15 Weeks Till D-Day

Today, BabyCenter tells me my child weighs roughly as much as a rutabaga. If I knew what a rutabaga was, this would be more meaningful. Pretty sure I ate one once at the in-laws Thanksgiving dinner, and I "politely" spit it out into my napkin. No bueno.

The child rolling around inside of me feels a lot heavier than 1 1/2 pounds. This terrifies me, leaving me to believe that, come my due date, I will give birth to a child roughly the size of my couch. When I get kicked, these are not love taps, but karate moves. I have nightmares that my baby breaks my spine in half (and that I am a dog groomer at Petsmart, but I think that's because I ate carmel popcorn right before bed).

When I try to imagine the personality of this new baby, I always picture a girl. I picture a sweet little girl that I can cuddle with and love on. A little girl that will let me play with her hair and paint her nails. A little girl that will want to watch "Beauty & the Beast" with me. If this child comes out a boy, I will officially have the worst motherly instincts ever...and a whole lot of sparkly pink shoes to get rid of. I am torn between turning the nursery into a chic fest, and turning Tristan's new room into every geeky comic book lover's haven.

 Since becoming pregnant, I have decoupaged two items for my Little Man's new toddler room. Six months ago, I didn't even know what decoupage was...and now I am the proud owner of two pieces of furniture that look like Superman and the Hulk threw up on it. Having four sisters, and zero brothers makes me a bit challenged in the boy department. I have had to take many a lesson's about the Silver Surfer, the Green Goblin, and why Thor is so awesome. His room has been painted "so bright your eyeballs bleed" blue, and Marvel Comics characters can be found in every corner. I even found outlet plates with Iron Man, The Thing, and some dude that looks like Fabio on them.

I also learned a lesson in child development; after watching me screw the plates on, Tristan decided to copy me with his own tools. By the grace of God, Tristan managed to wedge a screw into the light socket without being completely electrocuted. Thank you, Jesus, for my little Handy Manny.

I think the nesting might have also officially begun. I found myself, like a loser, cleaning my oven and stovetop at 11:30pm on a Saturday night. It needed to be done, and I don't know why. I am preparing for this new baby, and hoping that she (maybe he), comes sooner than 15 weeks. I will do anything possible to get her (maybe him) out before December 31st. Who couldn't use the tax break? And I am ready to meet my daughter (possibly son).

For now though, I just prepare. I enjoy the last short months that I have with only Tristan. And I wait patiently to meet the newest member of our family. Until then, it remains just the three of us.