Baby, baby, baby

I'll let BJ share the big news:


Thursday night, my parents and brother arrived from Texas. Friday, I had the big ultrasound (with BJ and my mom in the room!) and we found out that the little baby that has been kicking me a lot these days is all boy. He moved around for us, waved, flipped, sucked his thumb, yawned, and even went spread-eagle so that we are absolutely certain he is a boy. He measured beautifully on all counts. While I've always thought ultrasound photos were kind of creepy, my son happens to have absolutely adorable ultrasound photos. Shocker, huh?

Saturday morning, Mom and I, with Dad and Bro tagging along, went fabric shopping for the crib quilt.


It took lots of discussion...


and studying...



and examining of fabrics...


but eventually, we came home with the fabric for an adorable, dog-themed crib set:


And speaking of dogs, guess who had a wonderful weekend with the family in town.


This guy did.

Musings on approaching parenthood

Saturday evening, BJ and I went to a wedding at our church. It was a huge wedding, and our building couldn't fit everybody, so BJ and I ended up sitting in the nursery and watching the wedding through a window into the auditorium.

About halfway through the ceremony, a grandfather brought in his 3 month-old granddaughter to changer her diaper. While he worked in the corner, I leaned over to BJ to make this inquiry: "Have you ever changed a diaper?" Unsurprisingly, BJ answered, "Nope, never," to which I had to respond, "Me neither."

Now, we're going to be parents in approximately four and a half months. Of course, there are lots of people at church who would be happy to let us practice changing a diaper with their babies, but I have no intention of learning that skill until I have to, and as far as I'm concerned, I don't have to until around October 20th. If I do learn before then, I would like to learn with something poop-free, like a baby doll or a football. So basically, Baby Gensic's life is going to be one giant experiment in parenting. It should make for some interesting blogging material when the time comes.

The U.S. Census survey just put out a list of the ten worst-paying college degrees. Art and Theology were both on there. BJ and I are so screwed.

Nightly Excursions

As a pregnant woman, I get up at least twice a night for bathroom trips. Typically, these excursions take place at 2:00 am and 4:00 am. Apparently, my bladder is on a very strict schedule. Recently, I've had a few more obstacles than usual.

First off, there is Gus. Gus is a very hot-natured dog (who wouldn't be with all that fur?). In the winter, this doesn't pose a problem. He sleeps in carpeted areas of the house like a normal dog. But the second the temperature starts rising above freezing, Gus starts spending his time on the coolest surface in the house: our tile floor in the bathroom. And to make it even cooler, he cuddles up around the coolest object in our house: our porcelain toilet. Let me give you a visual:


So for the past couple of months, my groggy self has had a challenge using the bathroom. It takes a careful sideways maneuvering that is too complicated to go into right now.

My other obstacle comes upon my return to bed. I'm not sure why, but for the past few weeks, BJ has started rolling over to my side of the bed anytime I get up. He's asleep, of course, so he has no idea he's doing it, but he literally leaves me about a foot of bed space. Although I hate disturbing his sleep, I have to ask him to move over. Last night, this is how that went:

Me: BJ, sweety, I need you to move over. You're on my side of the bed.
BJ: Hmm. *several sleepy groans* The bed, what?
Me: I need you to move over a little bit. I don't have any room.
BJ (in a tone of sudden enlightenment): Oh, the couch.

At this point he turned over and back unto his side of the bed. I have no idea what the couch thing was about, but it made perfect sense to him, and I did finally get my side of the bed back.

So these are the adventures of a pregnant lady whose bladder is now apparently the size of a peanut. In our house, at least, it is an adventure.

Is it silly that after nearly four years of marriage, I still get excited about weekday lunch dates with my husband? A hot plate of Chinese food and good company are pretty much the only things that can make Mondays bearable.

In other exciting news, my parents are coming up for Memorial Day! I haven't seen them since Christmas, and a lot has happened since then. Primarily, their daughter looks like she's been eating too much Ben and Jerry's every night for the past four months. But it isn't Ben and Jerry's. Its a baby.

These are things to be smiled about.

Our own shag rug

As dogs age, they get calmer. With Labs like Sienna, this is a phenomenon for which you eagerly await. Since BJ grew up with Labs, he (and therefore I) assumed that most dogs were on a similar life path consisting of two to three years of high energy followed by the golden years of being a good, calm dog. This assumption is what has made Gus seem like such an anomoly. He's been a good ole' calm dog since we acquired him at six weeks old. During Gus's first year with us, we used to muse over what kind of dog he would grow to be. Our running joke was that as lazy as he was at only a few months old, he would probably be comatose by the time he reached three. Turns out, our joke was somewhat prophetic.

This January, Gus turned three years old. Since then, he hasn't really moved. You may have noticed that all the pictures I've posted of him lately have been him laying down. That is because he rarely, and I mean rarely, ever stands up. He's a good big brother, and he plays with Zoe, but he doesn't actually stand to do it. He just lays down and swats at her as she runs in circles around him. We had two extra dogs in the house this weekend (BJ's parents visited). The other dogs had a good time running in the yard, and Zoe and Buster wrestled around the house. Gus did none of this. I think he saw Buster's visit as a welcome vacation from entertaining Zoe. Apparently the whole laying and swating thing can get exhausting.

I would worry about this incredible onset of lethargy, but I'm pretty sure it is just Gus. You may remember that BJ and I spent a ridiculous amount of money at the vet trying to figure out Gus when he was about six months old, and the eventual diagnosis was that he was just weird and a little stupid. Even though dogs do change a lot in their first three years of life, I'm pretty sure Gus has not changed on those particular facets of his personality.

Warning: This post gets messy

Zoe has a problem. You see, she produces enough slobber for about 6 very large dogs. Basically, she has no control over whatever makes saliva, so I spend a lot of time going around cleaning up her slobber. I prefer cleaning Gus's hair. Anyways, the drooling gets particularly out of control during her's and BJ's feeding ritual. In his never-ending attempt to turn this bad dog into a good dog, BJ makes Zoe lay down before she can have her breakfast, lunch, or dinner. For a food-obsessed dog like Zoe, this is the very definition of torture, and as she waits for the go-ahead from the ultimate alpha-dog, BJ, she can't help but drool gallons. I, of course, find the whole torturing and dominance battle entertaining. Did I mention that I have no life.

Anyways, her is a picture of Zoe in those moments of torment while the food is right in front of her, yet so very far away.


Let's get a closer look at that saliva action.


Sometimes it bubbles. Is that too much information?


Considering I now have at least three blog post in which we are tormenting Zoe, I think I should probably take a break from Zoe posts before PETA finds me. Which of course means, (since, as I mentioned earlier, I have no life) my next post will most likely be concerning Gus.

Tony has always been very reliable. I know that he will be at the back door every morning when I let Gus out, and I know that he'll be mewing at the front door everyday when I get home from work.

Unfortunately, for the past week, he hasn't been at either place. We found out from our neighbor that Tony was killed by a car last week.

It feels weird not having Tony around. I walked to the cat food section the other day by habit only to remember I don't need cat food anymore.

Of course, Tony was the type of pet who would not have approved of me being all sappy upon his passing. He was a really horrible cat, and he was proud of that. Zoe has scars to prove that he was tougher than dogs. He was also smarter than dogs, but then again, Gus and Zoe are idiots, so the competition wasn't very steep in our house.

The oddest thing about his passing is that we no longer have Sienna or Tony, the pets we started our marriage with. Right as we are starting a new phase in life, we've lost one of the main symbols in my mind of our first years together.

And now we are left with just Gus and Zoe. Gus, the lovable mutt who is pretty much just fluff and goodness, and Zoe, the Great Dane who daily spreads cheer and saliva, but mostly saliva. Our child is coming into a interesting family, and now that Tony has gone to that place in the sky where there is an endless supply of tuna, he or she is probably coming into a safer family as well.

A Moment of Cheese

This morning, BJ and I heard our baby's heartbeat. It was without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Grinning, our doctor said, "That just sounds so good, you don't ever want to stop listening." Exactly.

Frustration Abounds

Occasionally, by brother's incredible absent-mindedness can become very troublesome to me. This week, it has truly been a thorn in my side.

I've been having one of those weeks where I just need to talk with my brother. I'm used to having pretty much unlimited access to him, so I typically talk to him on the phone several times a day. I know. It seems a bit excessive, but that's how we roll. Anyways, last weekend, he went home for Easter, and if you know me brother, you know that he never goes home without forgetting something (this is a quirk I happen to share). So this time, he forgot his phone charger. Usually, he would have a back-up with his car phone charger, but guess what? He forgot that one in Menard several months ago and has yet to remember it.

Now, living in these modern times, we have other back-up plans. My family uses Skype for special occasions, such as birthdays, so we decided to get on Skype last night. Immediately after logging on, I knew something was wrong. While he could hear me just fine, all I could catch was a syllable here and there from him. After both fiddling with our computers for 10 to 15 minutes, he typed this in the IM section: "I dropped some books on my web cam earlier." First off, yeah, that could be the problem. Secondly, who breaks their webcam by dropping books on it? Seriously, who does that?

So after three days of not really talking, I'm going through some serious withdrawals. Hopefully, his charger comes in the mail today, because I have a whole slew of random, meaningless, and border-line inappropriate things to say, and he is pretty much the only person willing to listen to me. Yes, let us all hope that charger comes in today.

Zoe and the Mystery of Passing Gas

Zoe is an idiot of a dog. She is seriously just not smart.

Not long after we got Zoe, we discovered just how stupid she can be in a rather odd way. We had known for a while that she was scared of her own gas. Every time she had a little toot, she would start running in circles sniffing her rear end and generally freaking out. But what really made us aware of her stupidity happened one day while playing Wii. BJ was having a bad game of golf, and after a particularly disappointing round, he unthinkingly made a tooting-type sound with his mouth. Immediately, Zoe started doing exactly what she would do when she herself passed gas. Since she is a dog, I can't pretend to know the motivation behind the things she does, but it was truly as if she couldn't figure out if her own body had made that sound and if so, why it would do such a thing.

After months of this, BJ and I still get a kick out of making the occasional toot sound and watching her panic and look at her own rear. Since we enjoy it so much, we thought you might also enjoy it. Here is a little video we made tonight of Zoe in a panicked state of confusion. You can ignore that last 10 seconds or so - I rarely use my camera for recording video, so I forgot how to stop. And of course, this computer doesn't have the right software for editing. But you should still get the general jest. As I said before, Zoe is an idiot.

Ten Weeks In

I hit 10 weeks in my pregnancy this week. Not too far along, but nearing the end of the first trimester. The nausea is easing, although it is still very present. I am now waking up two to three times a night for bathroom runs, which is seriously putting a hitch in my sleep cycle, but it is becoming a common part of life.

Last night at church, a group of ladies pointed out that they can now see my baby bump. This made me laugh because the bump is getting ridiculously noticeable. I've known women who didn't 'look' pregnant until several months into their pregnancy. I'm not one of those woman. We had a candle lit the other night, and I just about freaked out when I saw my shadow on the wall. I can't even recognize it anymore.

Honestly, this is all that has been gong on in my life the past few weeks. Pregnancy seems to take over pretty much everything. I can't do much besides being pregnant because I never feel good. So I'm basically sitting around while God is growing a baby inside of me. It is busy work. I may not look busy when I'm laying around all day moaning over my nausea, but believe me, I'm busy.

Checking the Vital Signs

When I was about 10 years old, I came down with a case of the flu. I was out of school for several days, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, my dad is a chronic worrier, so every time I got sick with anything was a time to panic.

I'll never forget what happened one of the nights I was sick during this spell. I was laying on the couch sleeping when suddenly the feeling of someone else being present woke me up. As my eyes opened, I saw Dad leaning over my chest checking to see if I was breathing. I whispered, "Dad, what are you doing?", and he jumped about a mile high. He had been so busy concentrating on my vital signs, he was more than I little shocked to find me awake.

Over the years, this story has provided a lot of laughs for my family. It is the perfect example of the neurosis so pervasive on my dad's side of the family, a neurosis I've inherited in fine form. But Monday, the story became a little more than a joke to me. Monday was our first ultra sound, and for the first time, I saw our baby's heart beating. It was pounding away at an astonishing 173 beats a minute. The pictures we brought home are fairly unimpressive. He or she is currently a blob with other smaller blods connected to it that will one day be arms and legs. But the image of the heart beating, now that was impressive.

As an added not of interest, when I told my dad that the heart is beating at 173 beats a minute, he immediately panicked and asked if that is normal and okay. He still hasn't lost his touch.

What has really been going on the past month

On Valentine's Day, this happened:


In the following week, I was an emotional wreck, so happy to be pregnant but neurotically nervous about everything. BJ was also very happy. But then, he realized that he would need to pay for the child's college tuition, which sent him into a rash of worrying.

The next week, we both settled down a bit, getting a little more used to the idea of becoming parents. At this points, bets started about the gender of the baby. My family was the only people who knew at this point, so it went something like this: I think its a boy, BJ thinks its a girl, Mom agrees with me that it is a boy, Dad is waiting to make a call until he can think of a way to word it so that he will be right either way, and Bro thinks it is left-handed. Don't ask.

The next week was the week BJ's parents were coming down, so we were (finally) going to get to tell them. We bought the following bibs to break the good news:


To clarify, the bib on the left says, "Don't look at me, that smell is coming from grandpa!", and the bib on the right says, "What happens at grandma's stays at grandma's!"

Once we broke the news to BJ's family, I got to tell my friends, and it was absolutely wonderful! They all squealed exactly like I was hoping they would. I have the best girlfriends ever!

And as for this week, the nausea has set in, and it has set in good. All food that is not totally bland sounds disgusting. Cheese is the worst. Especially melty cheese. There is a whole other slew of symptoms going on, but I'll spare you the details.

So there is a whirl-wind tour of life over the past month. I don't know what else to say except that we're happy.

I won.

A few weeks ago, you might remember that I got slaughtered in a contest with my brother to predict Oscar nominations. I would just like to announce that in last night's competition to predict the winners, I came back with a bang. I beat him by five! And I feel it is only fair to rub it in. Trust me, he did it to me. So, ha, Bro! You lost!

That felt good.

Confessions of my Weirdness

I have an obsessive personality. When something clicks, I can't stop doing it. For example, if an art project clicks, I'll sit at my desk for hours on end for days on end working on whatever it is I'm doing. Or last summer, I got on a hot tea kick, so I drank four to five cups of hot tea a day. During December of last year, I obsessively did crossword puzzles - several a day, actually.

My current obsession is pretty weird. BJ and I love Netflix, and since we don't have TV, we use the 'Watch Instantly' section of our Netflix pretty regularly. Well, last month, I discover that Netflix had posted all ten seasons of Murder, She Wrote to their 'Watch Instantly' selection. Since then, I have obsessively watched Murder, She Wrote. I watch it when I'm folding laundry, when I'm planning menus and grocery lists for the week, when I'm lying around being lazy. I watch it all the time. In fact, while at work, I can't wait to get home so that I can settle down to a nice episode of the always clever Mrs. Fletcher solving a mystery involving several passionate and angry people in large shoulder pads circu 1985. That's my idea of a good evening.

Not that this is important or even interesting. I just thought I'd put it out there. I find that my oddities are less shameful when they're brought out into the light.

Zoe (aka "The Mess")

Remember back when Gus was a puppy and I had countless blog posts with pictures of him sitting or lying around. I was able to do that because Gus spent most of his time sitting or lying around. Zoe doesn't. Here name is Greek for life, and let's just say that is a very fitting name. She if very lively.

However, I have been getting requests for pictures of Zoe, so tonight BJ and I attempted a photo shoot. We mostly ended up with pictures like this...

or this...


There was one time when I thought I had a good shot, but she decided to like her gigantic jowls with her gigantic pink tongue. So pretty.


After several minutes of these failed attempts, BJ figured out that if he made a continous high-pitched sound, it confused her enough that she would sit still for a few moments. So we ended up with these cock-eyed pictures of her looking utterly confused.



Thankfully, we did manage to get one good picture of Zoe, and in this mother's opinion, it is pretty precious.


And as for Gus...

well, let's just say that the years haven't changed him much.

Further tales of BJ's car

BJ picked me up for lunch today in his car. You know, the car I've written about before. The car that barely runs, but somehow continues to run.

When the car is turned on but not moving (a.k.a. idling), it makes a constant vrooming noise. It's like, "vrOOom, vrOOom, vrOOom." Yeah, something like that.

Anyways, we went through the drive-through at the bank while on our lunch bank, and while waiting in line, are car was making this lovely sound. This is the conversation that ensued:

Me: I'm starting to see why you never take the drive-thru in this car.

BJ: Yeah. It sounds like a purring kitten...with pneumonia.

On aging

I turned 25 last Friday. For the first time in several years, I got to spend my birthday with family. BJ and I headed up to Alton where I got to relax and laugh with my in-laws while eating homemade red velvet cake. It was lovely.

Twenty-five is a kind of big one. It's the halfway point to fifty and an official quarter century.

I noticed the other day that my hands are aging. Really, it's my thumbs. My thumbs are getting wrinkly.

And around my eyes are the slightest hint at coming wrinkles. I've started applying extra moisturizer in that area every morning.

I really don't mind aging. To me, it is exciting watching how the story is unfolding, but there is this one thing that keeps nagging me. You see, my Grandma Pierce and Aunt Doe (women who I happen to have entirely too much in common with) were beautiful 20-, 30-, 40-, all the way to 60- somethings. But around seventy, they became funny looking. It isn't just that wrinkles and gray hair are waiting for me. Everyone has to face that. It is the abnormally large nose, progressively frizzier hair, and stooped posture that gives the allusion of overly long arms that I'm dreading. There's at least a 50% chance that 50 or so years from now, I'm going to be funny looking. Pierce woman don't age into dignified, Helen Mirren-esque ladies. We age into caricatures with over-exaggerated features.

But that is enough of that. Thank you everyone for the birthday cards and Facebook messages. You made it a very special day!

The verdict

Only 6 right for Best Picture

4 right for Director

4 right for Actor

An embarrassing 3 for Actress

4 for Supporting Actor

4 for Supporting Actress

So in all, I got 25 out of 35. Argh. They were tricky this year.