70% humidity

Do you see those candles that live on my dresser?

I feel like those candles.

Slowwwllyyy mellllting from the heeeeeeaaaat and humiiiddiiittyyyy. Ohhhhhhhh.

I also look like those candles when I do the dishes now. Bent over like a crippled old woman, only much sweatier.

Sometime around week 24 or 25 my doctor asked me how I was feeling. "Wonderful!" I told him, to which he responded, "Good. That feeling won't last much longer. In a few weeks you'll be back to being uncomfortable." Which I thought was slightly pessimistic for my chipper doctor. But he was right. If only I had known I had just 5 weeks left of baby belly bliss. IF ONLY I HAD KNOWN. 

Because I believe it's time to officially declare that I am in the uncomfortable stage of pregnancy.

I want you all to remember that I'm not complaining. But I'm hot. And I can't sleep. And I feel like a stuffed turkey.

But remember. I'm not complaining.

ps: better blog posts with real pictures are coming soon. my apologies.

about the house that i love that will never be mine, and feeling 28 weeks pregnant

Sometime last week Ryan and I decided we were in love with a house. A darling little two-story colonial with white siding and blue shutters. It had hardwood floors and old windows and a staircase in the living room that led up to 3 bedrooms, one that I was sure was perfect for a fresh baby boy. The front yard spread out wide and grew two big maple trees, while the backyard housed a birch tree and a clothesline and the promise of a someday garden. 

We drove past the house on Sunday afternoon and poked around a little bit. It was empty, so we pulled into the driveway and imagined it was ours. We went slowly through the back alley, discussing how we would build up the crumbling stones in the way back of the yard. Then we went home, Ryan excitedly put on his engineer pants, and quickly drew up a floor plan. He talked about where he'd put his workshop tools, while I pondered over what I'd do to make the pink tile in the bathroom work.

On Monday night we walked through the house twice with our realtor. She informed us that it already had an offer on it, but we could still have a chance. 

Today we found out that the offer was accepted, that the sweet blue-shuttered house will not be ours, that some other lucky family will get to enjoy the cozy living room and the big maple trees. 

Tonight we plan on saying a few choice swear words, loudly and dramatically, and then eating our feelings. (Well, that's my plan. Ryan will probably just stew quietly, as that is how he seems to manage disappointment.)

The business of house hunting is neither for the faint of heart, nor for the pregnant and emotionally unstable.

Speaking of pregnancy.

When I found out about this baby on that wonderful day in February, I made a promise to myself that I would never complain about the pregnancy. I'm so thankful for this sweet baby boy, that he's alive and healthy and still here with me-- I don't want to ever come across as though I'm not the happiest woman in the world about it all. So I watch what I say and how I say it. And, despite approximately 95 daily trips to the bathroom, being at least 20 degrees hotter than anyone else in any room, and being kept awake at night by flailing baby limbs (I blame you, Michael Phelps!) I think I've done a pretty good job of embracing my discomforts instead of complaining about them.

That being said, please allow me to ask this question: How is one supposed to eat 300 extra calories a day without feeling like Violet Beauregarde after every meal? Because each and every time I eat, I need to sit down and say "OOOoofffff!" which must be so charming to my darling husband, don't you think? There's just no room in there for a growing person AND extra food. I don't know what to do about it.

I mean, this baby's only gonna get bigger.

Your advice is welcome.

busy busy

The four pictures above are a perfect summary of what we've been up to the past two weeks. The past week especially has been quite a flurry of goings-on, both happy and sad. Last Tuesday Ryan and I woke up with plans to pack and bake and head over to my parents' house where all my sisters and their husbands and babies were going to spend a few days of family time. Our plans changed when Ryan got a phone call that morning with the news that his grandpa's health was failing very quickly. As we drove over to the hospital in Madison where he was staying, we got another phone call from Ryan's mom, telling us that he had passed away. It's been an emotional couple of days, but I'm thankful that we were able to still spend a good amount of time with my family, and also see so many members of Ryan's family at his grandpa's funeral. We're both feeling pretty happy that our little girl up in heaven has another great-grandpa to keep her company. And as crazy as this past week was, I find myself wishing I could live it over again. It all went too fast-- I'd like to squeeze my niece and nephews one more time, and smooch their chubby cheeks. Those little sweethearts are fun.

And believe it or not, in between all those things going on, we've also been squeezing in some house hunting. I'm busy tearing out magazine photos and making lists.We already found one that we love, and wouldn't you know it, there's an offer on it. It's all too much for me to talk about, but I will say this: I'm a little stressed out. Actually, that's not completely true. I'm strangely calm about it, seeing as there's a good chance we'll be packing and moving out of this apartment, and into an old-lady fixer-upper riiiight around the time a new little baby will be coming into this world. Once I let myself think about it too long, I realize that a meltdown is inevitable. It's only a matter of time.

Oh, and if all of that doesn't seem like enough, let's talk about the glucose test and rhogam shot that I'm due for this evening. A good number of women have told me that as soon as the thick orange drink went down, it came right back up, which is awesome. It's not like I have a gigantic fear of vomit or anything. (I TOTALLY DO.)

Wish me luck.

{a few instagram photos from the last few weeks}

Oh this week. This week felt long and short, boring and hectic, good and stupid-- all at the same time. Now that I'm sitting down to think about it, I'm having a hard time even remembering parts of it? Ryan likes to call that "pregnancy brain." He shouts it out from time to time when I can't recall certain words or abruptly stop talking mid-sentence. It makes me feel nice and smart. No, it doesn't.

But I used my brain in other ways this week! Good ways! Because, dear ones,  I had all sorts of brain storms, like I had my very own Hurricane Amelia all up in there, writing lists and making plans. It was the exciting, pacing, frustrating kind of brainstorming, where there are lots of fantastic ideas going on but no satisfying immediate results-- nothing will actually become of it all for a long time. But I've got scribbles in notebooks, and my sketchbook is filling up, and tomorrow I'm going to the store to buy new tubes of gouache and more bright, cottony watercolor paper. It feels good!

Oh! And guess what else! I've been experiencing what people like to call the Braxton-Hicks contractions. It's not cool, I don't know why I'm making it sound so exciting. They started last night, along with some annoying ligament stretching, and continued when I woke up this morning. I called the doctor, and was told that it's probably nothing serious, but to drink lots of water and get to the hospital if I had more than eight contractions in two hours, which thankfully didn't need to happen. There have been a few stragglers, but nothing consistent, and little baby has been kicking right through them. I'm choosing not to worry, and telling myself that I'm just slightly dehydrated. Because that would also explain the reason for my hamstrings cramping up while walking from the car to our apartment last night. So! My feet are up and my water glass is full and the bathroom trips are frequent. Doctor's/ mom's/ sister's/ Ryan's orders.

How's that for the first and last blog post of this week? Happy weekend everybody! I'll be spending mine drinking water.

p.s. my instagram name is @ameliamarthelia, if you care to follow along. i promise it's not just a bunch of photos of my food. but i won't lie, there's a lot of that.

25 weeks

 Well, I meant to write a whole fancy post about 25 weeks,

but I've got to leave for a road trip to Minnesota in 4 minutes.

FOUR MINUTES.

So all we're getting today are some pictures Ryan took yesterday.

This is what little baby boy looks like as a 25 week bump.

He's cute so far, yes?

You should feel him kick. He goes nuts in there sometimes.

Aaaaaaaand off I go! 

More next week!

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!

I didn't even ask him to do that.

this post contains Pocahontas lyrics.

I was flipping through the pictures on my phone recently, and ran across these photos again. 

I love 'em.

We were having a ball that night, feeling all giddy about this baby coming, and feeling confident that he would be healthy. And we're still giddy, and he is healthy.

But the reality of this little one is starting to kick in. Like most mothers-to-be, I think about it constantly. This is what my brain sounds like at all times:

"Is he okay? Oh he's kicking! Cute! Do I have enough onesies? What does he look like? What if he's colicky? Is he claustrophobic in there? OH CRAP, LABOR. How much fatter am I going to get? Is he okay in there? Cute, more kicking! What on earth is a nosefrida? I'm hungry. I'm emoooootionalll. I'M SO HOT. What if he sucks his thumb and gets buck teeth? I wish he'd come right now. No! I don't wish he'd come right now! More kicking! Aww. Baby, baby, baby, baby."

...

Do you see what I'm dealing with here?

More importantly, do you see what Ryan is dealing with here?

Which brings me to the point of this blog post: when I ran across the photos above, I started to worry about how things will be after this baby comes. Because, despite my baby-related hysteria, Ryan and I have a pretty good thing going on. We're really happy with our little life. We laugh a lot, we hug a lot, we do fun little things that make us happy to be husband and wife. So when I think about adding the scary, new, cluelessness of having a baby into the mix I think, whoa whoa, wait a minute Mr. Postman. I mean, I'm already a crazy pregnant lady. It'll probably only get worse once the baby arrives and I have to figure out how to keep him alive. I don't want it to get so bad that Ryan is afraid to come home from work every night.

The good thing is this: Ryan is steady. (As the steady beating druummm) ((there are your promised Pocahontas lyrics, thank you.)) Want to know how many times he's freaked out about having a baby? Zero. All he has to do is pat my knee and say, "Don't worry Amelia. The baby's fine. It's going to be fine," and my heart rate goes down, little by little. And, if I'm totally honest with myself, I know everything will be fine. I know it will be wonderful! I know that I have no idea how much we'll love this little boy. And based on the marriages of my sisters and parents, I'm fairly certain that the love between Ryan and I will only get better and stronger and happier. Even if I'm crazy.

Also, I'm going to take seriously the importance of date nights and a good babysitter. The end.

i can tell that we are gonna be friends

I've been so terrible at keeping a pregnancy journal. Shame on me, lazy bones! In an effort to fix that, here are the things I want to remember about being pregnant with my sweet baby boy child:

About Mom::

• I found out we were expecting on Ryan's birthday. I also had a job interview, and was hosting a dinner with friends that night. I was a crazy mess that day.
• I first felt baby move at 16 weeks, but wasn't totally sure that's what was happening until about 18 weeks. Stomach gurgles and digestion and things. They make you unsure.
• I felt sleepy and sick in the evenings of my first trimester. Mornings and early afternoons were blissful! Then, around 3pm, I'd feel icky and pukey and afraid of the kitchen. Cheerios for supper every night.
• My second trimester is the coolest, ever.
• Breakfast food! Eggs and toast and bacon and pancakes and french toast and bagels and hashbrowns and smoothies and cereal! I'll eat it all at every meal! Thank you!
• My hair is glorious and shiny! My nails are strong and grow at record speed! My skin never got the memo!
• I only wear pants when I'm at work. The rest of the time I'm dressed in skirts and dresses and pajamas.
• DON'T MAKE ME SMELL THE PINK DAWN DISHSOAP.
• I'm emotional, and not in just the weepy way. Things sway me and leave an impression. Sad things are sadder, sweet things are sweeter, scary things are scarier, funny things are WAY funnier. We recently watched an episode of Mad Men before bed that disturbed me so much, I had to have Ryan distract me until I fell asleep. And speaking of sleep . . .
• I can't sleep very much anymore. Also, body pillows are funny.

About Dad::

• Ryan felt the baby move so early! All the books say after 22ish weeks, but he just happened to have his fingertips right where baby had his toes, and it was love at first thunk. He smiled all night long.
• He still hates giving the foot rubs. That's nothing new.
• Though he makes up for it by taking me out for frozen yogurt.
• Sometimes I tell him to talk to the baby and he gets stage fright. Instead of saying sweet lovey nothings to the baby, he'll list off chores the poor boy will have to do when he grows up. "You'll take out the garbage, and help mom with the dishes, and mow the lawn..." 
• Once, while watching a show on PBS about Africa, I caught him crying. Something about a little girl who died and her dad finding her shoes in a field. When I asked him if he was crying he said, "NOT THAT MUCH."

About baby::

• Baby is the size of a spaghetti squash. Ain't that cute?
• He kicks at almost every meal, and especially at night. And just when I think that it's been too long since I've felt him wiggle, he wiggles. He's a good boy.
• We're pretty set on a name for him. A real good, solid name. But Ryan's been calling him Phil, just to distract me from saying the real name too much. We want to keep it a secret so there's a fun surprise. That, and I'm afraid that some people who don't like it will tell me so. It's happened before.
• He's officially a few days older than his big sister, which makes me sad and thrilled at the same time.
• My maternal instinct is telling me that he's going to be really cute. And blond like his dad. I can just tell.

The end.