No truer words...

“Whatever you give a woman, she’s going to multiply. If you give her sperm, she’ll give you a baby. If you give her a house, she’ll give you a home. If you give her groceries, she’ll give you a meal. If you give her a smile, she’ll give you her heart. She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her. So - if you give her any crap, you will receive a ton of shit.” - Unknown


Let's call it 29 weeks.

The lady in the office next to me keeps telling me I should write a book or at least keep a journal with all my witty-ness regarding being pregnant. I know I should've been keeping a journal all along, but really- how much is a BOY going to care?

  • I was just in the copy room and a lady walked in and said, "Wellllll, whatchu got goin' on here??", gesturing towards my belly. Then she proceeded to tell me that by the looks of it, my boy will be extra big and healthy. Thanks.
  • I went to the bank and to Walmart during lunch and at both places women asked me when I was due- or more specifically, "how much longer I had". I love that I'm obviously pregnant now and not just sporting a questionable beer belly. I totally should have rick-rolled them and said I wasn't pregnant at all. I just swallowed a bowling ball...
  • The other day, I came out of the restrooms here at work and went straight to my boss's office. I told her that in a couple of weeks, I was going to have a bathroom emergency where I'm stuck in a stall because the doors open inward and, well, there's just not going to be enough room for it, me and my belly when that happens. Can't you see it now? Me standing on the toilet just to have room to open the door? Handicapped accessible, I think not.
  • There are certain things I just can't do anymore, but new skills I've picked up. Like, I can't wash my hair in the kitchen sink or over the side of the tub anymore (not that I did that often, but sometimes you just need to wet it and start over). But now I can push a shopping cart with no hands!


What deadline?

Each day, I read blogs of other pregnant women who give lots of details of where they are in their pregnancy and how they're feeling that they can reflect on later. I have a feeling I'm going to regret not doing the same thing later on, so here's my feeble attempt at saving face. To my few male readers (and uninterested females), you can stop reading now because I'm sure all you'll see is wah-wahwah-wah, ala the Charlie Brown teacher.

  • Last week, I had my 28 weeks checkup and was told that my belly is measuring two weeks ahead. My doctor glared and started the Spanish Inquisition over what I had been eating and how I didn't want this baby to be too big to deliver and for the love of all things holy, STOP EATING! Ok, so it wasn't that bad, but she did tell me to watch my sugar intake. Too bad that's the only craving I've had this entire time. Sweets- nom. nom. Wedding cake doesn't help my case.
  • As of this weekend, I officially have some new stretch marks on my hips. Does that mean they're getting wider (say it ain't so!)? Is the skin just pulling towards my belly? Ugh. That's really all I have to say about that.
  • Yes, I've been moisturizing the buddah. A lady at work gave me a bottle of Vitamin E with strict instructions to use it daily. And so I do, every morning after my shower. Too bad IT DOESN'T WORK. (Just kidding- it might work since I've really only been concentrating on the belly and so far it's mark free- *knocking furiously on wood*)
  • I also think I've developed a very light linea negra that looks like the front seam of my pants - but it's not.
  • We received our first official shower gift Friday night from Nick and Allison. *high five to them* for the Boppy Newborn Lounger and mobile! Now if only I had that newborn....
  • Speaking of, I'm already feeling angry anxiety (you know the kind that makes you want to drop kick something at the very thought) about C's precious dog and my baby's things. She is NOTORIOUS for curling up and making "her bed" in anything soft on the floor. Clothes, blankets - you name it. I'm seriously not going to be able to leave my child's pallet on the floor because that damn dog will be on it. I had horrific thoughts of her curled up on the lounger the moment I took it out of the package! I tell you one thing though, it'll be a cold and rainy day in hell the day I let her win.
  • My sister bought me some pj's last week when she was at an outlet store. I know she was well intentioned but here's how our conversation about them went (before I'd seen them). "I bought you some really soft pj's this week- they're at mom's. They're not "pregnant" but I think I got a size big enough to fit you. They're sooo soft and I know how you like to sleep in sweats." For the record, I haven't slept in sweats since high school when my mom refused to turn on the heat upstairs. Let me also say that I hate fleece. (I know it's great for keeping babies warm and I'm ok with that, I just don't want to wear it.) So, I saw them on Saturday. Fleece. Size? 3X. Thank you for that blow to my self esteem, dear sister. I didn't try them on, nor did I take them with me.
  • Man, I'm a pregnant b*.
  • We haven't picked a name yet, nor have we started the nursery.
  • *Knock on wood*, but my boobs haven't grown in a while. Go me!
  • My baby shower in Dallas is this weekend- I'm so looking forward to seeing my girlfriends!
  • That being said, I have a strange addiction to checking my baby registries online. I won’t worry til Friday if nothing else is bought. Honest. Not even when I check it three times a day between now and then. No worrying til Friday. And even then- who am I to expect gifts? I’m channeling my zen buddah and rubbing my own belly. Just seeing my old friends will be present enough for me. Honest.*
  • Man, that sounded really selfish- but this is a "where I am in my pregnancy" post, riiiiiight?
  • June's running a marathon this week. A freakin' marathon- in NYC. Me? I'm rubbing my belly for luck.

*Edit: The more I thought about it, the more I felt bad for writing that, but clearly not bad enough to delete it completely. Let my shallowness be on display for all the internet to see.


Thoughts for the day

16 Things it Took Me Over 50 Years to Learn
Dave Barry, Nationally Syndicated Columnist

1. Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.

2. If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be ‘meetings.’

3. There is a very fine line between ‘hobby’ and ‘mental illness.’

4. People who want to share their religious views with you almost never want you to share yours with them.

5. You should not confuse your career with your life.

6. Nobody cares if you can’t dance well. Just get up and dance.

7. Never lick a steak knife.

8. The most destructive force in the universe is gossip.

9. You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason why we observe daylight savings time.

10. You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests that you think
she’s pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at that moment.

11. There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday. That time is age eleven.

12. The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside, we ALL believe that we are above average drivers.

13. A person, who is nice to you, but rude to a waiter, is not a nice person. (This is very important. Pay attention. It never fails.)

14. Your friends love you anyway.

15. Never be afraid to try something new. Remember that a lone amateur built the Ark. A large group of professionals built the Titanic.

16. Thought for the day: Men are like fine wine. They start out as grapes, and it’s up to the women to stomp the crap out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.




So last night on the way home, I stopped to pick up something for dinner at Kroger. This was after being hung up on by my husband because I got irritated that he gave me NO direction about what he wanted to eat. I realize that's irrelevant, but I'm sure someone can appreciate how frustrating that is.

So, anyway. Back to Kroger. I decided that I would make grilled chicken sandwiches ala Pioneer Woman so there I was, happily standing at the meat section pondering my options. Then, the overly friendly and talkative meat lady comes breezing by. She stops. She turns. And then she says (loudly, I might add): "How much longer ya got?"

"Three months", I say- somewhat startled.

"What?!! Naw! You'll never make it! I say you'll last til the first of December, if that! You're HUGE!"

"Really? Uh... Ttthhhanks?"

"My daughter was 8lbs and they took her two weeks early! My husband, back in 1958 when he was born, was 12 POUNDS! Can you believe it?"

"That makes my hips hurt just thinking about it", though actually I was thinking his mother was probably a gestational diabetic but they didn't test for it back then.

"You sure it ain't TWINS?"

"Yep. I'm sure. Just a big ol boy, apparently."

"Huh. Well, good luck!"


I got home and told my darling husband about it and he assured me I'm not "huge" but that I have kind of "blossomed" in the last few weeks. I don't know if it was what I wore yesterday, but the sales girl at the local department store also asked when I was due. Those are the first and only two non-family/friend comments I have received. I'm starting to get a complex. What if I'm having a freakishly large baby? (Breaking Dawn, anyone?) I have been tested for GD (gestational diabetes) and I was negative- well, I assume I was because no nurse ever called me and they told me they'd call if there was a problem. Ugh. I promise I will upload and post a picture from last weekend (TX/OU - Ahem, E!) and maybe I'll even throw in one from this week since I'm now 27 weeks and not 26. Funny how that happens, isn't it?

And since my story wouldn't be complete if I didn't continue rambling about what we had for dinner, his nose turned up at the chicken I brought home, so he replaced it with deer meat which he cooked while I propped my feet up. Not bad for HUGE.


I had to pass this on.

Stolen from here, originally here.

In my college biology class I was bored and underwhelmed and had three hours twice a week to sit in a wooden chair and daydream. That was when I developed a theory about relationships. It became a pretty robust theory and I called it “The Brick Wall.”

So, anyway, at age 19 it seemed to me that men came at a new relationship with a woman as if she were this cute, adorable, perfect little brick wall. But then the guy would discover some flaw and whoops, take out one brick. Or maybe he finds out she is grumpy in the morning. There goes a brick. She’s jealous about his ex-girlfriend calling night and day? There goes another brick. Maybe two. And before long, this perfect woman he’s met is just another partially exposed pile of bricks and not the delightful picture of completion he expected. She’s a big messy pile of bricks and he goes looking for a new, perfect brick wall and the cycle starts all over again.

In the Theory, women come at it a different way — not better or worse, just different.

Women start with one brick: A man. They get a brick each time they find out something new about him (likes animals: add one brick, good kisser: brick, calls the day after the first date: six bricks…) and so on. Before long she is putting together a picture of this man, assembling her brick wall of him out of the things she’s uncovering. And here is the key to my teenage mind’s theory: when there are big open spaces in the brick wall, the woman will use her willpower and love to fill in the gaps. Sometimes this holds that brick wall together for a long while. But if the gaps are filled in with her personal mortar of love (instead of real bricks from him) the whole thing just collapses. And just like the guy, she finds herself staring at a big pile of bricks.

(Also, it is possible I was deep in my existential literature classes at the time, duly noted.)

I didn’t draw a final conclusion from my old Brick Wall Theory. It was just a way of explaining how I thought men and women approached romantic love differently. Gave me something to think about while staring out the window in Biology class.

Now that I am much older and many bricks along, I think my theory was a pretty accurate one in some ways. Sometimes I feel like my life is just one big classroom full of what I fondly call AFGOs. (That stands for Another F***ing Growth Opportunity.) (I am also very classy.) Learning about perception was the class I took in 2007. I woke up, showed up for life, and got a big lesson in bricks. For one thing, nothing exposes you to “input” faster than putting a piece of your life out to the public. And then meeting said public. I wouldn’t change it for the world, because it is how I developed my Bricks Don’t Float theory.

Bricks Do Not Float
* Also, note to self: develop catchier name for theory

Bricks don’t float. When you are flowing down the river of your life and you reach out for bricks, you will slow the flow and get to see a whole lot less of your river in your lifetime. If people are always throwing bricks in your river, and you see those bricks and start gathering them and holding on to them and keeping all those random, mismatched bricks other people throw at you, you will again slow down and maybe even stop and you’ll be stuck in the same stagnant pool of water for a really long time.

But bricks happen. People will try to tell you who you are everyday and twice on Sunday. If you just ignore the bricks, let them sink to the bottom, you can keep going with the flow of your life. Keep moving on up, along, forward. Sometimes the bricks hurt and you may pause for a moment, but then you let go of it, drop that brick and just keep going.
Anyway, bricks are your pre-conceived notions of a thing. Bricks are what you bring to the wall. They aren’t what the wall brings. Maybe the wall wants to be made of stones. Or clay. Or maybe the damn wall wants to be a boat.


26 weeks.

You know what time it is?

It's 8:41am and OU still sucks! We were at Jared a couple of weeks ago picking up our rings and the manager was giving me the Texas/Colorado score. He asked if I was a fan (YES) and then said, "You know, I have two favorite teams. Texas and who ever's playing Oklahoma." This weekend my friends, they're one and the same. I fully intend on digging out my "O Who?" shirt from last year and stretching it over this belly of mine. Perhaps it will be photo worthy.

(My apologies to my token Okie, E and to V- she can't help it. I can't let this weekend go by without a little friendly ribbing.)



My previously mentioned fabulous photographer posted some "sneak peek" pictures on her blog.

Take a look.


One word:


Sure, my mom was stressed out and mad at my sister. Sure, I felt a tad bit guilty for not helping with dishes or loading chairs/tables. Sure, I didn't get to talk to everyone there- but dammit, that was the best day of my life. No kidding around.

I started the day with my two favorite, indispensible girls. We trekked to my mom's and worked on my hair, then trekked to the church and worked on my makeup. They got me into my dress and lit all 100+ of my candles. They herded people for pictures and (tried) to keep people from seeing me in my underwear. Big, huge thanks to Heather and Cori. You girls are my awesome.

The ceremony was everything I imagined it would be and more. My mom walked me down the aisle in her pretty new purple dress. I carried my great, great aunt's handkerchief and wore my grandmother's and great-grandmother's wedding band on my right hand. The roses were white, the candles were ivory. I entered the church to "To a Wild Rose" by MacDowell and my mother gave me away. I handed off my bouquet and took his hands in mine- both squeezing and rubbing the others in reassurance and happiness. We managed to laugh and smile and shed no tears through our vows. I tried to say them with meaning and I'm fairly certain he just tried not to pass out. When I say it was perfect, I mean it. There's not one thing I would have changed. Although we did light the unity candle, there was not awkward song to stand through. No readings or extra prayers or singing. Quick and to the point. And beautiful.

We took some quick pictures, then hightailed it to the my mom's house where everyone waited for us with cake and punch and finger foods in the back yard. There were twinkly Christmas lights and a fire pit- and more of my candles. Yet again, perfect.

We managed to talk and laugh and visit until around 9:15 when we finally changed clothes and headed to our room at the Horseshoe Casino in Shreveport. I won't go into the details of my wedding night, but I will say that we lost. Oh well... by that time it was the wee hours of the morning, so I can't include that as luck on my wedding day, right?

Until I get pictures from my fabulous photographer, I've included the best one my sister got using my camera. See? You get the bride and groom, the dress and suit (isn't he handsome?!) and the cake. (The grooms cake was chocolate with strawberries on top).

Thank you all for the well wishes via text and tweets. I haven't stopped talking about how wonderful it was yet-- and don't plan to. Not even when.... we are parted by death.



This morning, I got an email that broke my heart. It was a link to a news story from my hometown. It’s a story that happened just at the end of my mom’s dirt road to a boy only two years younger than me. The part of the story that commenced my heart to breaking is the picture. Yes, the story is awful and tragic and heartbreaking in and of itself. But the picture, the look on the face of a father who took his own son’s life in a moment of anger- my Lord be with them- it breaks my heart.

I can’t defend or explain or even make sense of it. All I know is that the picture breaks my heart. It’s the picture of a father who just because associated with the word “murderer”. It’s the picture of a father who will never see his son again- who won’t even be allowed to attend his funeral. It’s a father who will have to live with his decision for the rest of his breaths. And maybe it’s deserved… I just can’t help but feel he didn’t mean to and if he could take it back, he would hug his son so tightly that a gun would be the last thing he would want to hold. I can’t help but mourn the lost life of a son- and that of a father as I prepare to bring my own son into this world.

Good Lord… I just don’t have any words.

Update: From what I've heard, it appears to have been self-defense. The son was threatening his dad with a tire tool and apparently was on drugs. He's out on bail and at home. For what it's worth...