Science proves me right, and then kicks me.

Internet, it's a girl! We have a photo to prove it. Which I shall not be posting. Because, ew.
Hooray! Dancing! Let the shopping commence!
But science decided to give me a few swift kicks while I was at the doctor's office, too. No less than three doctors and nurses sang the praises of the TDAP (Tetanus, Diphtheria and Whooping Cough) vaccine to me. And in the way of these things, they kept insisting it was FATAL to INFANTS if they happened to get it. Whooping cough? Really? Isn't that a victorian disease? NO. IT IS AN EPIDEMIC! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!
I don't usually get worked up by this stuff, but I cowed to the pressure this time. And I got a flu shot for the first time, too. You know, infant mortality and all that.
And less than five hours later came the crushing cold. That I can't take anything good for. (Infant! Mor-ta-li-teeee!)
So, my dears, I shall see you again when the chills and aches subside.

20 Weeks

And today is the big ultrasound! Today we find out the baby's gender. I'm 99% convinced it's a girl. Come on science, prove me right!

Some things.

My butt is growing faster than my baby bump. My roots are growing out faster than my baby bump, too. So now I just look like an unkempt, disheveled woman, waddling about. Eh, that's pretty much how I feel, too.

The last thing I tried to make was a baby blanket. I majorly screwed it up once, and had to rip the stitches out of the whole darn thing. It's almost finished correctly now. But it's August, and 100+ degrees out there, and not the greatest time to work on huge flannel blankets.

I recently managed to bang my forehead on a folding chair hard enough so that it still hurt days later. Then, I managed to get barbecue potato chip dust in my eyes. Awesome.

The heat is causing the bunny to shed like crazy. There is bunny hair on every surface in this house. It's pretty gross. And Mr./Mrs. Spoiled Finnegan refuses to let me brush him. Bunny scratches hurt.

Oh, and Dan broke his toe. Not because of the bunny. Unless what caused him to kick the underside of the couch was slipping on a clump of bunny hair. Very possible, actually.

This collection of assorted snapshots is going to have to suffice as a blog post. Who knew that growing a baby sucked all the creative energy right out of you? I won't even mention the scary lack of Etsy sales. Babies suck the marketing energy right of you, too. Darn babies. Also, I'm not so sure what I should be writing about these days. You guys did not come here for a mommyblog. I'm not at all sure that I want to turn into a mommyblog. Carrying on like nothing's changing isn't an option, though, so now what?

Once upon a nervous breakdown

I'm not afraid of thrift stores. In fact, I quite enjoy the thrill of the hunt, pushing my way through rack after rack of other people's discarded stuff, sifting for gems. And I often find them.
Which is why it was such a shock to me to find myself breathing shallowly outside a kid's consignment store yesterday. I had to walk through the Beverages & More next door (smart!) to calm down. (Side note: I miss booze now!)
Allow me, kind reader, to back track. It all started when my mother in law said something "Hey, have you gone to Once Upon a Child? You should, you know. They have cribs and stuff there. And it is cheap."
"What an excellent idea!" the husband and I decided. And so we went.
The first thing that hits you in the face when you open the door of one of these establishments is the screaming. Oh, Lord Almighty, the screaming. It bounces off the walls of this tight confined space, and you can hear the babies scream "THIS IS GOING TO BE HAPPENING TO YOU IN LIKE FIVE MONTHS. WAAA HAAA HAA HAA!"
Underneath the screaming, you can hear Disney Princess songs being piped in. You see, there is no escape from their horrid taffeta clutches. Not even for your ears.
Cast a look around, and you will find new cribs pushed up against each other all the way to the walls. The walkways are tiny, and littered with discarded toys. Hey, look, there's all sorts of new furniture. And lo, it is not cheap.
We did find some icky used strollers folded up under a display. But, ewwww.
Teenagers with giant pregnant bellies walk the aisles in ripped jeans.
The walls are lined floor to ceiling with mostly pink clothes. Take one off the rack to examine, and be blown away by the savings and/or stains. Or perhaps just think to yourself "Dang. Baby clothes are expensive." It really depends on what you pick up.
Wander around for a bit, and you're sure to ask yourself "What's that smell?" That smell, my friends, is children. And it is not a nice smell.
Crowded, loud, disorganized, smelly, overly pink...in other words, picture a nursery from hell.
"I do not like it here." I whimpered to my husband.

It took me a few minutes after the sensory overload had died down to figure out that this place preyed on a lot of my worst fears about parenting. Namely, that the rest of my life is going to be loud, disorganized, packed to the gills with crap, smelly, overly pink, and that there will be a Disney Princess peeking out from every corner.
I've been reading a lot of blogs, and growing enamored with the idea that there's more than one way a house with children looks. Even if they all tend to be messy. (That's okay, really! I mean, have you seen my studio? I can handle a mess. Also, pink.)
So if you'll need me, I'll be hunkered down at my sewing machine, crafting up bibs and blankets and whatnot. Savoring these precious last few months of control and good looking things.

And! If you know of tutorials or sites about making baby stuff, PLEASE post those links below!