Advice from Toddlers

So, the other day I was having a very deep discussion about life, babies, and cake with a 3 year old. I figure, she's got as much experience as anyone when it comes to those issues. Sure, she hasn't been to "medical school" or "pre-school," but I don't see why that would effect her ability to give me sound medical advice.

"In a few months, you'll have a new little friend ya' know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you think it'll be a girl or a boy?"

"It's a boy."

"Would you rather have a boy to play with?"

"No. Girls are waaay more fun. So, how does the baby get out of your belly?"

"Well, have you ever seen the movie Alien?"

"No."

"Hmm...let's get some cake."

Of course, relying on the medical opinion of a toddler can only get you so far, mostly because it's hard to take someone seriously when they're wearing a tutu and raincoat. At 19 weeks the time has finally come for a high quality ultrasound. The one that shows the bits. Done by a real doctor.

I was required to drink 16 ounces of water and keep a full bladder for an hour before the ultrasound. I'm sure the doc would come up with some fancy practical reason for putting a pregnant woman through this torture, but I think they really do it just to watch your face as they push down on your stomach, point to the screen, and go, "Oh! And that's your bladder. Look how full it is!"

Alright. It's mugshot time. If you want to see insanely big versions of these pictures, just click on the photo.

So, our little human is getting even more human-like by the week. Here is little Slagathor/Edna Lou, currently 19 weeks, 10 ounces, and %100 fully assembled human!


I'm pretty sure the black space to the left of its head is little Slaggy/E.L.'s pompadour.

Below is the baby-in-progress trying to catch a nap and wondering why the hell someone keeps turning on the lights and moving the room around.

So, Ryan hates feet. I mean HATES feet. He despises foot medicine commercials (who doesn't?) and gets startled by sudden feet shots in movies way more than when the guy with the knife jumps out of the closet. But, when these little guys came up on the screen, you could see him dreaming about kissing on these little baby feet.

And now for the moment you've been waiting for!

(Insert rimshot)

I believe the exact words of the ultrasound technician were,
"Wow. It is absolutely, definitely a boy."

Ryan's response was, "YES!"

Yup, that's our boy's junk right in the center there.

Now that we know we're having a boy, we can finally stop calling the baby Slagathor/Edna Lou. I consulted with my 3 year old life coach on the matter. After all, she didn't need an ultrasound to tell us we were having a baby boy.

"If it's a boy, we're going to name him Slagathor. Doesn't it sound Nordic?"

(She giggles hysterically)

"Well then, what should we name it if it's a boy?"

"Pontshoon."

"Pontshoon?"

"PONTSHOON!"

After a bit more discussion, with her continuing to insist on the name Pontshoon, she got upset and ended the conversation because I wouldn't use her name.

But seriously, Pontshoon? Now that would just be weird. I mean, when people would ask what we were naming him, we'd have to answer, "Pontshoon." Everyone would think we were just joking.

No way, missy. We'll stick with Slagathor, thank you very much.

Thank God, it's human!

Here goes my entry into nerdom and obnoxious preggodom all in one.

See, I've never been big on blogging the day to day frivolities of my life. And, I didn't want to become one of those moms-to-be that shoves sonograms of indecipherable blobs in front of other people's faces insisting, "Isn't it ADORABLE!"

But, it turns out that there are a lot of soon to be grandmas, great grandmas, and potential future babysitters who actually want to see those black and white blobs. So, here are my adventures in procreating.

I'm currently 18 weeks along and no longer fitting into my jeans. I'm pregnant enough that friends are rubbing my belly and strangers are giving me that, "Well, she's either pregnant or oddly fat," look. Ryan says I'm glowing, which I assume means, "Your new rack is awesome!" and people in general keep telling me that I look great. My current theory is that people feel the need to tell pregnant women how wonderful they look, because they fear you will have a hormone induced rage-out if they don't. Luckily, aside from some overwhelmingly vibrant dreams and my new and improved chest, I haven't felt the full wrath of the hormones yet. Consequently, neither has Ryan.

But, please, keep the compliments coming.

I'm in full belly flutter mode and am pretty sure I can feel little Slagathor/Edna Lou dancing around. Of course, it may just be last night's bean dip wreaking havoc, but I prefer to think it's the miracle of life instead of the miracle of digestion.

Alright, here's the moment you all have been waiting for: the first pictures of lil' Slaggy/E.L.


Here we are at 16 weeks, or t-minus 24 weeks and counting. The top picture is baby on its back with its hands and feet in the air, waving 'em like it just don't care. The head is the blob on the right. Lord knows what the blob on the left is.





Next up, we've got proof that we're having...a HUMAN! Though we'd always assumed we were having a human, up until this point, we've been looking at a sea monkey. Not that we wouldn't love our little sea monkey and force you guys to tell us how cute it is, it's just that, given the option, we'd prefer a baby without flippers. The blob by the head is not over-sized ears (as my mom so politely tried to ask), but a wee little baby hand raising the roof.



Lastly, we have, a blob. Slaggy/E.L. was in the process of flipping around when this picture was taken. We can only hope it has inherited Ryan's dancing skills instead of mine.





Now, let's take a trip into the Way Back machine for a moment. Here is our little sea-monkey at about 8 weeks. Isn't it ADORABLE?!?

And, finally, this is my belly at 8 weeks when I'd just barely begun to show. I'm mainly posting this as proof to myself down the road that I didn't always have a wiggling yoga ball attached to my abdomen.

I'm currently taking bets on what my cat tattoo will look like post-pregnancy.

The options are:

a) The same (now please don't rage out on me preggo-lady).
b) HAHAHAHAHAH! You're so screwed!
c) Like Jerry Louis, but fatter.

Take your pick!

(and tune in next week to find out the sex of the baby!)