Bands on my pants?

Fact of life. You get pregnant and you are all of a sudden going through puberty, once again.

I hate bra shopping. Hate hate hate. It's a little humiliating 'cause you gotta have someone measure you, you gotta try on different styles and then within those different styles you sometimes need to try on different sizes. It's like jean shopping but more difficult 'cause instead of just slipping on a pair of jeans and doing a few twirls in front of the mirror to make sure everything looks alright and you don't have a big waffle bum there are more straps involved and those little hangers that they put bras on for display are not user-friendly. Not at all. Once you get the thing on, if you like the feel of it, you gotta slip on a shirt to make sure that there are not unsightly bulges, either from your own body or from some wiring in the bra. True story. I had to learn this trick on my own 'cause my first bra shopping experience left me with a bra that you could totally see outlined under any and every shirt, no matter how many layers were put on it to try to soften the ridges. Talk about embarrassing for an 11 year-old.

All of this takes some time. So the little sales lady is always knocking on the door, asking if everything is ok. Which kind of panics me and makes me fumble with trying to get those bra straps back on their little hanger that looks so tiny and cute but is really frustration with a cute face. Not so much fun.

I have come to the decision that when my little girl becomes of age we will march into Victoria's Secret, having a talk in the car beforehand about how the seductive models are not to be mimicked and how this is strictly a bra-buying experience, not that I am trying to expose her to pornography, and how if you're gonna buy a bra, you may as well do it right and in a cute dressing room all decked out in frills and pink. Very ladylike and it makes bra buying feel like a special occasion rather than a fact of life, not more unlike than how you gotta slaughter the cow 'cause that's where hamburger comes from, in a very bland JC Penny dressing room where the helper lady could be your grandma rather than a young, cute girl that is much more hip and has bras in every style you could want in almost every color. That is the way to do it. And even though they give customers a bright pink bag that screams 'I have a bra in here' at least it's cute. Oh, and another plus for Victoria is that they don't have any of those little bra hangers. Nope, they keep their bras in easy access drawers which deletes the need for hangers. Nothing could be more amazing.

Well, as I said, I am going through puberty again and needed a bra. We started at Pennys, bad idea, I knew that from the start, but they had a lot of designs online and they're supposed to be cheaper. That was a fail. So we went to Victoria's, even though they don't sell nursing bras in the store, they have them online and I thought it would be good to get my size. I was a little surprised when they had the math figured out, but you know, whatever.

I was shopping with Kimberly, my bestest best friend. She is the only one who can get me to do some pretty crazy things, like going into Victoria's in the first place a few years ago. Well, we were passing by a store called Motherhood Maternity and she begged for me to go try there for a bra. Turns out, we found a winner. And while we were there it was pretty obvious that I was a new 'mother' 'cause they were so super nice and so super helpful. They not only brought me bras, but some jeans to try with the belly band part, which I swore I would never wear, and even some shirts. Not just shirts though, they were t-shirts. T-shirts that would grow with me. Definitely worth the investment. And if I ever do decide to do this again (this, as in, get pregnant) they won't be out of style.

The pants were sooooo comfortable I just could barely stand taking them off to pay for them. The belly part was more like stretch fabric rather than elastic that I remember my mom wearing and so comfortable. And it sucked up my love handles! So slimming! They were a must, even at the high price, they were so adorable. Even cuter than the ones that I had gotten at AE the week before. Amazing. I never would have gone in there if it weren't for Kimberly. So off we went, back to her house so that I could change into my super cute outfit, complete with puberty busting bra, t-shirt and jeans.

I picked Steven up from work and he was so happy that I had finally gotten jeans with a band that he picked me up and swung me around. He was afraid as to how many jeans this pregnancy was going to need, but now the total will just be two. And one of them I no longer have to worry about what shirt I am wearing with them 'cause they suck up my love handles like they weren't even there. It feels so good to feel good again! Oh, and the other best part is that I ordered some extra large undershirts from Aeropostale so now I can have cute undershirts that actually cover my belly without me having to tug on them so often. Everything is going to be alright. All because I have a band on my pants now.

Bragging

I cannot get enough sleep. It's not even 'that time of pregnancy' where I should be needing this much sleep... but believe me. I can sure do it well. Sunday I fell asleep in Steven's arms around 7, woke up vaguely for a hour or so to change into pajamas and get a drink and was asleep again until he rubbed my feet to wake me up 12 hours later to take him to work. Two hours later I was in bed again and slept until 12, when I had to get up to get ready for work. That, my friends, is a lot of sleeping.

In between all of this, I was able to get 4 batches of laundry done, although none of them made it anywhere but a pile on a bed, ruffled through as I found my work clothes and was on my way. The kitchen was a disaster, the bedroom was a disaster and the living room wasn't so livable.

Lest I forget to mention, I don't do dishes anymore, and I don't cook anymore. Anything that has to do with food anymore than sticking a spoon or fork in my mouth makes me gag. Hence, all of that gets left to Steven and sometimes it doesn't get done.

But yesterday. Yesterday was miraculous. The garbage had all been taken out. All of it. And our garbage was like a college apartment garbage. We've all seen them. The kind where the garbage can is full. So full that there is garbage piled up higher than should be possible on top and there are piles lingering around the sides. The kind of garbage that causes the bag that was originally in the garbage can to sink to the bottom. The kind of garbage that forces you to grab another sack, just to lift pieces off the mound to make it manageable. Causing one to not only grab one garbage sack, but perhaps two or three. Big job. Something I was definitely not about to do.

The dishes were all done. All done. You know how dishes find their way, creeping along the sink counter as they explode out of the sink. How they get left on the table 'cause there's no room on the counters. Well... we all know of it. Don't lie. All of those were cleaned. Even the dishes that are so often forgotten because they're on the stove. Leftover pots and pans from dinners and lunches that were too hot at the time to be put anywhere but the next burner over and then just stay there. Those were done. AND the utensils were washed. This may not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but Steven's way of washing utensils usually includes a lot of soaking. Even when the dishes have been done, there's always a cold bowl of water (used to be hot) soaking all of our forks and spoons and knives which causes me to reach my hand in to the unknown soup to grab out my cereal spoon. EVEN that was all clean.

The bedroom that I had left a total wreck had a made bed in the middle of it without any of the clothes on it that I had left twisted in the middle. They were all put away. Well, as put away as could be. Steven's were in his coffin of a laundry basket and mine were on the floor 'cause he had gotten frustrated trying to fit more clothes into the already bulging dresser. I need to go through that thing and pull out the shirts that I can't wear anymore. Like, literally cannot wear anymore. They are now belly shirts and it's kind of sickening. And they are still mixed up with all of my other clothes. I need to have a sorting and boxing day.

I didn't even make it to the living room until this morning and what do you know? The blankets on the couch were all folded up nicely on the back of it. I don't even do that when I clean up. It just feels so good to have a clean house.

Now, I know I post about our dirty house a lot. But I think I post about it that way because it's a novelty. You know? Our house is usually not that messy. Ok, the dishes are more often than not, not done. But the rest of it is decent. And there are ALWAYS clothes spilling from somewhere. But let's be serious. I am never embarrassed about the bathroom or the living room when we have guests. Which are the parts that they would ever need to use if they were just swinging by for a visit.

There was even a time, when I was using that porcelain throne three times a day to empty my stomach contents that I was cleaning that toilet every other day. If I am going to have my face that close to something it had better be clean. I've got a basket to keep all of my 'girl things' in that is easily moved up into a cupboard so that the counter isn't cluttered with a blow dryer and a straightener that I always forget to turn off with miscellaneous makeup pieces here and there. I'll admit, the bobby pins get away from me sometimes and I can find them in every room of the house, but for the most part, everything that I need to get ready in the morning stays in that basket.

I keep the floors vacuumed and clean of stuff 'cause I love my open, clean space. So life isn't that bad. Don't fear for our baby choking on something unless it's a clean sock. And I love going through clutter, so our mail is never more than a little pile of bills that need to be payed, the due dates written in large on the statements as I open them when they come and then collect them until they're all ready to be sent out at once. Makes my life complete to lick those envelopes and stick them in the mail.

I love that husband of mine. He always knows just when I need him the most and never lets me down.

Interesting Fact

Let's face it. When a girl needs to go jean shopping it takes quite a few tries to find the perfect pair. And usually then it's not even perfect, it's a bearable pair. It's a long, strenuous process of trying on jean after jean. Trying on the same jean in two different sizes getting a feel for which one fits better, lots of rotating in the mirror and trying on EVERY SINGLE jean style in the store trying to find the one that makes your bumski look decent instead of like a flat pancake taking up your rear-side.

And then, if you're a picky-picky like me you have to not only take into consideration what it looks like, but what it feels like. Not just on you, but the material itself. I like my jeans thick and tough. Not the bedazzled cloth that they call denim but I am pretty sure that it is only 'mostly' denim. So it's kinda hard 'cause you gotta step up your search. Which means AE and Hollister and the Buckle. Those are the only places I have gotten jeans in the past three years and it has been worth every single hard earned penny to get jeans that you feel awesome in.

I don't spend too much money on clothes. In relativity, lol. My wardrobe is made up of dozens of t-shirts from various second-hand stores in multiple colors left-over from when I went through a phase of having a shirt in every color. And then for dressy occasions I have a sweater in almost every color as well. But for jeans I will drop cold, hard cash. There's nothing that competes with feeling good in your own pants.

Yesterday I had a hour to kill before my hair appointment and so I wandered the mall in my utah state t-shirt and warm-up pants with my hair in a side braid with curls spilling out all over the place. Put a cowboy hat on me and I coulda been a jock rodeo girl. Otherwise, I looked just a little sloppy, lol. I was a little too self-conscious to go to the buckle by myself without a boy in tow so I headed to AE. I find it so interesting that people that tend to shop at expensive places always seem to be dressed so casually. flip-flops, jeans and some kind of sloppy shirt thrown on. Most of the times the jeans are skipped for sweats or something else equally unflattering. It puzzles me, but it's one of those things that you honor. You make yourself believe that they don't look like that every day because of the clothes that are being folded into a neat little bag with a big label on it. That they are so awesome that they don't care what people think and can shop in grungies 'cause they are going out to a hott date later that night. It's sick how we idolize people.

After checking out the denim selection there I passed onto a few other stores, finding jeans that were more glamorous but didn't have the same fabric quality. So back I went to AE and grabbed up four pairs of jeans, one in each size for two styles. I tried them all on, and you know what the interesting fact is that I found out? I was really nervous about slipping my booty into a size 12 'cause 10s always fit the best but they're often just a little long on me and make me feel unproportional... well... when you get into a size 12 the manufacturers figure out that size 12 doesn't mean taller, it means squatter, and the pant length fit perfect! Or will fit perfect after a washing. I couldn't believe it! It's like a magical transformation.

So, now with some bigger pants I think my love handles that appeared last week will fall back into some chubby back fat that will help me support this little girl in my tummy. I have already decided that I cannot get myself to get prego pants 'cause anything on my stomach besides a shirt makes me feel like peeling off all of my clothes. Which wouldn't be pretty for anyone. So I am going through this pregnancy with regular pants and regular shirts with extra large undershirts under to cover up any kind of unsightly skin. All the prego stuff is just so... big for people with womanly curves, ya know? I still have to shop in the junior section! There's no way I am swimming my way through some flowy, loose material made for a woman twice my size with boobs. No way.

The doctor yesterday said that I had a weight increase a little more than most, but that I still looked skinny and healthy. Which is a loud and huge underestimate. My first appointment at 16 weeks I was 140 lbs and an appointment 4 weeks later and I am 152 lbs. It's a huge shock when you have been the same weight for so long with nothing more than 5 lbs variance up and down, depending on the season. I guess that happens when your main liquid is chocolate milk and you aren't exercising the same as you used to 'cause when you do feel well enough to do 'stuff' there's a house that needs to be cleaned rather than a gym that needs to be gotten to. And when you're working full time you go to work and come home exhausted. It's not the best schedule to use. I love my days off, even though it seems like I usually use them as time to re cooperate and end up sleeping a lot.

High School Drama

I don't care who you are. Everyone enjoys a little high school drama once in awhile. That being said, as long as high school is far away in the past and you can laugh at the dumb things that were SUCH a BIG DEAL back in the day.

After seeing the movie trailer 'Prom' once I was hooked. I had to see that movie. As much as I hated high school and am glad it's far behind me, I still like the idea of high school. It's kind a fairy tale place that is in real life where I can imagine amazing things happening. Things like going to tail gate parties and watching every football game, even the away ones, dressed in school colors with glitter cascading on to by-standers as you bounce with your besties from one side of the bleachers to the other. Things that obviously I never did, hence I hated high school with a passion and came home crying at least once a week one year hating it so much. My parents patiently listened to me and my dad wiped my tears as I spilled drama after drama into their caring ears. Oh what a confusing time.

But this, this prom movie... it was a must-see. Especially since I have a self-interest in dances, and most importantly, the primping that goes into dances even before they start. That is always the best part, no matter what hott date is going to show up at your door later that night and wait for you for 30 minutes while you gaze and re-gaze at yourself, making sure everything is just right, but never really changing anything. Just reassuring yourself that yes, this is a picture-worthy momentous occasion, and yes, you do look strikingly gorgeous.

I had this wild idea when the movie first came out around prom season that Steven and I would hook ourselves up as a high school couple and maybe take a stroll through DI while picking up some ridiculous prom cast-offs and then go to the theaters in our 80's prom get-up and out to dinner, taking some awesome pictures along the way. We would take so many awesome pictures that we would frame some of them and hang them in our bedroom, just for kicks.

Well, DIs seemed to be fresh out of 80's dresses with the big poofy sleeves and obnoxious bows either in the front or on the back or all over, ruffling with taffeta. So that dream never came to pass, which meant that I never got to see this movie until last night we were scrolling through the redbox movies and came across it.

After much complaining we came home with it and popped it in the computer. And OH MY GOODNESS. High school drama drama drama. Each couple had a different story and it was kind of crazy how I could relate to each of them different as they were, they were definitely all a stereotype and it was just too funny. And the funniest part, Steven couldn't get enough of it! Every time I adjusted and made a little too much noise the movie was paused, waiting for the rustling to not be so loud so that we could get in on the drama going on at the time.

I cannot wait until we have kids in high school. It is going to be so much fun! I remember when we were dating and my roommates would come in with boy problems and because Steven was always over at our apartment he was more like a brother to a few of them and he would give advice and remind them, 'no playing games. games are not for dating.' He was my favorite from the start. He's always so patient with problems and even though he doesn't always know exactly what to say, he always made everyone feel better.

Where's Your Baby?

Remember when I said being pregnant is embarrassing 'cause it means that all these weird-o, unnatural things are happening to your body? I mean, seriously, what kind of healthy person throws up 2x a day? Well, I told the essential people. Facebook, my family and the people I worked with. But then I just kind of let the rumor spread and counted on people telling people and didn't bother telling every person I saw that week that we found out.

This means that an important group of people got skipped on the good news. Church. Which wasn't a big deal for awhile 'cause looking at me, there was no sign. But then I got asked to go full time at Michaels and my Sundays at church became limited and next thing I know I am only with my little nursery class once a month. So I fixed that to where I can get to them at least twice, sometimes three times a month. But I still didn't bother telling anyone that there was a baby inside of me. And now I haven't been for another three weeks and what do you know? Ummm... the secrets gotta come out 'cause I am quite noticeably large.

But only large enough that you can say, "Hey, she used to be thinner... didn't she?" So then it puts you in another awkward situation because obviously we didn't tell anyone and so now everyone's gonna wonder why we didn't tell anyone and may be too shy to come out and ask at this point even with the noticeable changes. So then I will just get some looks. Looks that last a little too long as they turn in their mind if there is something going on. Second looks as they try to decide if I really do look pregnant or it's just the way I am standing. Third looks as they really try to figure it out and maybe watch for my belly to kick out or something. It's humiliating. So I am thinking we may need to make a trip by the ward gossip's house and tell them so that it can be around the ward by Sunday and I can stop sweating about an announcements.

We went to the ward picnic for the last little bit of its endurance to help clean up, or something? I didn't really want to go. I looked kind of grungy from work (I don't always bother to shower and put make-up on those days) and didn't really feel like socializing and pretending like I belonged. It's strenuous sometimes. But after a quick change and a pep-talk from Handsome Husband we were off and got there just in time to help clean-up. Which I did happily 'cause it gave me something to focus on and most usually something to carry in-front of my growing tummy.

When we had first moved into the ward we had tried really hard to be involved with everything and I had gone to numerous Relief Society functions, desperately trying to make friends and be accepted by the little old ladies. I was a young whipper-snapper with a soft smile and a quiet voice and a newly-wed that would probably move out of the ward in a few months. I wasn't given much attention. Our need to be included and meet people forced us to join the ward Christmas choir, which actually wasn't all that bad. Except, think of the ward choirs you have been. They're all nice people, but more often than not you get the weirdy reclusive that just loves music with all their heart but don't have much as far as social skills go. That activity kind of exploded in our face if it weren't for the pianist and the fact that the practices were always held at her home. She was always so sweet to us and was genuinely happy to see us there and made sure that we at least got introduced to everyone even if no one ever talked about much more than music and who should be singing which parts.

She is so so so nice and friendly and she was there at the picnic, of course, trying to get rid of the last dozen ears of corn that she had brought from her garden. While I was packing things to her husband's truck she caught up with me and all seriousness asked, "And where's your baby?" Now her seriousness had a little smile behind it, because she is such a happy, personal person and I thought that maybe she was joking. You know, that maybe, somewhere, someone had heard that I was pregnant and she was asking me this question to get around the topic and find out if I were really pregnant. I grinned, playing along, and pointed down to my stomach. "Right here!" BAHAHAHA wrong answer. Remember when I told you how we were getting baby shower announcements on our door every week? She had been getting the same ones and didn't know the girls very well and had just been tossing them aside. She had mixed me up with them! She looked extremely shocked, to say the least, and kept apologizing. Which makes me feel even worse. Is it that bad? Is it that bad to find out someone is pregnant? So now I am nervous beyond anything and am trembling about going to church on Sunday. I can only hope that maybe she will tell some of the older ladies in their quilt group or whatever, it's pretty well known that we don't have any immediate family near us and that we're doing this adventure on our own. I just don't want to be the one to tell anyone. I really don't. I wish my dad were here to announce it in church the way he announced that Steven and I were getting married back in the day. It would make life so much easier!

I am a slob

Watch out. This is a body post. You've been warned.

Pregnancy has made me realize how much easier it is to be clean when you're thin. No one would ever have been able to call me 'skinny.' Thin. Yes. But skinny. No. I am no string bean. Maybe a cucumber. They're kinda straight up and down but with a little beafiness to them, ya know? See, I've always had this paranoia. It's a secret I don't share much, but what the heck, right? I have this paranoia of my stomach being larger than my boobs. I've always had it, ever since 5th grade when I began to notice that everyone was growing boobs and I definitely was not. So in order to feel proportionate I had to make sure that my stomach never got bigger than my non-existing boobs. I did this quite successfully and everyone was envious of my flat stomach. And then when I started running cross country in highschool not only did my stomach stay flat, but it got toned as well. All that huffing and puffing up the hills really got my abs to work their magic and all of a sudden I was awesome looking, minus the fact that I had little boobies. A girl can only have so much I guess.

Well, when you get pregnant, your boobs grow. I know. It's the best thing that has ever been given to me. There's a minor problem though. They grow and all of a sudden you have them and all of a sudden you notice food splatters appearing on all of your t-shirts right on your now-voluptuousness chest that otherwise never would have happened 'cause there was no shelf (per-say) a week and a half ago. It kind of reminds me of when I first started growing hips my junior year of highschool and I kept running into stuff. The desks at school could never be far enough apart and it seemed like doors that I used to be able slide through, barely missing the frame, were bumping me all over the place. And then when I had to move up a pant size, well that was a not so awesome day. Not necessarily the fact that I had to move up a size, but that now when I went to a dressing room to try on jeans I had to not only take a bajillion different styles, but I had to take one of each size and try on both and decide which one fit better. It slowed down my clothes buying and decision making a lot. It was torturous.

And now my stomach is growing. So instead of food splotches showing up on my chest, I usually get a nice swipe of sauce or whatever down the side of my belly on any shirt I am wearing at the time as food escapes bounce twice before hitting the floor. And for some reason, I can't seem to get food from the plate to my mouth without spilling something, sometime in a meal. It's really embarrassing. Being pregnant is messy business.

Where were we...

It's hard, I always have so many things to write about, and then I finally get to a computer and kapow, it's all done and gone left my brain. Usually I think of spunky title names and one-liners on my way to work and back. 30 minutes in the car can do that to a person. And then I pick Handsome Husband up from work and we get home and scrounge something up for dinner, which this week will be tuna sandwiches and carrots. (Going back to the college days since I gotta pay for a stinkin' ticket! That's right. A ticket. Me. Master of avoiding police cars. A ticket. Dumbest thing I have EVER done. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Enough on that. That's another post.) And then it's all I can do to get my dishes in the sink and fall into bed. Seriously. I am that tired. Usually Steven will have a movie picked out for us to watch. And I fall asleep during that. Doesn't leave much time for blogging my brilliance into cyberspace. Bummer for the world.

But really. Our little baby kicked me. (I am still afraid that if I call her 'our little girl' I am going to jinx it and we will be picking out blue accessories rather than pink.) At first I thought it was just my food settling. It really feels just like that. Little bubbles popping in your stomach. But then I noticed them coming at kind of weird times and not at all predictably. Unless I am in the car with a seat belt on. Then I can count on feeling her push against where the belt is. Is that a sign? Something about pushing boundaries or something? Let's hope not. So I've got a bubble blower in my stomach and it's kind of a weird sensation. And that's where we are on this road called 'creating life.' Mind you, it's been a rough, gravel road with A LOT of pot holes. But I think it's starting to move toward a decent highway right now and if I could just get my belly to grow a little bigger life would be much more smooth. Right now I still look like I've got 10 lbs added to my belly and little love handles stick out from my jeans. Not what any pregnant lady wants to look like but I am sure it will give way to a beastly stomach and some awesome looking hips in the end.