Belly Pics!

A little progression of pics for you all to enjoy…starting with the one above, taken from the night or the night after the day that we found out. It only took three positive tests for me to really believe it, haha! Those were some pretty decent abs, too…but it’s okay, I’ll meet up with them again sometime in 2011, maybe. Here’s hoping, anyways…LOL!

And then again at 7 weeks and a few days…my jeans were starting to get a tad uncomfy already…pardon my green undies!

And again, at 10 weeks and some change. I think I was more bloated at 7 weeks than at 10…nobody tells you you can gain 10 lbs. of just WATER in the first trimester. That’s what the books don’t prep you for, haha!

This was the night before I turned 13 weeks. Really starting to feel some pooch…and by “pooch,” I mean that gigantic mountain-size zit above my eyebrow. J/K…

And just last night, at a happy 16 weeks and happily stuffed with steamed oysters. Not a pregnancy craving I ever saw coming!!

More to come over the next 24 weeks. Until next time, peace & love! 🙂

And 1, 2, 3, GROW! (15 weeks, 6 days)

Today marks the end of my 15th week of being knocked up, and all I can say is “Whoa, that’s new.” This past week has seen the beginning of a few pregnancy symptoms that are both new and exciting, and kinda unpleasant. To name a few, I’ll start with round ligament pain. WOW! What I was expecting was an occasional pinch. What I got was more like this rather distinct “stretching” feeling along either side of my lower abdomen. I’m occasionally even feeling a “cramping” sort of sensation, which my doctor says is where my uterus is growing rapidly along with my little one. This will continue somewhat through most of the pregnancy, slowing down a bit at the end – when, for what it’s worth, I hear plenty of other pains show up to take its place.

Another symptom I’m having no shortage of is lightheadedness. Even before I was pregnant, it wasn’t uncommon for me to have an “Ohhhhhh I stood up too fast” kind of moment. But in recent days and weeks, I’ve been having them almost HOURLY. You’d think I’d learn, but it’s the kind of thing I can’t even predict, at this point. Sometimes I stand right up and sit down just as quickly, knowing that I’m seeing stars. Other times I stand up slowly, think I’m in the clear, and only start blacking out a few seconds later when the blood starts pumping through my legs.

And one final thing that has shown up in the past few weeks? Well, though I wouldn’t call this a “symptom” of pregnancy, I have a new “bump” going on, and it’s one that a lot of people are starting to notice. In fact, as I was walking into the gym on Thursday evening, my friend Cory yelled out over a row of ellipticals “Look at you little mommy! You POPPED!” It was too funny! I am sure that by the time I hit 25, 30, 35, and maybe even 40 weeks, I’ll look at pictures of the current bump, roll my eyes, and laugh. But for now, it is so amazing and such a relief to finally be showing a bit. I feel like I can finally talk, walk, and act like a preggo without people who know me wondering what’s going on. The cat is officially out of the bag (not that I did a swell job of keeping it in…).

This weekend, so far, has been boatloads of fun as Jonathan and I registered for baby gear at Target and Babies R’ Us, and even selected our crib and dresser/changer at a local baby furniture store (Baby Furniture Plus Kids, check them out at AND managed to stay under our budget. After a delicious (and appropriately indulgent) lunch at Bojangles earlier today, we dropped in at BFPK to put down a deposit and have our furniture ordered. It will be ready for us to pick up in early June, and I’ll probably drop by the store every few weeks from now until then to pay a bit on the loot. Ya know…lessen the hurt from the final purchase.

Finally, Jonathan and I are going to church tomorrow morning to meet with the elders at Holland Park Church of Christ and have our placement of membership there announced to the congregation. It’s kind of a big deal, at least for me, because a few years ago I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be a “member” at a church again. I’d had a wonderful experience at an amazing church that I attended prior to getting married and moving away from home, but I still had some serious “wounds” and a huge amount of bitterness from some pretty craptastic religious experiences from earlier in my youth. I’ll be the first to admit…I have trouble letting go of some residual hurt, and it’s something I’ll spend the rest of my life working on. Perhaps that awareness of how deep even an unintentional hurt can slice is what made me carefully consider the church I’d one day attend with my husband and kids. Or if I’d even attend one.

We picked Holland Park because it’s a great balance for us. It’s pretty large for a Church of Christ, for one thing – several hundred people. And for those unfamiliar with the CofC, no, it’s not the Mormon “Latter Day Church of Christ,” it’s just a fancy way of saying “non-denominational,” honestly. There are plenty of people in the CofC who would sweat blood arguing that point with me, but frankly, I don’t argue about politics or religion these days. Life is too short, and I’m too smart to worry about what other people think of my views. But yeah, basically, Church of Christ is very non-denominational, there is no central governing body, and the majority of CofCs don’t have instrumental music. I personally don’t find a lot of the tenets that set the CofC apart (like the instrumental music thing) to be worth splitting hairs over, but with a good song leader, instruments also aren’t “necessary.” I can swing both ways on that issue and a myriad of others. At the end of the day, for me and Jon, that’s why Holland Park works (much like the church we attended back home, prior to moving to Greenville). The people just live their lives, do the best they can, and it’s never, ever, ever, ever, ever (can I say NEVER EVER some more?) about judging other people and touting your own “perfection.” The preacher there, Jeff, is always the first to throw himself under the bus, disclose his own faults (recent or past, deep or superficial). We love that. It’s the kind of place I dreamed of finding to help me in teaching my child about God, and about the elements of true, selfless, love-based Christianity.

So basically…things are awesome. I’m through the first trimester, only two weeks from hopefully finding out if this baby will be a Wren or a Russell (yes, those are the names, and no, I don’t care if you like them), our baby furniture is picked and ordered, my husband and I are closer than ever, and the spiritual nurturing of this child and any others we might have is being set into motion. Life is good, God is huge, and currently, I’m sort of on a cloud of happiness. Well, except for those occasional, inexplicable, hormone-induced crying jags. Did I mention that was the fourth new symptom? Ahhh, pregnancy…

Until next time, love & peace! 🙂


I’m not posting to talk about healthcare. (15 weeks, 2 days)

Except to say that, amongst all the questions this newly passed and signed bill might create in your mind or mine, I’m happy to know that if my baby is born with some sort of disease, syndrome, or condition that requires special care…he or she won’t be turned down by my insurance or my husband’s. Call it tunnel vision, but that does give me some comfort.

Now, on to the show, because dammit, it’s MY show! 😀

So, we have this meth house next door.

I know, I wish I could say that I just like to start off jokes with that line, but there actually is a real-life meth house next door to me. It’s been sitting empty since a drug raid in October, with little activity other than a few weeks’ worth of contractors going in and out and disposing of every single piece of furniture, surface, countertop, or cabinet in the house. Literally, everything – including the kitchen sink – was removed from the place.

There’s something really lonely about living next door to the residential equivalent of an empty shell. But more than that, the safety of it bothers me.

Not quite two weeks ago, on a Friday night, my dog began barking incessantly at the back door. After several minutes of this, I went over and looked out the back – just in time to see a hand holding a cell phone (the green-blue screen illuminated things enough for me to make out a hand and some shadows) at the back sliding glass doors of the empty place. Keep in mind that, on the particular night, my husband was not home and I was by myself. So then, of course, I did exactly what the police had instructed me to do and called 911. NOBODY is supposed to be in that house, and given that the locks had been changed already, the owner of the home (it was a rental) later confirmed for me that it did appear I had witnessed the middle of a break-in attempt. I saw the hand, and then I saw a white Honda Accord pulling away. None of it made sense, except to tell me that I have more than just me to be worried about these days. There’s a kid involved now.

I’m not really sure where to go at this point. The owners of the house are older and live in Florida (I wish there was a punchline there, but I’ve got nothin’), so their efficacy is limited at this point. The “manager” of the property has all but stopped doing anything remotely resembling her job (believe me…both she and I, and as of today, her boss and I have had strongly worded arguments over this). So she’s a non-functioning part of the puzzle. And our neighborhood HOA is pretty limited in what they can do. Nothing seems to stick at this point. Except the emptiness of this house. If I can just see this place finished and with a family living in it by August or September, I’ll be so happy and so relieved. I just want to feel safe again. Break-ins next door is not what I had in mind…because next door is just too close to my door.

There’s really no conclusion to this point, just some open space. Here’s hoping I can update you all very soon and tell you that this whole thing is over!

Until next time, peace & love! 🙂

The weird doctor

Tuesday morning was my 14 week obstetric check-up, and boy did it bring up another valid point of pregnant: your control is severely limited at this point. Those women that make a birth plan, type it on colored paper, print multiple copies (for the nurses, desk staff, doctors, and ice chip fairy), and laminate them all…uh, yeah, your big ol’ surprise is comin’ ladies. Because pregnancy is a time when you pretty much have zilch in the way of control. Oh, you can plan…and of course, I plan to plan…but don’t bet on God handing you labor & delivery in a nice, neatly wrapped little package. We already know it doesn’t always happen that way.

And what might have resurrected this point of pre-congnizance, you might ask? Oh, a little ol’ 6’4″ bundle of smiles named Dr. Fishman. Okay, that’s not really his name, but for anonymity’s sake, I’m changing it to something that closely parallels his true moniker.

Dr. Fishman, bless his heart – he walks in the room with the posture of a frightened cat, and then unleashes the least compelling personality I’ve ever encountered. I wasn’t sure what to say. He asked how I was feeling, I answered “a little light-headed at times, but good,” and he replies with “But you’re KEEPING FOOD DOWN, right? Right? Because if not, you NEED nausea meds! So are you keeping food down?? And LIQUIDS, too??”

Egad, Lurch, you seem to need a slathering of that grimy ultrasound gel, cause you have gotta cool down. Like, yesterday.

While I won’t go into it in too much detail, the man was just highly agitated or irritable or something – I think it was his “time of the month” – and didn’t really ever loosen up in the 5.5 minutes that he was in the room with me. Baby’s loud heartbeat filled the room, NO expression. Just “Okay, so that’s good.” Totally straight face! And then when he suddenly wanted to move my practically pre-scheduled 18-week ultrasound to 19 weeks and I (very politely and gently) requested that he not do so merely on account of the fact that my husband would be traveling at 19 and 20 weeks, he seemed REALLY perturbed! Hilarious! I bet if I’d pinched him at that moment, he would’ve squealed, the man was so high-strung!

But “lolzlolzlolz,” briefly agitating him was worth it, as he gave in and allowed me to keep my already set ultrasound date. April 12th, 9:15 am, baby better be ready to spread ’em because momma wants to know if it’s a boy or a girl already. This is no time for modesty, kiddo!

But you know, my funny and slightly unsettling appointment with Dr. Fishman – because, ya know, there is a 1 in 8 chance that he’ll be the doc on-call the day/night that I go into labor – brought me to recall an even funnier memory of male gyno/ob docs. Anyone ever heard of Steven Lynch? If you get a chance, google the song “Dr. Stephen,” and that’s exactly what was playing in my head (against my better efforts to shut it off) when Dr. Fishman started the nausea meds freak out. Ooooh dear….

Until next time, peace and love!


Of the "Preggumus Barfasaurus" species

Oh, don’t get your lil’ fellow preggo or past preggo granny panties in a happy little twist…it’s still not morning sickness. Besides, I dunno if it would be all that common for someone to skip a toilet-hugging session for their entire first trimester, only to start up with their porcelain-god-worship at week 13. Possible, but not likely.

Nope, what struck me like a lightning bolt around 4pm on Monday (when I was, naturally, already home sick with some strange early-March allergy attack/sinus infection/bleeeeeeeeeeeeeech) was just your categorical, classic NOROVIRUS. Sounds delicious, doesn’t it? Indeed…

Luckily for me (and Peach Fuzz, as I’m calling my little former-butterbean-turned-larger-fruit this week), it only lasted about 18 hours and then I just couldn’t decide what the heck kind of solid food to feed myself for the first time in about 24 hours. Decisions, decisions.

By the way, for what it is worth, I ended up settling on McD’s chicken nuggets and french fries, and you better believe I fought back a hormone-induced fit when they didn’t have any Honey Mustard.

But now I find myself back to my same old craving, the one which has ruled me for the past 2-3 weeks, but which is entirely unexciting: Canned, crushed tomatoes, with a spoon, with a container of Morton’s sea salt. Horrible, I know!! Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t really sit with a can of crushed tomatoes and coat each morsel in sea salt (though it sounds super appealing). We’re just eating a lot of spaghetti at the Wilhoit house these days, that’s all. Jonathan wouldn’t let me drink the pickle jar juice a few weeks ago, you really think he’d let me by with eating canned tomatoes with additional salt, out of the can, COLD? Nuh-uh. But bless him for having a long fuse and a cast iron stomach. And at least I admit it…(right?)

And don’t worry about me and my immense propensity for heartburn, given the current craving madness. Scarlett says: “I’ll think about that tomorrow.” Or next trimester.

Another current obsession? Caesar salad. And don’t come at me with that “RAW EGGS! LISTERIA!” stuff, because almost all commercially sold dressings use pasteurized eggs, thus removing the risks associated with *true* caesar salads (the kind made at high-tess Greek and Italian restaurants with raw, fresh eggs…which I am abstaining from, give me some credit here). And I’ll admit again: I am currently eating a caesar salad so large that I had to put it one of my little metal mixing bowls. It’s got fiber, don’t hate!!

I guess I’m just so happy to finally be able to keep food down (and not worrying myself vomitous about the safety and well-being of my little tummy stowaway) that I’m inspired to write about food and pregnancy. I mean, to all you current or past preggos out there: does food EVER taste as good as it does when you’re knocked up? I mean, EVER???” I swear I could make a second living as a food critic these days because people would pay me under the table to get my almost-always-positive reviews. I mean, isn’t the above text evidence that my tastes can’t be trusted? But boy am I loving it…yum yum om nom nom nom.

Until next time, peace, love, and SALT!! Hehe…


p.s. I totally just got caesar dressing in my eye. I think I need to curb the enthusiasm here.

12 weeks, 6 days (and almost through the first trimester)…

Today I am 12 weeks, 6 days, and my first trimester is about to end. The belly is definitely present, and it rises and falls just a little less every day!

I’m so excited to finally be about done with this first trimester. For one thing, when I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to scream it from the rooftops…and practically did. That got me a few “tsk tsk” remarks from people that felt like I should’ve kept it a secret until I was through the first trimester, because, as they put it, “You just never know what can happen.” Those comments really bothered me.

The idea that something could go terribly wrong and I could lose the baby didn’t just cross my mind here and there – it set up housekeeping and made me crazy on a daily basis! I had to sometimes wonder if the people that said those things were even thinking straight about what those comments could do to the brain of a newly pregnant, scared-shitless, completely anxious woman? I knew there was everything in the world to be afraid of, but everything in the world to celebrate, and so I made the decision around 6 weeks or so that I was going to devote all of my positivity to this pregnancy and that I’d take each day as an individual gift. There was no room for fear.

I’m glad I did it. In the past few weeks, I’ve found a new sense of bravery and freedom in telling people “I’m pregnant,” without allowing myself to pay attention to the occasional “Oh, you’re barely pregnant,” or “You didn’t want to wait longer to tell?” comments. Yes, I wanted to tell – this is the most amazing gift I’ve ever recieved and I want to tell EVERYONE!

And in truth, I was never mad at the people that made the unsuspecting comments…just not on the same page. But even I will admit that it’s nice to finally be in a position where those comments are dying down and people are even saying “Oh, I see a little belly starting!” I know that pregnancy opens you up to a whole new world of unsolicited advice, commentary, and jokes that aren’t always all that appropriate or even helpful – but I’ll deal with those then, I suppose. For now, I feel like I’ve jumped the biggest hurdle in dealing with the negativity. Everything that comes from here on out will be a little bit easier to take on because I grew a new perspective along with this new little person. I’m kind of excited to see the world through brand new eyes.

Until next time – Peace & Love.


12 weeks, 3 days

I can’t explain just why I was surprised when I turned around and saw a BLIZZARD happening outside my window this morning, but I was. I guess this is something I should get used to at this point – the last spurt of winter weather often hits on the week of my birthday. Now, did I mention that not five minutes prior to that, I placed two online orders for my first swath of maternity clothes? Uh…yeah. I find myself in a strange place that I’m guessing pretty much all preggos (who don’t live in Florida or further south) have faced since, ya know…gestation lasts just a few months short of a year. After a weekend of near-60s temps, I felt like I might actually be safe to go ahead and purchase some (sorely needed) preggo duds, but I stand corrected (and snowed on). Argh! May Mother Nature send me some 60 degrees+ days, and soon!

Really, though, I’m in that weird spot at this point – the point in your pregnancy where your normal clothes feel (in my case) or even look (not yet, but we will get there) like you decided to dress yourself up as a sausage that someone poked a hole in and then SQUEEZED. Hmph. Appetizing, eh? 😀

For some women, I guess a Bella Band is enough to help extend the pre-preggo pants until they’re 25 weeks along, but I am not going to be one of those ladies. In fact, I am pretty sure I gawked and then called the model, Amber, in the Ingrid & Isabel advertisement something really nasty. But how could I help myself when it said in the photo “Amber is 18 weeks and uses her Bella Band to keep wearing her pre-pregnancy jeans!” Great, yay for Amber! Next thing I know she’ll be pullin’ a Gisele Freakin’ Bundchen and bragging about how she never needed maternity clothes, had an all-natural and yet mysteriously pain-free labor, and was flipping pancakes in her kitchen two days post-birth. Le Sigh.

I’m really not as bitter as I sound, I just think that the true representation of many pregnancies is that, well, sometimes your belly (butt, upper arms, inner thighs, etc., etc.) are going to grow the way they want to and you just have to grab another dill pickle, smile, and hang on for dear life. And that’s okay – it’s all just one crazy ride anyways.

Until next time, peace & love!