Yet again, I cannot relate

Dear Woman in the Target Dressing Room,

Hello.  We have never met, but if I had the opportunity to introduce myself, I'd be tempted to over share and tell you that I'm in the dressing room trying on maternity clothes in a desperate attempt to find something - anything - that fits and doesn't also look like a tent.  I have been having jealously pains lately, seeing all the stylish girls in their cute and summery outfits and dresses.  I pass by my usual favorite stores with a wistful glance and try my best to hold my temper when the item I ordered online arrives and proves itself to be ill-fitting just like ALL THE OTHER ONES.

I had the day off work today and thought I'd come to Target to see if I might have some luck.  If not, I reasoned, there's always a Kit-Kat at checkout.  Gap.com does not offer such a perk.

And then, there's you.

You, complaining loudly to your mother that the size extra small is too big.  "It's too big!," you exclaim, to which your mother replies, "are you sure it's not the small?," a suggestion that makes you sigh loudly.  "It's not the small.  It's the extra small and it's too big!"

I had a shirt-tent halfway on and had to stop to collect my thoughts.  I felt dizzy for a brief moment (not really), and had to fight the urge not to laugh loudly and cynically in your general direction.

The extra small is too big?  Might I suggest a few Kit-Kats at checkout?

Wait...what?

I'd read about "pregnancy brain" before and kind of scoffed at it.  You've probably heard of it or experienced it, too.  I always assumed it was a nice way to cut pregnant women some slack and help them feel better about themselves.

Until it happened to me.

More than once.

There are lots of examples I could tell you about, and Jeremy could probably pitch in a few more but he won't because he values his...ahem.

I've been forced to embrace that fact that I, too, am experiencing pregnancy brain.  I am losing my ever-loving mind.  Want to laugh at with me?  Check out these recent occurrences:

- Today, during my morning commute to work, I got on the interstate GOING THE WRONG WAY.
- Last week, I asked a volunteer if she could please teach Sunday School on February 21.
- Two weeks ago, I lost my car key somewhere between the front door and the car.  I'm still baffled by that one.
- It took me approximately 17 tries before spelling "occurrences" correctly in this post.  On second thought, that has nothing to do with pregnancy.

I'm considering wearing a helmet everywhere I go, just as a safety precaution.

Adrenaline rush

Today, I lived life on the edge.

I wore a skirt on a windy day.

Oh, dear

So.

We're having a boy!  Such exciting news and even better because the ultrasound showed a healthy kid, no red flags of any sort.  So game on.  My favorite image from the ultrasound is this one, of our little guy giving us a thumbs up:

  

I can only pray that this little gesture is an indicator of personality and demeanor, right?  A chill little guy?  Am I totally jinxing myself?

If there is a chill bone in this little man's body, he apparently will not have inherited it from me.  All reports of my attitude as an infant pretty much go like this one, written by my grandma.  I discovered it last night in a book she wrote and gave each grandchild.  It's a marvelous book - she begins by describing her childhood and goes all the way through to pay tribute to each of her grandchildren.  My section reads:

"Elizabeth was born before any of the grandparents had time to get to the hospital.  She was a demanding little thing right from the start.  She had her own mind, and she was born with it made up.  Her mother is quoted as saying - "I'm going to stop the first car that goes by and tell them - We need help!!"  I also remember Darrell [my dad] calling us - saying "come over quick, Jenny [my mom] is sitting in the bath tub crying!"

Of course, her writing went on to detail all my accomplishments since infancy, so I apparently redeemed myself.  But when reading that passage, I couldn't help but imagine myself weeping in a bath tub in a few months, Jeremy frantically calling for reinforcements.

Good times, good times.