At the midpoint of most events, both the participants and the audience normally get the opportunity to take a break. They can stretch their legs, get a cold drink, and disengage from the action for a moment in order to return their attentions afresh.
Not so with pregnancy. YOU can get up and get whatever kind of drink you want. I’ll just sit over here and suck on my Sonic ice.
With this week marking twenty weeks of our pregnancy with “Mini” Clenney, I’d like to officially declare that today is halftime and plan to celebrate accordingly. While I’d love to welcome Sting and The Rolling Stones and Prince to the blog to perform a stirring decades-spanning mishmash of top 40 hits in honor of the occasion, I’m afraid that all I could book was The Hall & Oates Tribute Experience. What can I say….they were a bargain, and with the economy being what it is….
And honey, baby formula is expensive.
So let’s take a trip down memory lane with The H.O.T.E. and review the greatest hits of our joyful beginnings with baby girl….
“I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)”
After years of preparation, planning, and praying, we finally presented the doctor with the glad news: I’d had five positive home pregnancy tests (with so much of our hearts pinned to this hope, we weren’t about to make the copay unless we were sure we had a winner)! With visions of plus signs dancing in our heads, we eagerly awaited his confirmation of our results.
And then the doctor told us we weren’t pregnant. But hey, wouldn’t we have fun trying to be? (Note to doctors: worst. advice. ever. Of course, ahem, marrital relations are fun, but when a couple has their heart set on conceiving a baby, saying crap like that makes the whole process sound so trivial. Don't be that guy.)
We just smiled and thanked him.
We knew he was wrong.
And he was!
Bwahahahahhaaaaaa!!!
And then the dreams began – partially due to anxiety, and also slightly influenced by hellacious indigestion from eating things like mu shu pork and fistfuls of gummy worms in the same sitting. My body didn’t know if it was coming or going, and my brain was merely a disoriented victim in the passenger seat of pregnancy. Amidst this cloud of randomly firing synapses, I saw you. My dreams strongly suggested that you were a girl. As the former kid who believed in purple unicorns and a tooth fairy who looks like Betsey Johnson, naturally I was inclined to believe them. And I’m glad I did. It’s nifty to feel like you have a privileged peek into your own uterus.
I was also extra pleased in that Jason would have at least one daughter, for I knew how fortunate such a little girl would be. It’s difficult to find a man who knows how to treat a lady anymore, and I can confidently brag that after six years together and four and a half years of marriage, my husband has never failed to do so…. no matter how many times I’ve gobbled garlic for dinner or rubbed my porcupine legs on him in bed. He always makes me feel like I’m lovely, and that I’m worth his protection and care.
We’ve been fortunate to have had the opportunity to see our little squirrel four times via ultrasound during the past twenty weeks; that’s more than most parents get to during a low-risk pregnancy. Just because I’m the type to randomly associate, this is how I’ve thought of her as we’ve watched her growth and progress.
June 5, 2012: Teddy graham cracker stage
June 18, 2012: Alien eyeball work hat stage
August 6, 2012: Boticelli profile stage
August 23, 2012: No denying your paternity by those lips stage
“Maneater”
“God wouldn’t give me a girl. He knows I would kill the first boy who showed up at the door.”
Sorry about your lovelife, Mini.
There's always cats.
Greatest.pregnancy.blog.ever. Take it from this single gal with no kids. Usually I wince more than I smile. Thanks for fixing that.
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