On Housing a Football Star in My Womb

I’m not really sure what moms-to-be really mean when they say they all felt “flutters” as the first kick, because let me tell you…Baby Boof (now that we have established that it is, indeed, a gentleman baby inside of me) was certainly not dainty like a butterfly. The first kick felt distinctly like a finger-thwack from the inside, as if to say, “hey lady, just wanna let you know I’m in here,” or maybe he loved/hated what I ate for dinner that night and was asking for more of it or to never have it again. It’s hard to tell what a certain alien-like creature inside me is really trying to communicate, since English hasn’t yet begun, and I don’t speak Thwack. Although, perhaps I could teach him the lost art of Morse Code?

Now, at the beginning of 25 weeks the kicks have become more distinct and I am always wondering what the hell is going on inside of me (and why he prefers the right side of my belly to the left) and then I got THIS ultrasound:

Well golly gee, doesn’t that just explain it all? Though help me decide…is my uterus currently a USC football field with Baby Boof as the star quarterback scoring the winning touchdown (notice the Heisman pose he’s got going on there) or am I birthing a 70’s throwback to John Travolta and Saturday Night Fever (referencing a movie I’ve never actually seeen, and am only guessing at the star actor. It could have been Kevin Bacon or Dean Martin for all I really know).

So here I am, trying to live a normal existence as a pregnant lady, and my child is throwing a dance party inside my womb. Brilliant.

Mom jeans…I haz them.

I spent FAR too long trying to squeeze into my pre-pregnancy pants. Sure I wasn’t REALLY showing until about 22 weeks along, and had falsely assumed that since I had lost 22 lbs in the past year, that I would be good to go wearing my pre-pregnancy jeans/capris/skirts until I had at least gained the same amount of weight from Baby Boof. Clearly, I was wrong. I bought a belly band to ease the transition from fully buttoned pre-pregnancy pants to unbuttoned goodness (which came with a lot of fear of exposing my lady-bits when getting out of the car).

And then, one day (it fel like this, anyway) I woke up and had busted out of EVERYTHING that I owned. Well, I did have ONE skirt I can still fit into, and clearly my leggings/dress combos are roomy enough to expand throughout this whole journey, but pants were out. Most skirts were out. And I am in a world of hurt.

So I noncholantly waltz (read: waddle) my pregosaurus body down to Target and Macy’s and several other random stores that have aproximately 5 maternity clothing options hanging pathetically in the darkest corner of the store. Surely I am bound to find something to fit my long-legs, right?

Clearly being pregnant has messed with my mind, because I had failed to realize that shopping for maternity clothes is just as, if not more, difficult than shopping for regular clothes. If we aren’t all built the same when we are not pregnant, what made me think our expanding bellies would even out our leg length and I could shop at sweet little shops like “A Pea in a Pod?”

At any rate, after a mild panic attack, I did manage to find a grand total of THREE pairs of maternity pants that are long enough at Kohls. And the sheer magic of putting these pants on is beyond any words the English language could describe.

WHY DID I WAIT SO LONG? Why did I believe the What Not To Wear nonsense that “comfort is bad, fashion is good?” I am now strategizing ways to a) stay pregnant forever to wear these amazing jeans, b) stay fat forever and somehow justify to Boof that these pants are eternally sexy or c) find an equivalently amazing pair of MOM jeans that feel the same level of comfort or d) create a non-pregnancy jean line that convinces the masses to embrace pants without waistbands…and thus uttering in World Peace on a grand scale.

It’s a good thing I’m having a gentleman baby so that he won’t be AS embarassed by my eternal MOM jeans.

Easter Bunny Surprise

Thirteen people and three dogs managed to cram themselves into our humble apartment to enjoy Easter dinner with Boof and me. This was our first time hosting such an important meal (pales in comparison to our weekly choclate chip pancake feeds). And not only was it Easter, a huge celebration in our religious tradition, but it was also the day we were to announce the arrival of baby Boof or baby MonkMonk around Christmastime.

The table was set. The people were chatting and drinking wine (which I was trying to avoid as to not raise suspicions), and the ham was taking its sweet time in getting done. To stall for that darn pig, Boof and I decided to make our announcement pre-dinner and not when everyone was fighting over the last roll or licking the sweet potato bowl clean.

Right before Boof started to give his mini-speech, I got super nervous… He said something to the effect of: “We are so glad to have both of our families here together, so to celebrate we made our parents a gift.”

He handed the gift bags, with our homemade stockings that say “Baby LastName” on them. His mom opened up the gift bag, took a look at the stocking and immediately burst into tears. My mom? My mom was still in the process of hugging everyone like she had just won an academy award (even though I kept shouting “MOM OPEN YOUR GIFT NOW! HUG LATER!” What felt like forever was probably 12 seconds and then both of our families were on the same page, the news was out, and my siblings could finally relax and say congrats (they had been told a day or two before, but needed to keep it a secret). What a zoo! But a happy zoo, not like one of those zoos in a third world country where everything is sad and depressed in itty bitty cages with chains.

To keep my one SIL, who lives out of state, in the loop, I sent her a picture of the two stockings we had made. Naturally her reaction was one of shock, assuming that we were having twins. We got that misunderstanding taken care of, and all proceeded to enjoy a very festive meal!

Telling Boof, or Target part deux

Clearly I couldn’t just stand in the Target bathroom for the rest of my pregnancy (though with the amount I’ve been having to pee lately, it might actually be a good idea), so I moseyed out to my car to sit and think. Having promised a friend (a mere two days prior) that I would give her details as soon as I knew, I shot of a picture message of the pee-stick and some sort of garbled message about becoming a mom. She texted me through the initial crazy and I managed to muster up enough spontaneity to head back into Target to buy a onesie and a card to announce the lovely news to Boof.

After I blabbed the news to the Target cashier (a different woman than ten minutes prior), I headed to the office. Of course I spilled the beans to my cube-mate and with her help, decided to tell Boof that night, rather than waiting 24 hours until our date-night (which was probably a good choice with the rate of blabbing I was doing).

Knowing that Boof would be working until 11pm, I texted him to say that there was a surprise in his night stand drawer, and to wake me up when he got home. It felt like f.o.r.e.v.e.r. until Boof walked into the bedroom and opened up the nightstand drawer. It took him a minute to read the card,see the onesie with ‘I<3 Daddy’ on it, and see the positive test. He looked at me and I said “we’re having a baby!”

His reaction? “Excited, happy, nervous.”


I have never fully believed the line, “you just know,” when dealing with anything. Case in point, on our second date I told Boof, “I don’t see this going anywhere serious, but I think we could have fun.” So while I certainly had my suspicions, I certainly needed ultimate confirmation.

While we weren’t actively trying, I have been charting my basal body temperature using on Fertility Friend’s software.  When I woke up on Monday morning and saw my temperature the same as the day before,  I knew I would be at least 1 day late in getting my period. Fertility Friend  strongly suggests waiting a week to take a home pregnancy test,  so, naturally I drove myself to Target on my lunch break to grab a pack of pregnancy tests to store in my bathroom for when the 1 week of nervously waiting was up.

But shopping makes me have to pee (and I’ve had to go A LOT more lately), so there I was, in the Target bathroom, with freshly bought pregnancy tests, and the insatiable curiosity to find out if ‘I knew it’ or I was just gassy and delusional. Let’s be honest, I do have a bit of spontaneity in me, and it wasn’t the first time I’ve peed on a stick (all negative), so I figured ‘what the heck” and went ahead…

Before I had time to pull my pants up and flush the toilet the flashing hourglass stopped and my idiot-proof digital test read:


Yeah, that’s right folks,  forever I am going to be known as the girl who learned she was pregnant in the Target bathroom. Awesome. Though, I guess it’s better than conceiving him in the Target bathroom, eh?

-Monk Monk