Sike. There is no belly picture. Maybe soon I will get around to taking one, and then also convincing myself I want to post it online. Maybe.
Moving on from that disappointment, Tuesday we hit the four-months-until-the-due-date mark. I celebrated in what I’m assuming is the customary way: spending four or so hours cleaning out the closets. I haven’t started scrubbing the baseboards yet, but perhaps I’ll do that to commemorate the three month mark. It’s not really that I’m starting to feel anxious about the baby coming, because it still seems like a long way off and I’m pretty realistic about the fact that it will start to drag on towards the end. I guess I’m just thinking I should get as much done as I can while I’m still feeling good. Which I am, knock on wood. No real issues to report. Yet.
Aside from cleaning, I’m focusing a decent amount of energy into researching baby gear (I usually call it baby crap, but in an effort to not appear insensitive I’ll use baby gear). We’ve bought a few things already when we have found them on sale/clearance (we're cheap), with the biggest purchase so far being a jogging stroller. Lucky for the dogs, whenever we get something new my favorite thing to do is torture them with it:
No, we did not have to sedate him to get him to sit still. Surprisingly. Here are two other incredibly important developments:
Everyone always talks about their baby dreams while pregnant. I had a couple of baby dreams in the weeks before we found out the sex. Two times I dreamt we went in for the sonogram and found out it was a girl. Another time I had a dream with an actual baby in it, but the baby was a boy named Oliver. (One, the baby didn’t end up being a boy. And two, even if it was a boy I had no intentions of naming him Oliver.) The only other pregnancy-related dream I’ve had was one where I woke up with stretch marks on my belly, but they weren’t normal stretch marks they were like bleeding cuts/sores. Oh and that dream ended with me going to a hookah bar (or are they called lounges? I have no clue) where a group of Rastafarian gangsters stole my car and shot me in the stomach. Interpretations are welcome…
You’re probably also wondering what Tim has been up to, or more specifically what he has been saying/doing to offend me. Well luckily for him he has been out of town for work for a little while, which significantly cuts down on his chances of messing something up. He did, however, manage to call me a hippo a week or so ago. The story goes something like this: we were upstairs and it was time to feed the dogs, so I headed downstairs and was of course making up a song as I went about feeding the dogs (yes, I make up songs and sing them to my dogs, pretty much on a regular basis) and at one point was singing about how they are hungry hungry hippos, and Tim shouted down from upstairs “and so is their mom!” (Yes, we refer to ourselves as mom and dad of our dogs. Don’t let this embarrassing detail distract you from the main point of the story). So yeah, my husband basically likes to sing about how his pregnant wife is a hungry hungry hippo. I’m a lucky girl I know.
