What the WHAT?

Searching for baby gear is Bri-Taxing. It confuses the Stokke out of me. My Bugaboo is broken and I just Uppa Baby-ed all over myself. I used to be smart and Chicco, but now I’ve gone into Orbit, Baby.

Shortly after I told my Grandmommy we were expecting, she commented on how much “stuff” was available for parents and children today. She said when she had babies; you put them in a crib, wrapped them in some blankets, and fed them bottles. She made it sound so simple and streamlined – which it WAS; especially compared to the lit-er-al-ly thousands of options out there now.

I’ve become obsessed with no less than 4 strollers, 3 car seats, 2 bassinets, and 5 cribs - and this is after one week of looking. ONE! I thought preparing for a wedding was labor intensive, but it in no way compares to preparing for a baby. I need some advice and a personal shopper in a bad way.

Sweet dreams are not made of this

What do Troy Aikman, teen pregnancy, wandering eyes, Miller Lite and swallowing your fist have in common? They’ve all showed up in my dreams lately – and they are part of the dreams I can talk about in polite company. There have been many others involving Ben and people at work that are just too embarrassing to admit to. I think I need to get a CAT scan to make sure the fetus isn’t growing in my brain.

Troy Aikman was my first celebrity crush on a heterosexual male.

As a child I adored Boy George, and Mom had to carefully explain that he didn’t like girls that way. I still think he’s fabulous for teaching me about tolerance and eye liner.

I digress…My first deranged pregnancy induced dream started with Troy and I Wing Stop enjoying a basket of boneless wings. I decided to order a Miller Lite and proceeded to down the entire thing in one gulp. Upon putting the bottle down, I remembered – oh no! I’m pregnant, I can’t drink alcohol! I ran to the bathroom to induce vomiting, except I had NO gag reflex. I couldn’t throw up the poison beverage no matter how far I put my finger, then fist, then forearm down my throat. By this time, Troy was really worried about me and knocked on the bathroom stall. I told him to go back into the restaurant and work on his footwork and then I woke myself up. What in the heck?

The other dream theme of late is that Ben is just a hound dog. I’m sure this comes from some unfounded fear that he’ll leave me because I get too fat and grumpy. By the way, I love you Babe, and don’t actually think this’ll happen. However I can’t make my unconscious brain grasp that.

Example…In one dream Ben and I went a high school party in the Summerfields addition near my childhood home. (Note - We looked as we do today, and everyone else was in high school. Awkward from the get go. I got a bunch of “whose mom is that” looks.) I wanted to leave and couldn’t find Ben. Finally, I located him in the back bedroom holding court with all these high school girls. He got up to leave and one of the girls, who was hugely pregnant, asked for his phone number.

I pulled my best ghetto-Jerry-Springer attitude and informed her that he was married. She said she didn’t care, so he shrugged and wrote his phone number on her hand! The nerve! I woke up fuming and kicked Ben under the covers.

It wasn’t fair, but neither is my imagination’s nightly assault on my emotions.

Little Wet Hamster

I had my 14 week doctor’s appointment yesterday. When I called last week to see what we’d be covering, the lady at the front desk who read my chart said that it would be a routine appointment – blood work, blood pressure, measure my belly, etc. Nothing exciting or fancy.



Ben is wonderful about wanting to be there for me and Norm at the doctor whether it’s expedient for his schedule or not. So when he asked if he should come I let him off the hook saying, “If you were going to skip an appointment, this would probably be the one.”


So to the doctor I went, by myself. Weight taken (down four lbs so far…hmmm odd), blood pressure taken (regular for me, high for others), belly measured (not really much of a change so far), and then WHOA. Cold wet goo on my stomach – what the hey is this? Next thing I know I’m listening to what sounds like a little wet hamster running on a wheel.

Whirr Shoosh Whirr Shoosh Whirr Shoosh.

The little critter sounds very excited and sopping wet. Perhaps it should slow down and take it easy. I’m starting to worry about it when Dr. Watson says, “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

And the world. Stops. And I melt. Into the table. With love. I’m now a mother, carrying a baby, with a heart that beats. I may not be showing yet, I may not have had morning sickness yet, I may not know what the heck I’m doing to prepare for it, but I am now a mother. And I love it. A lot.

At the next appointment, we’ll have to start with the heartbeat so that Ben can hear it for the first time. Trust me Babe, it’s amazing; our little wet hamster running on a wheel.