This year we arose relatively early to find Jared, my brother-in-law, sitting on the couch with a pained look on his face. He's been up for hours with a horrific stomach ache and needed to go to the ER. Though he was willing to delay his trip so we could get in some quality gift exchange time. Tempting as the offer was, the family decided to delay Christmas. We are pretty good at prioritizing.
Brad and Eva, my mother-in-law, took Jared to the hospital. A couple hours later we found out that Jared had appendicitis and would be undergoing emergency surgery. Those of us remaining at home said mean things about Santa while we threw on clothes and made our way to the hospital.
Despite the fact that the lobby was practically empty (the information stations were manned by rotary phones), my brother made me wear a face mask. He was worried about Tater contracting hospital cooties. I looked like a hyper-paranoid pregnant lady, but I have been fighting a nasty head cold and thought it wasn't the worst idea. I was just thrilled that I wasn't in the hospital for tater-related complications. Something I worry about constantly these days.
Jared made it through surgery in record time and was home by 4pm. Delayed Christmas was fabulous, but I ended the day without having taken a shower. This made day three sans shower, and I wasn't feeling up to posing for a belly shot with my fantastically filthy hair. I've managed to shower once or twice since then, but I kept forgetting to take the belly shots. Oopsie!
Without further adieu, here are the shots:
I think the belly looks smaller in these pictures than it did four weeks ago. Weird. It certainly doesn't feel smaller. Maybe it's the shirt, which I will now be wearing twice as often, just in case. (Thanks, Meghan!) Or the scarf, which was a Christmas gift from Stef, my sister-in-law. I love this scarf. I also love the onesie that Brad's parents gave us. It says "I'm a pretty big deal in Birmingham." So true. So true.
Other than the Christmas Day drama, it's been a pretty uneventful week. One interesting tidbit: I've been suffering from some serious baby brain. On Christmas Eve I was looking at a photo of three ballet dancers, including Brad's Aunt Georgia. Someone commented that she was the dancer on the right, and I asked if they meant the far right. The far right is not applicable to groups of three. I know this, but not when my brain takes breaks. It takes lots of breaks. Lucky for me, my brother Randy was around to point out -- and laugh at -- each of my mental stumbles.
In my defense, I think the baby brain is aggravated by the head cold I've had all week. And once again I decided to forgo medication. Now that Tater is a fully formed tiny person, I'm even more aware that whatever I put in my body goes right into his. And I don't want to pump him full of Sudafed if it isn't necessary. I do not have the same rule for banana pudding, which I've consumed in mass quantity this week. Eva makes amazing banana pudding. Tater loves it.
Tater does not love having his head squished, however. Earlier this week I was lying on my side, next to Maggie, reading a book. All of the sudden, Tater started moving around. His movements were so pronounced that it looked like he was trying to break out of my stomach. I grabbed my phone to videotape it, but the movement stopped. I stared a my stomach for a while, but eventually I gave up and rolled over to return to my book. Suddenly, Tater resumed his calisthenics. It took me a minute, but eventually I realized that when I rolled over, I compressed the right-hand side of my stomach against Maggie. Tater was moving in response, presumably protesting the loss of real estate. Fascinating! I offered to show Brad, but he was not a fan of mushing Tater's head in order to trigger kicking. Party pooper.
Regardless, I was pretty proud of myself for figuring this out. So sad. Patting myself on the back for noticing the obvious. I miss my brain. Just like Jared misses his appendix.
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