Gold stars for everyone!

Heeeeeeeeey you guuuuuuuys.

It's a good day today. I need to hold onto this. Nurture it. Store it in my memory before the daily heartburn kicks in and I want to face plant in the middle of the street during rush hour. Only I'd have to back plant because I can't lie face down while nearly six months pregnant. 

Though, I can't lie on my back either. 


Basically I'll just carefully curl into the fetal position, okay? It's fine. Leave me be. 

I had my 26-week checkup with my doctor this morning and every minute of it made me feel super. I peed in the cup and not on my hand. My blood pressure was perfect. My weight, strangely, is down two pounds from two weeks ago, bringing my total weight gain to 20 pounds in nearly six months, which feels entirely reasonable and okay to me. I passed my glucose test with flying colors. Big, bright, brilliant colors. I'm nowhere near anemic (we weren't really worried, but I like bonus points). Baby's heartbeat remains perfect and he remains crazy, as my doctor officially diagnosed while chasing him around my belly with her magic wand. I'm having no real troubles, beyond, you know, heartburn and restless sleep and a life of panty liners. But considering what could be happening, hooray! 

Things I do not have: gestational diabetes, contractions, bleeding, PROBLEMS. 

As much as pregnancy isn't particularly the most fun I've ever had in my whole life, darnit I am doing such a good job! Physically. Mentally I'm still like, "But do I really look like that? Will I ever run for real again? Is my vagina going to die?" 

So, we're okay here. It's just the usual. There is medication for being neurotic. 

Everything is lovely today.

Maybe today is my day. The golden second trimester I've heard about. The glow. I have been given exactly one day instead of 13 weeks. It's been given to me just before I enter the hell of third trimester. This is fine with me. I'll take my one day, thanks. 

I'll celebrate with ice cream because I missed National Ice Cream Day on Sunday and Todd wouldn't* let me get any yesterday, so I deserve some today. Obviously. Besides, I don't have gestational diabetes, okay? I AM FINE.

      *by wouldn't I mean I was too lazy to get my own ice cream; Todd remains a saint

I also think it's no coincidence that I woke up early this morning to squeeze in my short, pleasant two-mile run before work and I swear to god exercise is the magic elixir of life. I feel monumentally better than I have in almost two weeks. You'd think I'd know this by now, but alas, pregnancy has not made me smarter by any means. One may argue the opposite has occurred. ONE WOULD BE WRONG, but one is free to argue for the sake of arguing. 

Real, live baby things are also beginning to happen in our home. We scored huge over the weekend at a friend's garage sale. HUGE. We've got baby boy clothes to stock him up until he's about 17. Or at least 18 months old, but still. Two Rock 'n Play sleepers (because why not?), a grocery cart cover, a backup diaper bag, some more maternity tops, Halo Sleep Sacks for days, swaddles, burp rags, his first car. 

Just kidding, not really a car. He will get a job and buy his own car. And one for me, too. I deserve it.

Because I am a crazy person, I washed all four loads of baby laundry, sorted by size and season, and arranged them all in his closet appropriately using science and math. He will be the most organized human baby that ever existed. Even if he's not, his mama will sure be happy. And what's most important here, come on?

Todd just looked at me like I was crazy. He is blessed. 

He is also Bob Vila. 

He has sanded and primed the former wood paneling in the nursery. He has ripped out shitty wall framing and replaced the crowning along the ceiling. (I have henceforth banned the word "crowning" from our vocabulary until post-birth). He's started painting the walls. THINGS ARE HAPPENING. 

I also used voodoo dragon magic (and pregnancy death stares) to convince him to let us rip the old, bullshit carpeting out of the room to uncover BEAUTIFUL hardwood floors for our precious, tiny human who deserves nothing but the best, but especially beautiful hardwood floors. He can never say I didn't give him anything. 

Todd resisted the carpet shenanigans. Ohhhhhhhhh, he resisted. But... but. The carpet is fine. (No it's not). It's a lot of work. (We have lots of time). But... no. (But YES). But. (STARE). 

So we crossed our fingers and ripped. After removing some staples and replacing the baseboards, that floor is going to be the most beautiful floor we've seen since looking at the rest of the beautiful hardwood flooring in our home. 



I feel so excited about all of it. We're going with gray and white walls and decor, with hints of pastels and mountains and forest. We're creating for him his own little version of the mountain life he can't have, but we dream of. 


Which brings us to marriage, which is still pretty fun and we're pretty good at it so far. If "good" means we're willing to drive 30 minutes to the nearest Taco John's for dinner because we both love it deeply, he hassles me to keep Luna from peeing on the wood chips, and I chastise him for trying to get into bed with his smelly running clothes still on. 

It's a true partnership. We're making each other (and the dog) better. With our powers combined, we've for sure created the perfect baby. 

I guess we'll find out in three months. 

Oh my god.

At least he'll have an amazing floor, if nothing else...

AND SUPER RAD PARENTS. Who may or may not agree on the cost and necessary quality of basic storage shelving options for a tiny half-bathroom utilized only for potty purposes and tooth-brushing by small and currently-unborn children. And regularly cleaned and maintained by yours truly.

We'll always have Taco John's. Bless you, John of Tacos.