it's like christmas.

So we've been rocked with some pretty amazing gifts thus far.

My BFF GFs gave me this. It was said that any girl who is required to carry around a bag of milk and diapers, that it better be a friggin cute bag. And they obliged. And I love it. And Matt said it wasn't too frou frou that he wouldn't carry it. How kind. Thank you Turns, Bell, Rae & Cait!


My mom made us this blanket. And I love it, too. Super soft. I knew I wanted it striped, either gender. Blue/grey for a boy, olive/grey for a girl (let's be real...I don't do pink, nor would my infant daughter). Anyways, mom insisted on blue before we knew. She's got insight...


And lastly, our friend Mellie created the apple of Matt's eye...

infant replicas of his infamous v-neck shirts. We all know I'm not marrying a J.Crew model, but he has this uncanny ability to cut all articles of clothing. Apparently crew neck shirts are "too restricting." Luckily, our child will not feel restricted either.

just peachy.

No, I am not a gleeful preggo. I whine and moan and ache at any variable moment during the day. Jabbing pains and constant motion in my belly is not my idea of a good time. I mostly keep my complaints within Matt's earshot, in hopes that any hint of sympathy grows. I had read about and noticed early on the presence of more body hair. I looked at my shoulder yesterday and realized I am covered in peach fuzz. Not cute. Luckily, it's nothing a 6th grade boy would be jealous of. But probably that woman in Liberty's Financial Aid department would (she had a ferocious beard). I'm hoping it falls out later, or else we're going to be talking some serious laser hair removal in the future. No woman should be fuzzy.

Hello Stranger.

January: Matt calls this picture the beginning of the end... what a ride it's been. Vomiting greets me promptly at 7am and lasts beyond any notion of morning. It's not cute. My roommate accompanies me to my first appointment and we get mistaken for life partners. Cute.


February: 9 weeks. Waist so small... Lot's of saltines and ginger ale by this point. The nurses yell at me for losing weight. I'm sick and miserably tired at this point, but no worries, master's degrees don't require much of anything.

February: He asked. I answered. After 7 years anything is possible.
Diamonds AND lobster. That's happiness.

March: Matty hits the big 2-5... geez we're old. St. Patrick's day was quite bleak without any green beer.

April: 19 weeks...my heap of wheat is a little heapy-ier. I don't really pass for pregnant yet. My dry heaves disagree though. God bless the anti-nausea medication they created for chemo patients AND pregnant women! Unfortunately they are as stingy with it as kids with candy, which puts me sick for only HALF the month now. Baby steps.


Late April: Matt's parents visit...I'm a little fat, a little preggo. The boobs have made their full-fledged entrance. I complained to my mom and she laughed and said it only gets worse.


We also find out its a he, with a wee! We were both SUPER happy to delay the idea of a boy-crazy, 13-year-old, PMS-ing terror for a few more years. We acted like kids on Christmas day, I think the nurse believes we're unfit.

Kinda looks like he's flipping the camera off, don't you say?
I think he's got matt's belly.
Those aren't walnuts...
He's looking at you. Creepy baby.
Yea, not sure what this is. But it's inside me.



June: 27 weeks and belly-baring... I'm starting to get consistent looks and pity, too. The heat hit 101 degrees today. It's going to be an AWESOME summer in the south.


I'll be a good blogger from here on out. Promise.