Sooo, I'm 12 weeks along and I definitely have a baby bump.
AND I have a lot of friends telling me they were about 16 weeks before they had a bump. So, this makes me a little nervous. Does this mean:
a) My next sonogram could show surprise multiple babies we didn't see the first time
b) I'm going to have a 12 pound baby
c) I am going to have a beach ball belly by month 8 with stretch marks that look like a road map instead of the cute little basketball tummy everyone keeps assuring me I'll have
In other news, I hate clutter. And I know a baby means a whole new world of clutter. Between bouncy seats, pack n plays, toys, diaper genies, and whatever else Baby's R Us can assure us we need, I have nightmares of our home swallowing us up in 6 months.
I blame my mother for my extreme aversion to hoarding. She was well trained by my Meme---to THROW AWAY NOTHING. My Meme washes tinfoil and Ziploc bags and reuses them. My mom finally cleaned out our attic after my dad passed away because I told her, if anything happened to her, I was lighting the house on fire and collecting the insurance money. You couldn't have payed me enough to venture into that labyrinth of broken record players and headless Barbies.
My husband was out of town on a business trip when I went through a major de-hoarding/ nesting binge. I kept texting him to see if I could take his stuff to the consignment store (or the garbage...) and eventually he said, 'Really busy right now, you can just make executive decisions.' Which I translated to, 'Congratulations! All of your anti-hoarding dreams have come true. You can toss anything without repercussions.'
SO I did. Like this neon fish light that has been sitting in his closet for most of our marriage....
(Admittedly, he was a little sad when he found out about that one...but hey, executive decisions mean no more neon allowed.)
So, I'm having pretty much the greatest day ever, just cleaning out our garage (it's when I say things like this I realize just how old I've become....) when all of a sudden, I am stopped dead in my tracks on the way to the trash can by this horrifying creature.
I have severe arachnophobia. And now, all of my neighbors likely know that, or they assume I've been murdered, after the blood curdling scream I let out. I swear, spiders must be afraid of Austin, because they never come out unless he's gone. I think they conspire to attack me as soon as they see his car leave.
I only have one choice. This thing has to die, or I will never walk into our garage again knowing it's lurking. So, I find Austin's shoe (clearly not killing that jungle creature with any of my shoes...), whack him, and scream some more. I eventually get up the courage to scoop his remains up with a shovel and put them in the pine straw bed.
After I am done with this truly embarrassing display of femininity, I finally start to breathe again, although my trips to the garage are pretty much over unless it's absolutely necessary
Fast forward, and it's time for one of those necessary trips. Time to go to work. I look like the bag lady. Hands full with a tumbler full of water, purse, another bag full of hair and makeup supplies, cell phones, keys, it's a juggling act. I'm about to get into my car when I feel something fall into my hair.
I. LOSE. MY. MIND...because I'm certain this is part of the spider conspiracy, and they have indeed plotted and are now carrying out their attack. Water goes everywhere, bags go everywhere, I do some kind of spider-removal maneuver violent enough to break my favorite pair of wedge heels I am wearing, nearly go into labor six months early, all to discover, there is a leaf in my hair.
But oh no, this story is not over.
I get home from work around midnight to find the garage door I closed before I left for work open and a light I am certain I turned off, on.
Again, Austin was not home. So I inventory my options.
1.Go inside armed with my best karate moves
2.Call a friend to come over...at midnight...to help me look for burglars
3.Cry, because I'm pregnant
4.Sleep in my car
5.Call the police
So I went with option 3 and 5. There was zero chance I'd be able to sleep if I didn't.
Two of North Augusta's finest roll up in two squad cars. Thankfully, dispatch sent the nicest, most understanding human beings on the payroll. They searched the whole house, guns drawn, while I'm telling them, 'In case my husband came home early, he's blonde and answers to Austin. Please don't shoot him.'
I'm certain my neighbors that were still awake were sure I'd been murdered by this point, between the spider screams and the cops.
They found nothing, and I apologized for being crazy about 12 times. As they're leaving, I close the garage door and watched in disbelief as it bounced back open. Upon further investigation, I realize my spider shovel is blocking the door from shutting.
This spider managed to single-handedly (well, I guess it took eight legs....eight-leggedly) ruin my life from 11AM until 1AM.
After this ordeal, I am sure this means I am going to have a baby boy who loves creepy crawly things. But, with my luck, he'll take after Austin, whose mom tells me, as a toddler, would not let his parents kill ANY living thing, bug or otherwise. And, let's be honest. With this face, he probably got whatever he wanted.
But, I'm just hoping, all of the spiders will at least leave me alone until that day comes. In the meantime, I'm not going in the garage.