My Baby's Got a Secret

Now that we know we are having a daughter, I have another question that should be added to the FAQ list. “What’s her name going to be?”

Well, the short answer is that I can’t really tell you. It’s not because I don’t know. She has a first and last name (obviously), and they sound perfectly mellifluous. Once we decide on her middle name, it will be a complete and pretty little picture.

I can’t tell you because it’s a secret.

A be vewy vewy quiet type of secret.

A statute that exists for several reasons:

First off, it’s what her Daddy wants. After our baby reveal party a few weeks ago Ben and I had a very brief talk about what her name would be. We pretty much immediately agreed on her first name because I had had a list going since we found out we were pregnant back in March. (Clandestinely, this list has existed since the 8th grade. Most girls pick out children’s names before we pick out husbands. It’s true, guys.) Ben then asked to keep the name quiet until her arrival because he wanted to keep something just between us three. At this point, my heart melted and I immediately jumped on board the secret name train. Ben will be able to walk out of the delivery room in November and tell our families something they don’t already know – something rare in our family circles.

Secondly, it’s now what I want – see above…and below.

Lastly, we get to avoid all the judgment that comes from announcing your baby’s name prior to its birth. Mom and Dad tossed the names Brandy and Wendy out to their families prior to my arrival, and both were met with harsh criticism. I’ve been told the potential monikers reminded my grandmothers of strippers, liquor, and Civil War-era butter churning. Since I refuse to admit my grandmothers know anything about strippers or liquor, I’m calling erroneous! Erroneous on all counts. Still, I like knowing that no one will know her name until they meet her – at which point, they’ll think it’s a perfect match. Hopefully.

I don’t like being secretive, so how about I tell you what her name isn’t?

• Delta, Sarah Ida, or anything related to Tri Delt. It was a short but contentious battle that Ben decisively won.


• Lauren Jr. – I think the practice of naming your female child after you is a little odd.


• Benjamina – See above.


• Norma, or anything related to the University of Oklahoma. The dogs, Bosworth and Adrian, are enough Sooners in one house.


• Ava, Ella, Emily, Sophie, Bella, or any names you might see on the most popular baby names list. These are beautiful names; we just wanted less people to share hers.


• Darby – Don’t worry Brady – it’s still available for you.
  

I love a preppy monogram as much as the next former sorority girl. My little legacy, however, will have to stand in line at the seamstress with her Momma to get hers done.

In space no one can hear you scream

I’m not sure how I feel about the supersonic mega hi-def ultrasounds available nowadays. For about $100 a session you can see your baby in the womb looking…well…pretty uncomfortable… weird…and alien like.

I’m sorry; you’re probably not supposed to say that. It’s just my opinion, and maybe it’s because I’m a claustrophobe, but it looks hella cramped in there. The baby’s little hands are all crammed up by their faces, their feet are up over their heads, their eyelids are fused shut like kittens, and any time I get a glimpse of the umbilical cord I throw up a little in my mouth.

Then I hear about sonographers having to ram mothers in the stomach to get the baby to move around, and I can’t help but think - There will be multiple times in my daughter’s life when I ask her to “perform” something cute in front of a crowd, so I don’t need to start bugging her about it now, do I?

I get the appeal. I want to know what my daughter will look like, and I’d like to know it now. Will she have my eyes, Ben’s smile, and her grandmother’s height? That’s what I’m hoping for – if you can’t tell.

I just don’t think I’ll be able to extrapolate what she’ll look like from an image of her more resembling a kangaroo fetus than what I know will become my beautiful, huggable baby girl.

Despite my commentary above, I haven’t completely made up my mind about getting a supersonic mega hi-def ultrasound. So until then, I have this…

This is our baby at 20 weeks.

And this is me as a 3 month old.

This is something I can get behind.

Baby Reveal Party

We had the ultrasound of our baby on June 17. We told the sonographer that we didn’t want to know that day, but to write down the sex and seal it up an envelope. The sonographer did as requested and Ben took the envelope to Sublime Bakery where their pastry experts would create our pink or blue cake. This was all because we were planning a Baby Reveal dinner for Sunday, June 20 at Joe T. Garcia’s where we would find out the gender of our baby along with our family and friends.

This is how the cake turned out. It was almost too cute to cut. Yes, those are fondant likenesses of AD & Boz. I had to include them somehow. Are you really all that surprised?

On Sunday we gathered together – all sporting pink or blue based on our guess to the baby’s identity.

My brother, Brady, flew in from San Diego. Here he is with my maternal grandparents, Glenda & Wendal.

Ben and I with our mothers...ahem..the incredibly excited Grandmothers - Susan & Lana!

My Dad, Terri, & Bobbie (My Granny) - more proud grandparents!

Some of our sweet friends, the Martins, Lauren, Kalee, and the Escotts. Thanks for coming, guys!

The Wrights brought their sweet daughter, Finley, to join the fun. She even brought a gift for our baby. What a thoughtful 6 week old young lady!

The Hoover family was very ready for us to cut the cake!

It was so fun to see everyone, and Ben and I were overwhelmed by the love and support surrounding us. After a quick meal – truthfully Ben and I didn’t eat much because we were so nervous – we were ready to cut the cake.

Here we go!

It’s…a…GIRL!

I immediately dissolved into tears of joy and hugged everyone in sight. My favorite part of this picture is how Ben is looking at the cake, just to make sure.

Dad cleaned up my eye make up before this was taken - thanks Dad! Why are you wearing green?

Yay for another girl!

Thankfully, my girl friends picked up the slack and served the cake that I had forgotten to keep cutting. After I calmed down, we opened the presents our dear family was not supposed to bring, but were much appreciated nonetheless.

All in all, a great and momentous occasion. Thank you to everyone who made it and celebrated along with us. We can’t wait to meet our daughter and introduce her to the world.

PS - Thank you to Adrienne and Taylor for taking all the great pictures! Love you girls!

WHOOOAAA!

Have you noticed how Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure has been on cable an awful lot lately? Maybe it’s just because it’s too uncomfortable to go outside so I’m watching more TV, but I’m catching it quite frequently. I cringe when Bill S. Preston Esquire’s Dad “goes for it” with his twenty year old wife in his son’s bedroom. I laugh at Wyld Stallyns’ obsession with getting Eddie Van Halen in their nonexistent band. Seemingly the flick has stuck with me since the late eighties.

I was reminded of the sage words of Ted Theodore Logan last night when I felt an odd pressure in my lower abdomen – "Strange things are afoot at the Circle-K." Could it have been the spicy dinner I just consumed? Perhaps it was the incredibly hot walk we took just hours before? There, right there! There it was again. Then I realized…

It’s our most excellent baby saying, “Hi Missy. I mean, Mom. You and Dad be excellent to each other!”

Whoa!

Thanks little dude…er dude-ette. We’ll know on Sunday what you are.

Until then, I leave you with the erudite words of So-Crates. "The only true wisdom is in knowing that you know nothing". This pretty much sums up my entire experience thus far with pregnancy.

Party on San Dimas!

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.