"When he returns from his mission in glory..."

Nothing helps to take your mind of the fact that it's your DUE DATE and there's still NO BABY like the glorious return of one favorite little brother from his mission.  We're lucky Indiana even let him go.

 Before and After.  Grown up much?  I think yes.  Not to mention the fact that his glasses are now way more... retro-stylish?  I can't keep up.

Welcome home Austin!  We can't say enough how proud of you we are.

Baby Dino Blessings

I’m not sure whether or not it is appropriate to blog about your own baby shower, but I must be allowed to publicly showcase the amazing talent and effort of my sister-in-law.  Laura has the rare combination of creative genius and patient planning that when mixed with the wonderful ladies of my family, friends, and ward can only result the best Dinosaur Baby Shower ever.  

 

Flashing thunderclouds over the "tar pit" and "watering holes"

 Petrified wood, dino hearts, snow balls and dino teeth to dip in the chocolate tar pit

 Samantha demonstrating the use of the tar pit

 

Congratulations to the newly wed and her mom!  I felt honored that she would 

visit so soon after the honeymoon. :)

 

My lovely sister-in-laws and niece.

 

 The wonderful Grandmas

The woman of the hour with her mom and sister.  Thank you Laura!

I have decided that since becoming pregnant, my belly has become a catalyst of love.  Never before have I felt so supported and encouraged than these last nine months and I feel like this hefty, kicking baby is the cause and center of it all.  The little man isn’t even born yet and already he is adored and spoiled.  We feel incredibly blessed.

With that, I will leave you with Dad's instructive demonstration on how to properly wear dino teeth.

Hasta la vista deditos

The time has come to bid a fond farewell to the sight of my toes.  Standing up straight and looking down I can now barely see them peeping out beneath the bulge that is my belly.

 I look ridiculously tall with my toes extremely far away, but that is 

an accurate depiction of how I feel.  They may as well stretch

 to the moon for all the ability that I have to put my own boots on.

With 10 weeks left on the clock, the third trimester has brought quite a few “Baby’s first” experiences:

-          Baby’s first stretch mark: Sad day- the skin around my appendectomy scar just can’t get with the program
-          Baby’s first 3 a.m. feeding: Little angel woke me up and demanded to be fed Corn Chex.  NOW. 
-          Baby’s first extreme hot flash: Inconveniently coordinated with Zach’s nightly, hours-long hot flash.
-          Baby’s first unsolicited unfamily/friend belly rub: Thank you random unrestrained church lady.

I thought when I hit about five months that I was getting SO BIG.  Ha.  I had no idea what big was, and I'm sure it will only get worse from here.

20 weeks vs 30 weeks.  Yeah, I only appreciate my body in hindsight.

 Two Fast Sundays until GO TIME and I sense extreme paranoia coming on, a feeling that is not encouraged by constant emails from the BabyCenter website.  Apparently my Thanksgiving should have been spent wielding a meat thermometer every five minutes and avoiding all foods with egg or alcohol for fear that they weren’t cooked in all the way.  The pressure makes me want to burst into confession.  Yes!  I’ve knowingly had sushi at least three times since becoming pregnant!  Yes!  I still eat raw cookie dough and deli meat!  Yes!  I drink crystal light!  And No!  I haven’t signed up for birthing, breastfeeding, hypnosis, acupuncture or parenting classes!  My nursery isn’t ready, my house isn’t sanitized, I haven’t been taking weekly pictures of my growing belly and I’m not clear on the finer points of swaddling.

But hey, we have a name picked out.  Hopefully little Eli Scott will appreciate all the efforts of his parents to turn him into a resilient, tough young thing with a strong immune system.

Happy Halloween!

From Tinker Belly and Peter Fanny

 Note: One does not simply "just make" Halloween costumes an hour before the ward party starts.

Zach: No, but one can continue making costumes during the ward party and bring them to the after-party.

Booyah!  Oh, and "It takes a man to wear tights"

From the babe

Nothing defines the generation gap like wearing a pop culture gaming icon as your costume for work.  I'm sure some of the brokers still think I was dressed as a bizarre frog.

And from Larry the Cucumber

Well, he's not shy...

Nope, not this one.

At his debut this little man gave us an fabulous defensive boxing display and showed off his kung-fu kicks all while stubbornly refusing to conform to the exact positions that the tech was trying to get pictures of.

The boxer

The ultrasound was a beautiful experience and a few happy tears were shed, but at the same time I was oddly creeped out by the image on the screen.  I just couldn't shake the feeling that there is an ALIEN in my stomach, and it wasn't helped by this picture:

To be fair, ultrasounds don't make anyone look good.

Regardless of extra terrestrial features, we are thrilled.  Bring on the cars, the trucks, the dinosaurs, the legos, the camp-outs, the wrestling, and the every-stick-is-a-gun mentality.  With a manly man like Zach for a dad we're ready for anything this little dude can throw at us.

 As a bonus, the tech told us we were almost two weeks further along than we thought.  That, or we're simply about to birth an enormous baby (given our joint heritage, not impossible). 
New due date: February 12.

Look Mom, Herpes!

It must come from years of too much chemistry and biology, but for some reason Zach thinks it’s romantic to give me little plush dolls in the form of magnified STDs and other germs for special occasions.  Over our marriage we’ve amassed a collection of six ranging from Chlamydia to Mononucleosis. The dolls all come in the shape of the cell, blown up a million times, complete with a detailed description. They are cheerfully lined up on the top shelf of one of our bookcases and make for great conversation starters.

From left to right: Chlamydia, Mono, Herpes, Black Death, Mange, Egg and Sperm

Until we had one of our new neighbor families over for dinner I didn’t realize that they are the only thing that even remotely resemble toys in our house (we don’t have a super kid-friendly environment yet).  Just our luck, the four year-old in the family is a genius child, the type that memorizes everything he reads: maps, anatomy books, and even video game handbooks.  I was hurrying to get food on the table when I suddenly heard, “Look Mom, it’s Mono!  The kissing disease!”  

Oh no.  While apologizing profusely we quickly gather up all the plushies and shoved them away.  But the damage had been done.

As we ate, Zach looked over to where the kids were drawing on the floor and made the mistake of asking what the genius child was drawing.  Matter-of-factually, he responded,

“It’s a sperm cell, attached to an egg cell.”

It all went downhill from there.

At the end of the night he proudly presented us with a picture of all six of our cells, including a label, small description, and with added accessories that they might need on their upcoming adventures.

I have no doubt that our apartment has now been labeled “off-limits” for all small children in our complex.

The babe: an update

The babe: size of a large tomato
The belly: size of large, squishy, slightly lumpy watermelon

It’s happened.  We are no longer interesting as Zach and Clarissa.  We are now seen merely as producers of a grandchild/niece/nephew/cute baby.  And that is how it should be.  Even at work, the women are constantly asking me “how I’m feeling” while the men go, “hey, how’s all this stuff going?” while motioning in wide circles around their abdomens.  I feel the love, man.

At 18 weeks, I have entered the “fat” stage, where instead of looking pregnant I just look chubby.  The cute round baby bump is missing and in its place a little pool floatie has settled around my waist.  I used to be able to, y’know, suck it in, but it is now unsuckable.  I feel a strong desire to tell everyone that I meet that I’m not normally like this.  No really, I swear I’m pregnant.

Out of some deranged matter of pride, I was reluctant to make the switch to maternity clothes but all that pride went out the window last week.  My jeans were fresh from the dryer and refused to button up, so, in a rush, I grabbed a pair of maternity capris (thanks Tawny!).  As I slipped the wide elastic band over my little inner tube and ran to the car all I could think was, “why on earth didn’t I start wearing these earlier? In fact, why isn’t this all I wear EVER?”  I may never go back to button-up again.

After “how are you feeling?” the next most frequently asked question is “when do you find out if it’s a boy or a girl?”  Well ladies and gents, the ultrasound has been scheduled for Sept 27, so feel free to share your guesses and if you win  I’ll make you cookies.

 And I might just eat them for you too.