Your dad and I finally agreed on a boy name if you decide that's the way you want to go. You have, in fact, already decided one way or the other and have the parts to prove it, but we won't find out what those parts are until January 4, 2010.
We had agreed on the name for a while but not the spelling. I'm proud to announce that I won the mini battle. However, if you hate your name, I plan to blame it on your dad and maybe even your aunt Nikki since she strongly promoted the name. We decided on Jaxon Ried--Jax for short. In the end, I think your dad realized that we could not call you Jax and spell your name with a "ck" or everyone would call you Jack (which is a fine name for all the Jacks out there).
I believe it was actually Stewie from Family Guy who convinced your dad it was a good spelling. Stewie was talking to Brian and said something about cool parents who give their kids names with x's in them. I'm not a huge fan of the show--I watch it from time to time--but your dad was nice enough to rewind that part of the show and point it out to me. He'll probably try to tell you that he had already made up his mind about the spelling when he saw that, but I wouldn't be so sure.
I hope you'll like the name we picked out for you, boy or girl, or at the very least prefer it to some of the nicknames we'll come up with for you.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
My Favorite Things
One of my favorite things about being pregnant is your dad. He's P.G.--I've always thought so, but you bring out something extra special in him. I think he even has his own pregnancy glow. He just seems to be overflowing with the joy of you.
P.G. = I'm sure, by now, you've heard your dad say, "You're P.G., and that means PRETTY GREAT!" (Unfortunately, I cannot type the voice he uses.)
He has researched things we/you need. Some of the "must haves" are: a Radiohead t-shirt, a Boppie Pillow, and a Pack 'N Play--I had only heard of 2 out of 3 of these things. He collects advice from women around the office and passes it on to me. He sends me websites with pregnancy information and maternity clothes. He reads all the baby magazines that get sent to us. He has done most things around the house since you started sapping me of my energy and only picks on me a little for it. And he comes to every appointment that involves you.
At the doctor's office Monday, your dad and I were discussing my weight gain with the doctor. Last month I only gained 1 pound, but the month before I gained significantly more, and she kind of scolded me. So we were discussing this and the expectations for the coming months, and your dad cut in and started defending me, explaining to the doc that vegies didn't settle right but comfort food did during that time.
Thursday, I sent him an email complaining that I wanted to go home and crawl back into bed because I felt like a cow. I was fussing about all my lumps and bumps and how none of them looked pregnant. This was your Dad's reply:
"You, my love, are a walking incubator of life. You're a miracle who does paperwork. You're the best germ killer I've ever known. You're without question the best wife I've ever known. You're my best friend, and my baby's momma. And I think you're beautiful. Really, truly, beautiful. You're in the midst of the most incredible process you and I have ever had the pleasure of being a part of. It's a bumpy and lumpy process, but all of your bumps are in the exact place they belong on you. I think you're perfect."
He loves us!! And he seems to have fallen effortlessly into protector, provider, and caretaker of his family. He talks to you through my belly, and pokes you, and tickles you, and holds you. Last night he told you a story about the first time he went to a Columbus Blue Jackets game, and the moral of the story was: Don't work for a telecommunications start up company if they can afford a corporate box but not an open bar. I know he has lots of sound advice to pass along to you. He wonders about your future, such as what age is appropriate to introduce you to his "music."
Warning for your future self: If your dad says a singer or band is "genius," run away, Litttle Bean. Find something to do--taking out the garbage or mowing the lawn will be better. I promise you!
Your dad has many good qualities, but when it comes to music... I will say that he's passionate about it, it means a lot to him, and it's a huge part of who he is. Your dad will introduce you to some really good stuff, but when he labels it genius, it's hardly ever something most will enjoy. I guess those are my words of wisdom for today. I gotta keep up with your dad, you know.
P.G. = I'm sure, by now, you've heard your dad say, "You're P.G., and that means PRETTY GREAT!" (Unfortunately, I cannot type the voice he uses.)
He has researched things we/you need. Some of the "must haves" are: a Radiohead t-shirt, a Boppie Pillow, and a Pack 'N Play--I had only heard of 2 out of 3 of these things. He collects advice from women around the office and passes it on to me. He sends me websites with pregnancy information and maternity clothes. He reads all the baby magazines that get sent to us. He has done most things around the house since you started sapping me of my energy and only picks on me a little for it. And he comes to every appointment that involves you.
At the doctor's office Monday, your dad and I were discussing my weight gain with the doctor. Last month I only gained 1 pound, but the month before I gained significantly more, and she kind of scolded me. So we were discussing this and the expectations for the coming months, and your dad cut in and started defending me, explaining to the doc that vegies didn't settle right but comfort food did during that time.
Thursday, I sent him an email complaining that I wanted to go home and crawl back into bed because I felt like a cow. I was fussing about all my lumps and bumps and how none of them looked pregnant. This was your Dad's reply:
"You, my love, are a walking incubator of life. You're a miracle who does paperwork. You're the best germ killer I've ever known. You're without question the best wife I've ever known. You're my best friend, and my baby's momma. And I think you're beautiful. Really, truly, beautiful. You're in the midst of the most incredible process you and I have ever had the pleasure of being a part of. It's a bumpy and lumpy process, but all of your bumps are in the exact place they belong on you. I think you're perfect."
He loves us!! And he seems to have fallen effortlessly into protector, provider, and caretaker of his family. He talks to you through my belly, and pokes you, and tickles you, and holds you. Last night he told you a story about the first time he went to a Columbus Blue Jackets game, and the moral of the story was: Don't work for a telecommunications start up company if they can afford a corporate box but not an open bar. I know he has lots of sound advice to pass along to you. He wonders about your future, such as what age is appropriate to introduce you to his "music."
Warning for your future self: If your dad says a singer or band is "genius," run away, Litttle Bean. Find something to do--taking out the garbage or mowing the lawn will be better. I promise you!
Your dad has many good qualities, but when it comes to music... I will say that he's passionate about it, it means a lot to him, and it's a huge part of who he is. Your dad will introduce you to some really good stuff, but when he labels it genius, it's hardly ever something most will enjoy. I guess those are my words of wisdom for today. I gotta keep up with your dad, you know.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Was that you?
I think I felt you Saturday night. We were watching a movie at Paul and Nikki's, and I felt tickly bubbles travel a two inch path near my belly button. I thought when I felt you that I would freak out and tell everyone within five miles, but I just wasn't sure. I wondered if it was all in my head because I wanted it so much. I didn't want to make a big deal and realize later it was just gas. So I sat there waiting for more, but I was all worked up and couldn't tell tingly excitement from tickly bubbles by that point. On the way home, I told your dad. He was certain it was you movin' around in there. But I won't be convinced unless I get that same feeling again. So just for now, wiggle away, little one. Wiggle away, because I so badly want you to be big and strong enough to make me sit up and take notice. However, you're not allowed to make me sorry for this request. So three months from now, when I want you to stop kicking me and sleep at night, I expect you to do as you're told. Because I'm your mom, and I'll have naked pictures of you some day soon.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Daddy's Good Intentions
Baby Bean, I want to share the following email with you. I read it about once a week and it makes me laugh out loud every time--it's your dad's earnest determination that pushes my giggle button.
"We should really make a choice on the mural for the kid's room so I can start getting things together. It takes a few weeks for it to come in once you place your order, and I'll need to get paint together and all that fun stuff.
This week, I'm going to start cleaning out the den and getting it ready for its new occupant. I want to go through and trash what I can, and I'm going to start loading up the stamp room with stuff (piling it out of the way until we can incorporate it all into the stamp room). I'd also like to get the big computer desk torn down soon and get the PC set up in the stamp room. That's right, I've got big plans, and it's time to get started. I'm done sitting around.
Also, I want a big net suspending in the air in a corner in the kid's room. This net should be filled with many stuffed animals. I would like a monkey and a snake dangling from the net. We need to make this happen. Baby wipes were the first step, and now the dam has been opened."
Whew! That was October 26, and for two nights (as far as I know) he worked on your room. To date, there is a big trash bag under the desk (that's right, the desk that has not been torn down) and nothing has been removed. We have not decided on a mural, because we disagree on getting one that takes up the whole wall with trees and forest creatures or a tree here and there with a bunny, a squirrel, and a bird or two. No stuffed animals have been purchased, not even a monkey, but we do have baby wipes and a Pat the Bunny book that a friend from work gave me.
We love you. We think about you all the time. Your room will be ready for you long before you need it, unless you decide to arrive way before scheduled. But you should know what procrastinators your parents are. In my defense, you've just started sharing a little energy with me. In your dad's defense, it's not so fun to do that stuff alone. And isn't it good to know how excited he is and how he started nesting before your mom did. We're both very lucky.
Baby Wipes = A few weeks ago, your dad realized that we had not spent a penny on you yet. He couldn't help himself and came home from the grocery store with baby wipes. He promptly informed me (in "official" Consumer Report fashion) that these baby wipes were the number one brand, which is important because the only thing worse than a diaper blowout is your thumb busting through a baby wipe. He went on to explain that these were big enough to get all the mess with one wipe and thick enough to keep the previously mentioned thumb incident from being a concern. And there you have it.
"We should really make a choice on the mural for the kid's room so I can start getting things together. It takes a few weeks for it to come in once you place your order, and I'll need to get paint together and all that fun stuff.
This week, I'm going to start cleaning out the den and getting it ready for its new occupant. I want to go through and trash what I can, and I'm going to start loading up the stamp room with stuff (piling it out of the way until we can incorporate it all into the stamp room). I'd also like to get the big computer desk torn down soon and get the PC set up in the stamp room. That's right, I've got big plans, and it's time to get started. I'm done sitting around.
Also, I want a big net suspending in the air in a corner in the kid's room. This net should be filled with many stuffed animals. I would like a monkey and a snake dangling from the net. We need to make this happen. Baby wipes were the first step, and now the dam has been opened."
Whew! That was October 26, and for two nights (as far as I know) he worked on your room. To date, there is a big trash bag under the desk (that's right, the desk that has not been torn down) and nothing has been removed. We have not decided on a mural, because we disagree on getting one that takes up the whole wall with trees and forest creatures or a tree here and there with a bunny, a squirrel, and a bird or two. No stuffed animals have been purchased, not even a monkey, but we do have baby wipes and a Pat the Bunny book that a friend from work gave me.
We love you. We think about you all the time. Your room will be ready for you long before you need it, unless you decide to arrive way before scheduled. But you should know what procrastinators your parents are. In my defense, you've just started sharing a little energy with me. In your dad's defense, it's not so fun to do that stuff alone. And isn't it good to know how excited he is and how he started nesting before your mom did. We're both very lucky.
Baby Wipes = A few weeks ago, your dad realized that we had not spent a penny on you yet. He couldn't help himself and came home from the grocery store with baby wipes. He promptly informed me (in "official" Consumer Report fashion) that these baby wipes were the number one brand, which is important because the only thing worse than a diaper blowout is your thumb busting through a baby wipe. He went on to explain that these were big enough to get all the mess with one wipe and thick enough to keep the previously mentioned thumb incident from being a concern. And there you have it.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Super Snout
Your dad called me Super Snout a few days ago, because he thinks I have superhuman smelling abilities. Not true. I've always had a good smeller. It's just that lots of things I smell bother me now:
All these things make me nauseous, but to date, I still have not thrown up. However, the worst smell yet, the thing that nearly put me over the edge this morning, was somebody's bad coffee/peppery/breakfast breath. I walked right into it, and it nearly sent me running for the trash can. So beware... I smell what you've just eaten.
- Coffee
- Whiskey
- Hand Sanitizer
- Lotion
- Dog Food (more than usual)
- Cooked Hamburger
- Fabric Softener Sheets
- Spring Mix Lettuce (prewashed/precut)
All these things make me nauseous, but to date, I still have not thrown up. However, the worst smell yet, the thing that nearly put me over the edge this morning, was somebody's bad coffee/peppery/breakfast breath. I walked right into it, and it nearly sent me running for the trash can. So beware... I smell what you've just eaten.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Bean's First Picture
On Thursday, we saw you for the first time. So far, you're mostly white blobs on a screen--half head and half body, with thin little lines that are supposed to be your arms and legs. Needless to say, we were more than excited. I giggled a lot, which wasn't good for picture taking, and your dad grinned from ear to ear the whole time. You have a strong heartbeat, which we saw in the form of a fuzzy movement on the screen, and you're the perfect size so far. The tests from the blood work that we wanted to be negative did indeed come back negative. And all that good news meant that we went from 30 to only 3 percent chance of losing you. I had no idea we'd find that out so soon, and I can't begin to describe the relief and the total awe and joy and love that took its place.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Sooo Sleepy
Alright, little Bean, you may have won the nap battle every day this week, and you'll probably end up winning the war, but tonight... I blog. I refuse to fall asleep before dinner.
This is week eight of our pregnancy, and you have really been making your presence known. I hadn't really had any symptoms to speak of before this week, except for sleepiness and aching parts--parts that you're not even going to use. I'll just leave it at that, since going into detail about said aching parts might really embarrass you some day, especially if you end up being a boy.
But this week, while you're starting to grow elbows, fingers, and toes, and develop facial features, I've started having mini bouts of what I guess is the dreaded morning sickness. I've been feeling a little nauseous every other morning, but it only lasts for a minute or so. If I pop a few pretzels in my mouth, I'm usually good to go. I've also struggled with my appetite. I go through a day or two of not really wanting anything to do with food. But when that's over, I want to eat whole cakes and pizzas, or I'll be worried about my next meal while I'm currently shoveling something in my mouth. Then we start over again.
The smells. The taco salad that I thought was one of the best things I'd ever eaten last week, assaulted my nose and stomach this week. I ate it the night your dad made it for us, but the next morning, the whole house reeked of it and the smell turned my stomach. I lit candles, but that just added to the stink. When your dad had the leftovers that night, it was the same thing. I had to make him get up and do all the dishes so the foul smell wouldn't be leftover on them.
So exercise (because of the nap war) has been on hold and vegetable eating (because I can't stand the thought of most of them) has been a challenge this week, but I really can't complain. I have nothing stopping me from napping after work, and I haven't ralphed at work or anywhere else, for that matter.
When I tell your dad about these symptoms, he says, "Aaaw, you're pregnant," like it's the sweetest thing ever to want to vomit. He likes it that we're being very textbook. He says it means that everything is working the way it's supposed to. I think it makes me sleepy and nauseous. But I do love that you're in there doin' your thing.
By the way, your dad read that you really are the size of a bean this week.
This is week eight of our pregnancy, and you have really been making your presence known. I hadn't really had any symptoms to speak of before this week, except for sleepiness and aching parts--parts that you're not even going to use. I'll just leave it at that, since going into detail about said aching parts might really embarrass you some day, especially if you end up being a boy.
But this week, while you're starting to grow elbows, fingers, and toes, and develop facial features, I've started having mini bouts of what I guess is the dreaded morning sickness. I've been feeling a little nauseous every other morning, but it only lasts for a minute or so. If I pop a few pretzels in my mouth, I'm usually good to go. I've also struggled with my appetite. I go through a day or two of not really wanting anything to do with food. But when that's over, I want to eat whole cakes and pizzas, or I'll be worried about my next meal while I'm currently shoveling something in my mouth. Then we start over again.
The smells. The taco salad that I thought was one of the best things I'd ever eaten last week, assaulted my nose and stomach this week. I ate it the night your dad made it for us, but the next morning, the whole house reeked of it and the smell turned my stomach. I lit candles, but that just added to the stink. When your dad had the leftovers that night, it was the same thing. I had to make him get up and do all the dishes so the foul smell wouldn't be leftover on them.
So exercise (because of the nap war) has been on hold and vegetable eating (because I can't stand the thought of most of them) has been a challenge this week, but I really can't complain. I have nothing stopping me from napping after work, and I haven't ralphed at work or anywhere else, for that matter.
When I tell your dad about these symptoms, he says, "Aaaw, you're pregnant," like it's the sweetest thing ever to want to vomit. He likes it that we're being very textbook. He says it means that everything is working the way it's supposed to. I think it makes me sleepy and nauseous. But I do love that you're in there doin' your thing.
By the way, your dad read that you really are the size of a bean this week.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Information Onslaught
So your dad has been the one having little mini panic attacks every now and then since we discovered your existence, and I've been the voice of reason. Saying things like, "People worse off than us have babies all the time." I had myself convinced that you are here, you're going to develop and be born, and there is no stopping it, so my plan was to just stay calm and take things as they came. After all, I've heard stories of women having babies in toilets, without even knowing they're pregnant. So, certainly, someone who is aware of the fact that she's pregnant, went into it willingly, and is starting to educate herself on the different stages of pregnancy will be OK, right? That's what I thought until I went to my first doctor's appointment.
It was just an "education" session, and I realize now... I know nothing. There are tests, classes, and tours. Lists of even more do's and don'ts. Words I've never heard of. And she kept saying "at your age." She pushed pills and papers at me. She talked and turned pages too fast. I only remembered to ask two of my questions. One having to do with sex, so just never you mind. The other was regarding the H1N1 flu shot, and I still don't know what to do. I left with bags of prenatal vitamins, folders full of papers, pamphlets to read, and forms to fill out. And I went straight to Taco Bell.
Luckily, your dad took over. He read pamphlets, researched the different tests, and started a personal relationship with our insurance company. Yesterday he gave me the short, slow version of what the fast forward nurse at the doctor's office told me. I can breathe again.
It was just an "education" session, and I realize now... I know nothing. There are tests, classes, and tours. Lists of even more do's and don'ts. Words I've never heard of. And she kept saying "at your age." She pushed pills and papers at me. She talked and turned pages too fast. I only remembered to ask two of my questions. One having to do with sex, so just never you mind. The other was regarding the H1N1 flu shot, and I still don't know what to do. I left with bags of prenatal vitamins, folders full of papers, pamphlets to read, and forms to fill out. And I went straight to Taco Bell.
Luckily, your dad took over. He read pamphlets, researched the different tests, and started a personal relationship with our insurance company. Yesterday he gave me the short, slow version of what the fast forward nurse at the doctor's office told me. I can breathe again.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
When Don't I Have Cravings?
Little Bean, I want to thank you for giving me an excuse. People have asked me about cravings, and I have read about the out-of-control desires for certain foods. So let me tell you what I can't stop thinking about this week:
But here's the thing... this is really no different than any other week. I'm a chubby girl. I have always had cravings. The only difference now is that I get to blame it on you. I have an excuse for being naughty. However, I'm hoping that any day now, I'll crave brussels sprouts and not be able to stand the site of ice cream or the smell of cookies. I'd appreciate it if you'd help me out with that.
What I have noticed is that sometimes I'll be eating some regular thing that I have all the time, but suddenly it's the best thing I've ever put in my mouth: taco salad, a sweet potato, grilled chicken salad, or a giant pile of broccoli. Plain things, nothing special. But it's like I can't get enough of it at the time. It's just sooo delicious.
So maybe I'd have the same reaction to brussels sprouts, but I haven't craved them enough to try it. Until then, I'll settle for the gobblicious sweet potato.
Gobblicious = A word created to describe the act of quickly and greedily eating the most delicious sweet potato ever.
- Coldstone ice cream
- Cinnamon rolls from our school cafeteria
- Tommy's pizza
- Chicken and noodles from Bob Evans
- Frozen chai lattes
But here's the thing... this is really no different than any other week. I'm a chubby girl. I have always had cravings. The only difference now is that I get to blame it on you. I have an excuse for being naughty. However, I'm hoping that any day now, I'll crave brussels sprouts and not be able to stand the site of ice cream or the smell of cookies. I'd appreciate it if you'd help me out with that.
What I have noticed is that sometimes I'll be eating some regular thing that I have all the time, but suddenly it's the best thing I've ever put in my mouth: taco salad, a sweet potato, grilled chicken salad, or a giant pile of broccoli. Plain things, nothing special. But it's like I can't get enough of it at the time. It's just sooo delicious.
So maybe I'd have the same reaction to brussels sprouts, but I haven't craved them enough to try it. Until then, I'll settle for the gobblicious sweet potato.
Gobblicious = A word created to describe the act of quickly and greedily eating the most delicious sweet potato ever.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Six Weeks In
It's my sixth week of pregnancy. They (and by "they," I mean books, magazines, and websites) say that your first little heartbeats have begun. You're doing a lot of growing this week, and you're about 1/17 of an inch long. Your eyes, ears, and mouth are beginning to form, and you have little bumps where your armins and legs will grow.
Armins = Once when I was little, I kept telling your Grama Schulz that my armin hurt. She couldn't figure out what I was saying. Finally she realized that I thought my arms were called armins, because when she dressed me, she would say, "Put your arm in."
They also say that nausea should be really bad this week; however, (knock on wood) I haven't had any morning sickness yet. I've been more tired but, overall, feel pretty great. Usually, I'm taking something for a headache every other day, but I haven't had one for weeks. I'm eating better and exercising more consistently again, and it just feels good taking care of you. I have only two complaints so far. One, this pregnancy has taken the joy out of coming home and ripping my bra off. It actually feels better to wear a bra. Two, no wine. I'll just leave it at that.
Friday morning, I felt funny in the shower. I felt a little dizzy and thought I might get nauseous, which made me worry about morning sickness. And I think I just got all worked up. I stood there and focused on breathing for a minute, and it went away. I get hiccups almost every day. What's up with that?
Your dad and I have been taking walks most days. We usually talk about you the whole time--how I'm feeling, how he feels, what we found out about pregnancy that day, plans for your birth, plans for your life, how we'll raise you. The list goes on and on. You're our favorite topic these days, baby Bean. You make our life more interesting.
Armins = Once when I was little, I kept telling your Grama Schulz that my armin hurt. She couldn't figure out what I was saying. Finally she realized that I thought my arms were called armins, because when she dressed me, she would say, "Put your arm in."
They also say that nausea should be really bad this week; however, (knock on wood) I haven't had any morning sickness yet. I've been more tired but, overall, feel pretty great. Usually, I'm taking something for a headache every other day, but I haven't had one for weeks. I'm eating better and exercising more consistently again, and it just feels good taking care of you. I have only two complaints so far. One, this pregnancy has taken the joy out of coming home and ripping my bra off. It actually feels better to wear a bra. Two, no wine. I'll just leave it at that.
Friday morning, I felt funny in the shower. I felt a little dizzy and thought I might get nauseous, which made me worry about morning sickness. And I think I just got all worked up. I stood there and focused on breathing for a minute, and it went away. I get hiccups almost every day. What's up with that?
Your dad and I have been taking walks most days. We usually talk about you the whole time--how I'm feeling, how he feels, what we found out about pregnancy that day, plans for your birth, plans for your life, how we'll raise you. The list goes on and on. You're our favorite topic these days, baby Bean. You make our life more interesting.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Name Calling
I went to lunch with Jackie Brown yesterday. She let me go on and on about you, and we started talking names. I told her I thought we had decided on Bennett, but that I'd just recently decided to keep looking for a boy name. That's when she so kindly informed me that we probably should stay away from B names so your initials wouldn't be BM. Wasn't that nice of her?! What is shocking is that every time I come up with a name, your dad comes up with 10 ways other children could make fun of it. Yet, for months we've been trying to think of a middle name for Bennett, and he didn't catch that.
I had originally wanted to name you EmmaLeigh if you happen to have girl parts, but I think we've decided on Sophia Louise. Louise is your Great Grama Fox's first name. She's gone now, and it's too bad you'll never get to see that sparkle in her eyes, know how bad she used to drive, receive a stuffed animal she made for you, have to sit through one of her very long stories, or get to play Yahtzee with her, but you'll probably have her name.
Yesterday, your dad pointed at my belly and declared it Beantown. Just for the record, I'm not even showing yet, so he did not say that because my belly is the size of Boston. It's because our little Bean lives there.
I had originally wanted to name you EmmaLeigh if you happen to have girl parts, but I think we've decided on Sophia Louise. Louise is your Great Grama Fox's first name. She's gone now, and it's too bad you'll never get to see that sparkle in her eyes, know how bad she used to drive, receive a stuffed animal she made for you, have to sit through one of her very long stories, or get to play Yahtzee with her, but you'll probably have her name.
Yesterday, your dad pointed at my belly and declared it Beantown. Just for the record, I'm not even showing yet, so he did not say that because my belly is the size of Boston. It's because our little Bean lives there.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Little Bean
We've taken to calling you Bean, even though you're not even the size of a piece of rice yet. But Pilaf just doesn't sound as cute. We found out about you on September 3, 2009. I woke up at 3:00 a.m. and remembered that it was test-taking day.
I know you're going to be a good baby because you made your presence known on that stick well before the time stated in the directions. This makes you a good baby because your parents don't like to wait for anything. Hopefully, we've managed to keep this little fact from you because it's not really a good quality, and we hope it doesn't rub off on you. But we really do prefer immediate gratification. For example, we totally plan to make you wait for Christmas Eve or Christmas Day to open up presents, but we'll be opening ours upstairs in our bedroom one to two weeks before Christmas.
Anyway, I ran up the stairs (none too quietly) to tell your dad. "It said yes," I told him, while jumping into bed. He said, "What?" "The test said yes!" I put the pregnancy test on his belly. He fumbled for the light and his glasses, and the test fell. He finally found the light and his glasses. I found the test. He looked at it and, if I remember right, your dad said, "We did it!" We hugged and kissed and he said quietly, "We have so much to do."
We got up and tried to take a picture of the pregnancy test because the directions said that the "YES+" would go away in 30 minutes. While your dad tried to take pictures with my cell phone, his cell phone, and the digital camera, I called your Grama Schulz. It was 2:30 a.m. in Wisconsin, and she didn't mind a bit. (I think your grama has been waiting for you since I got my period.) She called me later that morning from work to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Sadly, none of the pictures turned out, but that stick must be full of pregnant, because it still says yes today.
I told two of my good friends at work that day, Jackie Brown and Lynn Pendergast. Most people wait a while before they make their pregnancy public, but I don't know how. Driving to work, I wondered how the people in the other cars didn't notice I was pregnant. I texted Sandy Zane, who told Debi Edwardson. And they were the only ones I told for a while.
I peed in another cup at Dr. Toohey's office around 2:30 p.m., and she confirmed that there was a bean in my belly.
I know you're going to be a good baby because you made your presence known on that stick well before the time stated in the directions. This makes you a good baby because your parents don't like to wait for anything. Hopefully, we've managed to keep this little fact from you because it's not really a good quality, and we hope it doesn't rub off on you. But we really do prefer immediate gratification. For example, we totally plan to make you wait for Christmas Eve or Christmas Day to open up presents, but we'll be opening ours upstairs in our bedroom one to two weeks before Christmas.
Anyway, I ran up the stairs (none too quietly) to tell your dad. "It said yes," I told him, while jumping into bed. He said, "What?" "The test said yes!" I put the pregnancy test on his belly. He fumbled for the light and his glasses, and the test fell. He finally found the light and his glasses. I found the test. He looked at it and, if I remember right, your dad said, "We did it!" We hugged and kissed and he said quietly, "We have so much to do."
We got up and tried to take a picture of the pregnancy test because the directions said that the "YES+" would go away in 30 minutes. While your dad tried to take pictures with my cell phone, his cell phone, and the digital camera, I called your Grama Schulz. It was 2:30 a.m. in Wisconsin, and she didn't mind a bit. (I think your grama has been waiting for you since I got my period.) She called me later that morning from work to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Sadly, none of the pictures turned out, but that stick must be full of pregnant, because it still says yes today.
I told two of my good friends at work that day, Jackie Brown and Lynn Pendergast. Most people wait a while before they make their pregnancy public, but I don't know how. Driving to work, I wondered how the people in the other cars didn't notice I was pregnant. I texted Sandy Zane, who told Debi Edwardson. And they were the only ones I told for a while.
I peed in another cup at Dr. Toohey's office around 2:30 p.m., and she confirmed that there was a bean in my belly.
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