Childbirth Class, a.k.a. My Pathetic Attempt to Care for a Baby Doll

We had our final childbirth class Monday evening. This was the session where we were given life-size baby dolls and taught the basics of caring for an infant. Considering neither of us have ever even changed a diaper, this was a particularly enlightening evening.

In our class, BJ and I had an African-American little girl, so I immediately had to make the incredibly lame joke, "Do you have any questions for me, BJ?" Following the lame joke, we were taught how to change a diaper and change a onesie. It took me forever to change the diaper because I couldn't figure out exactly how high to place it on the baby dolls back, and I failed miserably at removing the onesie until BJ showed me how I was maneuvering around the arms completely wrong.

Next, we learned to swaddle. BJ did this part. His swaddle was absolute perfection. It was quickly executed, tight, neat looking, and all around wonderful. Of course, he's read up on swaddling and had slightly different opinions from the instructor on how to handle the arms, so he implemented his own technique. Regardless, it was the best swaddle in the class, and once again, I'm left very thankful to have such an efficient husband. It softens the edges on my stumbling attempt at life. (As a side note, how can I make it through college with a 4.0 and not be able to change a diaper on an inanimate object? I make no sense.)

Besides birth classes, we are also busy this week with a gospel meeting at church. Last night, one of the ladies at church came up to me to tell me something her 7-ish year old grandson had said. Apparently, I was walking across the parking lot to the church building when they arrived, and he said, "Grandma, BJ's girl has got something wrong with her belly." I don't know which is better: that I'm "BJ's girl" or that there is "something wrong" with my belly.

Cuteness Abounds

Last weekend, I went out shopping for a coming home outfit. I spent hours going through baby clothes in several department stores. I think I could look at little boy clothes for days on end and not get tired of it. Finally, I settled on this one:


Now, I feel, is an opportune time to look at the different levels of cuteness displayed in this ensamble.

First, we have the teddy-bear ears on the hoody. Teddy-bear are by definition cute.


Then we have the little footsies that are bear faces. Footsies are cute, and bear faces are cute. This makes bear-faced footsies very, very cute.


Next, there is the little bear embroidered on the jacket. It is like a stamp of cuteness.


And lastly, we have the onesie. Onesies are the ultimate baby clothing, so therefore, they are the ultimate in cute. This particular onesie adds a whole new dimension off cuteness to the overall look by putting the bears with mooses. Mooses are cute.


I've already got our little guy's bag packed and ready to go with his coming-home outfit in place along with a hat knitted by his Nana and some swaddles.

With less than a month left in the pregnancy, I'm starting to get so excited I'm restless. When I'm too high strung to go to sleep, I pull out this outfit from the diaper bag and stare at it. It doesn't really help me wind down and sleep, but that isn't the point. The point is that in a few weeks I'm going to have a son, and I will bundle his cuteness into this cute outfit and bring him home, and that will be a truly happy occassion.

Randomness: Catching Up with an Old Friend, Nesting, and My Fat-ness

One of my closest friends from college, Kayla, came down to Farmington this past weekend for a baby shower the church threw me Sunday afternoon. We had a wonderful time catching up and, of course, eating. That's what Fat Tuesday girls do. We talk and eat.


The shower was lovely, and the baby is now basically fully equipped.


I've been working on his area in our room for the past few weeks. We finally got his bedding totally finished.


This is the gorgeous rocking chair my parents got us from the Amish village near our home.


Here is a close up of the bedding. Of course, Mom made the quilt, and I made the bumper pads from quilt scraps.


There is a lot more to the baby's area, but I'm going to save those pictures until I finish putting up everything from this past shower.

As a side note, I am now officially 8 months pregnant according to my baby book. Although I haven't really posted the traditional 'belly pictures' this whole pregnancy, I thought I would throw one up now that I'm nearing the finish line. Mainly, I decided to do this because I am now looking comically large and I thought everyone might enjoy a good laugh. BJ literally giggles every time he looks at me. For those of you who are thinking, "I just can't imagine BJ giggling," he now giggles. Just trust me.

6 weeks to go

Throughout my elementary, junior high, and high school years, grades were always done in six week cycles. Considering my life basically revolved around my grades (I was, am, and ever shall be a nerd), I approached life in six-week segments. I guess that is why it seems like a big deal to me that I've reached the 6-weeks-to-go point of my pregnancy. There are a lot of thoughts circulating through my mind at this point, but here is a sampling, for better or worse:

-I'm going to worry a lot about this person for the rest of my life. If he has a slow morning with little movement, I start panicking and poking him until he wakes up and does some aerobics for me. If I worry this much now, what am I going to do when he goes to Kindergarten or his first field trip or summer camp or (oh, my soul) college!?!

-I couldn't possibly get any bigger. Surely not. It couldn't happen. Ever. Right?

-This is going to hurt. I mean, getting him from point A to point B is going to hurt. Big time. (I don't care what anyone says, this thought has to run through the mind of every pregnant woman at some point.)

-I'm tired of keeping his name a secret. I like his name and I dislike secrets. See how this is a problem?

-A mouse might send me into premature labor. No, really, it might. I saw a mouse in our kitchen (first one ever) Tuesday night. I had a massive panic attack and made BJ immediately run to the store and get a whole slew of mouse-killing products. In the mean time, I'm still panicking. Last night, I wash clothe fell off of the kitchen counter onto me foot. Immediately assuming it was a mouse, I royally freaked to the point that I actually had a contraction. Let me make this clear: A wash rag I confused for a mouse gave me a contraction.

-My ribs hurt. He ran out of room about three weeks ago, but he keeps growing.

-I love how joyful babies make people. I contacted a professor of mine from ACU this week to ask for a reference, and in his response email, he congratulated me on the baby and told me a little about the birth of his son. It was a sweet story that made me day. Related to this point, people keep grinning at my belly everywhere I go. I wish I had a hidden camera on me to capture all the goofy smiles I get.

-My brother is going to be an uncle. This could get interesting.

-I have to pee, again. You've got to be kidding me.

-The constant rib pain and bladder discomfort and shortness of breath is making it very had to censor myself. I keep saying what I'm thinking, which is never a good thing. Poor BJ. He had no idea how much I was holding back before.

-If I love this little boy this much now, what will it be like after he is born? I keep trying to picture it, but it is beyond me.

As more thoughts come, I'll try to keep you posted. Then, 18 years from now, I can show my son what I was thinking as I awaited his arrival. And he can say, "Wow, Mom, that must have been really humiliating for you."

The Great Baby-moon

(Disclaimer: If the photos and text are doing funky things with their alignment, please ignore. Blogger is being wierd about it. Or I'm being stupid. It is one of those things.)

BJ and I returned late Sunday evening from our "baby-moon" in Chicago. We had a truly wonderful time.

We dropped our dogs off at BJ's parents' home in Alton the previous Sunday evening and left early Monday morning on the Amtrak for Union Station. I am now a big fan a train travel. Basically, you get to sit back, relax, and read while someone else does the driving. As you can tell from the photo on the left, BJ has now corrupted me to such a point that I am actually reading his uber-nerdy fantasy books.

We stayed at the Whitehall Hotel. It is actually considered a historical landmark in Chicago. It is only a half of a block from Michigan Avenue and only two blocks from the Water Tower (and, more importantly, the Ghiradelli Store - yum!) Since it is a very old hotel, the rooms were really quiant. Being a lover of all things old, I adored it.

Monday afternoon, we went to Shedd Aquarium, which was really fun to go through. Then, we took a water taxi across the lake to Navy Pier for dinner. After an entire month of sweltering heat in Kentucky, we were really into the lake breeze and Chicago's lower-80s and upper-70s temps. This is us on the boat. Please ignore my wispies. My hair does funny thing in wind.

On Tuesday, we went to the Field Museum and the Art Institute. Here are some random pictures we took while walking to the places.

This is in front of the Art Institute.

On our last day in Chicago, we went to the Lincoln Park Zoo and the Conservatory.

Thursday morning, we headed back to Alton, and Friday, we went to Markle, Indiana for a baby shower with BJ's family. It was so nice seeing everyone.

And, of course, we got way too much cute stuff for the baby.

Overall, it was just a splendid week. I now feel ready to face the next seven weeks, which looks to include seven-ish more weeks of work, more intense rib pain and daily swelling of the feet, lots of organizing around the house trying to fit truck loads of baby stuff, unimaginable pain, and (wha-lah) a baby! I can do this. No really, I can.