If I fall off the face of the earth and it isn't reported on my blog, does anyone even know?

I've emerged. Those who were with me during pregnancy #1 could probably predict this would happen. I just spent the last 2.5 months sleeping, reading, and complaining. Jack has watched a lot of Backyardigans and has played a lot of games on pbskids. Allan has done a lot of dishes, folding laundry, taking Jack off my hands, and finding me passed out for the night by 9pm. He even tried to gross me out at times when I really, really wanted to throw up in order to get 5 minutes of nausea relief.

Allan and Jack = TROOPERS

In the meantime, I've lost about 25 IQ points to due to a combination of pregnancy plus idleness. I have absolutely nothing interesting to say. In fact, I've become the woman that I dread. I talk about this pregnancy far more than anyone cares to hear. I've replaced my endless analysis of my infertility with endless analysis of my pregnancy. And I can't shut up about it!

For instance, does anyone really care that I can't eat sweets or starchy foods without getting really sick? Probably no one but my mother is interested in that one. Or how about the rate at which I'm gaining weight? Nope. No one cares except Allan--and only because he's waiting for possible orders to gain weight so that our two numbers will never to cross paths.

In fact, the only thing that I'm sure anyone is curious about is whether or not it's a boy or a girl.

HA! We're not finding out. So there. For some reason this makes me feel cooler than everyone else. It's like we're one of those uber-hip couples who gets married in the Provo Temple. We're not going to cave into doing what 90% of couples do. We're going to be like our parents! And if that means I won't get as many baby gifts, SO BE IT!

Maybe the reason we're not finding out is because when I was toying with the idea of doing it the old-fashioned way, Allan said he didn't believe I could ever do it. From that statement on, I have been determined to prove him wrong.

The ultrasound isn't until February 2nd. But if I cave in and find out, you can bet your life that I will never admit it.

Heh, heh, heh.

New book.

I love to read, but I do not get to do it enough. Except when I'm pregnant. Reading is the only thing that helps keep my mind off the fact that I am so sick. Sometimes I read old favorites. Sometimes I read suspense novels I can finish in one day. But this week I scoured Amazon reviews for a literary novel that, a) I had never heard of before, b) would be set in a time period I know nothing about, and c) be clean. I wrote a couple down, went to the library, and emerged with this one:


It takes place near the end of the Civil War, in an area that I know well--The Ozarks (for the unaware, that is where I lived for the first fifteen years of my life). I had no idea just how complicated and tragic the war experience was for that part of an already divided state.

My favorite books are always character-driven. Plots matter, certainly--and this book has an exciting one--but rich character development is what really endeared this book to me. The separate journeys of the two main characters, an 18-year-old young woman and a 31-year-old soldier , are Homeresque, and to quote Anna Quindlen's review "This...is a page-turner because it provides the greatest suspense a story can offer: will someone we've come to love persevere and prosper?"

Paulette Jiles is a poet. Her writing reflects this. It is beautiful, concrete, and textured.

If you're interested, read some more reviews. I rate this a very soft PG-13.

Jack experiences mistletoe.

Thankfully, it's Grandma and not some hussy from Nursery.

That's not a stuffed turkey under my shirt.

As soon as I announced our big news(!), anyone who knew me during my first pregnancy probably internally predicted that this blog would fall by the wayside until....oh, March-ish. Well, you are correct. The excuses are as expected--the only thoughts forming in my mind for the past seven weeks have been accompanied by moaning, groaning, and an overall theme of pain and suffering.

I'm trying to have a better attitude. Really.

Last week I was in Utah (See? I have other excuses). Between two twelve hour drives, an all-day wedding extravaganza, lunch at Cafe Rio, Mom's pot roast, my Mother-in-law's beef stew, and prepping for Thanksgiving, I consumed quite a bit. On Thanksgiving morning, before the real feasting began, I stepped on the scale. The needle had gone up five pounds in four days. Knowing that gaining five pounds of fat in four days is nearly physically impossible, I looked in the mirror. And there it was. A belly. The size of which I wasn't expecting for eight more weeks.

Ladies and gentlemen, my body at 11.5 weeks. Something is in there. And it's growin' somethin' fierce.

I have a post forming in my mind. Answers to all your frequently asked questions. Okay, so most haven't asked any questions--let alone frequently. I flatter myself, I guess.