DISCLAIMER: I’m pretty sure this is going to turn into a rant. If you don’t want to experience the rant, go read in another corner and check back with me later.

I try to be kind and polite to everyone, not matter how unintelligent I think they may be or sound. But I would like everyone to know that behind the smile and dimple, I have other thoughts that are usually sarcastic and not as nice.

Today I went in for my second ultrasound of the week. The ultrasound technician was a different one than the one who has given me every other ultrasound I’ve had. I didn’t like this, I get attached and I didn’t like this technician. She wasn’t mean, but she wasn’t nice either. She didn’t tell us what was going on, which is kind of important to me.

What she says: “Well, I think he passed everything today.”

What goes on in my head: You think? Could ya double check, it’s kind of important to our overall well-being? [My head shakes.]

Then I met with one of the other doctors, instead of my regular doctor. It’s a female doctor. I prefer male doctors because they don’t get that fake, three-octaves-too-high voice when they talk to you. But I was willing to give this nice doctor lady a shot. She came in the the room where Matt and I were waiting…

What she says: “You have an infection. Did you know?”

What goes on in my head: Um…no, or I might have called or said something.

What she says: “Have you noticed any abdominal discomfort or anything?”

What goes on in my head: Really? Where is my abdomen again? Oh, that huge thing that blocks my view of everything except my belly button; that thing that’s stretched to the max and full of a living, moving being; that thing that rubs the magnets off the fridge when I get stuff out of the freezer; that thing that’s been in a constant state of various levels of discomfort since January? Well, I thought “abdominal discomfort” was all part of the job description, so I didn’t think of calling in and complaining about it. I can imagine how that conversation would go:

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m experiencing some abdominal discomfort.”

“Okay, let’s look at your chart…well, dear, you’re pregnant! That’s why you’re uncomfortable, silly.”

“Oh, wow, thanks for clearing that up.”

I don’t know, it just seems like the what the “witty” people always say when you say, “I think I have something in my eye.” And they say something lame like, “Yeah, it’s your finger.” I call and say, “I’m having abdominal discomfort.” And the nurse says, “Yeah, you’re pregnant, moron.”

Since I’m started.

I also got annoyed with the flat-chested employee and the older employee at the maternity store I was at the other day. First of all, they were having a very loud, personal (and dumb) conversation while I browsed their clearance section. I caught on very fast (because she mentioned it a dozen times in five minutes) that the flat-chested one was pregnant but not very far along.

The flat-chested one measures me and fits me for a nursing bra. I make a negative reaction to the size she declares, which then makes her go into telling me how it’s not as bad as it seems.

Her commentary annoys me because I’ve been busty since puberty, and I know exactly what it means, thank you very much.

Then the older one explains to me how a bra should fit, just in case I woke up that morning and discovered my chest.

Um, I’ve been wearing a bra for 12 years, I think I know how they work.

They both give me a few different styles and sizes to try on.

While I’m trying the giant nursing bras on, they badger me constantly, and ask how it’s going.

Leave. Me. Alone. Talking to me while I’m in the changing room is a lot like talking to the person in the stall next to you in the bathroom: you don’t unless you need toilet paper or you are close friends and the only ones in the bathroom.

They give me advice on names, how I should give birth (just ask for a c-section to make sure I have my baby on 10/10/10), etc. all while I’m trying bras on in the changing area.

I make polite responses while glaring and rolling my eyes.

I left as soon as I could and I won’t be going back any time soon.

I know that being pregnant means people are going to always ask me a lot of the same questions, give me unwanted advice, and possibly want to touch me. For the most part, I don’t mind the repeated questions, people just want to know and that’s okay. I don’t even mind most of the advice. I do mind:

• Advice from people (single girls on campus, specifically) who have never been pregnant and have no idea what they are talking about.
• Advice from perfect strangers on how I should deliver my baby.
• People who don’t really know me but feel obligated to touch my belly because there’s a baby inside. (Luckily, this has only happened twice.)
• People telling me how “small” I am. What are they comparing me to? An elephant? Compared to me, I’m huge.

End of longest post ever.

FYI: I’m addicted to peppermint TUMS. I think my mascara smells like honey. I really, really, REALLY want some Oreos (but I don’t get any, because my carb allowance is 3 and I don’t trust myself to eat only 3 when there’s a whole package sitting in front of me). Turning on the AC in the car makes me thirsty. The dandelion desktop wallpaper for Mac makes me sleepy.

Today was a big day.

Today, Matt and I have been married for three years. Three years! Sure, not a big milestone like 10 or 25, but a big milestone for us. In Rexburg years, three years is forever.

This is us three years ago:

Young, naive, and so “in love.” A lot has happened in the last three years, but they’ve been very happy three years. And we’re still so in love.

Today, I purchased my first nursing bra. Yes, I’m telling the internet. Pregnancy does interesting things to your privacy compass. It is also the largest bra I have ever purchased. The size I will not tell the internet, because the mere thought of it makes me want to cry (sad tears).

Today, I got a very stiff, white, cardboard envelope in the mail. In navy blue on the front it says, “PLEASE DO NOT BEND – DIPLOMA ENCLOSED.” After Matt opened it for me (it was extremely difficult to open, so I handed it to Matt), I pulled out an official transcript and a diploma with my name on it. It’s official. They sent me a diploma. I’m graduated. From college. I nearly cried (happy tears).

PS I think I need a large T-shirt with “please do not bend – baby enclosed” written on it.

I went in for my first of two appointments this week. It came as no surprise to find that the little man is ADORABLE. There’s something about watching this little baby wiggle his toes and pucker his lips that just melts my heart.

The report: I’m currently 33 1/2 weeks. The little man is measuring 34 1/2 weeks, with the exception of his head, which is measuring 35 1/2 weeks. The big head comes from Matt’s side. All in all, we’re both doing great (except one of us would really like to eat a whole package of Oreos with a gallon of milk…if it weren’t for the whole carb thing…).

He was never in a good position (and the ultrasound technician wasn’t trying very hard since it wasn’t the reason I was there) to double-check his gender. It’s okay, though, since I’m going in twice a week now; I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities.

The best news: because I’m so good at following directions and I’ve been doing so well, I only have to check my blood glucose two days a week instead of seven. YAY! That means I have to poke myself 16 fewer times this week, 96 fewer times until October, and only 30 more times if he comes on 10/10/10.

Oh, wait, it’s just our loud neighbor. My mistake.

Does anyone know anything about human cloning? I think there should be two of me: a pregnant me and a not pregnant me. Pregnant me could be assigned to blog, nap, daydream, and go to the bathroom (which is pretty much what I do), and not pregnant me could be assigned tasks like bending over, carrying, and packing. I think I would like this arrangement very much.

Pregnancy Updates:

Only 7 weeks left! SINGLE DIGITS people.

I have more stripes on my belly than a candy cane, and I try not to care.

My bellybutton is neither an innie nor an outie until I take a deep breath, then it’s an outie.

We still don’t have a name picked out and, to be honest, I’m name-brainstorming sick so I’m taking a break.

Right before we left on our grand trip, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. While I have my doubts with the accuracy of the diagnosis due to certain events, I’m dealing with it. “Dealing” with it requires me to:

• take medication and check my blood glucose by poking my arm 2-3 times a day (the poking has caused bruising up and down both arms and the medication made me sick in ways no one wants to know about–I’m not sick anymore though).
• visit my diabetes grandma once a month (she’s very old, sweet, and funny and I’m sure she’s someone’s grandma; the first visit was two hours long, the second was about 30 seconds long…so unpredictable).
• keep track of how many grams of carbohydrates I consume; I have to stay around 45 grams per meal and never consume more than 60 grams at one time (they don’t tell me what will happen if I consume more than 60 grams at one time, I just don’t).
• get a biophysical profile (BPP) twice a week, starting next week.

All I can say is that I’m glad I don’t have type 2 diabetes. Gestational diabetes is a lot of work and I’m just dealing with a small portion of what someone with diabetes deals with for a lifetime.

About two weeks ago we left on one last summer trip (okay, our only trip this summer…). When we left, we had only accumulated enough baby stuff to fill one 18-gallon plastic storage container (half of which is taken up by 15 packages of baby wipes).

After two weeks of visiting family and baby showers, we have returned with:

• enough stuff to fill TWO 18-gallon storage containers
• the biggest suitcase we own filled with 44 pounds of baby clothes, shoes, and necessities
• a car seat
• a stroller
• 200 diapers (192 Pampers, 8 individually wrapped Huggies)

Moving day is about 13 days away. I wish it were closer so I could just be done with it and get on with spending my time organizing cute baby things and daydreaming.

Want to know about our trip? Okay.

We traveled 1777 miles (Rexburg to Fruitland, Fruitland to Boise, Boise to Portland, Portland to Medford, Medford to Grants Pass and back again). I tell you what, it wiped me out. Even though coming back to Rexburg means packing and moving, we are glad to be back. (We didn’t drive all those miles, we flew from Boise to Portland and from Portland to Medford, or we would be dead.)

We spent some time in Fruitland with my family and had a baby shower. Here’s the loot:

Then we went to Grants Pass, Oregon for a little family reunion (Matt’s family). Activities included: movies outside, a walk around the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, a few hours spent at the Science Works Museum, paintball shooting, pedicures, dentist appointments, a surprise baby shower, s’mores, and … other stuff that I can’t remember right now because my brain is full of pregnancy fog, but it was fun.

A picture from the surprise baby shower:

Nana and some of the nieces and nephews made the cake (which was served with cookies n’cream ice cream).

About to enjoy a really good caramel, fudge-dipped apple. (I’m wearing that same shirt right now.)

The adults after going out for an adult-only dinner. Consider this my 7 month “belly picture.”

I am pleased to report that Matt and I both have no cavities. Yay!

I would also like to just throw out some observations:

• In Rexburg, I’m mostly ignored for being pregnant since there are so many pregnant women waddling around. Sometimes I get googly-eyed looks from single girls who have no idea what morning sickness really means and just want to have babies.
• In Fruitland/Boise, I get extra smiles and winks and “good mornings” because suddenly I’m special and cute for being pregnant.
• In the Portland airport, I get strange looks or long gazes because I look like a pregnant teenager, and a semi-rude response from flight personnel when I stand in the “early boarding” line.
• I didn’t notice any particular reactions to me being pregnant in Medford or Grants Pass.

A week ago, I graduated from college.

I’m 30 weeks pregnant…only TEN more (less if the little guy* decides to come early).

A year ago I posted my first blog post.

A year ago this week we brought Jonah home, and he’s miraculously still alive. In celebration of his one-year survival, I made sure to feed him.

One month from now we are moving to a bigger apartment. It’s in the same complex we live in now, just bigger. We need to get some boxes and fill them with our stuff. Pronto.

*We still haven’t picked a name or even a few names that we like. We have a list of boy names that we “like,” but none of them seem to fit right. It’s starting to stress me out just a little.

Please stop stomping up all three flights of stairs. Please pick up your suitcases when going down all three flights of stairs. Please close your door if you don’t want us looking in when we come out of our apartment. (Yes neighbor, we saw you in your underwear that one time. You thought you ran fast enough, but, alas, we saw anyway.) Please brush your teeth in your apartment. Please stop going in and out of your apartment repeatedly, slamming the door behind you each time–get what you need and leave, gently shutting the door behind you. Once.

Please stop stomping up all three flights of stairs, my dishes desperately need a break.

Thanks so much.

Your tired, very pregnant, has-no-where-else-to-be across-the-cement neighbor.

PS We spy on you through the peep-hole in our door.

Here we are posing for pictures. Aren’t we just precious? This was a while back, but I’ve been a tad busy with school, life, and GRADUATING.

Just admire our pictures for a bit (and check out that growing belly!). They were taken by my talented friend McKenzie. You can check out her blog here.

This is us again, GRADUATING. Okay, so there are many more (and probably better) pictures of graduation, unfortunately all were taken by the parents with the parents’ cameras, therefore these are the only ones we have so far.

The nice thing about everyone wearing graduation gowns: everyone looks 6 1/2 months pregnant.

The hard thing about marrying someone 11 inches taller than you: getting your heads in the same shot (and sharing a car).

What we’ve been up to as graduates (the last three days):

• going to bed late
• reading books
• watching movies
• shopping in Idaho Falls
• writing “thank you” notes
• going through almost 2 containers of Tums (okay, only the pregnant graduate has been doing that)
• feeling like every single day is a Saturday
• napping (again, this only applies to the pregnant graduate)
• starting a Target baby registry with lots of expensive baby gear
• picking out fabric for crib bumpers and blankets (the pregnant graduate and mommy-in-law)
• going to an air show with the Blue Angels (the non-pregnant graduate and his daddy)

There wasn’t any popcorn!

Yesterday was the day all the soon-to-be graduates get their caps, gowns, and other paraphernalia and, for the first time ever, they weren’t serving popcorn! I was so disappointed. It’s true, during the course of pregnancy popcorn has lost quite a bit of its magic (let’s just say that popcorn is at the top of the “worst foods to vomit” list), but I was still looking forward to getting my graduate popcorn. They were serving brownies and punch, instead. Lame.

Last night Matt and I came home to find two HUGE boxes stacked in front of our door. We were so excited. We thought people sent us something. Nope. The boxes were for apartment 7103 and we live in apartment 7301. Again, lame. So we hauled them all the way down the stairs and around the building to the right apartment. I’m thinking now that we should have opened them first to see if they contained anything we wanted/needed. Darn.

Not-so-lame things:

• This is my last Friday as a student.
• I had chocolate milk this morning.
• I JUST (like 10 seconds ago) looked over to the person sitting next to me and discovered that it was my future brother-in-law. It was kind of weird. I’m going to have to teach him how to print things from the school computers–and pay for it. I’m such a nice person. (Oh, um…I think the whole future brother-in-law thing deserves its own post, but I think the whole thing might still be on the “down-low” so…um…shhh.)
• I plan on making cupcakes later this afternoon. Planning on and actually doing are two different things, but for now, cupcakes are in my future.
• I get to read a book this weekend. One that I pick out all by myself.
• I know this is kind of obvious from the first bullet, but I graduate NEXT WEEK.

Off to do a nice future sister-in-law deed.

I’m one of those people that has to lie perfectly still to fall asleep. If someone (like Matt, for instance) has the wiggles and fidgets, I can’t fall asleep. Some people need it to be dark, others need it to be silent. I need it to be still.

I have been finding out lately that it doesn’t matter if Matt and I are both lying perfectly still, because I wiggle from the inside out. Our little Hughie* seems to wait until I lie down to fall asleep to put on a tap dance in my belly. I have divided feelings about this. It’s really fun to feel him move around inside me, but at the same time, I get very, very tired and would really like for him to hold still until I fall asleep.

On a related note, little Hughie now kicks and punches hard enough that, if you’re looking at just the right time, you can see my belly move. Again, this is kind of fun, but also very distracting to any classmates who happen to catch a glimpse. Once they see it, they can’t stop staring at my belly hoping to see it again.

* Matt and I joked for a while about naming him Hugh Mungo. I don’t particularly like the name Hugh, but I’ve developed an odd attachment to calling him Hughie.