I am 23 weeks pregnant – and the only reason why I know that is because they told me that at my doctor’s appointment this week. I had been telling everyone, when they asked: “Um, nineteen weeks? No, twenty. Yes, twenty!” Which only means that clearly I am living the truth behind all those who speak of the difference between the second pregnancy compared to the first.
I’ve been feeling good, and have had no more headaches (thank GOD). But I did have a ridiculous experience at the doctor with a nurse taking my blood. I was waiting to have my blood drawn for testing and a nice, cheerful nurse came out into the waiting room and called my name. I was about to get up, but saw that a man was there before me, so I did the “right thing” and told her that he had been there first. He thanked me. She took him in. I was feeling really good about it, until the door opened again by a very angry ogre in a nurse’s uniform who I prayed was not going to call my name.
Don’t call my name. Don’t call my name. Don’t call my n-
She said my name like she was mad at me already which would have been crazy, because I hadn’t even had a chance to do anything to piss her off yet, but I decided I wasn’t going to start now. So I followed her into the back room where she told me to get in the chair and give over my arm through grunts and force. She began roughly wiping the crook of my elbow with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball in preparation to insert a needle. I suddenly wished I was the cotton ball, because I hate needles as it is and really could have used being doused in alcohol to get me through this encounter.
Here is a recap of our conversation:
NURSE: “Sorry if I’m slow-moving. I’m sick.”
I instantly loathed that sweet man from the waiting room. I bet he was already walking to his car, whistling, with a lollipop in his mouth. Jerk.
ME: “Oh, that’s…too bad.” (Uncomfortable, long pause as I tried to assess how worried I should be): “Do you know what it might be?”
NURSE: “I don’t know. All I know is I can’t keep anything down.”
I suddenly became very aware that she was touching me, taking 5 vials of my blood, and breathing a germ cloud over me in a small enclosed space.
ME: “Oh. Do you think it’s maybe, food poisoning?” (Praying for hope this is something that is not contagious.)
NURSE: “Yeah, maybe. I ate Showmars earlier.”
ME: “Oh, that’s GREAT! Um, I mean, well, I hope you feel better.”
You could imagine that I ran like hell outta there and doused myself in anti-bacterial when I got in the car.
I am in the midst of the second trimester, which means I just hit the point where I noticed that we have done NOTHING in order to prepare for this little man, including getting his room ready.
If you remember from when I designed Miss P’s nursery, it all started from a pillow I found for her room that I loved. That pillow became the jumping-off piece which I based the rest of her room around, and we were so happy with the way it turned out. Finding one item you fall in love with is, in my opinion, the best way to start when you have a huge undertaking ahead of you like putting a room together. I’ve been waiting to come across that one item for the new baby’s room, and I finally found it, hanging at a store called the Black Lion:
This was marked down a TON – from hundreds of dollars to only $49! – and fully resembled some of the light fixtures I had been pinning lately, which can only mean one thing: that Oprah was right, and that vision boards really do work. The only (sort of) downside is that it is SO neutral that I don’t have any colors that I must now stick to, but I think I have some in mind.
In other news, P has decided to freak us all out by talking to our cat, Bear – you know, the one that died back in November? Yeah. She was only 15 months old when he died and, aside from mentioning him a few times after it first happened (because they were buddies and he was always around her), she seemed to have sort of forgotten about him. Until the other day, when she decided to make all the hairs on my body stand on end. She ran over to the gate and pointed, and started smiling and giggling, calling, “Bear Bear!” I tried to ignore her at first but she kept doing it. “What do you see?” I said, and she said, “Bear! Hi, Bear!”
“Oh!” I said, trying not to show her my horrified face, like the one I made when I found out the truth about Bruce Willis’ character in the Sixth Sense: “What’s he doing there?”
“He’s sleeping.” She then laughed, and yelled, “I La You Bear Bear!!” and went back to what she was doing, like it never happened. THIS was one of the moments where it’s not fair that you shouldn’t drink while pregnant.
I just planned on forgetting about it because, hello, I like to sleep at night, but Greg witnessed it too. She’s been pointing to the same spot in our house and saying “hi!” to him almost every day for the last week. He’s always “sleeping”, it always lasts for like 5 or 10 minutes, and she ends it by going, “I La You Bear Bear!” and then she runs away. Babies are W-E-I-R-D.
Anyway, here’s where I would like to post a belly pic, but I am terrible at remembering to take those and every time I ask Greg, he huffs and puffs about it. Because I am a female and I like to check it and make sure I look like I resemble myself at least somewhat. And by that I mean not like how we all knew it was Charlize Theron somewhere under there in that movie Monster. And so I don’t have a recent belly pic, however I will now leave you with a video clip of Miss P, dancing to her new favorite song (which is far more entertaining, I promise):