Fuzzy robe and slippers...check. Toiletries...check. Nursing bra...check. Hospital forms...check. Baby's bag...check.

For the last few weeks, I have been working on getting my hospital bag packed. You wouldn't think it would take that long, but I've been paying too much attention to all these checklists I receive (online, from friends and from our baby classes). Every time I think I'm ready to get it all contained, there are at least two more things I feel like I need to add. Yes, I'm anal (probably a bad choice of words as you'll understand from the paragraphs that follow), but I feel like getting this task done and getting it done "properly" will help ease some anxiety I've been having lately about not being prepared enough.

One thing that comes up all too often on these checklists is something I've been putting off buying. It's a product that brings me back to a commercial that was on all the time when I was younger. A lit match and a medicated pad...medicated pad smothers lit match...extinguished match...relief. I didn't necessarily know what the pad was for at that time which explains why when Leah and I tried to mimic this commercial with our Noxema facial cleansing pads (drenched in alcohol) and a match, a small fire started. Please do not try it for yourself. The pads may have looked the same, but obviously they weren't made of the same materials. What the commercial was actually for was Tucks medicated pads, and with all I've learned about pregnancy now, I am all too familiar with what they are for. Hemorrhoids. I hate to even write it!

I finally broke down at Target yesterday and bought a box for my hospital bag. It wasn't like I was a man buying a three pack of women's thongs in a triple XL or something but still, I felt so awkward. It's silly I know, but I pulled out every trick to save myself any shame. I purposely bought them on a day I did a major shopping at the store. I made sure to have plenty of items in my cart so I could hide them at the back of it in case I ran into anyone I knew. I picked the lane with the nice checkout lady that could possibly put it together that the only reason I was getting these things was because I was pregnant. I set the box on the belt and stacked a few things on top, all while trying not to be too obvious that I was completely bashful about buying them. And seriously, couldn't they make a smaller sized box than a pack of 100?

I don't even have hemorrhoids (I hope you're reading this, nice checkout lady)! But, like a good student of pregnancy knows, I've succumbed to the fact that I may become a victim during my delivery (since fortunately it has not happened up until this point). I'm sorry for bringing up the topic, but sadly it is a fact of several pregnant women's lives. (When I started this blog, didn't I apologize for giving too much information? Yes, I did.) I am really hoping buying these pads in advance though will mean I'm one of the lucky ones and they'll go to waste. However, what I have heard that they are also useful for is the cooling feeling they bring (how can I say this...) on the front end during the days after giving birth. So if that's why the package gets opened, I'm OK with that.


Hey, anything to relieve discomfort, which brings me to another subject for anyone wondering. If I am in pain and there is something that can help me feel better, I am not opposed. This means that I will get an epidural if I need it and will not feel the need to be a champion for any "I am woman, hear me roar" causes. I salute all you stronger women out there who are 100% certain about going the natural route, but if I am roaring, give me the drugs. We'll see what happens!

Our baby at 34 weeks

At 34 weeks, the baby weighs about as much as a cantaloupe (approximately 4 3/4 pounds).

Since I am quickly approaching my due date, I've decided to post these size/weight updates once a week now instead of once every three.

Why do you do this to me, Potbelly?

I'm not talking about my stomach either. When I put my mind to something, I can't take it off of that something...when it comes to food. So, when I'm standing in line to pick up a healthy lunch (as was the case yesterday) and my mind wanders off to Potbelly (Sandwich Works) ooey, gooey, chewy oatmeal chocolate chip cookie la la land, there's no stopping me. I get out of the line I'm in to head straight for my car and drive to deliciousness. That happens a lot lately when it comes to sweets, especially over lunch. I'll think to myself that this is going to be the day I don't need to have some kind of a treat and then my head won't let the thought go until there's sugar involved.

I get to Potbelly with my mouth watering, order my usual veggie on wheat, no mushrooms or Swiss. "So basically a cheese sandwich," 22-year-old sandwich guy says. Then he starts telling me how he just loves it when people come in and order some healthy type of sandwich, and then during the next sandwich making step they pile on everything they can get their hands on, add chips, cookies, shakes, what have you. Chuckle, chuckle from me as I skip the mayo out of guilt during the next step, grab my cookie and go.


The lure of the cookie has been mesmerizing. I was really trying to have some willpower though. I tried. I failed. Because this scenario has become somewhat routine, I knew that yesterday (just a couple hours after my last cookie) when we walked in for my 34 week doctor appointment, there was no chance of that scale reading the same thing as the last time (as it did at my previous appointment). "Was there a jump?" I asked. "Yes, there was." I had to ask exactly what since it's like they don't want to alarm you, so they try to be so sneaky about it. "Four pounds." Fine. Even though my belly is feeling gigantic at this point, I'm somehow still measuring exactly "right on" with where I should be. We heard our baby's heartbeat beating away again and tried to figure out his or her position inside of me. Even with all the body parts practically popping out of me at times, it still remains foggy as to which part is where. We also talked about what to expect these latter stages of pregnancy. The big day is getting to be so close! All looks good and my next appointment is in two weeks.

The girl next door

Back in November, Jeff and I started thinking more about childcare and realized we needed to get on the ball with exploring our options. It’s difficult to think about only being with our baby for such a short time (six weeks) before giving up my stay at home mommy status while on maternity leave. But, off to investigating childcare for us it was since the day we’d need one of those options would come before we knew it. We found out rates through a friend for an in-home daycare in a neighboring city at the start of our search and had gotten a follow-up email sent out to them to figure out how the whole process was supposed to work. Do we discuss details over the phone? Do we come to visit first, or is visiting a waste of time for both parties before discussing details over the phone? But what if everything sounds great on the phone and we find out the commute ends up being too long? Worse, what if we just don’t like what we see when we come, then wouldn’t the time on the phone be a waste? Obviously we had more than a few questions.

Later that week, we stopped by our neighbors’ house and the daycare subject casually came up. That conversation was a pretty short one since the only thing we had accomplished at that point was sending an email out to one place. The next night, our doorbell rang and our neighbor, Mary, who we had just been with that night before was at our door. (At times I dislike using the neighbor title because it almost negates the fact that we consider some of our neighbors a few of our greatest friends first and foremost.) We chatted briefly and then she told me she wanted to talk to me about something. Did it irk her when I egged Matt (her husband) on by continuing to talk politics knowing that he gets fired up on the subject? Was she sick and tired of the bundlebreeder over-serving himself on their wine? She proceeded with saying she didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable or obligated and I could definitely say no without any hard feelings. Hmmm. I wondered if the confused dog feeling I had on the inside showed on the outside.


I was taken aback not knowing what to expect and then she says, “I would like to offer childcare for your baby.” Gasp! I could go on and on about how the conversation progressed because I remember it vividly, but I know I should give the short version (which clearly I’m terrible at!). My shock quickly turned into tears of joy and gratitude and I think I hugged her at least ten times as we finished talking. I can't leave out one of the cutest parts: she told me she could supply me with references if I wanted. As if her fabulous kids, Katie and Patrick, didn't speak volumes as to what kind of a job she'd do with our own child! Wait a second...Matt and Mary did say they moved to MN because of Matt's job, didn't they? Goodness, what exactly did they mean when they called it a "job transfer"? Ha! Totally kidding.

Jeff wasn’t home, so the whole time I’m just dying, wishing he was hearing this discussion first hand. I mean, how unbelievably lucky could we be to have this proposition on the table? Did I even have to ask Jeff or could I just scream that we accepted? Knowing my husband and our mutual feelings about Mary, I probably didn't need to ask him, but Mary and I left the conversation as Jeff and I would talk about everything (my gosh, thank you so much...hug) and we’d nail down some details (does your family think you are crazy?...hug) and get back to her soon (are you sure you really want to do this?...hug). Then I gave her the tenth hug, told her again how I just couldn’t believe this and how thankful I was for her offer and we parted ways.

Our probe into childcare options came to a screeching halt that day and we are very happy to announce that Mary will be taking care of our baby when the time comes for me to go back to work! We’ll do a six month review to see how everything is working out, but knowing we'll have someone who we adore there with our baby at the most difficult time to be without him or her, in the very beginning, is a blessing. Did I mention she is our next door neighbor? Just when you all thought the arrangement couldn't get any better. Grandma Tricia will also help in the summer for a couple days a week which is so wonderful too. She had offered to help with more days, but we basically told her she could not completely give up her favorite pastime of golfing during the week while on her much deserved break from teaching. Reluctantly, she agreed. :) The bundle is definitely spoiled already.

Ever since we figured out all the details with Mary and made the decision final, Jeff and I have constantly been talking about how fortunate we are to have her doing this incredible thing for us. We'll never take for granted the generous offer or the piece of mind we've been given. Even though going back to work will undoubtedly be tough at first, the transition will be so much smoother knowing our baby is in such good hands while we're away.

Our baby at 33 weeks

At 33 weeks, the baby weighs about as much a pineapple (approximately just over four pounds).

Sweet ride

Jeff and I were completely struck by the kindness of everyone after my first baby shower (I'll post photos from each shower once they are all done). The day after (Sunday, January 11th), we had a blast looking through everything together and my hubby was hard at work on assembly. It was so sweet as I watched our baby's daddy get the stroller system in tact as each step required some audible play by play.

"OK, baby, here we are getting your stroller ready!"


"Let's go, baby. I'm pushing you in your stoller."


"All right, baby, we're cruising along with your car seat in your stroller now."



"Here we go! Off to the races, baby!"...

32 weeks: Photos

Brace yourselves for what is to come! The bare belly makes an appearance here again (for the first time since 15 weeks). My stomach is getting so tight and it's shocking that the baby can even make any more room in there. However, it's obvious he or she is trying like mad to keep stretching it out with all the movement going on in there. We can often feel body parts protruding, but we just don't quite know how to identify exactly what they are!

Oh, the places we'll go

Normally January in Minnesota feels like a drag. It’s the month when everyone starts complaining about how cold it is outside and how long the winter is. Well this year, for me, January is so exciting! It’s going to be a really busy month for us and before we know it, it’ll be over. We have a lot on the calendar to prepare for the bundle’s arrival and each event will hopefully leave us feeling more ready than the next for the change in store for our family of two.


Yesterday, we had our 32 week doctor appointment. It was a pretty quick appointment and everything went well. I didn’t gain any weight since my last appointment, so that was a nice added bonus. Not that I’m opposed to the weight gain by any means, but with my bottomless pit of a stomach, it was kind of refreshing (and a bit miraculous) hearing I hadn’t packed on some pounds. Give it time. Our next appointment will be in two weeks with a nurse practitioner and then we follow up with our doctor two weeks after that in the beginning of February. At that appointment at 36 weeks, he’ll do a cervical exam to make sure the baby’s head is down and to see if I’ve started to dilate. Appointments will continue every week after that until the baby comes.


Last night, we started the first (three hour) session of our “Birth and Parenting Preparation” class, a class that will conclude today (after another six hour session). Am I the only one that thinks the he-he-ha breathing method is a little scary with its resemblence to that hair-raising background "music" in Friday the 13th? My brother used to freak me out with that as a kid...che, che, che, che, ha, ha, ha, ha...che, che, che, che, ha, ha, ha, ha. How am I supposed to relax as I reminisce about this painful childhood memory? Maybe it'll end up having a positive effect and help my mind to refocus. Lord, I hope so after watching that birthing video. The good news is that I still want to have our baby (as if I had a choice now), but I'll admit I'm getting more anxious about labor and delivery. I'm sure every new mom-to-be is before it happens though, so I'll get through it (kicking and screaming probably, but I will..right?). Subsequent classes start this coming Monday night and continue on Monday nights through the end of January. They include an “All About Babies” Class (four hours total) and a “Breastfeeding Preparation” class (two and a half hours total).


The really fun stuff begins after our class when my first baby shower kicks off this evening! I cannot even wait. Because I’ve been to so many over the years for other people, it’s very surreal to think of myself as being the guest of honor this time. I’m so lucky to have such fabulous people in my life that offered to throw them for me. Each shower will be different than the rest; one is in the morning, one is in the afternoon and one is in the evening.

Leah, Kristin, Missy and Missy, four of my best friends, are throwing a baby shower cocktail/mocktail party for me tonight! I’m really looking forward to seeing what they have in store. They pull out all the stops for parties and I have no doubt it’ll be an event to remember. I just hope none of the guys Leah and I used to work with back in the day at Chi-Chi’s makes an appearance as bartenders (as they did when her parents threw a major bash for their 50th birthdays). I don’t think my bladder coupled with Kristin’s hard wood floors could handle those shaved man legs and muscle shirts without a major accident.

The most fantastic neighbors and friends that anyone could ask for, Denise and Mary, will be having a neighborhood shower for me next weekend. They were so sweet and had the guest list prepared for me literally the day after Jeff and I told them I was pregnant! It was the nicest. We are so grateful to have them and their families in our lives (stay tuned for a blog post about Mrs. Mary Smith!).

My last shower, will be given by two of my aunts and two of my cousins, Pat, Jody, Tammy and Khristin. I'm very close with each of them (although Pat gets way more pumped up about being close to my husband...keep it in the family I guess...OK, gross). They have all been so good to me and I’m really happy to be able to celebrate this time with them and all my other relatives!

The hubby will be extra busy with beer and boys, broomball and bowling each week. I told him to keep his cell phone close by! We'll also sneak in a Wild game, an overnight getaway and a couple other parties together this month. January is packed, but so many good things are in store. My sincerest thanks and gratitude goes out to each of my shower hosts for making me feel as special as I do, and likewise to all of our friends and family for helping both Jeff and me to rejoice in this awesome time in our lives.

Pay it forward

My coffee craving got the better of me today. I didn’t have time to make it at home this morning and my obsessive trait took over and I couldn’t stop thinking about how yummy it sounded. So off to the Caribou drive through I went. When my vehicle approached to pay, the window opened to reveal the cutest, most chipper girl who proceeded to tell me that the person in front of me had just paid for my coffee. I was shocked…elated…touched. The thought of a complete stranger’s act of kindness made me choke up immediately and I cried the entire way from there to work (aside from trying to keep it together during my phone call to Jeff to let him know what had just happened). I realized as I pulled away that I was a schmuck for not doing the same thing for the person behind me. I guess I was flustered and so consumed by the thoughts in my head about what just happened. So the next time I pull through the drive thru for some coffee, I’ll have it together and return the favor for someone else. I had heard of this phenomenon being discussed on the radio (the exact scenario of buying a person’s coffee who is behind you in a drive thru line), and had thought it was a neat thing to do, but why I hadn’t done it yet? After feeling the impact of such a seemingly simple act, I certainly will now. I’m sure my pregnancy hormones had something to do with the outpouring of tears, but I have to think I would be just as touched sans swollen tummy.

It truly takes so little to make someone’s day and leave a lasting effect. I hope that stranger felt as good giving that gift to me as I did receiving it. I now can’t wait to pay it forward and I hope this little tidbit inspires you to do so too.

The (not so) high chair is first in the assembly line

When it came to registering for baby gear, the high chair was a natural addition to the list. I wasn’t totally sold on the choices I had seen, but sure enough, the scanner beeped and one was added. A couple weeks later I found myself in a more manageable sized baby store (the kind that wouldn’t make a first-time dad break out in hives on his first trip) to check out this little number below. Sold! I immediately ordered it. Jeff picked it up last week and started assembling it right when he got home that day. I reminded him that we wouldn’t need it for a while, but I think he was just excited to get something for the shorty up and running. With the exception of our rocker and ottoman, the nursery sits empty. Our crib, dresser and bookcase have yet to arrive, but our kid can eat...well, when he or she is able, anyway. Typical of our ways that eating is primary around our home.



The chair will be put to use when our baby's around six months old. Its tray can be removed and because the chair is smaller than a typical high chair, it can be pulled right up to our table. Eventually, it can convert into a full sized chair (and seat an adult up to 250 pounds---I’m picturing us as middle-agers sending a drunken party guest to “the chair”. Won’t that be fun?). OK, so even though we most likely won’t use it into our child’s adulthood, with all the doodads out there that see such a short life span of use for kiddos, this chair seemed like a smart idea. Yes, it’s practical, but honestly, the look is what sold me. My cravings for coffee-based beverages have yet to cease, but the espresso color was picked to match our dining room table (although there may be some psychological connection in there somewhere). I hate to toot its horn (not really...toot), especially before even trying the chair out in a real world setting, but we like it a lot and are looking forward to putting it to the test.

Keep those tools near, bundlebreeder. Assembly required makes the finished product so much better (or so I will happily remind you in my gentlest voice as you are cussing out the next screw that doesn't fit properly, bolt that doesn't tighten, etc., etc., etc.).

Public service announcement

The paragraphs below contain some graphic details and language regarding a certain bodily function. This post is for entertainment purposes only and I will not be held accountable for costs associated with breakfasts, lunches, snacks or dinners if any food is lost while reading it. If you choose to proceed, please note that you have been forewarned.


If you aren’t a woman, or my husband (who has heard me grumble about this phenomenon several times), chances are you may not even know about the nastiness that takes place behind the closed doors of the dreaded women’s public restroom. Well kick up your feet because I’m about to make it clear as crystal, with more detail than you probably ever cared to know on the subject. That’s right---because if I get up from a toilet seat with a wet bum one more time, I am going to lose it! I may even find myself inclined to hunt the culprits down at this point. With me, I would bring the long string of paper squares that it takes me to wipe up after them because I am so mortified of touching any part of what has just leaked from their bodies. I will carry (with gloves) the wet paper trail to their doorstep and unless aforementioned culprits apologize profusely for their rudeness, they may just end up wearing it. Have you no shame? Have you no dignity? Have you no toilet paper to wipe up after yourself?

Is it just me (and sometimes by the looks of the seat I would swear it is), or are there not many things more disgusting than getting ready to do your business in the potty and realizing that you have just sat your precious behind in the pools of someone else’s urine? It may go unnoticed as you sit, but the second you move, there it is: the cool breeze of the air as it hits your dampened tush. The mere thought of it is enough to make my stomach turn, but when it happens for real, I want to take my soggy booty and force the perpetrator to give me a sponge bath right there over the sink of the Jackie Q Public restroom I am standing in. Chances are though, the peeing princess is long gone since she probably doesn’t believe in hand washing either (and don’t get me started on those that leave the restroom without washing their hands---at least have the decency to pretend you are doing it!). It’s appalling really. I am so bothered by the women who think it is OK to mark the seat of a toilet with their urine that I could just scream!

When I have called people out on this (I’m embarrassed for my friends who I have busted doing this and fortunately have decided not to name names here :)), I often hear, “I hate public restrooms and I’m not sitting on that seat.” Gee, you hate public restrooms? Do you think anyone likes them for crying out loud? Do you think the woman in Stall # 1 is sitting behind her door chuckling as she’s rubbing her butt around the seat simulating her hula-hoop moves until she’s dizzy because it’s just so darn fun to be there knowing no less than 50 other women have sat on that very same seat that very same day? I would have to say no.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like being there either, nor am I particularly fond of sitting on the toilet seat myself. However, back in the 6th grade when I was taught I wasn’t going to catch any awful disease by sitting on the seat of a toilet, I have to admit, sometimes it’s just nice to sit down and take a load off. Chances are, I may have been walking for two hours with four shopping bags in my hands and when I get into the bathroom and shut the door and hang up the bags on the tiny little hook in front of me and drop my drawers, maybe just maybe, I want to sit down for a few seconds. Perhaps I need a some time to ponder why I didn’t tell myself it was fine to have more than one green dress and why I need to march right back to the shop I came from to prove to myself that not only is it fine, it is more than appropriate and conceivably I want to have this precious moment while not sitting in someone else’s tiny drops of urine that I failed to notice before I sat in them, thank you. (I know, I know, there are plenty of run-ons to be had here, but steam is practically coming out of my ears and I just can’t stop the sentence to place another comma, semi-colon, or better yet, end it all with a period because I simply have to get out every last thought without a pause!)

The straw that is breaking that poor camel’s back enough for me to write about this is that even though the whole subject is something I can never stand, things have gotten trickier now that I’m permanently wearing a basketball. The balancing act it takes to tinkle without my rump touching the toilet seat isn’t as easy when lopsided. Getting lined up over the throne and stabilized so as not to wee on the floor (or the person’s foot in Stall # 2) is quite a sight for sore eyes. Here’s the visual: I’m several pounds in the gut heavier, my quad muscles are flexed to their fullest as I display a pitiful standing squat, my excessively large handbag dangles over my shoulder, one hand presses up against the wall on one side of me as I force myself to lean in that direction to gain a better stance. My other hand, when it’s not pressed against the other side wall or being used to hold myself up against the door, is pathetically trying to figure out a way to grab a foot of the tightly rolled toilet paper from the dispenser. I’m slightly out of breath. I give a good tug on the paper and one square rips off. Pull again and I’m lucky; this time I get two. The blood rushes to my head as I try not to tip over and stay somewhat upright. Third pull of the TP and it’s a buzz kill as I get something that resembles the state of Florida. Ugh. I contemplate the dreaded drip dry. Is it too much to ask for toilet paper that unwinds easily and in one consecutive motion? With the extra effort it takes for potty breaking at this point, can you really blame me if I’d rather just sit down?

Also worth mentioning is that I really need to get the full flow out and this is much more easily done if I’m able to be seated and allowed to relax. With how many times I’m hitting up the toilet nowadays, making the most of each trip is very important. If the urine release is interrupted because my body wavers, I don’t always get the chance to continue. It’s done. The moment’s lost. This means I’ve completed what I can for that session and ten minutes later I’m forced to return to finish where I left off.

Guys, can you imagine the sheer annoyance of the situation? It’s as maddening as being in a college football bowl pool and your team is up 38-7 in the third. You get the congratulations call/text/email from the buddy who wanted the other team to win and worse, you’ve taken the time to acknowledge the call/text/email knowing you’ve just fallen into the trap of the reverse jinx. 31 points later and a record-making comeback throws the game into overtime when you literally shed tears as your team squeaks out a field goal while the other proves victorious by answering with a touchdown to seal the deal. Sure you’ll get over it, but you can’t say the frustration doesn’t leave a lingering bad taste in your mouth.

Let me make it known that the problem does not stem merely from a woman’s choice to not sit on the toilet seat. The problem stems from the fact that if you choose not to sit down, the chances are better than most odds in Vegas that you are going to piddle somewhere on the seat. So clean it up! It’s simple, really. Surely you know what you’ve done. All I’m asking is for you to clean it up for yourself so that I don’t have to. What makes it ten times worse is when I don’t see the droplets as I approach and beyond disgusted, come to find that I’m now sitting right in them! It’s those minuscule pee beads (the kind too teeny for the naked eye to spot from two feet away) that really get you since sadly you don’t discover them until it’s too late. We’ve all been in this situation as women, and probably each of us has been the offender and the victim at one time or another. It’s time to band together and put the madness to an end for sanity’s sake. If it doesn’t stop, toilet paper stuck to my foot and all, I’m coming for you.

If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie, wipe the seatie! There, I feel better now.