This little piggy went to market.

The Swine Flu is among us. We've had several students at school who have been out with the H1N1 virus and the buzz for us pregnant folks to get the vaccine has been rampant for several weeks. Unfortunately, until recently, the vaccine was only available to people who worked in hospitals or Wall Street investment banking firms. Greenville finally opened a public clinic for high-risk populations to get vaccinated yesterday, and I needed to go since my OB-GYN office hadn't even received a shipment yet!

The clinic opened at 8:30 am; I arrived at 8:00.
And I waited. In the rain.
The cold rain. For 3 hours.
And then another 30 minutes inside the Department of Health.

Don't feel bad, I wasn't alone. With me in line was EVERY pregnant woman and EVERY child under the age of 6 in the entire county of Greenville. At least the pregnant ladies knew what we were in line for. Can you imagine being 4 years old, and waiting with your mom in a line for 3 HOURS. In the RAIN. Being constantly told not to splash the puddles, keep your coat on, don't touch that, and by the way stay under the umbrella please - only to find out that the end of the road contained a vaccination shot? Talk about a raw deal.

I did get to make some nice friends (with the woman who was due in 6 days who stood behind me and the preschooler who likes to sing songs that he made up in front of me.) When all was said and done I got my Swine Flu vaccination, and likely a case of pneumonia.

She kicked!

This morning in bed I felt some baby movement for the first time . . . on the inside.
It was so faint, and to be honest I was unsure whether I was feeling the baby or my own pulse. (Except that my pulse is typically pretty regular and this was most definitely not.)

I laid perfectly still until Husband got home from call this morning. He put his hands on my belly and I was hoping that it wasn't going to be the same situation where you take your car to the mechanic and it magically stops making that weird noise . . .

We sat in silence for a few seconds and then POW. A good strong kick that he felt from the outside and I felt from the inside. It was amazing!! I'm still smiling.

You are what you eat . . .

. . . in which case I am giving birth to a box of this in March.

Shapewear Shenanigans

My dad sends me (and others) articles that he finds in the Wall Street Journal or New York Times that I (we) might find interesting. Sometimes something on the state of education or college admissions; more recently articles on the long-term effects of pacifiers and Baby Einstein videos. I appreciate it because, honestly, it keeps me from having to scan the newspaper everyday.

Today he sent me an article on "Shapewear" - undergarments like Spanx that you put on to suck-in-all-the-fat and make you appear slimmer (or at the very least, significantly less comfortable). The article was about the challenges of these undergarments. You can read the whole thing here.

Here's the opening paragraph:
"Before Jessica Kraus put on a tight-fitting frock one recent evening, she wriggled into a $76 piece of flesh-toned underwear that extended from the bottom of her bra to mid-thigh. She felt confident and svelte as she left her apartment to meet friends for cocktails."

Ok - so far - pretty normal. I myself will attest that I have slipped on a pair of Spanx with many a dress so as to feel "confident and svelte," or as I like to think, "less like a cow." The article continues:

"Then a few hours later, the 25-year-old Boston event planner was faced with what she says was a 'horrific situation.' As she was embracing a man she had met that night, Ms. Kraus got to thinking about what lurked beneath her sleek exterior. 'There's no graceful way of taking the thing off.' she says."

Let's review: you are out to cocktails with friends. You meet a guy for the first time. You are "embracing" him (which I always thought meant to hug someone, but I've never taken off my underwear to do that . . . so clearly I've been mistaken.) And your biggest concern is not "who the hell is this guy that I just met?" or "I wonder if he has been recently tested for chlamydia?"

No, your biggest concern is "How horrific! How will I ever gracefully take off my Spanx?"

I suppose maybe I have been out of the "dating world" for too long . . . but if I were Ms. Kraus, (who I'm sure has been flooded with dating opportunities since it was published in the Wall Street Journal that she gets naked with strangers) I would have kept that little tidbit to myself.

Wednesday in a Nutshell

Here's how today went:
Went to work
Work work work
Change into gym clothes and go walking with Melissa
Walk walk walk
Race to grocery store to buy ingredients for dinner
Home to make dinner (chili and cornbread)
Chop chop chop
Dice dice dice
Stir Stir Stir
Wake Husband (who was post-call) for dinner
Find out that he has killer heartburn and cannot possibly eat chili
Feed him cornbread
He goes to sleep
phew.

Trick or Treat or &*^%#*

If you know me - you know that I do NOT handle being startled very well. (i.e. I once broke down into tears when my dad tried to "startle" the hiccups out of me. I was 28 years old at the time.) This trait is clearly genetic and passed along the X chromosome, because my mom is the same way.

I was so lucky to have my parents in town this weekend! We had a blast and it was so great to see them. Saturday night we dropped by to visit the Millers, had a special visit from the Hollenbecks, and then spent the evening at home welcoming trick or treaters. At one point, my mom went to answer the doorbell and a small gaggle of children were there with costumes on and buckets out. As she was handing out the candy, another child jumped out from bushes and shouted "boo." To which my mother, jumps back and screams, "SHIT, you scared me!"

Nice. You kiss your future grandbaby with that mouth?

21 Weeks (and some notes)

First, a note about these posts.
1) As the baby gets bigger, there ceases to be a fruit or vegetable item which is comparable in size - so while the baby is the LENGTH of a carrot, it is obviously a bit wider and rounder.
2) As much as I appreciate the credit from my Grammy, I do not, in fact, take these pictures. I pilfer them from the wonderful BabyCenter website.
3) I do, however, write the captions - which I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about so as to provide the greatest possible amusement to my pun-loving sister. I realize that sometimes I miss the mark.
That being said, without further ado. . .

What's up, future doc?