in the world. So C is going to meet the inspector while I meet the babysitter, and then we're both going to haul ass to the ultrasound. Afterwards we're grabbing take-and-bake, rushing home, shoveling food in our mouths, and rushing to the "Harvest Carnival (costumes welcome!)" at Eli's school. Which I am so unbelievably excited for (*sarcasm*).

This may be the longest day, ever. I know, logically, that most likely it will be great and my money right now is on girl baby (although I FINALLY had a baby dream last night and it was clearly a boy. With an accent and diabolical intentions.)  The house inspection should also be fine and this house is just so, so pretty. If everything is good, I'm rewarding myself with a can of turquoise paint (for the kitchen) and something pink and frilly (or striped and masculine) for the baby. And if the baby in fact does have no legs, I'll splurge on some cute nightgowns.

Stay tuned...

Edited to add this awesome exchange:

C: What are you doing?
Me: Writing a blog about how crazy I am.
C: Wow. That must be really long. 

Weirdest baby advice ever

People have had varying reactions to this baby, I think in part because most of the people I interact with are co-workers. Most of course eventually come around to excitement. My boss simply cannot wait until I'm enormous, and loves to talk babies. My guy co-workers are loving all the weird pregnancy symptoms like the superhuman sense of smell and increased startle reflex. The officers seem to have adopted me as a little sister and keep hugging me. I'm enjoying everyone saying, "Is this your first?" and then acting shocked when I tell them that this will be number 3. And most say that the kids' timing is perfect.

So today a woman I work with, who I haven't seen in about a month, gave me a belated congratulations. And she asked about the other kids, their ages, etc. She started down the "perfect age" path when she heard that Eli was six. We were laughing about how Syd might have a hard time not being the baby anymore. And then she said, "Just don't leave them alone together!" I laughed because, really, what's the appropriate response? And she grabbed my arm and repeated, quite seriously, "No, really. Don't leave them alone together. She's going to have a hard time for awhile." WTF?

Although, last night I had to tell her that she couldn't hit her brother with a stick and she asked, "Well, what can I do with it then?"

What's the weirdest advice you ever got? And have you ever worried about fratricide? Because honestly, never crossed my mind before.

Apple picking!

Apple picking has been my "issue" for the last month or so. I really, really wanted to take the kids but couldn't get the schedule to work out because of Eli's basketball on Saturdays and my working on Sundays. I actually thought about taking Eli out of school to take him apple picking. Priorities, right? But this weekend my folks were in town and I took Sunday off, so apple picking we went! It was super fun, but also super crowded and hotter than we expected.
 

Syd insisted on wearing her apple dress. Love that girl! 

 

Eli had a very specific method that included picking three and only three of each variety. Poor kid, they all got dumped in with his sister's haphazardly chosen apples.

 

The best picture I got of them at the hay maze (story of my life). Eli LOVED it and broke every posted rule regarding jumping/climbing/roughhousing. Syd liked it up until the second that she didn't and pronounced it "too 'cary"

I let Eli have an apple sundae for lunch. Because I am the most awesome mom. Ever. He couldn't finish it so I took one for the team and licked the bowl clean.

Both the kids loved the animals, especially when they figured out that they were safely locked on the other side of the fence.

zOMG MOM! CHICKENS!!

Now we have sixteen pounds of various varieties of apples to use. I think each kid has had at least six today. I have no idea what we're going to do with the rest. Off to search the internets...

Just commit me now

So I thought, when we were throwing around the idea of number 3, that this one would be the easiest. Because, really, I've been pregnant with a boy, and pregnant with a girl. I've been pregnant in grad school and pregnant with a full time job. I've been pregnant and totally, grossly indulgent and I've been pregnant and super health conscious (though with a side of cupcakes). Long story short, this ain't my first rodeo. But I was so, so wrong.

See, the reality is that number 3 is even worse, because if it doesn't go just like numbers 1 and 2, something must be terribly wrong. These are things that I've said, out loud, in the last few weeks.

"I'm really worried that maybe the baby doesn't have legs and that's why I'm not feeling kicks yet."

After my last doctor's appointment, "I only gained two pounds." Said forlornly.

"Baby, please tell me that I look fatter today."

"I've been crazy, right? Right? I'm pretty sure I've been crazier than normal lately."

My dad told me that this was the most fit I've ever looked pregnant and I took it as an insult.

It's no exaggeration to say that when I'm pregnant, it hits me HARD. With the last two, I gained 60 pounds each. I'm 5'3" and have big babies, so they have nowhere to go but out. People have genuinely assumed that I was having twins and asked if it was triplets. I've been recognized in public by strangers based solely on the my enormity. So you'd think that I'd see my mini-bump as a blessing. An awesome bonus. The universe's way of cutting me and my poor stretched out belly a break. But noooooo. Because I'm insane I take my lack of girth as a sign of all things horrible. And the whole baby-moving thing? I have no idea, whatsoever, how far along I was when I could feel Eli and Syd. Instead, because I'm an overachiever, I took it to heart when they said that moms feel it sooner in subsequent pregnancies and so I've been freaked out since week twelve. Even though all the wisdom  of the internets tells me that it's all totally normal and reasonable. Even though I know there's probably nothing to worry about. I mean, if nothing else my sugar intake is significantly lower than with Eli and Syd and this may be the first fetus who hasn't been all cracked out on baked goods (and as such, may sleep!)

Those of you with a first, second, third, fourth, seventeenth, or no kids, please reassure me that I'm merely a crazy lunatic and not intuitive or psychic. Because otherwise it's going to be a LOOOOOONNGG twenty-two weeks.

The Plague

Last week I took Sydney to the Children's Museum while Eli was at school. She wanted to paint and I thought it would be fun to have a mommy-daughter day. It totally was! It was especially great because she stayed away from all the exhibits I hate (water room of horrors) and focused on the places that I like (recycled art! salad spinner painting!). It was a lovely day complete with a lovely picnic of apples and cheese and beautiful manners in public. Fast forward three days, which is just long enough for millions of unwashed baby germs to manifest into one of the worst colds I have ever had. I came home (or was banned, depending on who you ask) from work in the middle of the day on Monday, changed my clothes, sat down on the couch, and woke up on Wednesday. It. Was. Awful. Poor C, I couldn't even pretend to parent and instead just wallowed in my misery and cursed the tiny spawn that was preventing me from taking "the good drugs." That and yelling/moaning at the kids, "Don't touch me!" "Don't drink from my water bottle!" "Don't get my germs!" "Go wash your hands!" Eli even felt so bad for me that he used his own money to buy me chocolate. Finally yesterday I woke up, stayed awake for several hours, and got confirmation that yes, I could take Sudafed without giving the baby a third eye. Blissfully I started to feel quasi-human again. Last night, as C and I were picking up the house after I'd put the kids to bed, he told me "This last week was hard. I can't do this all by myself." And the sounds of millions of moms singing could be heard throughout the heavens. Poor guy is ragged.

Today I'm a solid 75%. I have pants on, I've eaten actual food, and I'm not rocking the oh-so-attractive Vaseline under the nose look. Looking around, I'm relieved that C seems healthy and that the kids don't seem to be coming down with anything. And then. Then Syd asks me for toilet paper (because we're classy and ran out of Kleenex two days ago) so she can wipe her nose.

Pray for us. It could be a long few weeks.

Mini-me

This is Syd pretending to be me at work. I love how she nailed the bored, far-off stare...