The Prego Diaries: Week 30

I feel this EVERY DAY. Seriously.

Oh my gosh, I'm HUGE! And I only have 10 more weeks of being pregnant! These days are passing by very quickly and very slowly at the same time. I want the days to go by quicker because I want my body back: I want to be able to tie my shoelaces, paint my toenails, and get things out of the bottom drawer without feeling like I just completed a session of bikram yoga. But then I want the days to go by slower because I'm panicking about not having our nursery complete yet (it's silly to worry about this, I know) and also I keep having terrifying nightmares about labor.

That last part is not completely unjustified: baby Emmett is going to be a big baby. Just one week ago I went in for a sonogram and his weight was 3 pounds, 6 ounces. I just cannot forget those numbers. Dr. Nowitzky told me that he's supposed to weigh that much at 31 weeks, (not at 29) so he's at least 2 weeks bigger than what the average baby is! She asked how much I weighed at birth (barely cleared 7 pounds) and then chuckled and said "ha ha, no, this is NOT going to be a 7-pound baby".
It seems crazy, but I already feel bigger and this happened just one week ago. I wouldn't be surprised if he's grown at least another half pound in the past 7 days.

Baby Emmett feels ridiculously strong already. He squirms and kicks and punches whenever it's breakfast time, lunch time, dinner time, and occasionally midnight-snack time. I'm pretty much not allowed to feel hungry at any time of the day for fear of getting mauled from the inside.

I think back to my first trimester and just laugh and how disgusted I was by so many kinds of food; these days NOTHING food-related survives in my presence for very long, and much less gives me nausea. I just hope that I can work off this baby weight after Emmett is born, and that I find an effective form of weight loss. Now that I know how awful it feels to be this big, I think I will do anything in my power to reach my "skinny clothes" goal.

Lessons Learned at Walnut Ridge

Day we moved in, March 15 2014.

Today marks the last day we will be calling Apartment 406 our home. Soon after this post I will begin the long and tedious job of packing the remainder of our belongings into boxes so they can be ready tomorrow morning when friends and family will help us move into what will be our new home for the next 15 months.
I have mixed feelings about this place. As soon as we are settled into our new apartment I am ready to type out a most unflattering 1-star review on every apartment website I can find about this place: Our water heater breaking our first day here, our cars broken into 3 times in 6 months, the upstairs toilet leaking all over me and not getting fixed for 3 days, the incorrect dishwasher installation which flooded our kitchen and living room and took 2 weeks to fix, the neighbors who played awful music so loud our bedroom mirror rattled all night, the police getting called 3 times in one night and the apartment night duty still refusing to do anything about it, the stray cat who took refuge in our back porch and never left, the dryer vent being so full of years worth of lint it caused our dryer to overheat and break twice, and the limitless supply of roaches crawling all over the place no matter how much Raid I sprayed will definitely be mentioned in my review.

All in all, I'm glad to be moving out of this complex and into a nicer one, but I still have enough insight to appreciate the valuable lessons we learned over the past year and a half, and just how much Philip and I have grown as individuals and as a family.
Back in March of 2014 this apartment was definitely not our first choice, but it was all we could afford at the time. I remember it took every penny from both of our full-time incomes just to be able to pay for our rent, give the minimum payment on all of our credit cards, fill our gas tanks to halfway once a week, put $40 into savings, and have just enough left over to buy a  bag of dog food and groceries to make sandwiches. I took to extreme couponing, selling old textbooks on Amazon, and taking online surveys for a little extra cash. Phil used his days off to do some work on the side building house decks. Back then, our idea of a fancy date was spending $5 on a couple of Sam's Club hot dogs and sodas, and then taking half an hour to browse around the store carrying a bag of rawhide bones for our dog, for which we had carefully set aside $17. I suppose our priorities were slightly askew... but Venom was like our first son, so you can't blame us too much.

We have come a long way in just 1.5 years. The last of our many credit cards is well on its way to being paid off, we don't have bill collectors calling 10 times a day, we finally have ridiculously expensive health insurance (thanks a lot, Obama), we could afford to take a nice vacation two months ago, we have enough in our emergency fund that buying $1,000 new truck tires was not a big inconvenience, we spoil ourselves by eating out with friends on a weekly basis, we are preparing to move into a more expensive apartment and rely only on Phil's income, and most importantly, we are getting ready to welcome a very special baby into our family... plus all the bills that come along with him, such as mom going into nesting overload and tirelessly shopping for nursery furniture and decor. We have also outgrown most of the hand-me-downs that started us off as a newlywed couple: goodbye saggy old couches, scratched and wobbly side tables, mismatched bedroom furniture, ancient lamps that seemed to breed spider webs, plastic and warped dollar-store plates and cups, Craigslist dining table and chairs, and secondhand washer and dryer units.

I can fully attest our financial progress was due to the blessings of paying a full and honest tithe. Sometimes it was hard to let go of so much money, especially since just one week of tithing could have granted us a month of groceries, or could have paid for me to take a weekend trip and visit my parents in Los Fresnos, or could have purchased a much-needed pair of steel-toed work boots for Philip... but if there was ever ONE thing my husband and I agreed on in our ever-feisty relationship, it was that tithing came first and everything else would fall into place later. And we saw the Lord's promise being fulfilled time and time again, almost on a weekly basis. I sometimes think that it was purely the Lord's hand which kept us from robbing a bank. God helped us in very creative ways: a random $100 HEB gift card from my boss, an extra 4 hours of overtime for Philip, a late birthday card in the mail containing a $50 bill, an unexpected credit line increase just in time to pay for a medical expense, someone offering $20 to use our truck to move furniture, a friend offering to pay for a meal at a restaurant, and our absolute favorite: those months of the year which have 5 Fridays instead of 4, which gave us a whole extra paycheck to catch our breath, splurge on the good deli meat, and get wild enough to go to the movies and buy popcorn AND hot dogs AND a soda.

Early in our marriage, the life of an oilfield wife seemed very daunting. (Philip is an oilfield pipe fitter, in case you don't know). Philip works as a contractor, taking jobs as they come, and unexpectedly getting laid off as the jobs finish, or the project goes over budget, or if he makes a bad enough mistake (which has only happened once), or even something as trivial as an angry foreman having a bad day and firing the first person in his line of sight (which has also happened, unfortunately). It is not uncommon for him to start a new job with a new company 4 or 5 times a year... which makes gathering our W-2 forms during tax season quite the project, and also gives us about 2 to 4 weeks of extreme "in-between-jobs" panic each time it happens. And then, once he does manage to get started, it's the erratic schedule of the jobs themselves. Some are out of town, some are out of state, some are offshore, and some (like now) are overnight, which gives us a very limited amount of time to spend together.

It is because of the experiences with these jobs that I consider us a stronger, more stable family. I have learned how to be less attached, more independent, and to place my complete trust in his ability to provide for us. He, on the other hand, has been brave enough to take all kinds of jobs, work with all kinds of people, in all kinds of places, and trust that I am holding my own back at home, budgeting and getting our bills paid, and not burning down the house by forgetting to clean the lint out of the drier.

So all in all, I think we are ready. He has gained enough work experience to accept only the high-paying jobs and provide for us, I have gained the confidence to live on my own when necessary (I can change a flat tire while pregnant, guys. The extra weight actually makes it easier.), and we have both learned to trust the Lord and trust each other to make wise, independent decisions.

Although moving to an apartment complex 1 mile away may not seem such a big deal, I feel a strong sense of accomplishment because this move marks the end of a growth period and the beginning of another, especially since we are on the verge of becoming first-time parents. Goodbye Walnut Ridge, and see you tomorrow Camden Copper Ridge!

At Least It's Crossed Off My Bucket List

This post is over a month late, but I need to record it anyway. In June of 2015 I had the great opportunity to cross off a bucket list item: Go Whitewater Rafting. If we use our brains though, we see that Damaris also happened to be pregnant during June 2015, which was NOT an ideal situation. Thankfully, nothing terrible happened,but the experience is definitely filed away under the "never again" category.

So here's the deal with why it was not a good idea to go rafting while 17 weeks pregnant: 
1) I went from Corpus Christi, TX to Vernal, UT... an altitude change of 5,320 feet. I was fighting to catch my breath while just walking through the airport, plus pregnancy already causes shortness of breath. It was terrible.
2) Utah was HOT. I'm used to hot and humid weather, but I'm always INSIDE a nicely air-conditioned building. It turns out the great outdoors is not air conditioned. It was 105 degrees out there.
3) Because we were traveling, I had little choice but to eat mostly unhealthy foods, which affected my already-delicate blood pressure situation.
4) I was in the awkward stage of pregnancy where I just looked super puffy and overweight, not exactly belly-bumping it yet. I felt like I got a lot of "you're too fat to be doing this" looks, which was probably just my imagination, but I still felt self-conscious.
5) I was too big for the life vest to fit correctly over my stomach, so even though our guide tugged hard on the straps to make it super tight (ouch), it still rode up over my shoulders and hit my chin and allowed for very limited movement overall.
6) I'm positive I didn't take a full "fill-up-your-lungs" breath the entire day. Nobody noticed, but I was constantly on the verge of a panic attack from not being able to breathe correctly.

But here's the deal with why I went whitewater rafting anyway:
1) It was on my bucket list, and I felt that once the baby was born bucket list opportunities would be almost nonexistent.
2) I had never really vacationed in Utah, or in any place with mountains for that matter, and I was interested in the geology.
3) I felt I owed it to my super adventurous husband, who spends the majority of his life working and was extremely excited about this trip.
4) I was stubborn and wanted to prove to myself that I could do anything I wanted, pregnant or not.

And here are some pictures of our adventure:

See the difference between how Phil's vest fit and how mine fit? He didn't mind his at all.

The mountains and rock formations were BEAUTIFUL. I love geology.

Fun fact, I also went to the ER the next day. Apparently I hurt my rotator cuff while paddling. 

This trip felt like a near-death experience to me, but it was a walk in the park for my husband.

Sleep Talking Once More

Philip has been working nights for several months now, so the opportunities I have to hear him talk in his sleep have been few and far between. This morning I stayed in bed a little later than usual, and when I finally checked the time on my phone and ninja-jumped out of bed, P was fast asleep next to me. I say ninja-jumped, but these days my "get out of bed quick" moves are the equivalent of a walrus rolling into the surf: groans, huffs, and puffs included. Here's what happened:

Me: *rolled over and put my head on P's stomach*
Philip: that's enough for me
Me: What?
Philip: stop putting that crap on me...
Me: What crap?
Philip: that sunblock stuff, I don't need any more
Me: Okay, I'll stop

If I had not dozed off for a few more seconds I think I could have gotten a better conversation/story out of him, but still, this one was funny. Maybe he was dreaming of being on vacation?

The Big Reveal

This post is about a week late, but I want to record our amazing Gender Reveal cake. I found something like it on Pinterest, but our local bakery did a much better job, and it was definitely one of the best cakes I've ever tasted. I was so worried about all other aspects of the party that it never occurred to me to photograph the table where it was sitting on, so that's a bummer, but the gist of it was: "He"-colored Hershey bars on the left, "She"-colored Hershey bars on the right, and when it came down to cake cutting, everyone picked up their guess for a picture! That was simple and straightforward, so here's the picture!

Although most of my "Old Wives Tales" symptoms were skewed towards it being a girl, the great majority guessed it was a boy, and they were right! I was so happy that I could finally make the change from "it" to "he" when talking about my baby, and that I no longer had to be careful when talking about gender-specific subjects. You are very lovingly awaited, Emmett Beckham! 

Easy Peach Cobbler

My parents came and visited a few days ago, and along with the usual gifts that consist mostly of Mexican candy, they brought me a bag with a few extremely ripe peaches in it. They have about 3 or 4 peach trees in their back yard (along with many other fruit trees) and they always bring me some of whatever is in season. This time it was peaches, which by the looks of them had been laying on their counter for several days after being picked, because they were so ripe.
I thought I really wasn't going to eat them since too-ripe fruits gross me out a little, but I didn't want to be wasteful, so I made them into a peach cobbler instead. (Thanks, Pinterest.)
Here's what I used:
Filling: 

• 10 small peaches, peeled and sliced (about 2.5 cups)
• 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract
• 1 tablespoon of ground cinnamon
• 1/3 cup brown sugar
• 1/3 cup white sugar

Crust:

• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 cup white sugar
• 1 cup milk
• 1 tablespoon baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup melted butter (1 stick)

Very ripe peaches, thanks mom.

Directions: 

1. Pour melted butter into 9 X 13 baking dish
2. Mix all dry ingredients for crust , then add milk and stir until it is well blended
3. Pour crust mixture on top of butter, and do not mix 
   
4. In a saucepan, combine all filling ingredients and bring to a boil, stirring constantly
   
5. Pour peach mixture on top of crust mixture, but do not mix together (leave layered)
   
6. Bake uncovered at 350 degrees for 45 minutes, or until crust is golden brown
   
7. Suggestion: serve with vanilla ice cream

I know these images aren't so great... I kinda suck at taking pictures, especially when I'm trying not to get my phone smeared with sticky cooking stuff, but the end result was deliciously gooey, just like it should be. This was by far the easiest "from scratch" dessert I have made in a very long time. Yum!

The Woes of Psychological Triggers

So I've been a little more absent from blog writing than I meant to be, especially with my goal of keeping a pregnancy journal and all. I am almost at the end of my first trimester, and several of my worst symptoms are becoming less uncomfortable as the days go on, therefore I can finally bring myself back to writing. Here's why:

During the first two-ish months, I felt so sick, congested, tired, and nauseated all the time that I internally came close to hysterics and secretly wished I was not pregnant and didn't have to carry this baby for a whole 9 months. I actually hated any thought that had to do with babies, and truly felt like the worst person imaginable, like a monster who wouldn't love her baby.
Time has passed, and so have several symptoms, and now I am clearheaded enough to realize what was going on... it was all in my head. For several seemingly never-ending weeks I associated everything that had to do with my pregnancy with the feelings of sickness, nausea, and overall disgust at almost everything imaginable. My usually very logical brain got it's butt kicked by a storm of hormones and could only make one (most irrational) connection:

baby things = bad, sick feelings

Yeah, I thought I was going crazy. I sort of was, a little... it was just a psychological trigger. For weeks on end the sight of the toilet, the kitchen trash can, raw meat, and eggs triggered something which instantly made me throw up. We have a vanilla-scented Glade plug-in in our bathroom, and I associated bathroom with nausea so much that now the smell of vanilla also triggers nausea... crazy huh? So the reason I've been away from my blog is that reading the words "The Prego Diaries" also triggered that sick feeling! It doesn't so much any more, so I think I can safely return to my writing and venting without endangering my keyboard with violent vomiting... hopefully. 

In conclusion, I am becoming more rational and less hormonal by the day, so I am assuring myself that I love this baby more than I can express, and that baby things DO NOT equal bad, sick feelings. That phase is almost over, thank goodness. Turns out I'm not a monster after all, I was just crazy.