Thoughts on This Whole Being Knocked Up Business: Edition 3

Can you believe I’m nearing the end of my second trimester? I’m not even going to pretend that I know which week marks the actual transition, because when I looked online one site said 25 weeks and another said 28 weeks and another said 26 weeks and another said 26.68 and another said GET OUT OF MY FACE MY *%#&@* BACK HURTS.

So, I’ll just say, sometime kind of soon in a way I think.

I love clarity!

1) Drinking Water: First of all, I should tell you, I’m a HUGE water drinker. The annoying kind. The kind that has to bring the most enormous bottle of water in my bag everywhere I go because if five minutes pass and I don’t have my water I MIGHT WITHER AWAY AND BECOME LIZARDY. Aaron used to literally send me links on articles discussing “Signs you’re drinking too water.” ” You could die from too much water.” ” Watch this video of a girl passing out from drinking too much water.” Or wait that one was vodka.

But when I got pregnatootiloo, the filtered water we have in our refrigerator totally tasted jank and disgusting and I quickly fell out of place in this world. I even replaced the water filter, but it still tasted like death and regret. So, for weeks and weeks and weeks now I’ve been buying those obnoxious gallon jugs of drinking water from the store. And they.are.everywhere. It’s embarrassing, our kitchen looks like a water factory. I have no idea where to put them all. Aaron walks in, “Ugh, more jugs? Seriously?” Me, “I AM CARRYING YOUR CHILDREN.”

And then, “Check out my jugs, yo.”

2) Burning Heart and Burning Skin, WTF: Okay, up until now I’d never experienced heartburn. People have been warning me left and right and up and down about it, but I had no idea what it would feel like or what to expect. Well let me tell you, missy. HeartBREAK is different from heartBURN. What I’ve been experiencing so far is like an army of tiny gremlins crawling up through my esophagus, stopping mid-way for a pee break and tickling the inside of my throat with 15 thousand tiny haunted demon feathers. It’s the most annoying feeling ever. I can’t cough it away. I can’t swallow it away. I would like to multiply my hands by a million, shrink them down, stick them down my throat and punch each gremlin individually in the face.

And the burning skin, sweet babies of death. The first time it happened it woke me from a deep slumber. I thought someone had dropped a curling iron on the top of my belly. A blow torch. A stick of incense. All of the 4th of Julys. But no! Apparently it’s “nerve irritation” right under my skin, due to stretching. Well I’d like to nerve irritation my fist in its face, because it be crampin’ my style.

I basically have to sleep with a cold damp towel and a block of dry ice.

3) Hormones and Crying Like, All The Time: I normally don’t think of myself as a crier by nature. Okay so maybe that’s a stretch. Or a bold-faced lie? But this one time (not at band camp) proved me silly wrong.

Aaron and I had met for a nice patio dinner date night at one of our favorite spots out on the town. I had the most wonderful black bean burger, a gorgeous salad, a few french fries and a slice of his buffalo chicken pizza. Life was beautiful. I felt full and happy and blorbalicious. We piled the remaining pizza/half burger and fries into a large to-go box, paid our bill and stood up to leave. I said to Aaron, “will you hold this box?” He took the box. We took a few steps towards the patio gate. My enormo belly leading the parade. My purse slightly bumped Aaron’s hand. The box fell. In slow motion. To the ground. Noooooo. All our food. On the ground. Noooooo. Fries flying through the air like those annoying spinning Maple helicopter leaves in the spring. My black bean burger. Covered in dirt and soot and probably Hep C.

I bawled. Right there in front of the ENTIRE restaurant, I completely lost it, held on to this light pole and buried my head into my arm and sobbed like a total freaking freakazoid freak. The restaurant gasped when they heard my heart shatter. I mean the box hit the ground. It was horrible. I got in my car and cried WAAAH WAAAH WAAAH all the way home.

I remember Aaron hugging me outside the restaurant, “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s a bummer, but that’s all it is.” Isn’t that sweet?

I hate him.

4) Now I Know How Sigourney Weaver Feels: These kicks are getting insane in the uterine membrane, folks. And I’m completely in love with it. They roll around and punch and kick and get all kung fu-y matrixy with each other. Hands down, the most bizarre, incredible feeling on the planet.

However, the moment the movements went from a light flutter to a 180 split leap triple tuck, I thought it was the end for me. The aliens had finally arrived, I’d been infected with one of their weird isopod things and they were about to break loose from the inside out and eat me alive. And there’s intense music playing in the background and I’m all sweaty and screaming.

But it was just the babies. WHEW, YOU GUYS.

My mom is terrified to read my blog like, 96% of the time.

5) Fun Little Game: So this is a gas. And I don’t do it often, but the few times I have have given me the greatest joy known to date.

Rando stranger out in public, noticing my ginormo gestational growth, “Aw, congratulations!”

Me, “For what?”

a beat. their face. that one single moment where their whole world goes, “ooooooh shhhhhhhiiiii…..”

Me, “I’m totally kidding! Thank you!” And then we (I) laugh and they punch me.

p.s. Save me a seat at the bar in hell, will ya?

6) What’s in a Name: Pardon the decibel shattering squeal, but, we’ve got names! We’ve actually had one picked out since 2005, and the other since 25.63467 seconds into pregnancy. I did a little teaser on the Instagrams and a LOT of you got it right. And actually, a lot of you already knew. Because I can’t keep my trap shut. And they were printed on my shower invitations. And I tell basically everyone ever.

For the boy : William Everett Weidner. Eeeee! We’ll call him Will. No Bill or Billy or Mac or Buddy. (name that song) Just Will. Will Weidner. I can just imagine some girl gawking over him in high school, “Oh my gawd did you see what Will had on today? Hawwwwt.”

Okay wait, I might not like this.

William and Everett are both family names, but I have always secretly loved Will from Oklahoma. Ya know when Ado Annie goes, “Oh, Weeee-ulll!” and hugs him? It makes me a blubbery fool.

For the girl: Natalie James Weidner. Eeeee! We’ll call her Natadoodoo. Just kidding. I think.

Natalie and James are again, both family names, but my long lasting obsession with Natalie Wood sealed the deal. Minus the whole stepping off a boat and drowning thing.

So there we have it! And in case you’re wondering, our last name is pronounced “Wide-ner.” Not “Weed-ner.” Oh gosh can you imagine?

Not that there’s anything wrong with Weedner! I’m just . . . well  . . . I mean . . .

Just start us a tab at the hell bar. Ugh.

Okie doke, weeks 24 through 28, I’ve got my lil’ eyes on you. You know what though, if it’s okay with you I’m gonna lie down with some chocolate cupcakes and my belly wedge pillow while I watch you. But I’m watching! Ohhh I’m watching.

Edition 1

Edition 2