That tattoo looks alright for now...

We're at 15 and a half weeks. Mitch got to hear the heartbeat for the first time today. I heard it four weeks ago at one of my appointments. It's pretty crazy. After having a miscarriage, hearing the heartbeat is just about the only thing that keeps me sane, especially when I'm in this weird second trimester stage, and I don't feel pregnant anymore. I think I felt it squiggle in my stomach yesterday, but it could have just been a doody bubble.

And even though there's this amazing little tiny baby heartbeat on the video, I know you're only looking at my kickass Shel Silverstein tattoo.


And I'm sure you're wondering what it will look like after Snorkels has stretched it beyond recognition. Maybe something like this:

wtf is this

So I started looking up stuff for our baby registry today, and I stumbled across this piece of cirque du soleil medieval torture seizure trigger. I can't tell if there are really six arches on it, or if they just move. It almost looks crazier because of the overstimulated hyperbaby in the seat, and makes me think that I would probably need to take a nap after just looking at it.

Buying baby crap is just ridiculous. I don't know why they need so much stuff. I know some of it really is superfluous (wipe warmers?), but I feel like I'll probably be viewed as a bad/lazy/cheap/uneducated parent if I don't buy or register for some of it. Regardless, I'm so overwhelmed by the choices, I can't make a decision anyway. On buybuybaby.com, there are over 300 strollers. THREE HUNDRED. How is any new parent supposed to make that kind of decision, especially while under the duress of becoming a new parent?!

Is it reversible? Because you know the baby doesn't develop object permanence until it's like, 2, and until then it'll freak out that you've disappeared everytime you push it away from you.

Is it neutrally-colored? You don't want society imposing gender stereotypes on such an impressionable mind.

Can you jog with it? 'Cuz your fat ass is going to need it since you're going to be pushing your baby instead of wearing it.

There are so many ways I can screw up this kid, and every decision I make regarding baby gear puts it one step either further from or closer to juvenile detention and the Maury Povich show. According to the dozens of pregnancy books I've read, I've already committed some acts of bad parenting, like sleeping with an electric blanket and drinking unfiltered tapwater. There's just too much to keep track of. That's why I wish there was like, a Trader Joe's of baby stuff. Just give me like, one or two versions of each thing I need. Make 'em safe, gender-neutral, and boring. Maybe all of us new Millenial parents wouldn't be so spazzy if we didn't have to make so many decisions that carried (in our own minds) such great weight. In fact, let's do the same thing for daycare, school, and pediatricians. Don't tell my in-laws I'm talkin' like a socialist.

14 weeks.

So you (some of you) asked for it. Belly pics. I had no intention of ever taking any pictures of my belly, and this is why. I choke in front of the camera. I make stupid faces and feel ridiculous every time I get my picture taken.

I have this other friend who's pregnant, we'll call her Shannon, because that's her name. Her husband's a photographer by trade. He has a nice camera, which doesn't hurt, but Shannon's like, also really beautiful, and extremely photogenic. I suppose if a photographer decides to marry you, you are probably photogenic. She looks like Amanda Seyfried with this little belly. Anyway, she takes these really adorable belly pics every week, and she always looks relaxed and happy and glowing. I look constipated (which I was in this pic, thanks to the Comet's burritos) and a little drunk (which I wasn't, thanks to the Snorkel in my belly). But this is true for most of my pictures.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

So as you can see, I should never document any of this. But I think some of you have this evil plan to get me to post all of these pictures, and then you're going to show them to my ex-boyfriends or something and be like, "aren't you glad you jumped off that sinking ship?!" Or they're going to end up in a slide show at my 20 year high school reunion. So just to get back at you, I'm going to post gloriously horrendous birth photos, and describe my birth story in graphic detail. You're welcome.

the pecking order

I walked out to check on the chickens a few weeks ago, and found this:This is Judy. This is not what her rear normally looks like.

My first suspicion was a blocked egg vent. Sometimes, an egg can get backed up in there, and it causes swelling (which can then lead to the feathers falling out). I had not yet encountered this, but knew that it can be fatal for a chicken. After consulting the Backyard Chicken forum, I determined that while it could be any number of things, a blocked vent was the most urgent, and we would treat it as such.

The first suggestion from the forum was to see if you could feel the egg. I decided it was in the best interest of my marriage if I completed the examination, but after violating my chicken for a couple minutes, I had to confess that I really had no idea what I was touching. I called a vet, who told me I could pay him $55 to look at my chicken, after which I asked if he knew any good butchers.

The forum also suggested treatment, the first option involved lubing up your finger and digging the egg out. That's not really my style, so I opted for the chicken hot tub method, which involves soaking your chicken's butt in hot water every couple of hours in an effort to loosen her muscles and help her drop the egg. We moved Judy into the house and put her in the dog kennel under the heat lamp for the night, and Buster thought he was getting a super fun family sleepover. In the meantime, I posted a photo of her butt on the BYC forum, hoping a more seasoned chicken owner might give me a better idea of what's up with her butt.

The next morning, we woke early to bathe her bum, and while Mitch was holding Judy in the basin, he suggested I check the forum to see if anyone had responded. Turns out, chicken butts always look like that, and another chicken is just plucking her feathers out. Turns out that chicken is Angie, as I noted that the rest of the chickens (except for Angie) are missing a few feathers as well. Only took them a year, but I guess the pecking order has finally been established. At least Judy got a spa weekend out of the deal.

Barefoot and pregnant

My husband and I decided to procreate. Almost through the first trimester, the only evidence is the rubber band holding my pants up and my huge rack. I feel pretty good, surprisingly.

For the most part, our friends are excited. Several of them have said something like, "omigosh you guys are going to be the most hilarious parents," which I take to mean, "omigosh it's going to be hilarious watching you try to raise a child." Several of them, upon hearing the news, immediately attempted to touch my belly, to which I say they must now touch Mitch's balls. And still, several others, have been all like, why?

Honestly, I don't know exactly how to justify or articulate it. We're both in grad school; I'm not working full time; we have a brood of animals to care for; and we have a million extracurriculars and a busy, fulfilling social life. We're really happy right now. Why would we go mucking that up? But I think this is precisely the environment into which a baby should be born. Our material lives are simple, and we have an amazing community of people who will help raise this child. Our marriage is stable and supportive, albeit boring. We'll always be busy; it's not in my nature to sit still. It will never be the perfect time to have a baby, ever. They're not here for our convenience. So I suppose now was as good a time as any, before my ovaries shrivel up and fall off.

whoops

Soooooo grad school swallowed me whole. The last several months have been nothing short of mind-numbing. Since my last post I have:

• Gone on tour with my band, during which we were called the wrong name on the radio several times.
• Consumed at least 40 bottles of wine and 100 pots of coffee. A modest estimate.
• Read the Hunger Games Trilogy TWICE.
• Watched several more of my friends sadly succumb to parenthood.
  
• Been mistaken for a local celebrity.
• Gotten a big-ass tattoo (not to be mistaken for a big ass tattoo).
• Fought off a rabid raccoon.

I'm so sorry I have deprived the blogosphere of these stories.

why hello there

Oh Lord. Too busy. You'd think that by quitting one and a half jobs, I would have more time to do stuff like type on the computer. Not so. This weekend will be my first weekend home in over a month.

FINALLY!

Now I can get to stuff like, making Mitch clean out the chicken coop. Or making Mitch mow the lawn. Or making Mitch turn the compost. Get to it!

Anyway, I had this revelation today. Grad school might not actually be worth the money.

WHAT???!?!?!!?

Yeah uh-huh. See...when you have to take out like, $25K in student loans, and then you actually have to pay it back, you're in kind of a pickle. Especially if the degree only increases your earning potential by, say, $10K a year or something. You might think, "but it'll only take you 2.5 years to earn it back." You're cute. Taking into account the two years I took off to earn this degree (thereby not earning as much) and interest, it will take a little longer. Not to mention, I have suddenly rendered myself too expensive to do jobs like the one I'm doing now. And then...AND THEN, eventually I'll get promoted with my degree to the point of incompetence and just spent the rest of my adult life looking like a nincompoop (we really need to bring that word back). So, again, what's the point? Oh right...so I can tell people about it at my high school reunion.