Friday, January 22, 2010


I had forgotten that the point of a blog is to, you know, actually write something every once in a while.

When I last posted I had a secret that I wasn't yet sharing with general society: I was pregnant. And in fact, I still am! Nearly 24 weeks now. This is the biggest thing that has happened to me this year, single-handedly destoying my (already pathetic) wardrobe, my social life, and my ability to play soccer.

Now, I'm a long-torsoed person (a.k.a. my legs are short), 5'7", so just a bit taller than the average gal, and started out a bit big to begin with. This means that the journey to look pregnant-not-fat has been a long one that I'm not entirely convinced I'm over the hump yet. Over the bump, maybe? For example, I took a ride on the always-pleasant King County Metro 28 bus to Fremont the other day and despite looming my belly over the sitting passengers in the Old/Gimp section and giving the worst stink-eye I could muster, I was not offered a seat. In fact, someone vacated a seat about 2 stops after I got on and it was quickly snatched up by a guy I had waited at the bus stop with. Granted, he spent his time there holding a full-volume conversation into his Bluetooth and I was wearing a large T-shirt, but still.

What I've found is that when most people reach 24 weeks of pregnancy they already have a lot of things figured out, for example, they know what crib to buy and their nursery already has a theme. I don't know any of this yet because I'm horribly indecisive, my husband is worse, and the baby simply isn't cooperating.

I went and got my Big Ultrasound two days before Christmas with the goal of creating the Best Christmas Present for Grandparents Ever: the Big Reveal about the baby's gender. I dragged my husband along to the ultrasound and we had a comprehensive look at baby's parts for over an hour, none of which elucidated the appropriate genitalia. Word on the street is that if you can't tell it's probably a girl, which is the assumption I have now. Unfortunately I can't yet bring myself to go to one of those private places and pay for an ultrasound (my Cadillac Health Care Plan spoiled me, you see). I get to find out next month, maybe, because I talked my doc into doing one at her office. If that fails, forget it, I will be one of Those People and just go to one of those for-profit ultrasound clinics that represent a vast misuse of medical resources. So sue me.

I've been trying and failing not to be jealous about people who are weeks behind me, gestationally, and already know whether they're having a boy or girl. I should really be tempering myself because I realize full well that some people have a hard time conceiving and everything appears healthy and gosh, compared to Haiti, life is really good, but still.

I'm going to have to work on posting at least once a week. In the meantime I have to share what I did to one of my creepier-looking ultrasound pics. All ultrasound pics are creepy, but this one was right up there.

And because I have no reverence for the Miracle of Life at all, I did this to it. Space Cadet in training, due to arrive in May.