TMI

You are about to receive too much information.

Prepare yourself.

Because I have a bone to pick and I've got to write something because every time I open my blog, the very sight of that nasty burger sends me running for the bathroom. I find it very disgusting.... at this time. This does not mean I will find it disgusting forever. I reserve the right to eat one in the future, so there.

But let's get back to business. I was about to vent. About to spew forth the bitterness of my feelings in regards to several aspects of growing a baby.

First of all. It really sucks.

Second of all. I am seriously ticked about it.

Third of all. I thought after doing this 4 OTHER TIMES I would know that already. Some people never learn to stay away from other people's newborns with there cunning trickery and there little baby smelly smells.

Not that I am averse to the entire proposition of being pregnant. I really love the baby moving and the actual BABY. But I'll save that for a more lovey post. For now, I'm really mad.

Who's big idea was it to ramp up saliva production during "morning" sickness? I find myself constantly spitting or swallowing, spitting or swallowing. It's disgusting and it isn't helping.
If you see me open my car door at a stop light...you can rest assured I've opted to spit.

And let see...there's the peeing.

And the sneezing. (Who are kidding here? After four kids, sneezing and peeing are no strangers.)

And the post-lunch burpfest I experience everyday while I wade through the hour long process of picking up my kids from school. Burp..... Burp..... Burp.....

And let's not forget the insane, flaming, brutal heartburn. I'm forced to sleep propped up on pillows like a wealthy old lady. Super fun.

Then there's the fact that I have grown out of all my jeans but my two most roomy and I've opted for some ELASTIC WAIST skirts I scored at Old Navy. I feel utterly thick around the belly and it's messing with my self esteem. Messing with it!

On top of it all, some of my former favorite foods are now repulsive in every possible way. No more Sonic Jr. Deluxe burgers. No more Thai Crunch Salad. No more french fries, ketchup, roast beef, chicken salad, strawberry jello, baked beans, need I go on?


< deep cleansing breath >


14 weeks....14 weeks....14 weeks......

Baby bean or beefy momma?

Why is it that everything I read says the tiny fella inside of me is the size of a bean.....


When actually I feel (and look) like he/she is more like the size of a....

I can't imagine.

Things are growing...

A few weeks ago we started popping things in the ground.

A few onions....

A handful of peas...
A bit of lettuce, spinach and arugula...

But first I got to break in my Christmas/Birthday present.

I give you....the Mantis.


It was vundabar! And it made short work of combining last year's compost deliciousness with winterized raised beds. Gone are the days of turning the soil with the shovel. (hooray, Mantis!)

And now all risk of frost is gone and we get to do the good stuff.

We traditionally do 4 tomato plants a year: one Early Girl, one Better Boy, one Husky Cherry, and then we pick something different, whatever strikes our fancy! This year? The SUPER FANTASTIC! I know. Whoever named this tomato was really excited and, you know me, I'm all for vegetable enthusiasm.

We chose a new variety of pole bean. Here's hoping it's not nasty and stringy like last year's crop (patooie!)

A row of Straight Eight cucumbers, one jalepeno, one Anaheim, and one Green bell pepper.

A little patch of carrots, due solely to Ethan's pleading, and a patch of beets. I haven't planted beets since I was considered 1/7th of the child labor force back in Payson. We'll see how it goes. Do you have to pickle a beet? Or can you just cook 'em up?

The only thing more riveting than my blow by blow account of planting my garden is the photos of them lying so snuggly in their little dirt beds.


Meggy's herb garden. See?

Riveting!

Easter Eggs

So we eventually did color those eggs. I was so tempted not to. It's a mess and the kids didn't really remember, but then the mom guilt mothership landed and we went ahead.

My kids take this very seriously.



I just want to bite those little fat fingers. rrrr!


It's possible that this apron of mine has become a permanent resident of my everyday wardrobe. But I'm getting fatter everyday. I'm going to need a new apron or tie extensions or something. Help!

And because I just can't resist....

If you chance to see a frown, do not let it stay!


Quickly turn it upside down and smile that frown away!

Love you, babe. Forgive me?

14 weeks...14 weeks...14 weeks...

14 weeks pregnant is the golden glimmering ticket to feeling like I'm not spinning around and around on one of those diabolical playground carousel contraptions.

But, alas. I am a mere 6 weeks and for the foreseeable future I am doomed to view the world through pea green glasses.

My children are condemned to pizza at least three times per week. I'm pretty sure they're devastated by the turn of events. Hear them now? "Ding dong the witch is dead!"

Let's see....that's Dominos, Dominos, Dominos, Wal-Mart Take and Bake and for lunch on Sunday we had (you guessed it!) mini pizzas made from tortillas, spaghetti sauce and mozzarella.

I'm not going to lie to you.

Things are getting bad. We ran out of bowls yesterday.


The kids have assumed control.


Thankfully they are armed with the knowledge to survive:

1. How to nuke a corndog.
2. How to make toaster waffles.
3. How to make jam toast.

I didn't say it was a perfect system.

But the good news is that I do believe I've discovered how to make my own lime slushies in the the food processor. So I think we'll avoid Sonic bankruptcy.


14 weeks....14 weeks....14 weeks.....

5

Mark and I took the opportunity to share a little news with our children during Family Home Evening this week.

Mathew's response: "If it's a boy, can we name him Lightning?"

Me: "How about we save that for a middle name?"


Let the barfing begin.

Memo

To whom it may concern:

You are seriously pushing it today.

Please cease and desist from all efforts to have me committed.

Love,

Your mother.