“Are we going to have a huge kid?” I asked my husband as we were out walking and I suddenly missed being able to see my imaginary pants button.

I would like to first explain that I am not an insecure person when it comes to my weight. I don’t believe people have to fit in the anorexia brackets that doctors so frequently describe as your “average weight bracket for your height” but I do know that there is a different between a healthy weight and one contingent upon an over-loaded doughnut intake. I believe there is a happy balance between enjoying that ice cream and enjoying the brussel sprouts (yes, world, I like brussel sprouts).

And it would be purely foolish of me to pretend like I have any idea what my personal pregnancy weight tolerance may be or how easily i will or will not be able to lose the excess weight. It would be like me using the phrase, “usually…” in starting a description of my pregnancy symptoms. Beyond the usually that this week has brought, consistency and certainly experience during this pregnancy have fallen to the lacking side of the scale.

Tolerance I speak of, yes, in regards to weight gain not because I have a hidden obsession about my weight, but because my body is a temple and I want to control the flesh as much as I possibly can. This has fueled my past love/hate relationship with running which resulted in a 3rd place triathlon happening. And I am sure that my desire to dominate my lazy “I want ice cream” selfishness will also fuel further running sessions after the arrival of baby and the disappearance of ice.

But, despite some opinions, pregnancy is not the platform of “free for all” binge eating. I don’t feel that it is my excuse to bomb-rush the nearest fast food urge or throw myself at passing ice cream trucks. I am well aware that the weight I carry, good and bad weight, will have it’s affects beyond delivery day.

So in light of my thinking, I have broken through my comfortable realm of pride to ask for Matt’s help in a round-about prideful way of course. But none the less, he has graciously offered to walk with me on a more regular basis and help with packing healthier choices for my daily in-order-to-avoid-feeling-ill moments at work. (Yes, friends, while I haven’t puked at work since 5.5 months into this pregnancy, feeling ill if i don’t eat within a 1/2 hour to hour bracket of my first feeling of hunger is an unfortunate side-affect.) Matt has even gone to the extremities of offering to avoid chips and cookies within our household all to aid his bride and child make better choices.
I could never ask him to do so, but his willingness is to be honored.

Either way, I type all this not to notify you cyber and breathing world of my personal woes regarding weight gain (for I really don’t think they are woes at all), but because sometimes we need to make more intention to live more healthy lives. And I find that “sometimes” in the last sentence is not situational, but intentional. (If of course there is such thing as an intentional intent.) Therefore, in this daze of feeling completely out of control of this body while this little one dictates my level of acid reflux, sleep, energy, and intake demand, I am taking more delight in the idea of a few lifestyle changes that might just help throttle on these last few months of healthier weight gain.

I haven’t done horrible thus far (in fact I’m still in the “normals”- whatever that means), but I certainly can always do better… and should be striving for such endeavors.

So, (raises plate) here’s to a night of green beans… and just one slice of what Matt’s having – hot wanna-be-healthy pizza – after an evening walk (choking session) with our poochie.

=)

Pro of 7 months pregnant:
– frequent kicks

Con:
– baby dragging limbs and elbows to scrape along innards

Pro:
– carrying part of my family with me

Con:
– bladder and intestine kicks resulting in quick trips to the bathroom

Pro:
– still being able to get up and down form the floor, though it is becoming more awkward

Con:
– a co-worker informed me that the waddle-walk has become me

Pro:
– No one can tell me that #1 – there’s not a baby inside & #2 – it doesn’t have a mind of it’s own

But in all, friends, it’s really neat to feel baby’s sleeping and awake patterns, hiccups, response to sugary juices, and migration patterns (while some are becoming more intrusive and painful). There is nothing like watching the faces of friends when they get kicked by our baby. And the increasing reality of the “countdown” being more and more in our favor when it comes to a potential birthday of this little one is quite fun. Part of me anxiously awaits the joy of being able to hold and see our baby, but the other part of me really enjoys the time that I get to spend right now, holding our baby. I often wonder who he/she will look like, what their personality will be like, and what it will feel like to live the normal day in and day out (my favorite part of doing life with Matt) with a little one. Thinking of the joy of being a mom and watching my mom’s eyes light up at the thought of being a grandma and watching Matt’s elated joy as he gets kicked makes me want to snuggle our baby.

God has so blessed us by this little life and they aren’t even “here” yet. Thank you, Lord, for our little one. Thank you.

So I have a confession to make…
Sunday I went over to Jenney’s house after popping into a few stores with Jenney to run a few errands. I held her kitten, Ebony, an all-black and all-loving kitten that sunk into my neck with loud purring. That’s right, friends, I want a furry.
Yes, it’s been almost 3 weeks since Cheddar has been gone. Kinda odd to think about how long it has felt. But I really do want a purry furry for this purry furry friendly house. No, I haven’t talked to Matt. No, the cat can’t be anything but tolerant of huge wolf-like dogs. And no I’m not completely rational in my thought process of getting a cat. And also, no I am not going to run out and buy some cat (Matt sighs as he reads this), but…
Yes, I want a furry. A good one. A lovable one. And just maybe sometime in the near (within a year) future some stray furry from the SPCA or something will find it’s home with us and the wolf. And who knows… just maybe I’ll be able to convince Matt of getting a furry sooner than the “much later” thought process that plagues his responsible self.

= ) I love that man. He keeps me sane.

But sometimes the insane thoughts are fun to dream about.

And watch out Jenney… your kitten just might go missing. ; )

For Renee, Aunt Yvonne and all those whom have been waiting… it had been put in the back of my list of priorities for a while, but my Mom busted out a camera and so I figured I’d post an update despite the funky face I have in the picture. Hehe.

Oh and like I told my mom earlier, today at work a man said to me “Woah! Baby’s coming any day now, huh?”

Hahaha. Really smooth man!

Somewhere between 2.5 to 3 months to go.
And yes, friends, I have just bumped into the third trimester. Or as my fellow-pregnant-office-space-sharer co-worker says, “the home stretch.”

We came home tonight after getting our soon-to-be-arriving nephew a few baby-shower delights to find two eaten pencils, shredded book and chomped TV remote. That’s right, Dakota decided to share her puppy side. So now her puppy side is sitting in her cage for the evening with an occasional commentary of “bad dog” from myself as I cleaned up the mess. With a phone call Matt has a new remote headed our way free of charge. But sadly, Dakota’s puppyness has destroyed a book I was reading on some suggested methods to get our baby to sleep in more solid chunks through the night once kiddo comes. Apparently Dakota would like to see me suffer… once tonight and again come my return to work after baby arrives. That’s worth a “bad dog” in my book. Upon seeing the mess I announced to my laughing husband regarding leaving Dakota out of her cage when we are gone, “That’s the end of that.”

Who knows, maybe in a good 10 years she can convince me that she is a good dog again.
J/k