Note to self: must not look at pictures of Stinky Walker on a morning when I’m already having an emotionally tough enough of a time. We still need to pick up his ashes from the vet. I’m not sure either of us is ready for that.
Belly keeps getting bigger. I suppose that happens with pregnancy, but the last few weeks have been wonderful with my little bump. Now, it feels more defined and it’s protruding a bit more, and the anxiety is coming with it. When it was small and confined and he was poking around, all was fine. But the larger I get, the more the reality sinks in: this bebe will need to come out of me at some point, and between that point and now, there’s going to be a whole lot of growing and kicking and a whole lot of belleh. The school weeks are flying, and there’s no slowing down time at all. I’m not ready for this!
I’m wearing the cute sweater my mom sent me. It’s a size too large right now, and I contemplated returning it, as much as I loved it, because it cost enough to get three shirts instead. But it’ll fit well in a few months, and besides, I’m having a “I want to wear Jay’s college sweatshirt to work” kind of day. Hell, I’m having a “I want to wear Jay’s college sweatshirt and spend the day on the couch” kind of day.
Actually, I think I’m having a “I want my mommy” kind of day. And it’s not even 8am. Hello, rollercoaster operator? I’d like to get off now. Thanks.

Sunday, I was feeling like crap. There’s an awful cold going around school, and I was one of the lucky ones who got to test it out first. Still, I was in some serious need of work clothes that fit, so I dragged my ass to the mall. My mom had called me a few times that morning, so after the third time, I called her back from the mall parking lot. I know I must have sounded irritated – I was sick, I was tired, and I just wanted to get something to wear for this week, get home and get to sleep without my phone ringing every five seconds.
Today, a package showed up for me. It was a box with a Motherhood Maternity bag in it and a note from my mom. “Thought you could use some work clothes,” she wrote. “The receipt is there if you need it.” The date on the receipt? Sunday.
She must have been listening to the most random of all statements, grabbed my dad and headed out for some shopping. She knew I wouldn’t spend a lot on myself, and she managed to pick out all the things I wanted to buy but wouldn’t (especially this – it seems crazy to spend so much money on something I’d get a few months of wear out of). Even better? My dad picked out this awesome dress. It’s so completely me.
My parents are still taking care of me, at 30 years old, in their own little ways. Maybe they really are listening, and maybe they do know me better than I realize. If there’s one thing working with at-risk kids has taught me, it’s that I was a very, very lucky girl growing up. I still am – I need to remember to stop and appreciate that.
Gah. Don’t mind me while I get all stupidly sappy. Though, I don’t think it’s the just the hormones making me cry this time.

Yay for cool fall mornings, breaking out my favorite plaid jacket someone once told me was “brave“, silly banter with the hubby and warm gingerbread chai. Our little monkey seems to have woken up on the right side of my belly as well, and he’s dancing all around. Of course, even I had a hard time not dancing in the coffee shop – she was playing that Michael Buble album, and I’m a sucker for the jazzy foot-tappin’ Harry Connick Jr. sound anyway.
At some point this morning, Jay and I turned into our parents. Our heating bill is obnoxious – we live in a 105-year-old house with no insulation. Our first winter, the gas bill hit $550 – a month. Still, the house had to be a whopping 50° this morning, and my little toesies were going numb. I believe the conversation went like this:
Me: (whining) Can’t we turn on the heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeat? I’m blue over here!
Him: No. I don’t want to pay the gas bill.
Me: When are we going to turn it on, then? When it hits 12° outside?
Him: What? Are you suddenly friends with LILCO?
Ok, so maybe he didn’t say that last line, but my dad used to, and he might as well have. (LILCO was the energy company growing up.) Still, it was funny, hearing my mom’s teeth-chattering words coming out of my mouth. I don’t want to pay a ridiculous gas bill either, and really, my toes returned to their normal color shortly after a warm shower – but I’m looking forward to the squeaky, bumpy noise our radiators make when the winter heat starts coming through.
Happy Wednesday. Almost to the weekend of fall raking and pumpkin cookies!

When the little monkey was small, and it was just little flutters in my belleh, it was cute.
The first few real kicks? Pretty cool. Bump bump bump.
Now? I’m terrified. The past hour he’s been playing a whole soccer game by himself, complete with some funky chicken dance for every goal he scores – which is often, since he’s playing by himself! (He plays soccer because even though his daddy insists that football is a more demanding & strategic sport, mommy knows better.)
If he’s rolling around and kicking like this now – and I’m only 18 weeks – what the hell is going to do to me when he’s 36 weeks?
Though I guess this means he’s happy with the tomato-basil-mozz sandwich we had for dinner… score! Or maybe he hates Seinfeld too, and is insisting that I change the channel (nothing else is on). Maybe he’s banging on the uterine wall, begging me to make the awful sounds of Kramer & Jerry go away. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a little being in there who will help ensure I’m not the only one on the planet who hates Seinfeld.
Though I think that maybe, just maybe, we’re both just so very happy to be relaxing on the couch after a long, rough day, and all he’s doing is stretching out and trying to find a comfortable position. Maybe he’s even practicing his stretch-and-yawn move for when he tries to pick up Emily or I-belle (or Keegan! Who knows?) 17 years from now.
(It’s VERY strange to be home alone and still be saying things like “we.” I’m never going to be alone again until after he pops on out, am I?)

How did I end up so lucky?

Jason: how are you feeling?
Erika: ok, not bad. I think I was too wired to notice anything though. We’ll see what I feel like when I lie down.
Jason: yeah
Erika: doctor’s orders
Jason: to lie down?
Erika: “lie down, put your feet up, and see if the pain goes away with position change.”
Jason: and there was no “have your husband rub your feet and do the laundry and wash the floors and take out the trash”?
Erika: I think there may have been

When I was in high school, my friend Jen and I would spend afternoons having belching contests. We’d hang out in her room and chug glasses of soda, and then rate each other based on duration, quality, tone, volume and random other things. We’d ask her mom if she could hear us all the way in the kitchen – that’s when we knew we had a winner.
I know, I was such a little lady.
As I got older, this little game slipped out of my regular entertainment line-up, and I became very demure, delicately touching a napkin to my lips and making the littlest sound possible. (Jay’s laughing his ass off at this point, I’m sure. Me? Demure?) Luckily, though, I have a husband who is mightily impressed when I (very rarely) attempt to shake the windows with a good ol’ buuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp. Gross, yes. Sucking down soda for the best, loudest burp ever – fun? Oh yes.
Yeah. Until pregnancy. Eek.
Good lord, you would have thought someone was stabbing me in my lungs last night. Even doubled over a pillow, there was no relief. Tums just weren’t cutting it. I woke up this morning really scared because my belly was so swollen and I was in scarily intense pain. I mean, really, it’s my fault for craving something a little sweeter than boring water and instead of jazzing up a glass with lime juice or something, I made the one-time mistake of drinking a bottle of fizzy flavored water with dinner.
I will never, ever, ever do that again. Ever. I will live by my bottle of Poland Spring for the rest of this pregnancy, I swear.
Welcome to the world of pregnancy TMI – a whole side of Eka you’d rather not read about over your morning eggs.

My beautiful girlies:
Su, Jessie and little baby Emily
Sometimes a morning with the girlies is all it takes to make things right again – especially when there’s a new little girl to love and kiss and cuddle and hold. Welcome to the world, little baby Emily Lauren. We’ve been waiting for you, and you’re just as beautiful as we imagined you’d be.

So apparently I strapped myself into the pregnancy hormonal rollercoaster four days ago, and the ride shows no signs of ending. I mean, really – I hate rollercoasters – I passed out on the log flume when I was 10, for chrissakes!
I can almost pinpoint the start of it: I was trying to get ready for work and was feeling overwhelmed by stupid things, like how I had to shove my feet into shoes that had fit two days before. Two minutes before I was supposed to leave, I had my head buried in Jay’s shirt and was trying desperately to not get mascara all over it.
Ummmm, what the eff?
It continued – it seems like every day I need to have one huge meltdown, and the rest of the time, the little sobs are right behind my eyes, just taunting me. And it’s totally the stupid things that trigger it – though yesterday, I was a huge mess for a good reason. We came home and I immediately fell asleep on the couch. Hours later, when I crawled into bed, I asked Jay to get me Panda from the corner of the room.
Confession: I have a very, very old teddy bear that I sleep with when I’m upset. I’ve had him for close to 25 years. He’s one of those carnival stuffed animals and he’s got little rips all over him, so when we wake up, there are little styrofoam balls all over the place. His whole body flops over because he’s missing so much of his insides – yet it’s amazing how much better I feel when I have him with me.
I mean, I know that I am okay, and I know that it’s all just hormones and lack of sleep, but good lord – I almost cried this morning because Maxfield won’t be my little boy anymore, I don’t have jeans that fit anymore and it’s finally cold out, Jay is running a very sweet errand for me at 8 in the morning, and well, because I’m worried about my little monkey boy.
How the hell am I supposed to be responsible for a little baby – to be somebody’s mom – if I still need a floppy old stuffed animal to help me get to sleep?

Hi – we’re home and absolutely exhausted. It’s been a bit of an emotional roller coaster kind of week. Jay lost his grandmother on Wednesday, we’ve had the quad panel results hanging over us for days, the kids were full moon psycho at school and I had a meltdown Thursday – it’s just been an exhausting week.
So the plan for today: genetics counselor, ultrasound, fetal maternal specialist. Fun way to spend a Friday, let me tell you!
The genetics counselor sucked and made us feel as though we had already been definitively told our baby had Down’s Syndrome – which we hadn’t. I didn’t know if I was ready for what they might find in the ultrasound, and the way we were feeling after talking to her, it wasn’t what they might, but what they would. Blech.
But some deeping breathing, Jay kisses and several boxes of tissues later, we headed down for the ultrasound. He was bouncy but stubborn. They got most of the shots they needed (still definitely a boy!). No DS markers that they could see (amen!), but they couldn’t get a good shot of his heart (need to see all 4 ventricles) or his nose (need to check for the cartilage). We need to go back in two weeks for our FIFTH ultrasound to see if they can get a better view. I do have a SUA (single umbilical artery) which is present in some DS cases, but can also be a stand-alone issue of its own. Regardless of the outcome of the last two DS markers, we need to keep an eye on the SUA and his growth. Right now, he’s smack dab in the middle – 54%. Good boy.
So good news, mostly. She can’t change our odds because of the SUA, so 1 in 96 we will stay. BUT, we didn’t get moved to 1 in 50 or 1 in 10, so I’m happy. Here’s hoping those last two will be a-ok too – and that we’ll get to see more of him than his spine. I want to see those chubby cheeks, my little monkey boy!

What is up with those Boobahs? Do people actually let their kids watch them? It’s worse than the Teletubbies – it’s like Po & Dipsy dropped acid. Still, we just couldn’t turn it off. Trippy stuff.
Then our chinese food showed up and we had to turn it off, because the combination of grease and rainbow trails were making us sick. What is it about chinese food that cures any cold – at least for a few hours? I wanted wonton soup, and of course we had to get a side of general tso’s and some crab rangoons. I’d feel bad, except for the fact that I’ve had chinese food once since I’ve been pregnant. (Ok, ok, so I do feel kinda bad. Poor kid really doesn’t deserve the influx of sodium and grease. Mommy, however, desperately needed deep-fried cream cheese after the week she’s had. Carrot sticks and yogurt just were not going to cut it.)
I think the MSG in the food gave me the giggles. Something did. Jay and I were talking about how in 17 years, this kid in mah belly is going to want a fast car. Jay pulled out this way scary dad voice and said something like, “You’re getting a ‘77 Honda Civic Wagon. If it was good enough for me, it’s good enough for you.”
I was lying on the floor and I laughed so hard that I was crying. He was so serious and I don’t think he realized how dad-like he sounded. When did we get so old? My sides hurt from giggling so much.
We’re off to the ultrasound. Cross your fingers that all goes well. Thanks.