Sugar and Spice...

...and everything nice, that's what little girls are made of! Yes, it's true! Bitty Bebe is no longer an "it." We have a little girl on the way! A petite fille. I learned the baby's gender at my ultrasound on Tuesday, but waited until Father's Day to share the news with Mark. I almost caved and told him on three separate occasions over the course of the week, but I'm glad I held out, and so was he. He liked the suspense this morning. I broke the news to him with a non-gender specific green gift bag, and the surprise was revealed by the baby girl outfit inside.

I think Mark is still in shock or denial or something, he was POSITIVE that it would be a boy. I'll spare you the ultrasound photo, but the technician was able to get a full-on crotch shot and was pretty confident that we had a "she" on our hands. Even so, I'm saving my receipts juuuuuust in case. And, can I just say that I am loving the fact that we have our first embarrassing baby photo to show to her future prom date.

Product Quality Tester

Riley approves of the car seat.

Still Mindless

I've done it again. Another wardrobe malfunction.

Today was hot. Ninety degree stagnant DC weather. I thought a cottony white dress would be a smart thing to wear to work today. About half way through my commute to work, I realized: I forgot to change my underwear this morning. And they are bright orange.

I glanced down, maybe no one will be able to tell. Oh, but you could...it was as obvious as trying to hide an elephant beneath a Kleenex.

Time to problem solve. No time to stop at Wal-Mart, but maybe CVS sold underwear. I had about 15 minutes before I had to be at work, so this would have to be quick. I searched up and down the aisles to no avail. Oh Lord, can I go bare bottom today? Ew, there had to be something. I stopped briefly to consider the Depends...they're white, right? No, no, I just can't go there.

I made a final plea to the sales clerk. They are in aisle four, near the hosiery, she answered. But I had looked there! Making a second sweep through the aisle, there I found them, two lonely little hooks of undergarments, hidden at the bottom of the rack in a sea of L'eggs. I had two types to choose from: High-Waisted and Full Coverage Briefs (read: Granny panties and Great Granny panties).

I went with the plain old Granny variety, and I have to tell you, they were quite comfortable. Today's lessons: Beware of White Dresses and Don't Underestimate Granny Panties.

First Ultrasound

Bitty Bebe waves hello!

Like An Olympic Athlete

Today, Mark and I went to our first "real" OB appointment. This appointment went far better that my previous appointment for several reasons.

I had my first visit with the doctor to confirm my pregnancy at ten weeks. Among other things, she tried to listen for the baby's heartbeat, unsuccessfully. The doc said that I had a retro-something uterus, which made the baby difficult to hear at this point. A retro uterus? I kept picturing it with an afro and bell bottoms and smoking a doobie.

I have never been much of a fan of needles. The rational part of me knows that it's no big deal, but something in my subconscious makes extreme anxiety about needles protruding from my body occasionally prevail. Unfortunately, this was one of those times. I really don't have much of a recollection of the incident. I just remember feeling a prick in my arm, and I glanced over and got a short glimpse of blood. I began feeling all hot and my hearing seemed muffled. Why are these lights so bright? I thought, so I closed my eyes. The last words I remember hearing were "She's going down!" from one of the nurses, and the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground with my feet up on a chair. Of course, I was wearing a dress and thongs so my bare ass was hanging out like I was open for business. I suppose if you're going to flash strangers, an OB/GYN office is the least offensive place to do it.

This time, the visit was much more productive. As usual, a nurse checked my weight and blood pressure first thing. After taking one look at me, she exclaimed, "Oh, I remember you!" Yep, I now have a reputation at the office as that fainting girl.

Much to my excitement, the doctor was able to find the baby's heartbeat the moment she placed the doppler on my abdomen. The fetal heartbeat was 160, which according to an old wives' tale a faster heartbeat means girl?? We were given a due date of November 26th, the day after Thanksgiving. At this point I am nearly through the first trimester. Once the doctor was through, the lab technician came in to take another blood sample. She informed me that from now on I should be laying down when I have blood drawn. Finally, Mark has medical professionals that will confirm what he has said all along...I'm high-maintenance.

My Obsession

I am obsessed with ice cream.

I have always been a lover of the delectable, creamy, sweet treat, but during my pregnancy mere enjoyment has turned into a fiending addiction.

Last week, Mark came home from work and wanted to know what the deal was with the three containers of Edy's that appeared in the freezer. For my milkshakes, of course. Baby needs calcium, right? He just doesn't understand.

Today, I made homemade ice cream for the first time. Fresh mint. It was heavenly. The revelation that I can make my own ice cream...whatever kind I want...in as little as an hour...has my heart pumping with excitement and my mind racing with the possibilities. I can make strawberry basil on a hot summer day. Or minty lime when I'm craving a mojito. Salted caramel, lemon rosemary, cherry cheesecake, fudgy marshmallow brownie...

I need a twelve-step program.

The Mind Goes Before the Middle

There are certain side effects of pregnancy that I fully expected when I realized that I was cooking one in the oven. Cravings of pickles and ice cream, bouts of nausea, ballooning boobs and a bloated belly were squarely on my radar as surfacing symptoms. What I wasn't prepared for was the sudden plummet in my IQ. Pregnancy brain--it comes on fast and it comes on strong.

I've read a bunch of garbage about whether pregnancy brain "really exists," and that "research data" does not support the notion, but I will tell you that it sure as hell does.

In my own case, annoyed requests of "Mrs. Bittenbender, can you please take your attendance?" have become frequent pleas coming from the loudspeaker in my classroom. I have on several occasions left the house sans purse, and need I mention the backwards sundress incident?

Last weekend there was a lost car situation. After a grocery trip to Whole Foods, I paraded around the first floor of the parking garage with my loaded shopping cart, searching desperately for the location of my parked car, only to realize (after examining every possible parking space) that I had parked on the second floor.

Yesterday, I was convinced that I must have been being punk'd by the gas station. I decided to stop and fill up the tank after work. The entire distance between my school and the gas station I thought about the two partially used Shell gift cards in my wallet (I remembered it this time). Sweet! There is a Shell station right on the way. My fill up wouldn't cost a thing. I pulled into the station and up to the pump, and swiped the first of my gift cards. Authorizing, authorizing, authorizing...went on and on until I canceled the transaction to try the other gift card. Same result. Exasperated, fussy, and annoyed, I tried both cards twice more. I glared at the cashier inside the foodmart. I thought, why isn't that fool coming to help me? Clearly, there is something wrong with this machine. I looked back at the gas pump searching for some sort of clue as to what could possibly be the problem.

And then I saw it.
A sticker on the pump.
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