A few things before I just jump right into it: I’ve been paroled, which means I can get out of bed and make cheese grits (without Caleb holding my hand–bless his pea-pickin’ heart, you guys).
Actually I can do a lot of things; I’ve grocery shopped, I’ve taught Sunday school, I’ve sat in stiff wooden bleachers at the ball field for 3 hours…all of which leave me feeling like I was ran over by a cement truck. Taking a shower requires the fake endurance of Lance Armstrong. I sound like an 80-year-old chain-smoker while I’m straightening my hair. I’ve never been more exhausted and out-of-breath. How in the world did I waitress for the entire 9 months I was pregnant with Mia? It’s embarrassing, and I consider this proof that I? Am well beyond my prime child-bearing years. Apparently there’s this big difference between 23-year-olds and 33-year-olds. (Read also: gaining 200 pounds during pregnancy.)
Everything else is great. We are at 15 weeks now which means we have officially made it farther than, well…this time last year. The baby has a big booming heartbeat at least once a week, which is about how often I get to go to the doctor. Most times, it is pinging off the walls of my belly, doing backflips and triple lutzes and all kinds of crazy junk.
We’ll do a big fat main ultrasound in about 3 weeks–the one where we’ll find out whether we’re having a boy or a girl–and Mia is pretty much out of her mind over the whole thing. She can’t stand the suspense. Our family is keeping a running chalkboard list of name ideas, supplied mostly by the little kids. Each day we’ll add 4 or 5, and Caleb will come home to promptly erase 10. Mia sees this as an act of war; an attack on her creativity and character; a direct hit to her very soul, so much time and love and thought has she put into naming her brother or sister. I admire her enthusiasm–but I did warn her that moms and dads get the final say.
Here are her top picks: Reid for a boy or Evangeline for a girl. Merrick votes for Timmy, or nothing at all–I guess the possibility of having a sister is just too crazy to comprehend. Caleb hates everything, Cheyenne has very fancy tastes, and everyone laughs at my hippy choices. For now, we’ve affectionately nicknamed the baby Timmy Magnus Duke Solomon.
Because it’s hilarious.