It's A Secret

As you may or may not already know, Kreature is in fact a boy!

I had a feeling it was a boy. At no point did I ever think it was a girl, so apparently my intuition was spot on.

Prior to knowing the sex of the baby, Jordan and I were pretty well decided on a name. We had one for a girl and one for a boy. However, it appears that once you actually know the sex of the baby, all of that goes out the window.

The name we had originally decided on is no longer for sure. In fact, several others came to mind shortly after my ultrasound.

That being said, we have finally decided on a first and middle name. It was easily agreed upon and only took a few minutes. I read through a list of names that I liked and Jordan told me which ones he liked of those ones. From there, we tried each first name out with the middle name and went with what sounded best to us.

I had very few requirements when choosing a name. I wanted it to be original (not original in a celebrity baby name sort of way), and nothing from the Top 100 lists. I also wanted the name to be something the child could grow into, something that would suit him from a child into adulthood. Finally, I wanted a name that could be shortened for a nickname (much to my dad's dismay...he has never once called me Jess).

That's it. Pretty straightforward.

Those requirements have lead us to, what I believe, is a great name for our child.

Are you wondering what it is? Yeah, too bad. I'm not telling anyone.

I'm blown away by how honest (re: rude) people can be about name choices. There are lots of kids out there with legitimately ridiculous names. Take any celebrity for example...Blue Ivy, Apple, etc. These are names a kid can never live down. Rest assured, I won't be naming my child anything like Carrot or Coffee Grinds. If I was, I'd definitely say I deserved to be harassed about it. However, I'm not.

Some people will flat out say they don't like the name you've picked out. Others will make the face. You know...that face. The one that says they disapprove but are too "polite" to say anything. Some will give you suggestions on "better" names. Regardless, those reactions are negative and no mother wants to hear that you don't like the name she's picked for her child.

That's why we've decided to wait. People will know what the baby's name is when he arrives and it's set in stone.

I dare someone to tell me they don't like my son's name after that. See how many of your limbs you have left.

Can't Touch This

I am at the half way point in this pregnancy.

A whopping 20 weeks. Emphasis on whopping.

Anyways, now that I'm into what I refer to as a full fledged baby gut, I would like to pass on a warning.

Don't touch my god damn stomach.

No, really. If I don't know you, if we've never met, if we've only briefly talked in the past and I wouldn't tell you about my deep, dark, twisty secrets, then you shouldn't at any point feel like you can touch my stomach.

Please note, this does not apply to immediate family and friends. Touch away. And then tell me I look beautiful. And then buy me stuff. And then cook me supper (or all meals of the day).

Seriously, I just don't get how some people think it's complete okay, socially acceptable even, to come up to a pregnant lady and touch her stomach (and don't give me that "miracle of life" crap). What if I wasn't pregnant and you're in fact rubbing my burger love food baby belly? I'd be half tempted to tell the toucher I wasn't pregnant, just to make it as awkward as possible. If you're going to go around putting your hands where they don't belong, then I should get to make you feel like an ass for doing so.

That being said, I haven't been a victim of this yet, but I feel like it's coming. Y'know, like the Starks knew winter was coming. If only their foresight of the weather could be used to predict their impending deaths. Oops, SPOILER ALERT.

I've touched one preggo belly in my life, and it belongs to that of my future sister-in-law. Even then, I felt like I was invading her space. She's already got an alien tap dancing on her bladder; she doesn't need me to tune in for the show. That being said...I will continue to rub your belly, Tash. Deal with it.

Moral of the story: Keep your hands to yourself, ya filthy animal.

Indecisive

Say hello to Kreature.

In case you missed it, I've nicknamed the baby "Kreature". It's my play on "Kreacher" from Harry Potter.

Yeah, yeah, Kreacher is kind of a homely little shit in Harry Potter, but I'm only 18 weeks pregnant. That means my baby is a homely little shit, too.

Anyways, I saw my OBGYN for this first time yesterday, and god damn it's nice to deal with a doctor who addresses your concerns and acknowledges what you say.

I let him know about my back pain and he immediately offered a doctor's note for physio so my health insurance would cover it. I am hopeful that my appointment on Friday for physio will leave me feeling better, or at the very least, less like I want to kill people.

Ah, who am I kidding, those feelings were in place long before I became pregnant.

He did write on my chart that I weigh 170 lbs, though, which is off by 10 lbs. That was unsettling based purely on the fact that I've never weighed 170 lbs before and I do not currently weigh 170 lbs. Don't give me a heart attack, dude. I hear that's bad for my health and Kreature's.

I'm now in the process of trying to pick out a crib. Did you know that picking out a crib is probably the hardest decision I've ever made? Aside from consciously deciding each day to not kill my husband?

It's hard work.

I've asked for opinions from multiple people and they all differ (of course). I think my sister wants to punch me in the head, because I keep sending her texts asking, "But what about this one?" I'd apologize, but seriously, I don't generally say sorry. I'll make it up to her with extra baby time (AKA that's when I'll shower and shave the leg hair that I'm sure will be braid-able at that point).

I think picking out a crib is actually harder than deciding to  have a kid. Seriously, the conversation went like this:

"We should have a kid."
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
"Okay."

So, for all of you that were thinking that Kreature was an accident (which is understandable, as I repeated over and over every time I was asked that I was never having kids), as you can see, we had an intense and thorough discussion about it before we jumped into anything too crazy.

If only I could go about choosing a crib the same way.

Ouch

The pain I have been in over the last couple weeks is comparable to nothing I've ever felt before. If Satan exists, I believe his sole purpose is to create the most unimaginable pain and inflict it on me. Well done, Satan. Bravo.

Something is wrong with my pelvis and it's to the point now where I have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, standing upright, walking, and overall, maintaining a normal life.

I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

Yes, actually, I would. Bitch.

That being said, I am off to see a chiropractor on April 9th to see if there is anything I can do or anything he can do. I swear, if I don't get some sort of relief I am going to evict this child from inside my body.

Now, now, now, you pro-life wingnuts, don't take that as me saying I'm going to have an abortion. Obviously not, and no, the baby isn't going anywhere until the 40 week point (assuming all goes well with the pregnancy). I just need to vent and since this is my blog, I will say what I want.

I did go see a massage therapist yesterday (he work Birkenstocks with black socks and jeans...visualize this). That was...painfully awesome?! I don't know. I've only ever had relaxation massages, so it was an experience to say the least. I thought at one point he was just going to push his hand through my rib cage and out my stomach. Something very Alien-esque.

Long story short, it provided minimal relief and I am still a cranky bitch. So surprising, right? (I mean about the part where I am still a cranky bitch...)

I feel that based on the extraordinary pain I am in right now, my child should end up being rich and famous. And take care of me for the rest of my life.

Or at the very least, be able to clean his/her god damn room by the time s/he's one. Is that too much to ask?