During the first trimester I thought time was going so slow. As of today, I officially changed my mind. I'm 22 weeks. That means in 18 weeks Baby Boo is coming. Or that in 9 weeks I'll be having my shower. Or that I really need to call and get registered for my birthing/breastfeeding/child raising classes. Or that I really need to schedule an dentist appointment. Or that I really should be cleaning instead of listening to pandora.com all day while playing farkle on facebook. 'Cause if I'm ready or not, the baby's coming. And I'm realizing with every braxton hick contraction, he's on his way.
Through out my pregnancy I've been tracking how big he is and little milestones. For 22 weeks, he's now a pound and is around a foot long from tip of the head to his toes. And let me tell you, he's letting me know that he's there. For weeks now I was freaking out that I haven't really felt him move in a while. Well... apparently he was just storing his energy for this weekend. He hasn't been kicking a whole lot, but the kicks that are felt are really strong. Looking back the reason the kicks might have been so strong is because of me being moving around and drinking orange juice. But still, his kicking is stronger than ever before.
Speaking of moving around, I had an amazing day on Friday. Although I didn't get a pedicure nor did I get Olive Garden; I had an awesome time. I finally got my hair cut. I swear to God she cut off 15 pounds of hair. I love prenatal vitamins but it makes your hair grow fast. I got myself a new purse along with a wallet. And some new clothes. And I spent way too much money on myself. But I sorta needed that. On Friday night I was smiling and just happy. I wasn't my normal "blah" self.
Saturday we went to the flea market and I realized just how out of shape I have became. My legs hurt so bad, but we were able to have a good time. Saturday night though, was date night. We haven't had one in a long time. Sure we might go out to eat, but we never get to really get out of the house and do a fun activity. We went bowling. Although both of us were in pain and agony from it, it was a good time. A band that Greg knows was playing at the bar at the ally so we stopped in to see some of his friends. I knew Greg really enjoyed himself, even if the place was packed, smokey and filled with drunken idiots.
Sunday was just a lazy day. We had so much that we wanted to get done this weekend, but none of it got done. Oh well...it all will get done sooner or later. It just needs to happen sooner rather than later. :)
Now, I have another rant. I know, I know...I should stop these...but really this one is driving me nuts.
While we were at the flea market on Saturday morning, I get a text from my mom. "Bad news honey I'm sorry but Shawnee was killed by a hit and run." Who is Shawnee? My mom's neighbor's DOG. Now, I get sad when I hear about any animal dying in any way. But I've seen this dog maybe 3 times. I have no attachment to the dog or the her *asshole* of an owner. However, my mom and siblings were close to the dog and her owner, so I of course send my sympathies. Even when my mom calls me to tell me the *long* story, I don't really know what to say. Just that "I'm sorry she's gone" and "There will be other dogs".
All weekend my news feed is filled with my sister saying something along the lines of: "She's gone, OhMyGod, I can't go on, this is the end of my life" yadda yadda yadda. I think this is a little overly dramatic...even for my sister. She's a drama queen just like me but to just wallow in it for days...seems a little excessive. I understand the loss of a pet is extremely hard, especially one that's considered your family. But eventually, you move on.
I think what bothers me the most is the fact that they actually missed church for the dog's "burial". But yet when I came to visit, they had to go to both church and Sunday school. (They did have to go to church but as far as Sunday school, they didn't have to go...they had no issues that needed to be dealt with then.) So, how am I supposed to feel? That a dog's burial is more important to my family than me having a kid? It might be pregnancy hormones that are clouding my mind...but that's how I feel. And why would I even care about this dog? It wasn't mine...and frankly...I don't like most dogs. *Exception: Cheyenne and Cole. I loves them.*
To me, the whole thing is ridiculous. But then again, who am I to say anything to my family? I wasn't close to the dog and they were. I'm sure it's really hard what they are going through...but I can tell you that my sister didn't even react this way when our Grandfather passed away. And I think that's the saddest thing.
Until Next Time:
~MommyToBee
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