Today I had a meeting that lasted from 915AM to 415PM. Seven hours in one room with two, sometimes three people, where we attempted to compile accurate lists of their products on their website. It was excruciating.

The worst part was that we were in a closed room—meaning the temperature did not come down from around 79 all day. And we sat virtually the entire time. So not only was I boiling, but the baby crawled his way up to my ribs and decided to stay there kicking for seven hours.

Tomorrow the final step in the basement process begins and oy, I am not looking forward to having “company” every day for two weeks. Especially considering the 90 degree temps they are forecasting. I cleaned Sunday, then did a little bit of weeding and spent all of Monday in pain—hello back and abdominal muscles. Do I need to use you all to clean? Apparently, yes.

Monday I went in for another ultrasound — does everyone get these many these days? I honestly don’t know. I feel like I’m in for one like clockwork every few weeks. It’s fun, but messy and by the time I get home I just want to lie down.

The Peanut is now 4lbs, 3oz — gaining at a rate of about 1 lb every two weeks. Which, yeah, means if I go to term, hello 8 lb baby. Pro: sleeps through the night sooner, lower risk of SIDS; Con: OMFG PAIN. He is still incredibly active, meaning some days my stomach is excruciatingly sore and I hold ice packs to my ribs—during the ultrasound he yawned, hiccuped and then proceeded to beat me with his tiny fists and feet. “Ooo,” said the tech, “he’s SO active.”

Uh yeah. Welcome to my world. It’s hot (over 90 degrees again today, just kill me already), I’m repeatedly getting beat up and I’m having to get up twice a night to pee. Tomorrow marks 31 weeks. Let’s go team baby!

Very cute profile — I think he has my nose.

Front face shot — much less like Gollum.

And per my sister who has been requesting this picture for months, my giant ever-expanding belly.

Every since we had the nasty rains in March, our basement has been disaster zone numero uno. We had it dried out rather quickly (10 days worth of fans), but picking a company to due prevention AND picking a company to finish it again was a pain in the ass. Fortunately, the drains and new pumps are in and now it’s just a matter of having it turned back into the space it was. That starts in a week and a half and today we spent part of the morning visiting tile stores and trying to envision 1000 sq ft of finished space.

Initially I planned to buy the tile online, which seemed like a fabulous idea… until they wanted to charge $700 for delivery. Oy. So now we’re buying it local, which will cost a touch more per sq ft, but less than if we had to pay an extra $700 for shipping.

The worst part is I’m due in less than two months and it’s not done yet. They tell us it’ll take two weeks, and they can start in the first week of August (awesome, I can’t wait to have people walking around when it’s this freaking hot and all I want to do is where boxers and a tank top), but we can’t move the basement stuff downstairs until it’s over… and so the nursery is full of boxes. And cats. Argh.

I’m itching to finish the nursery and wash and put away all the cute stuff we have—perhaps I’m nesting, but I think it’s just because I like to plan. Not having stuff done makes me slightly anxious, especially because babies do not have the best record for timing.

We’re in day four of the second heat wave of the past month and I want to die. Being pregnant in the summer is quite possibly the worst time—especially if you don’t have central a/c and you work with a laptop (hello heat wave on the legs).

Thursday marks 30 weeks of being pregnant, and the past couple of been my least favorite. I passed the first glucose test, but just barely, so they made me take it again. Some BS about my liver and blah blah and the next thing you know I’m sitting in a hospital for 3.5 hours, getting my blood drawn every hour. This, after fasting since the night before and swigging 100 ML of the nastiest orange drink known to man. Friday was a rough day.

Our last ultrasound was about a week and a half ago (I know, I know, I’m behind), and I’ve decided my baby looks like Gollum:

The tech helpfully took a picture of his foot, too, seeing as how it’s permanently affixed to the underside of my ribs:

They tell me the kicking is a good sign that he might come early, and honestly, it is my one desire. Four weeks early kid, you can do it!

Yet another fun aspect of pregnancy? Pregnancy brain. (And yes, that is the technical term for it.) Basically the brain swells a bit when you are pregnant and certain aspects, namely memory, become hampered. Fortunately it goes away once the baby is born, but for now, I’m stuck with a worse-than-usual short-term memory (ie, I literally have to right everything down from a 10 minute meeting or I forget everything from the first 5 minutes) and an odd habit of just forgetting words in the middle of sentences.

The Chop thinks this is awesome. Particularly today when I said, “yippity do da doo bird,” or something along those lines. Basically I make no sense. It’s highly irritating to me, but highly entertaining to those I work and live with—yet another aspect of pregnancy that they don’t tell you occurs.

When we were in Provincetown I went and got a pedicure at a local salon, where two early-20-year-olds were working. They ooh’d and aah’d about my stomach, felt the baby kick and we discussed all the stuff that nobody mentions about pregnancy…

Your feet hurt, your back hurts, your stomach hurts, you can’t get up by yourself, putting on pants is painful, you don’t sleep well (or at all), it’s freaking hot, you get random heartburn FOR NO REASON (even if you just drink water), your feet swell if you’re on them too much, you can’t shave your legs comfortably, you run into things constantly and, oh yeah, sex becomes a logistical nightmare.

Happy Fourth of July!

One year ago today we purchased our first home. You’d think we’d celebrate by barbecuing or sitting on our deck, but instead we’ve decamped to Cape Cod for five days.

Five lovely, sunny days full of awesome food, gorgeous views and happy, delicious-smelling gays. I love me some P-town. 🙂

They started on our basement today, jackhammering through the concrete to lay French-type drains around the perimeter. This would be fine if I wasn’t here, or was able to sit on the porch, but a) I’m blocked in and EVERYONE thought I should stay here to supervise (although it’s not like I’m going downstairs, but whatever) and b) the porch is 80 degrees, like the damn outside.

So I’m in the living room with the lovely air conditioner and the overwhelmingly loud sound of jackhammers—so loud, in fact, they’ve knocked over a painting, knocked some stuff off a coffee table and have sent the dog into spasms.

I present, for your listening pleasure, the music of the next three days: Sounds from the Basement.

(Mind you, it’s way louder when not recorded through your laptop’s microphone.)

Today it is 87 degrees, well on it’s way to being way-too-fucking-hot-to-live, and so the Chop is celebrating Father’s Day by sitting on the couch in front of the air conditioner. It’s supposed to be high 80s all week, which really sucks when you’re pregnant.

The Peanut has gotten very good at kicking regularly now, and slowly but surely, my belly button is getting shallower—which is really bizarre. I read an article the other day about how, yes, a lot of women love pregnancy, but a lot of women really hate it. It’s uncomfortable, painful, hot and irritating—and yeah, I think I fall into group B. Pregnancy? Not my favorite thing. I’m looking forward to having a baby, but the nine months wait time is a pain in the freaking ass.

An old friend of ours recently had a pre-eclampsia event that resulted in her delivering by C-section right around 29 weeks (she was four weeks farther along than me). The baby is doing great, no longer intubated I believe and now that he’s a week old, about 2 lbs. I know it’s stressful for them, but part of me thinks, hmm, early delivery might not be so bad.

My goal is 35 weeks—the doctors have discussed inducing me a bit early depending on my liver—which means I have 10 weeks to go. 10 of the hottest weeks of the summer, sigh, 10 weeks where I have to ideally finish four major projects. Ugh.

One of the worst things about moving one year and getting pregnant the next? Cravings.

In college I became addicted to nime chow, an Asian soft roll, with shrimp, bean sprouts, etc., and the most amazing vinegar-type sauce with peanuts. Sadly the only two restaurants that I’ve ever found who carry it… an hour+ away. Fortunately there’s a branch of one of those restaurants about 30 minutes away, but after a day of working, 30 minutes seems like forever.

Then there’s two of our favorite restaurants in Newport, both eclectic, one with more Mexican flavors—the best fish tacos of all time. Chop’s mom was in town last weekend, so after a lighthouse tour on a boat (surprisingly, I did not get sick—go baby), we ended up over there, Chop in tears as he ate some incredibly hot jalapenos.

My goal every weekend is to convince Chop that going south for dinner (or lunch), is a great idea. I’ve only succeeded once, lol. An hour and a half, he says, for dinner? I guess if you really want, but let’s get all this done first. Stuff which ends up taking most of the day and by 4PM, I’m ready for a nap.

Word to the wise, don’t move and get pregnant right away. You will be sooo sorry, lol.

Early this week our dog killed a bunny.

Chop asked me last night why I hadn’t blogged about it, and I laughed—busy with work, blah blah. But the truth is, I’m still just so freaking disturbed by it.

He had taken her to the store (she loves the car) and on the way back in, two bunnies were bounding on the path. To our great surprise, she managed to grab one. Chop says she dropped it right away, but it was a baby (not much bigger than my hand, and I have tiny-Burger-King-commercial hands), and it didn’t make it.

By the time I got outside, it was in it’s death throes (seriously, so disturbing). So I picked it up (baby bunnies? soft, warm, cutest things alive) and we carried it to the backyard to bury it.

The rest of the evening was spent with me looking at the dog and thinking “bunny killer!” — I know she didn’t mean to, and I know it’s in dog’s nature, but still… tiny. baby. bunny. Pregnant-with-crazy-hormones over here doesn’t do well when cute little babies die.

Presently she is sleeping harmlessly on her bed, no hint of a killer in her cute puppy face, glad that it’s no longer blazingly hot and humid.