22 weeks: alien contact

So, the search is over for nursery fabric. I found the cutest vintage fabric called RETRO ROCKET RASCALS by Michael Miller. It's illustrated in a 1950's style. The rascals hold radios, fly sonic planes, and operate flying saucers. They are, of course, being helped out by their kitten, duckling, and squirrel friends who also wear space capsule head gear. They couldn't be any cuter. I found a coordinating fabric, also by Michael Miller, called CHA CHA STRIPE to complete the look.

While I'm glad to have found the perfect fabric; there is a problem: I HAVE TO SEW. I guess learning to sew had to come sometime in my career as a mom, what with all the Halloween and recital costumes in my future. Better to get the learnin' out of the way. Maybe if I become a skilled enough seamstress, I could make all of my kids' clothes, just to give them something to be embarrassed about. Just remember, a perfect childhood strips an individual of all creative energy. We have to give our child something to rebel creatively against. I digress.

Any volunteers to teach me put some bedding together? Preferably, you would have more sewing experience than me. That would mean that you've put more than one pillow together in a 7th grade home economics class. I have found a few patterns, so I'm well on my way (I'm optimistic). Should be interesting.

Once again I am fighting nausea, but nothing comparable to when I was sick the first nine weeks. That was much more debilitating physically and emotionally. For one thing, I wasn't feeling my little baby kick as a reminder that it will all be worth it in the end. It is, right?! Please tell me it is.

The increased kicking has given me an insight into the habits of this growing being inside of me. Junior really takes a while to go to sleep at night, making me sleepless with giggles because of all the commotion. And Jeff is sleepless because the person next to him is giggling. Otherwise, now I can see my belly move from the outside during some of Junior's kicking sprees. Things are starting to get freaky! Best of all, in the morning, Jeff talks to my belly and Junior wakes up to the sound of his voice! It's the cutest thing; I love it.

Jeff wants us to watch the movie Alien. You know, that charming little picture where a guy (I think it is a man)is just sitting there, minding his own business when his stomach starts to rumble violently. The rumbling becomes a hole in his stomach, and through the poor man's blood curdling screams, it enlarges enough for a baby alien to break free. It runs away, leaving him for dead. Wonderful. What Jeff doesn't understand is that my hormonally infused dreams are already wacky and sometimes scary enough without such stimuli. No thanks Jeff.

I think I'd rather see Snakes on a Plane.

'til next time,
Theresa