He rules with a chubby, dimpled, iron fist

Three months of Beast Boy, and this is what I have to say: I never knew that a tiny human who squalls and yells in my face to "request" my service, who looks me in the eye while he's filling his diaper, who fights me while I'm wiping HIS butt, who wakes me up at all hours of the night, demands so much of my personal time that it's nearly impossible to take basic care of my basic needs (like, you know, eat, use the bathroom, shower, get dressed...), could be so, so


delightful.


In fact, I love this little squirt so much that I don't mind that he reigns as a tiny despot in this household. It's crazy how much I don't mind it. Don't get me wrong; there are days when I think I'm going insane because I haven't had a shower and the house smells like crap (literally), but a smile from the little dude (and a quick shower) makes everything alright. Other days, I think I'm losing my mind due to sleep and food deprivation, but then Beast Boy coos, and then what am I supposed to do? Nothing, except melt like putty into his chubby Roman hands and obey his every command.

So that you can understand a little bit of his delightfulness, here are some photos from the last three months in chronological order.

And that sums up three months of his life with Gordita and The Compensator.

BB goes to church

BB went to church last Sunday. We got him all dressed up in an adorable outfit that his aunt and uncle in Spain sent us.

And this is what he did:

Good times.

In love

Friday, May 31st our Beast Boy was born.

Stats: 8 lbs 5 oz, 19-20 inches (there is some dispute about his birth length but he measured 20 inches at 5 days).

Story: At 3am on the 31st I woke up in pain. Intense, sharp, periodic pain in lieu of the constant dull and annoying pain I had been experiencing for weeks. I leaned over to TC and whispered "It's go time."

Okay, not really. I think I said something more like "Ow ow. This hurts. I'm going to die," followed by obscenities.

So we got up, got dressed, vomited (that was me) and headed down the street to the hospital.

Once we got there they got me situated in a labor & delivery room and I asked, "When can I see the anesthesiologist?" Then I vomited again.

They brought in the anesthesiologist 8 hours later (or 15 minutes, my perception might have been off). Anyway, once she did her thing, which made me vomit one last time, I felt golden. Then we just waited. All day. I made progress until noon, and we all felt hopeful that by 4 or 5 our little one would arrive. But then all the progress stopped, so the pitocin began. 

And still the progress was stagnant. But they have cable, which means HGTV, which I don't have at home, so I was still golden. I watched TV, ate the contraband granola bars that TC had smuggled in for me, drifted in and out of sleep while nurses came and checked on me impressed at the strength of the contractions I was having, but dismayed that nothing was happening. Meanwhile, TC was a wreck, worrying about me. He's a good husband.

Well, at 7pm my doctor called it: this baby would be born via c section. After some extra anesthesia, a priesthood blessing from TC with my Dad and BB's honorary grandfather Brown attending, I was wheeled into the OR. And just 30 or so minutes later our little baby boy was born. As they were pulling him out, the nice anesthesiologist pulled down the curtain so TC could see. Yeah. TC didn't want to see. Poor guy.

Then I heard the following conversation:

Doctor 1: Did he just pee on us?

Doctor 2: Yes. Yes he did.

Our baby came into the world urinating on the doctors. That's my boy. Not sure why that makes me proud, but it does.

I saw him for a minute before they took him and TC off to bathe, measure and weigh him. In the meantime I drifted in and out of sleep while they stitched me up. I felt nothing other than them yanking on the lower half of my body, to the left, then to the right, then to the left again. For all I know they were playing with my legs like I was a marionette. 

At any rate, they wheeled me back to the labor and delivery room, and shortly after TC came in with our big/little boy. And almost immediately he was looking for his next meal. Such a hungry little beast. Thus his nickname: Beast Boy.

And that's when I fell helplessly in love. 

More to come later.

2nd Trimester and other stuff

Hey there. Guess what? I'm still alive. And I'm doing well. Work (yep, I'm working right now), baby prep, house stuff and general life have taken over any blogging time. But I've found a moment or two to write, so here I am.

So, I'm now about 8 weeks away from little Peter's due date, which is exciting and stress-inducing at the same time. The second trimester was a breeze, with only minor annoyances (like heartburn, finding it more difficult to bend over to put shoes on, and snoring). In fact, it was actually pretty fun to have people start to notice the Peter bump and comment on its cuteness. Flattering. The attention, I won't lie, is fun.

Oh, and feeling baby move is fun and interesting. These days he fights with me over resting things on my belly. Not even heavy things, just pieces of paper, or the edge of my laptop. He pushes back. Such a resistant little fellow. He also tends to be elusive with TC. When I tell TC to come feel Peter move, the little guy typically stops. We figure he doesn't like being a prank monkey and so out of spite stops moving. Our doctor says it's probably because TC has a calming effect. 

I now have an intense desire to eat exactly as TC does. I can't get enough chocolate milk and cookies (which is a staple in TC's diet). And just to show that this baby is indeed part Argentine: I crave meat. Good thing we are going to Tucanos tomorrow night for all you can eat meat. That should satisfy the dude.

I bought some maternity jeans and a few tops and have just been creative (or not so creative) in putting outfits together. TC bought me a few cute dresses for church, and I have plans to sew for myself, but I haven't felt motivated to do so. Oh, and, in case any of you are wondering, I am still wearing heels most of the time, unless I have to walk a whole lot, in which case I wear flats. Today I am wearing these:

Also, it's warm. I kept thinking, back in January when Utah had three continuous weeks of snow and ice and freezingness and mucky skies, and then a short break before more snow and muckiness, that I would never have this baby, since he's due at the beginning of June, and by then it should be warm and sunny and lovely. But now, there is evidence that eventually it will be warm, and this baby will come. Whew! No chronic pregnancy for me.

Our house still has not taken material form, but we are hoping to apply for building permits in the next few months. Everything is designed and engineered and awesome. 

I have been sewing for Peter, and if I ever get around to it I'll post the projects here. I do have, however, for your viewing pleasure, some gifts that he has already received.

A pair of shoes (gosh I hope he inherits his parents' love of shoes):

And a very fitting onsie for our super baby:

The First Trimester, According to Gordita

I've been thinking about this post for quite a while now. What would I say? How would I describe my first trimester? Now that I'm well into the second, I think I'm far enough removed to be objective, but still close enough to it that I remember.

Well, here's what I've come up with to summarize the experience: it was crappy.

The nausea, the bloating, the digestive ummm struggles, the emergency ravenousness, general cloudy headedness, acute loss of sense of humor, the panic and guilt I felt... Yeah. All crap.

Because I was so nauseated, and only a few foods really appealed to me, I ate whatever sounded good. For some reason fruits and vegetables in any form did NOT sound good to me. Neither did anything with any semblance of nutrition. I subsisted on cereal, white rice with butter and salt, boiled pasta with a whisper of olive oil, chicken nuggets, fries and toast with honey. My favorite foods--goldfish, diet Dr. Pepper, pizza, and even Cafe Rio (the horror)--did not appeal. In fact, they induced nausea. Heart-rending, I know.

My poor diet, along with the zofran I was taking for nausea, plus the general pregnantness I was experiencing led to my digestive ummm struggles. All I will say about that is this: I do not wish that kind of pain on even the most loathsome of people.

Then there was the emergency ravenousness, the feeling that fatty's gonna have a heart attack if we don't eat again soon (name THAT movie). What a conundrum: I must eat or I will die, or worse, vomit. But nothing sounds appealing. Plus, it's 2:30 in the antemeridian and my dear husband is trying to sleep and our apartment is small and every sound is heard everywhere and it's not like I could prepare boiled pasta without disturbing him. So, I ate cereal. Like a kid at fat camp that sneaks into the kitchen at night, I snuck around eating cereal as quietly as I could. You'd be surprised at how much racket a metal spoon makes clanking against a porcelain bowl. It's like jet engine loud at 2:30 am.

Between the bloating and the poor diet, I gained weight. I wasn't "showing," just chubbier. I was less than delighted about that.

So as a result of my physical difficulties I felt cloudy-headed. I wasn't ME anymore. And I completely lost any semblance of a sense of humor. TC was no longer funny. His jokes or words of comfort and support intended to ease my burden were seemingly insensitive (i.e. TC: "Well, at least this will be over soon." Me: "That's not funny jerk. Don't trivialize my demise! It's like you want me to feel miserable.") Yeah. I was a joy to be around.

I felt panicked that this condition was permanent, although every degree of logic pointed to temporary. And I panicked that I wasn't happy to be pregnant. After waiting and hoping for so long, I was miserable. Is this what tragic irony is all about?

And I felt guilty that the little one growing inside of me, sucking the life out of me, snuffing me out gradually, wasn't loved and treasured. Would I love this baby, the cause of my lengthy expiry, once it was born, assuming I survived that long? Would I resent the creature? Would I continue to view him as a parasite?

I'm happy to report that with the second trimester things gradually changed, on all fronts. Things have gotten better: I'm not nauseated, my head is unclouded, it's no longer eat or die, and I'm starting to kind of like this little guy. I realize now that wherever I go, I have company, and I like it. Also, my diet is more varied and my favorites are back into play (except for pizza for some strange reason). And the digestive struggles have subsided. Things are looking up!

So to anyone out there reading this that might be in their first trimester, fearing that they will never be funny again, that they will never have another normal "movement," or that they will never love diet Dr. Pepper the same, take courage. Things will get better! This IS temporary.

However, when one problem is solved, another takes its place. I'll tell you all about my second trimester once it's over.

Franken-dress

Vogue 1102

Way back in December I needed a special dress to celebrate our anniversary. I was inspired by Vogue 1102. Actually it was TC who first saw this pattern and decided I needed it. 

However, after reading reviews, I read that the neckline had some gape issues, and since I would have needed to add sleeves and a back, I figured I'd just use a different pattern for the bodice. Since I had already made Simplicity 2444 (I haven't blogged about the result due to a neckline mishap that still needs to be fixed) and knew what to expect with the bodice, I went ahead and used that pattern for the top, and Vogue 1102 for the full circle skirt. 

Simplicity 2444

The fabric is a polyester shantung from Hancock Fabrics. 

Because of my increased girth, I had to increase the size of the bodice (I had previously cut it in a 12, and needed it to be closer to a 16), but I just eye balled it. Also, I was pressed for time, having waited until the last minute to start on this dress, so I am really really grateful that I didn't hit any snags. The dress was straight forward and fit perfectly. Here's the result.

The awesome thing about this dress, beside the fact that I feel completely beautiful in it, is that the circle skirt provides plenty of room for my baby belly, even as it grows. In fact, I made this dress for our anniversary on December 14, and it still fit last week.

Here's the snag. I did something moronic. This is currently the only dress I have that fits well, so it has been my go-to dress for Sundays. And this last Sunday, I went to iron my sweet dress, forgetting that the iron was on it's super sonic hot setting, and the fabric melted, making a hole in the skirt. Wah wahhhhhhhh!

I was able to quickly scrounge up something to wear for church (thank goodness), but now my beautiful dress is scorched. But I'm sure I can replace that panel of the skirt (it's one of the back panels, so it represents 1/4 of the whole circle) with a new, non-scorched one. I just need to make a trip to Hancock, do some seam ripping, sewing and voila!  

I would have liked to get better pictures, which is why I didn't blog this dress earlier, but it will have to wait until I get that skirt fixed.

The dress scorching is a result of one of the symptoms I am currently experiencing: pronounced stupidity. I'm not as smart as I used to be. I'll tell you more some other time, if I can figure out how to type.

Boys rule

Friday was the big day, reveal day! And it turns out that TC/Gordita Jr. is a boy. Pleased, surprised, excited, happy all describe my feelings. I was convinced it was a girl, so it was quite the paradigm shift for me to imagine that a little boy is coming to join our family.

When TC and I first married, I imagined that our first baby would be a miniature of my beloved husband. I mean, really, look at this baby face.

So now that I'm over the surprise that it's not actually a girl, I'm excited, thrilled to think that I will have a little superman running around my house. Good grief I can hardly look at this picture without geeking out.

And this baby's name on the blog shall be: 

Peter La Fleur.

The ultrasound was interesting. I really enjoyed it. Little Peter was really active and twitchy at the start. We were able to determine his gender (well really the technician was because it was unbelievably unapparent to me), and then he folded his legs, settled down and napped.

We didn't get a good look at his face, but his spine was awesome looking. 

At any rate, I'm rambling. Next up, a dress I made that works with the gut. Wee!

It's a... BABY!

Remember Pat? What's that? It's Pat? The androgynous character from SNL? I remember my good friend Jenni telling me about this sketch when we were teenagers. I've always remembered it just from her description. Pat's coworkers try to find out Pat's gender, and when Pat's "parent" Francis comes to visit they ask about the day Pat was born. Francis explains that when the doctor saw Pat, he said, "It's a baby!"

And I found it for your viewing pleasure.



Tomorrow we will find out what our doctor will say when the little one is delivered in June.

Personally, I'm hoping for a ...

a baby!

Are you just, gaining weight?

My tummy is beginning to protrude, and I haven't really bought any new clothes, so I'm currently experiencing the challenge of making my old wardrobe work. I think, for the most part, I've succeeded in finding things that fit without looking frumpy. For The Most Part.

The other day I must have been wearing something frumpy because a well-meaning older neighbor lady asked me, in a crowded place no less and in a loud voice that caused everyone around us to hush, if I was, "...just gaining weight?" My response: "Yes I am gaining weight, but it's mostly because I'm pregnant." And she was happy and excited for us. And it was joyous.

What I didn't say but kind of wanted to was, "It's also partly because I'm constantly hungry and only certain foods sound appealing, and it's never salad that's at the top of my list."

What an awkward way to ask about a lady's growing gut! It made me laugh, luckily. I could see it going the other way, so I'm happy it just made me chuckle.

To answer the burning question on everyone's minds, yes, I am showing. But in my mind it's that inelegant waistline weirdness that doesn't represent itself clearly as a baby bump. It's more like, "Whoa girl! You ate a lot of meatloaf!" But every day it looks more and more like a baby, and less like meatloaf, so that's good.

And belly shots? Not on this blog. Sorry kids. But here's a fairly recent picture of me.

My face is quite a bit rounder than normal.

Oh, and check out those boots! They are Aldo Dannis and guess where we found them! In Honolulu. And can you imagine that they were marked down from $130 to $25?!?! I scored big time, but what in the world were those boots doing in Hawaii? I'm not complaining. These are comfortable, warm and cozy and fun to wear. A two-year-old friend of mine likes to pet them. Honestly, so do I.

Mathematics

Guess what people!

You've got to guess!

Fine, I'll tell you. There is a new breakthrough in math.

1 + 1  =  3*

Get it?

No?

I'll tell you then.

The Compensator family is having a baby. In June we will hear the pitter patter of little Compensator/Gordita feet. We are excited, thrilled really. We have waited for this for so long. However, there's still a twinge of panic for both of us. Funny how you can want something for so long, and then when it happens you feel completely unprepared. At any rate, we are excited to have a little person in our lives. 

On that note, I've been sick, but now that I'm out of my first trimester I am starting to feel better little by little. My waistline is increasing and fewer and fewer of my clothes fit. It's a bit alarming, and I find it difficult to be okay with the increased girth, but rationally I know that this has to happen, and that it's all for the little one's good. 

Artist's rendering of future baby The Compensator.

Some time I'll bore you with all of the strange and interesting symptoms of pregnancy. I find it all fascinating, if not a little odd and sometimes frustrating.

*TC, the family doctor and scientist who spends most of his days with mathematics had nothing to do with this gross miscalculation. In fact, if he knew I put that on our blog, he'd probably cringe at least a little, and maybe begin a tirade on the importance of mathematics in our lives. But really, that's why I love him.