Well...there aren't going to be any nicely lit Christmas tree photos on this blog. Or even a beautifully told story of our holiday recap. What you're going to get is a poop story. Like you've come to expect anything else from this blog. (Yes, I too, remember the days when I didn't constantly talk about the inner-workings of my digestive system. Believe me, I wonder all the time what happened to that girl. She could tie her own shoes and get off the couch in a single try, and had no idea how good her ab strength really was.)
So remember last Christmas Eve, when I unexpectedly got my period at my Aunt's house? Well...this Christmas Eve at the very same house, right around midnight, when Santa was filling the stockings of all the good little children around the world, I was holed up in the bathroom, alternating between violently vomiting and pooping. For three straight hours. I still don't know if it was just a stomach bug, or a touch of food poisoning, or if I ate too much too close to bed. Whatever it was, it was not pretty. When it was finally over and I crawled back into bed next to Bobby, he wearily asked if I was okay.
"I think so," I told him. "I didn't poop out the baby."
So that was my Christmas miracle. My life is so glamorous.
We had to travel home on Christmas Day because Bobby's enslaved by Corporate America and had to work on Friday. I work at a nonprofit, so lieu of things like "Christmas Bonuses" and "401ks" and "Competitive Pay" we just get a ton of extra holidays off work. At 6:00 a.m. on Friday morning, when Bobby was tying his Windsor knot and I was still snug in bed, I have to admit having no retirement plan didn't seem so bad.
I'm also unlocking pregnancy achievements left and right. Here's a list, in no particular order.
1. A stranger asked when I was due. Bold move, but I almost kissed her on the mouth.
2. I peed a little when I sneezed. So it begins.
3. As I was putting lotion on my belly last night, Bobby asked if I could see my feet. I could not.
4. I've grown out of the biggest bra I own (my fat bra, if you will. I keep it around for winter weight gain purposes).
5. Double-digit weight gain. Up ten total pounds at my 24 week appointment.
6. I started eating prunes. The Christmas Eve poop was a RARE occurrence. And pretty much the only pregnancy advice my mom has given me: "Don't let yourself get constipated. Hemorrhoids are a bitch."
Merry Christmas, friends!