Well lookee there.  My little ticker has me all the down to 195 days left.   And I only thought it was creeping by at a drunk slug’s pace.  That damn ticker actually confirms it.  Maybe I should get rid of that thing.

12 weeks down.  Officially now in the last week of the FIRST TRIMESTER.  Are things improving?  Hmmmm….I’ve showered 2ce in 4 days, left the house 3 times, tried to eat out with Mr. 4Tops (didn’t go so well, but I tried), and put on new make-up (I think I love this Bare Minerals stuff…time will tell more).  So yes.  That constitutes improvement.  Today?  Still in jammies at 3:27 EST, and feeling gaggy.  But NOT constantly nauseaus.  Also rates as improvement. 

I’ve felt just well enough to start a little (who am I kidding, it’s huge)  list of what I need for baby, and me.  Ordered my first pair of maternity pants via eBay, and think they’re already too small in the butt, or at least that’s what Mr. 4Tops said before I spit in his eye.  The pants are cool.  Maybe some squats’ll stretch the bum.  Gap maternity.  Olive drap.  Drawstring cargo.  My fav kind of pants in the fall/winter, ‘cept made for giant bellies.  Pair them with a black turtleneck, and I practically channel Margaret Houlihan.  Except I’m not blonde.  Nor do I have large lips.  Or a large bosom.  Nor am I in the army.  Other than that, we’re clones.  Black and olive.  No matter how the trends come and go, it’s always my favorite.  Must’ve watched too much M*A*S*H* as a young teen.  LOVE that show…

Finally settled on a doctor I can tolerate last week, and was asked about my nutritional intake.  Let’s take a look at that.  Hum.  One day that week, I ate 2 cream cheese bagels, 6 oatmeal cookies and had some Tang (remember Tang?  I didn’t think I did till it was all I thought I could drink).  Another day, this homemade chicken noodle concoction my mom came up with for breakfast, early snack, lunch, late snack and dinner.  That was it.  Chicken and noodles.  Light on the chicken.  It made me gag.  Today…one sausage ball (mom’s recipe), 1 oatmeal cookie and some Tang for breakfast.  Nibbled on cashews an hour later, and had a piece of French Toast for lunch.  More cashews, Tang and some Gatoraide.  Don’t know the flavor, just that it is blue, and has slightly more taste than water, but less than anything else you could imbibe.  And another oatmeal cookie.  Now, I am seriously considering some fudge.  Thank God for prenatal vitamins.

Think I’ll take a nap now.  Typing is just exhausting.  I’m just focusing on the end.  Live for the end.  This too, shall pass.  And don’t write me hate mail for being ungrateful concerning this pregnancy.  I’m not.  I just generally feel like crap and think I oughta be able to say it.  Now I’m sticking out my tongue.  Don’t feel offended.  My hormones have me hating the dog now, too.

So I’ve been laying around in bed too long.  I tried this out, the Chinese Lunar Calendar to determine the sex of our baby.  I know.  I’m hanging my head in silly shame.

However, it says this baby will be a girl, which I’ve already been feeling.  And I felt that our first was a boy (he was), our second, a girl (she was), and our third a boy.  Yep.  He was. 

The Chinese Lunar Calendar confirms these three, as well.  What do you think?  Try it out with any children you have, or are expecting.  Tell me, does it work for you?  Should I start buying girly things?

And just how early have you gotten a sonogram to tell you the sex, accurately?  Do I have to wait till 20 weeks?

Please share.  I’m really bored in the bed.  I need to know.

Hi.  I really am sorry about the impersonal greeting, but it’s the best I’ve got.  That’s how I see you right now. 

No.  Don’t be frightened I’ll never bond with you, or love you, or feed you.  It’s just the way I am at this stage.  At least I’ve come far enough since Number 1, that I know I will love you.  When we meet.  And really, quite intantaneously.   When your big brother was only 7 months in the making, I sat in my parents’ driveway bawling that I wouldn’t love him.  What if I don’t even like him?  Silly me.  He was really pretty cool when we met.  You will be too.

But right now, this is how it goes down.  You are the size of a butterbean.  Bigger than a lima, smaller than a snow pea.  You have hands, feet, eyes, a brain, several significant neurological underpinnings, and see-through skin.  Cool.   I’m sure you’re lovely.  But I can’t really see you.  But boy, do I feel you.

You, in your fetal bliss, make me gag, yarf, choke and generally unable to eat most nutritional foods.  I am exhausted.  I just pretty much feel like crap.  All the time.  I can’t sleep with your father.  His breath smells funky.  His light snoring is grating to my very soul.  I can’t go to sleep easily, at all, as a matter of fact.  I’ve been taking Unisom (hope you’re OK in there) to try to stay sane.  And some various and sundry other supposed to be OK drugs to stay hydrated and minimally nourished.   The dog’s very presence irritates me, something I can only attribute to you, as before, I thought he was pretty neato (wait, got to kick him off my feet).

I know you will be worth every single hurl and sleepless moment.  I really really do.  But right now, I just have faith for that.  Not the real deep down lovey-baby’s coming, aaaawwwww, isn’t that precious sort of anticipation.  It’s survival, dear.  You and me, and your Dad, and siblings.  We’re just all hanging on till the end, when we get to meet you and say, whew.  Glad that part’s over.  Now let’s get on with life.  Life with you.   Your sister even says things like Good for you, Mommy, when I shower.  That’s how desperate things get.  But for you, for you, we can deal.

I see those other women, rubbing their bellies, cooing to unborn ears.  It’s just not me.  Never has been.  In fact, I don’t even really like children.  Again, no worries here.  I like my children.  I’m just not a kid person, in general.  Which is awkward when you have almost 4 of your own, because at church, and other places like that, people just assume you can’t wait to sign up for nursery duty, or the dreaded Children’s Ministry, or be the room mom.  I’m like, I have my children, why do I need to mess with yours?  In fact, the more I have, the less I want to do with yours.  Why is this so difficult to understand?

I imagine you are a girl.  But hey, if there’s a bity penis in there (no offense, it just has to be, you’re the size of a cashew), we’ll be tickled blue.  It’s just that I’ve always thought if we had four, it’d be boy-girl-boy-girl, and well, I’ve been right 3 times.  So I’m just going to think girl now, and switch gears as necessary.  Probably at the 20 week U/S.  

Thinking of names.  Don’t actually want to publish.  Do that, and you open up yourself for everyone’s and their Aunt Faye’s assivice on just what that particular name will or won’t do to you.  And hey, your big brother, the youngest one, is names after a color that most people aren’t, so we’re bound to find something many think is odd.  Got one that could swing boy or girl.  We’ll see.  

Every body that knows us is pretty jazzed you’re on the way.  You oldest 2 siblings cried when we first told them.  Don’t take offense, they didn’t mean it personally.  It just took them by surprise, and they’ve seen one too many Discovery Baby shows with me.  They were afraid for my safety and well being.  And to be honest, for my sanity and their ranking in the family.  It’ll be all OK when they meet you, too.  No sweat.  They are fantastic kids with big hearts and a terrific sense of family.  You’ll be rotten.  Just rotten.  Probably won’t learn the meaning of no till you’re married.   

Well, 4, these are the things that come to mind tonight.  I figure I should think towards your actual arrival some, as we are nearing the end of our first 3 months together.  It’s tough for me to picture.  After all these times, 3 other children and pregnancies, I still find it hard to comprehend all this means another little person.  And you, my dear, are my ticket to the tummy tuck and boob job I’ve been hankering for for years.  I told your Dad, 4 kids?  F-O-U-R?  Then you owe me, bud.  Done.  But really, I’d do it without the carrot at the end of this long stick.  I think.  No, I would.  Promise.

I kind of look forward to being able to feel you move around.  Always makes it seem more "real".  Kind of soothing, knowing things seem OK in there.  Why there can’t be a window I’ll never know.  Also puts more specificity on the why of all the discomfort.  But for now, I’ll just chill knowing how it always goes down for me and one of my own.  We’ll get it in time.  You won’t feel less, or unloved, just because right now you seem somewhat an annoyance.  It’s just part of the deal.  And each of your siblings will tell you I said the same about them.  Yet they are so awesome to me, so incredibly yummy, I could muster up the gumption to go in again.  

It’s going to be good.  Just you wait and see.  And that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.  Because by now, I know it to be true.

What to say here?  Love?  Fondly?  Over and out?  Maybe, see you soon,

Mom 

Babe’s getting a bit bigger, not all is just as it will be.  But check this out.

In the 10th week, the feet all are formed.  Just tiny.  It’s amazing, really.

Days are mostly going by in a blur of naps and nausea.  So blessedly, while we are at my folks house, I can indulge in what I need, rest wise.  I’m still hanging on to the end of this trimester, hoping most of the haze will lift.

Time will tell.