<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291</id><updated>2011-07-31T01:14:59.535-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Gonna Be a Baby Mama</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>53</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-3683710580385198571</id><published>2009-05-12T06:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T10:09:54.866-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Meet the New Addition to Our Family</title><content type='html'>&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334937399192563906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SgmBTIHRsMI/AAAAAAAAAEY/ov4Npwt4I28/s320/IMG_0671+(Large).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/Sgl_Tn7lL2I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/zrHxZK9DmTQ/s1600-h/IMG_0673.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334935208710188898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/Sgl_Tn7lL2I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/zrHxZK9DmTQ/s320/IMG_0673.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Thomas Michael Tod&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Born May 7th at 12:50pm&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;8 lbs. 10 oz. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;21 1/2 inches long&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I promise to blog more details in the near future, but for now, my time is limited.  Falling in love all day everyday is keeping us very busy! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-3683710580385198571?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/3683710580385198571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=3683710580385198571' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3683710580385198571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3683710580385198571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/05/meet-new-addition-to-our-family.html' title='Meet the New Addition to Our Family'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SgmBTIHRsMI/AAAAAAAAAEY/ov4Npwt4I28/s72-c/IMG_0671+(Large).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-4136297722886627558</id><published>2009-05-01T06:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T06:31:16.106-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Momma's Boy</title><content type='html'>Sounds like we’ve got a little “momma’s boy” on our hands. He’s not wanting to leave his home. The doctor came into my appointment yesterday and said “You are still pregnant???? He must just really like you”. But this little momma’s boy phase he’s going through already is just fine with me. Of course I want him to come out so we can officially meet, but the fact that he wants to stay attached to me for as long as possible is comforting. It just means he likes me as much as I like him. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday was our third weekly appointment and I am 3cm dilated. No contractions yet. We made one more appointment for next Thursday. If he hasn’t made his appearance by then, we are probably going to schedule an induction for the following week. I’d really like him to make the decision to come out on his own, but at the rate he is growing right now (1/2 a pound a week), I’m starting to get a little concerned about the size of him compared to the size of the opening he’ll be exiting from.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully my next blog will include a photo of Mr. Thomas Michael Tod!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-4136297722886627558?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/4136297722886627558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=4136297722886627558' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/4136297722886627558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/4136297722886627558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/05/mommas-boy.html' title='Momma&apos;s Boy'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-5948751108972787318</id><published>2009-04-21T13:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T13:23:11.884-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Which Way Do I Go????</title><content type='html'>I think baby Thomas may be a little confused as to where he is supposed to come out at.  He seems to be wanting to push himself out via my abdomen.  It’s really cool to watch, but kind of painful.  He uses anything he has in there that has some sort of point to it (knees and elbows mainly) and he presses it as hard as he can against my belly.  At times I think his tactic might actually work because it feels like he could break the skin.  But after a few good tries, he gives up and takes himself a little nap…only to try again in a few hours.  Eventually, I hope he takes my advice and heads south.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-5948751108972787318?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/5948751108972787318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=5948751108972787318' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5948751108972787318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5948751108972787318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/04/which-way-do-i-go.html' title='Which Way Do I Go????'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-3374171231526205924</id><published>2009-04-17T09:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T09:01:54.426-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First Weekly Appointment</title><content type='html'>Things are happening.  We had our first weekly appointment yesterday and we found out that I am “a loose 1cm dilated and 90% effaced”.  She’s expecting him to be somewhat early but it’s still hard to tell.  He could come tomorrow, or he could come in 2 weeks.  My due date is still 3 weeks away.  I didn’t really expect there to be any progress because I still feel exactly the same as I have for the last few weeks. But, she did say that some women will have contractions for many many hours to get to the point where I am, so at least we are off to a good start.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-3374171231526205924?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/3374171231526205924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=3374171231526205924' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3374171231526205924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3374171231526205924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/04/first-weekly-appointment.html' title='First Weekly Appointment'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-670626114855201399</id><published>2009-04-09T10:19:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T08:07:30.911-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Only in my dreams....</title><content type='html'>I had the worst dream last week and I woke up in tears. Here's how it went down...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me, Tom and baby Thomas take a trip to Walmart. Tom and I go our seperate ways in the store and I keep baby Thomas with me. I walk over to the jewelry section and set Thomas down. (In a minute, I'll tell you why I set him down, which is the funny part of the dream). A bit later I see my friends Kim and AJ and they are in the furniture section picking out a rocker/glider for us for the baby's room. Next thing I know is my husband is walking towards us with baby Thomas in his arms and he is very angry. I realize that I left Thomas in the jewerly section. I walked off without him and continued shopping. In my dream I begin balling and that is when my alarm went off and I woke up. Even after I was awake, I couldn't stop the tears. I knew it wasn't real, but still...my mind was set on the fact that I left my child in Wal-Mart. It took a long hot shower to bring me back to my senses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, the funny part of the dream was the reason why I set Thomas down in the first place. I'm almost a little embarassed to say this, but here it goes. While we were in the jewerly section, I realized I had to pee. So instead of heading off to the bathroom, I decided to pretend I was looking at some jewerly on the bottom shelf...and I squatted down and peed right there on the floor in Wal-Mart. WHY WOULD MY MIND THINK OF DOING SOMETHING LIKE THAT??? I kind of understand the "leaving the child behind" part of the dream because it probably symbolized the fact that children are a huge responsibility and they need constant care. It symbolized the fact that it is not just about me anymore. But what in the world does peeing on the floor supposed to symbolize???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-670626114855201399?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/670626114855201399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=670626114855201399' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/670626114855201399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/670626114855201399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-had-worst-dream-last-week-and-i-woke.html' title='Only in my dreams....'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-1121404060996142021</id><published>2009-04-08T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T09:08:28.457-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nesting Has Commenced</title><content type='html'>I FINALLY NESTED!!!!  I did what seemed like 15 loads of baby Thomas’ laundry this past weekend.  And every time the dryers buzzer went off, I grabbed the laundry basket with a huge smile and headed downstairs to pull all the tiny clothes out.   Usually, our clothes will sit in the dryer until I’m sure they are covered with wrinkles.  Then they get pulled out of the dryer, only to sit on the couch downstairs for at least 24 hours.  Eventually they get folded and hung up, wrinkles and all.  But not when it comes to baby Thomas’ clothes.  He gets the VIP treatment in our house.  I folded and hung up teeny baby clothes all weekend.  Tom finished the shelving in Thomas’ room, so now everything has a place.  His socks have a place, his towels have a place, his washcloths have a place…everything has its own little place and it has made me feel so much better.  So much more ready and relaxed.  When I’m home now, I don’t have the shut the door to his unorganized room because of the stress it caused each time I walked by it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now we just sit and wait…30 days to go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-1121404060996142021?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/1121404060996142021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=1121404060996142021' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/1121404060996142021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/1121404060996142021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/04/nesting-has-commenced.html' title='Nesting Has Commenced'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-496450867205499103</id><published>2009-04-08T08:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T09:04:57.631-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Before I was a Mom</title><content type='html'>A cute little poem my step-sister Lynette sent me.  I thought it was worth sharing..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Before I was a Mom, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never tripped over toys&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;or forgot words to a lullaby.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I didn't worry whether or not &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;my plants were poisonous. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never thought about immunizations. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Before I was a Mom,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I had never been puked on. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Pooped on.&lt;br /&gt;Chewed on. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Peed on. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I had complete control of my mind&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;and my thoughts.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I slept all night. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Before I was a Mom, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never held down a screaming child &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;so doctors could do tests.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Or give shots. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never looked into teary eyes and cried. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never sat up late hours at night &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;watching a baby sleep. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Before I was a Mom, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never held a sleeping baby just because &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I didn't want to put her down. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never felt my heart break into a million pieces&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;when I couldn't stop the hurt. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never knew that something so small &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;could affect my life so much. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never knew that I could love someone so much. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never knew I would love being a Mom. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Before I was a Mom, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I didn't know the feeling of &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;having my heart outside my body. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I didn't know how special it could feel &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;to feed a hungry baby. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I didn't know that bond &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;between a mother and her child. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I didn't know that something so small &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;could make me feel so important and happy. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Before I was a Mom, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I had never gotten up in the middle of the night &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I had never known the warmth, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;the joy, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;the love, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;the heartache, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;the wonderment, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;or the satisfaction of being a Mom.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;before I was a Mom&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-496450867205499103?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/496450867205499103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=496450867205499103' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/496450867205499103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/496450867205499103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/04/before-i-was-mom.html' title='Before I was a Mom'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-4791572614295969075</id><published>2009-04-01T15:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T15:14:51.236-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Diaper Decision</title><content type='html'>I’m throwing around the idea of using cloth diapers.  This is a very hard decision to make, because if we decide to do it, we have to stick with it because the start up cost of this could be around $400-$500 dollars.  But, that is it…after you make that purchase, you are done spending.  Well, that is not entirely true.  Your spending could continue after that depending on if you want to purchase some of the cool, convenient, and eco-friendly accessories.  But the cost will never be near what it costs to use disposable diapers for the next 2 ½ years.  Plus, we can continue to use the same cloth diapers on our second child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until yesterday, I thought a cloth diaper was a thick white towel that needed to be folded a particular way, and pinned to the baby with a pink or blue safety pin. I pictured poop being scrapped out of it before it could be put into a washing machine and I pictured poop stains on every cloth diaper we own. I thought that using cloth diapers made you a bit of a “hippie” (no offence to anyone who uses cloth diapers, and no offence to any hippies).  Apparently, times have changed.  Nowadays, cloth diapers look just like regular diapers…but cooler.  They come in a variety of colors and patterns, they come with covers to prevent possible leaking, they come with Velcro and pull ties to secure the diaper on your baby, and you can purchase flushable liners to put into the diaper. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The main problem I have with this is the laundry end of it.  I have a hard time keeping up with my laundry now…I can’t imagine adding 10 diapers to it on a daily basis (plus all the regular laundry baby Thomas will be contributing).  I also have to think about when I go back to work.  Would my daycare be willing to work with cloth diapers?  Would I still be willing to try to keep up with the laundry everyday…plus take care of the baby, the house, and the husband????  I can’t decide if the benefits out weigh the massive amounts of laundry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s a big decision to make.  And we will need to make it quick.  Is it worth it????&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-4791572614295969075?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/4791572614295969075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=4791572614295969075' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/4791572614295969075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/4791572614295969075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/04/diaper-decision.html' title='Diaper Decision'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-8061349604146349577</id><published>2009-03-27T12:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T12:17:39.717-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Judgement</title><content type='html'>If I decide to eat something between the hours of 9-11am or 1-5pm, I feel the need to hide it.  I feel like I’m being judged by my fellow employees.  It’s almost as if I can hear their thoughts&lt;em&gt;…”Really Melissa, do you really need to be eating again already?  You just ate lunch…”.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was donut day at work.  Each Friday 2 employees are assigned to bring in 2 dozen donuts each.  Usually there will be a few leftover for us to munch on in the afternoon if we want.  It is 1:36 right now and I just did what felt like “the walk of shame” from the break room to my desk with a donut in my hand.  If I heard footsteps near me, I wanted to slip quietly into the nearest cubical until the footsteps were gone.  Then, I eat it as fast as I can so there is no proof left behind.  But…on the other hand, if I decide to eat a piece of fruit as a snack at 1:36 in the afternoon, I want to flaunt it.  I take the long way back to my desk and occasionally stop and chat along the way.  All the while, proudly holding my orange slices in my hand.  If they could only read my thoughts… &lt;em&gt;“Look over here…look at me…I’m eating a piece of fruit as a snack!  Look at how healthy I am!  I am taking the best care of myself because I love my baby more than I love donuts”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;But since they can’t hear my thoughts, I just eat my orange slices and go on about my business.  One day I’ll realize that the people that I work probably aren't paying as much attention to my eating habits as I think they do. :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-8061349604146349577?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/8061349604146349577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=8061349604146349577' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8061349604146349577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8061349604146349577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/03/judgement.html' title='Judgement'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-7050100787203697918</id><published>2009-03-26T12:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-26T12:11:23.155-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Do As I Say, Not As I Do</title><content type='html'>How am I supposed to teach my children healthy eating habits when I don’t eat healthy myself?  I’m a very very picky eater.  I blame my parents because I believe I may have been a little spoiled as a child.  I remember my mom use to make me a hot dog and Macaroni and Cheese to eat during Thanksgiving dinner because I didn’t like turkey back then.  Also, when she made chili, she would make two pots…one with beans, and one without for me and my brother.  I hate the fact that I am picky because I feel like I’m missing out on what some people think is really great food.  But I can’t change my taste buds.  I can’t make myself like something that my stomach wants to reject.  I think potatoes are gross.  I don’t eat fries, potato chips, baked potatoes, etc.  But I want my children to like them.  I don’t mind cooking them, but how do I explain to my child that I don’t have to eat potatoes, but he does.   What if he doesn’t like them either???  Should I still try to make him eat them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, what about things like flossing everyday, making the bed, or saying prayers each night?  These are things that I do not do on a daily basis, but they are something I will want my children to do.  Does that mean I will start doing them in order to set a good example…or do most parents just use the “do as I say, not as I do” excuse?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a feeling that questions like these will be a big part of my life for the next 30 years…and I also have a feeling there are no “correct” answers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-7050100787203697918?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/7050100787203697918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=7050100787203697918' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7050100787203697918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7050100787203697918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/03/do-as-i-say-not-as-i-do.html' title='Do As I Say, Not As I Do'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-3520233225928435206</id><published>2009-03-23T09:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T09:40:01.918-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What To Do With All These Questions!!!</title><content type='html'>Friday night I took some time and finally made myself “nest”.  The instinct didn’t kick in, it was completely forced.  And once I got started, I got stressed.  I went through all of the shower gifts and began to put them away…only to find out I have no idea what to do with all this stuff.  So many stressful thoughts went through my head like…Do I need to wash everything before I put it away?  What if he never gets the chance to wear it before he grows out of it?  Do onsies go in a drawer all their own?  Do I put his towels and washcloths with our towels and washcloths or do those stay in his room?  Do his lotions and soaps go in the bathroom, or in his room?  Where do I put his pacifiers?  Do my nursing pads go in his room?  Should I hang up his jammies or put them in a drawer?  All of these questions sound silly to me now as I type them because I’ve had time to think about it and talk to some friends about what they’ve done.  (Kim saved the day when she mentioned using baskets in the drawers.  It sounds easy enough, but it never crossed my mind).  But Friday night I was in panic mode.  So, in order to get everything out of the center of the room, I just shoved everything in drawers and cubbies unwashed and unopened.  I’m even using his crib right now as a storage bin.    Everything is unorganized, but at least it is out of the way for now.  Once we get the shelving done in his closet, I think my stress level will start to deplete.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-3520233225928435206?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/3520233225928435206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=3520233225928435206' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3520233225928435206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3520233225928435206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-to-do-with-all-these-questions.html' title='What To Do With All These Questions!!!'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-9148692918460034038</id><published>2009-03-20T08:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T08:11:10.577-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Busy, Busy, Busy</title><content type='html'>I think baby Thomas might be experiencing some sort of “nesting” today.  He is having a very very busy day.  Usually when I’m sitting, he is moving, but once I’m up walking around, he stops.  Not today.  He doesn’t have time to rest today because he is apparently busy doing something very important in there.  I just picture him doing everything he can to prepare for his departure.  Making sure his cord is straight, fixing his hair (which judging by my heartburn and indigestion, he’s gonna be a hairy little guy), and maybe even trying to get all that white stuff off of him. :-)  I’m sure he wants to look his best for his arrival in just 7 weeks.  Yes…I do know that it is probably a little weird that I think my unborn child is “tidying up” in my uterus before he leaves, but hey…these weird and random thought keep me entertained all day long.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-9148692918460034038?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/9148692918460034038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=9148692918460034038' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/9148692918460034038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/9148692918460034038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/03/busy-busy-busy.html' title='Busy, Busy, Busy'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-810321531183527176</id><published>2009-03-20T08:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T08:12:51.587-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Let The Baby Showers Begin</title><content type='html'>I had my first baby shower last weekend. These things are so much more fun when they are your own. :-) Thomas got lots of awesome gifts, and I ate lots of awesome food. They made chicken cordon blue, Caesar salad, bread, some pear/cream cheese concoction, cake and cheesecake. (Isn’t it a little sad that right now I’m blogging about the food at my baby shower instead of all the wonderful gifts Thomas got?) I can barely remember all the gifts he got because there were so many. I can’t wait until I get a chance to go through them all again and start putting things away. I have no idea where all of it is going to go. Plus, we have 3 more showers left. I’m going to have to start using the trunk of my car for storage.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-810321531183527176?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/810321531183527176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=810321531183527176' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/810321531183527176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/810321531183527176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/03/let-baby-showers-begin.html' title='Let The Baby Showers Begin'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-1026717304020766301</id><published>2009-03-13T07:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T07:30:15.879-07:00</updated><title type='text'>3 Wishes</title><content type='html'>If I had 3 wishes when it comes to my pregnancy…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish 1 – Thomas is born a healthy, happy, beautiful baby&lt;br /&gt;Wish 2 – Smooth delivery, free of complications&lt;br /&gt;Wish 3 – I’m using this third one very selfishly.  I wish that when I go to my next doctor appointment in two weeks, I could get some sort of reaction out of her like… “Holy cow!  There is no way this little guy is going to wait until May 9th.  He is ready to come out any day now.” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But yesterday, the only thing I could get out of her was “Everything is right on track with your due date.” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I know that I should never wish for anything besides a worry-free pregnancy, just like I’ve had so far, but the suspense is killing me.  I want him here now!  I want to hold him, kiss him, feed him, rock him, smell him, memorize his face, watch him sleep, hear him cry, teach him, watch him learn, watch him grow.  I can’t wait to feel that natural high that I know I’m going to be on once he gets here.  The kind of high that makes you smile all day long.  The kind of high that makes you think even poop and spit-up is adorable.  I want to feel like a mother.  I love my nieces and nephews SO SO much….and it is amazing to me to know that I’m going to love baby Thomas 100 times more.  That kind of love and that amount of love will be completely new to me, but it’s something I’ve been waiting a long time for.  8 more weeks to go…..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-1026717304020766301?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/1026717304020766301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=1026717304020766301' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/1026717304020766301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/1026717304020766301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/03/3-wishes.html' title='3 Wishes'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-6938173821857012222</id><published>2009-03-07T16:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T16:56:54.140-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthing Class</title><content type='html'>Tom and I had our birthing class today. It was a lot of fun and I think we both learned a lot. Some parts of this class freaked us out a little. In a video, they show an actual birth, and whoever was video taping this birth, was not afraid to use the zoom button. We got up close and personal with this woman and her baby. It was amazing to see, but totally gross. I couldn't turn away. Tom covered his eyes, but I could see him peeking out between his fingers...just like you would do when watching a scary movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I definitely feel more ready now than before. I'm very curious to see how I handle the pain of the contractions and I'm curious to see if I turn into a crazy person or an overly emotional person. In the last few months, I've seen traces of both in myself, so I'm anxious to see which one will win when it comes to labor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the back of the booklet the hospital gave us is a little poem. I tried twice to read it during the class, but couldn't get past the first paragrah without tears so I decided to save it until after. Once we got in the truck to head home, I read it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;It is important to me &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;that I spend a part&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;of the next few hours&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;here alone with you in the darkness&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You and I will never be this close again,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;by morning&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;you will be a tiny person&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;all your own.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;No longer the kicking, demanding&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;bulge in my body&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;that I have grown &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;to love so well.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I pray God will safely guide you&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;on your journey tonight&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;and I ask him for the strength&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;to help you all I can.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Again you signal your impatience&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;to be free...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Time to wake up your daddy.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you can guess, I cried all the way home!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-6938173821857012222?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/6938173821857012222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=6938173821857012222' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6938173821857012222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6938173821857012222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/03/birthing-class.html' title='Birthing Class'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-5422749358890309577</id><published>2009-03-04T06:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T06:52:54.052-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nester Wanted</title><content type='html'>Aren’t I supposed to experience “nesting” at some point?  My house is in desperate need of this nesting instinct to kick in.  I can barely make it up with the stairs with a load of laundry in my hands without taking a break half way up, let alone clean and organize my entire house.  My energy is completely gone. If you or anyone you know happens to be going through this nesting stage, please have them drop by my house.  I’ll be happy to point them in the direction of the vacuum, broom, mop, etc. I’m sure I could learn a lot from them while I’m parked on the couch with my feet propped up and a bag of Doritos in my hand.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-5422749358890309577?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/5422749358890309577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=5422749358890309577' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5422749358890309577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5422749358890309577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/03/nester-wanted.html' title='Nester Wanted'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-6925475215595721928</id><published>2009-02-26T09:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T09:17:53.257-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Update</title><content type='html'>We had our first 2 week appointment yesterday (going now every 2 weeks instead of every month).  Everything is as it should be.  I’m measuring normal so the doctor is expecting a normal sized baby.  This was very good news to hear since I was a huge baby myself.  I believe I was 9lbs 4oz and my poor mother is a teeny tiny woman.  Since I was so large and she was so small, I came out with a broken arm, black eyes, and completely swollen.  Needless to say, I wasn’t the cutest baby…even my parents said so. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m 30 weeks now, so only 10 more to go.  It seems like such a long time away, especially when I think about the fact that I have 10 more weeks to gain weight.  Do you think if I start eating healthier at this point it would be a waste of effort (and not to mention a waste of the pudding pops I still have left in the freezer)?  Going every two weeks to the doctor and seeing how much weight I’ve put on in that small amount of time is depressing.  But, I guess it’s a small price to pay for what you get in return.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nursery is all set up and ready for Thomas.  While I was out on Sunday, Tommy surprised me and put the crib together which was the finishing touch on the room.  When I saw it, I just cried and cried.  It’s so easy to picture a little person in there now.  I went over and looked into the crib to try to visualize how tiny Thomas is going to look in there.  But my imagination was caught a little off guard when I looked in the crib and found my husbands new bow in it.  When I asked him why his bow was in the crib, he said “I don’t know….I guess because for the next couple of months, it’s still my baby”. :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-6925475215595721928?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/6925475215595721928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=6925475215595721928' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6925475215595721928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6925475215595721928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/02/update.html' title='Update'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-8118762207857393908</id><published>2009-02-25T09:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T09:27:46.510-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Daddy's ready!</title><content type='html'>The song “It Won’t Be Like This For Long” came on the other day and Tom and I were discussing it.  For those of you who haven’t heard this song, the first verse says…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn’t have to wake up&lt;br /&gt;He’d been up all night&lt;br /&gt;Lying there in bed and listening&lt;br /&gt;To his newborn baby cry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He makes a pot of coffee&lt;br /&gt;Splashes water on his face&lt;br /&gt;His wife gives him a kiss&lt;br /&gt;And says it’s gonna be ok&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It won’t be like this for long&lt;br /&gt;One day soon we’ll look back laughing&lt;br /&gt;At the week we brought her home&lt;br /&gt;This phase is gonna fly by&lt;br /&gt;So baby just hold on&lt;br /&gt;It won’t be like this for long&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we listened to that verse, Tom says “I can’t wait for that part”.  I look at him a little confused and say “You can’t wait to lose sleep because of a crying newborn???”  He says “Everyone has always said that a baby is going to change everything.  I’m just really looking forward to having my entire world turned upside down”. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve known for a long time that I was ready to be a parent.  But after hearing him say that, I think he’s more ready than I am.  This might have been the sweetest thing he’s ever said.  Every time I think of those words coming out of his mouth it makes me smile.  Although, I kind of wish I would have got those words on tape so I can play them back for him after a week of no sleep.  But, I know that baby Thomas and I really lucked out when we came upon this guy.  I can’t wait to watch him be a daddy!  I have a feeling I’m gonna learn a lot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-8118762207857393908?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/8118762207857393908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=8118762207857393908' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8118762207857393908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8118762207857393908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/02/daddys-ready.html' title='Daddy&apos;s ready!'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-8789464773433301989</id><published>2009-02-19T13:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-19T13:20:53.466-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleepless Nights</title><content type='html'>My nights come and go with less and less sleep. Some of the sleeplessness is due to having to pee a couple times a night, but most of it comes from the fact that it is getting harder and harder to roll over. Because of my sinuses, I am constantly rolling from side to side. I use to roll over without even waking up, but now I have to be wide awake for this strenuous activity. In order for me to roll over, I have to take off my blankets, remove the pillow I keep at my back and move it to the other side (A pillow at my back allows me to somewhat sleep on my back without being flat on my back). Now, the rolling over process can begin. Deep breath….and then I launch myself onto my back. Then I take a rest. Deep breath again….then launch myself onto my other side. By this point I’m breathing pretty heavily and I can hear my heart pounding. I then readjust the pillow at my back and then readjust my blankets. The entire time I’m doing this, baby Thomas is kicking and moving like crazy (I’m beginning to think this boy never sleeps). You’d think at this point I would be exhausted and I would fall asleep immediately. Nope! At this point, I realized I need to pee. So now, I have to go from laying down to standing up which is just as difficult as rolling over. After what feels like 5 minutes of rocking back and forth trying to sit up, I finally make it to my feet. Once I get back from the bathroom, I’m wide awake so I grab the remote and find something on TV to watch. Eventually, I fall into a deep sleep for about an hour…then….I need to roll over again and the whole process repeats itself. This must be the part of pregnancy that is supposed to prepare us for the many sleepless nights listening to a crying baby. Since Tom’s sleeping hasn’t really been effected by this…I make sure to wake him up a couple times a night too. I don’t want him to be unprepared when Thomas gets here. :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-8789464773433301989?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/8789464773433301989/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=8789464773433301989' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8789464773433301989'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8789464773433301989'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/02/my-nights-come-and-go-with-less-and.html' title='Sleepless Nights'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-7660085220763525205</id><published>2009-02-16T11:26:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T14:05:22.152-08:00</updated><title type='text'>V-Day</title><content type='html'>On Valentines Day, Tom and I head to Wal-mart for some grocery shopping. We are about done and we remember that we need some shampoo and deodorant which is on the opposite end of the store. As we are walking over there, we walk by the jewelry counter. Tom says to me. Why don’t you stay here and look for you a new ring while I go grab our stuff. Surprised, I say “ok” with a huge smile on my face. I look for a few minutes and find two rings that I love. When he gets back I let him pick which of the two he liked the best. Below is what we decided on. It is so pretty and sparkly. I love it! It was a perfect Valentines Day gift.&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZm-v0h8iWI/AAAAAAAAAD4/Gk-VQRhFdQs/s1600-h/Picture.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303479764969621858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 249px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZm-v0h8iWI/AAAAAAAAAD4/Gk-VQRhFdQs/s320/Picture.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In all honesty, the story really did play out like I said above…but…the ring was $8 from the bargain basket and I had to buy it because my fingers are getting too fat and swollen for my real wedding ring. So now I have a beautiful CZ ring that has plenty of room for me to grow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-7660085220763525205?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/7660085220763525205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=7660085220763525205' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7660085220763525205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7660085220763525205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/02/v-day.html' title='V-Day'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZm-v0h8iWI/AAAAAAAAAD4/Gk-VQRhFdQs/s72-c/Picture.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-5181918915732993274</id><published>2009-02-11T10:04:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T10:23:53.864-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Really Should Pay More Attention!</title><content type='html'>I have to tell you something funny I did while we were in Mexico.  We were eating lunch.  I got up from the table to head back to the buffet for some more salad (they had the most amazing salad).  I get my salad and head back to the table.  On my way back, I look down and notice there is food on my shirt.  I get to the table, set my plate down and begin wiping off the food.  Once I got my belly cleaned, I pulled out my chair and I looked up............and there were two strangers staring at me.  One smiled and said "hello".  I WENT TO THE WRONG TABLE!!!!!  I actually set my food down at these peoples table and then stood there for at least 20 seconds while I wiped food off of my belly.  They never said anything to me until I looked up at them.  They got a good laugh out of it and so did I.  I was in tears laughing so hard.  I'd like to blame this little incident on my "pregnancy brain", but I really can't.  This is totally something I would do on my own.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-5181918915732993274?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/5181918915732993274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=5181918915732993274' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5181918915732993274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5181918915732993274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-really-should-pay-more-attention.html' title='I Really Should Pay More Attention!'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-8246604986789367660</id><published>2009-02-10T09:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T10:57:44.754-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Viva La Mexico</title><content type='html'>Mexico was awesome! We had such a great time. I could have done without the flights to and from Mexico though. My pregnant butt doesn't quite fit in those airplane seats like it use to. And baby Thomas either LOVED or HATED flying...I can't decide. He was out of control from the moment we took off to the moment we landed. At one point I thought he was actually going to try to make a break for it and claw himself out. I just had to laugh at him. He would kick me on the left side of my belly and then immediately kick me on the right side. He was literally bouncing off the walls in there. &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And once we got to Mexico, I noticed I left something back home........my ankles. They were nonexsistant the entire trip. My legs went from calf, directly to foot without any ankle inbetween. It was so strange to look down and not recognize my own feet. Since we've gotten back, the swelling has gone down and my ankles are slowing trying to reappear.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;The food was great, the weather was great, the shows were great, everything was perfect on our trip. Here are a couple photos:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZHLbpzdrrI/AAAAAAAAADg/PP95GyQqvxA/s1600-h/IMG_0409.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301241912330399410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZHLbpzdrrI/AAAAAAAAADg/PP95GyQqvxA/s320/IMG_0409.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Tommy with a fat bellied budda!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZHJhhc7EuI/AAAAAAAAADQ/PgPPZ14Lmwo/s1600-h/IMG_0410.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301239814144332514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZHJhhc7EuI/AAAAAAAAADQ/PgPPZ14Lmwo/s320/IMG_0410.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And of course, me next to a fat bellied budda. People passing by got a kick out of this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZHJiE610QI/AAAAAAAAADY/1_yNKYReBsA/s1600-h/IMG_0444.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301239823665058050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZHJiE610QI/AAAAAAAAADY/1_yNKYReBsA/s320/IMG_0444.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is a picture of us with a guy who creates amazing paintings only using his fingers. We had him paint us a picture using the colors of the babies room. It's baby Thomas' souvenier for his first trip to Mexico.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZHJhWXUVOI/AAAAAAAAADI/3eGf6hG7LT8/s1600-h/IMG_0409.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-8246604986789367660?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/8246604986789367660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=8246604986789367660' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8246604986789367660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8246604986789367660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/02/viva-la-mexico.html' title='Viva La Mexico'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SZHLbpzdrrI/AAAAAAAAADg/PP95GyQqvxA/s72-c/IMG_0409.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-3878390142801366648</id><published>2009-02-04T07:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-04T07:02:35.300-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Babymoon</title><content type='html'>Tom and I are off to Mexico tomorrow for a little vacation with some of our family.  Apparently, there is a specific name for this type of vacation.  It is called a Babymoon. That is when a couple goes on vacation, while pregnant, to enjoy one last hoorah before they have their first child.  I am very very excited about this trip.  First of all….because of the beach, and second of all because of the all-you-can-eat buffets.  Since I won’t be able to enjoy tequila or daiquiris, I plan on doing some damage to the buffets and snack bars.  And my doctor thought that the holidays were a little rough on my weight…wait until she sees what 4 days in Mexico can do to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You all have a wonderful weekend and enjoy the nice weather we are supposed to have.  I heard it will be in the mid to upper 60’s here in KC.  It will be in the mid to upper 80’s in Mexico…..but who’s counting. :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-3878390142801366648?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/3878390142801366648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=3878390142801366648' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3878390142801366648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3878390142801366648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/02/babymoon.html' title='Babymoon'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-6517393904107925894</id><published>2009-02-02T14:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-02T14:10:43.764-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Daycare</title><content type='html'>Tom pretty much finished up the baby’s room this weekend. He painted and put wainscoting on the lower half of the walls. It looks so cute in there. I find myself in this newly painted empty room a couple times throughout the day just standing there and smiling at the walls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My list of things I freak out about is getting smaller and smaller. We’ve signed up for a birthing class and a breastfeeding class, we’ve ordered and received the baby bedding, we’ve finished registering, and now, painting the nursery has been scratched off the list. The two big things we have left are ordering the furniture for the nursery and begin the process of picking out a daycare. Picking out a daycare is going to be the most stressful. Deciding whether I want “Random Stranger A” or “Random Stranger B” to spend more time with my baby than I get to is going to be a very tough decision. Back home, deciding on a daycare would be a matter of a quick phone call to our cousin who watches children out of her home. We know for a fact that she would love Thomas and she would care for him effortlessly. But since we don’t have the luxury of family here in KC, we really just have to decide which stranger is the best stranger to care for our child. We’ve got two options to choose from which were given to us by friends who take their children there. One option is more convenient for me and Tom when it comes to location. The other option is a little more out of our way but it is where my good friend Kim takes her daughter Peyton (the future Mrs. Thomas Michael Tod). I would love for Thomas and Peyton to be able to be together throughout the week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But who knows…once that little guy looks at me for the first time and he melts my heart away…you all might be lucky I even let anyone &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;hold&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; him….let alone let some stranger care for him on a daily basis. :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-6517393904107925894?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/6517393904107925894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=6517393904107925894' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6517393904107925894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6517393904107925894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/02/stranger-danger.html' title='Daycare'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-8131592595317380657</id><published>2009-01-29T11:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T12:34:39.333-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Insecure or Confident?</title><content type='html'>I was in line at Panda Express the other day getting me some delicious Kung Pao chicken. The place was totally empty except for a small group of teenagers in the corner. Since it was empty in there, it was pretty quiet, with the exception of the teens. I hear them start laughing so I look up at them…and they were all looking at me…while they were laughing. My immediate reaction is “why are they laughing at me?” Then, my secondary reaction was “they couldn't be laughing at me…I’m a cute little pregnant lady”. At that point I talked myself out of the thought that they could be laughing at me. But I still kept my head down as I moved through the line…just incase I had a “bat in the cave” or something like that. Teenagers scare me. I’ll do my very best to keep Thomas from acting like one someday!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-8131592595317380657?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/8131592595317380657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=8131592595317380657' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8131592595317380657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8131592595317380657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/insecure-or-confident.html' title='Insecure or Confident?'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-953178581061829899</id><published>2009-01-29T09:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T10:45:21.204-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pregnancy Perks</title><content type='html'>Besides the obvious reason why pregnancy is so wonderful, it also comes with quite a few little perks.  Most of them come from the thoughtfulness of my husband, but some come from the thoughtfulness of others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  Tom no longer allows me to take that long, cold walk from the store parking lot to the front door.  He always drops me off at the door.&lt;br /&gt;2.  Pregnant Parking.  Some stores actually offer parking spots that are for expecting or new mothers.  Babies R Us (of course) and some Hy-Vee stores have this convenient little luxury.&lt;br /&gt;3.  Random strangers have told me to go ahead of them in the grocery store line.  Very sweet. &lt;br /&gt;4.  Backrubs.  Tom is usually pretty good about giving these out when they're needed. &lt;br /&gt;5.  Anytime anyone at work sees me carrying anything, they immediately take it out of my hands.&lt;br /&gt;6.  Tom gets mad at me anytime I try to take the trash out because that requires me to walk down stairs with my hands full.  Not a good combination.&lt;br /&gt;7.  I can not count how many times a day someone will ask me how I'm feeling, how's the baby doing, when is my due date.  I love talking about my pregnancy, and so many people give me the chance to do that everyday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-953178581061829899?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/953178581061829899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=953178581061829899' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/953178581061829899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/953178581061829899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/pregnancy-perks.html' title='Pregnancy Perks'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-5756892505066669392</id><published>2009-01-26T13:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T13:50:47.554-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My First Unnecessary Hormonal Meltdown</title><content type='html'>Let me start off this story with a little background on dogs. I apologize if this part of the story makes you throw up in your mouth a little bit. It is very gross, but necessary to explain. Dogs have an anal gland in their rear ends that needs to be popped every now and then. Normally it will pop itself when the dog goes to the bathroom. But occasionally, if it does not get popped, it fills up and begins to leak out. The smell of this stuff is very foul. The only way Tommy and I can describe it is that is smells like “nickels”. It’s a very stout metal smell. A tiny drop of this stuff can contaminate an entire room. It is truly awful! Ok, you can wipe that nasty look of your face now cause the gross part is over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday night, me and the dogs decided to go to bed. Tommy was still watching TV, so we headed off to bed without him. I fall asleep. A couple hours later, I wake up to the smell of “nickels”. I was livid! I screamed at the dogs and kick them get out of my room (not knowing which one polluted the air in our room…they both got yelled at). I lock them out of the room, and I begin to change the sheets. Since the dogs had been on the bed, I assumed my blanket was where the smell was coming from. I am crying hysterically at this point. Throwing sheets and blankets down on the floor as hard as I could (disappointed cause the sound of sheets hitting the floor didn’t quite make the “mad” sound I was going for). Once the sheets were changed, the smell didn’t go away meaning that there was probably a tiny drop of this toxic stuff on the carpet somewhere. I couldn’t tell where so I doused the carpet with febreeze and then left the room to let the dogs outside. When I opened the door to let the dogs out I saw that there was about an inch of snow on the ground. For some unknown reason, this really set me off. I remember saying “what the f*%k is this all sh!t?” Now…I rarely ever throw the F word around… but apparently, the sight of snow made it necessary for me to cuss like a sailor. I had no idea it was going to snow. That’s enough reason to cuss and cry isn’t it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tommy had actually fallen asleep on the couch that night watching TV, so when I let the dogs in and they came running through the living room, Tommy picked his head up and sleepily says “what’s going on”? I yell “YOUR DAMN DOGS STINK”, and I stormed off to the spare bedroom to sleep. I laid there in bed and cried and cried and cried. Mad cause my dogs smelled, mad cause it snowed, mad cause Tommy wasn’t mad too, and mad cause all of these things making me mad were not rational reasons to be crying uncontrollably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually I began to calm down when I realized that my hormones had actually got the best of me. I’ve heard of this happening, but never thought I would experience it. I’m a pretty laid back chick. It takes quite a bit to get me worked up. Snow is not usually something that causes me to break.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I fell asleep and woke up again at 3:00am. At that time, I went and got my husband off the couch and then me, him, and the dogs all went to our febreeze scented room for a couple more hours of sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning, I had a good laugh at myself. I never knew I had crazy in me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-5756892505066669392?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/5756892505066669392/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=5756892505066669392' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5756892505066669392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5756892505066669392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-first-unnecessary-hormonal-meltdown.html' title='My First Unnecessary Hormonal Meltdown'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-4713925792425302028</id><published>2009-01-23T10:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-23T11:03:01.728-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bedding</title><content type='html'>Here is a picture of the bedding we picked out for baby Thomas. I wanted to post a picture because when I try to explain this to people, they get this awful look on their face and say "oh...that sounds nice". I know they all cringed as soon as I said the word "deer". I'm sure they were picturing a camouflaged room with dead deer heads on the wall. But I just fell in love with this when I saw it. Hopefully baby Thomas will too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SXoQGYG88SI/AAAAAAAAACo/1VeslswhbD8/s1600-h/willowroom-lg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294562013664309538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SXoQGYG88SI/AAAAAAAAACo/1VeslswhbD8/s320/willowroom-lg.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-4713925792425302028?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/4713925792425302028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=4713925792425302028' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/4713925792425302028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/4713925792425302028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/here-is-picture-of-bedding-we-picked.html' title='Bedding'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SXoQGYG88SI/AAAAAAAAACo/1VeslswhbD8/s72-c/willowroom-lg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-6638464229985613882</id><published>2009-01-22T07:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-22T14:40:57.065-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Thomas is all hopped up on Caffeine</title><content type='html'>I am a pregnant caffeine drinker. I’ll pause while you take moment and gasp!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve read the books, and I know that caffeine is not highly recommended on a pregnancy diet, but neither is a box of Twinkies. I do drink caffeine, but I believe myself to be a responsible drinker. I crave Coke all day everyday. Before pregnancy, Dr. Pepper was my soda of choice but apparently baby Thomas likes Coke, so I allow myself one Coke a day. I don’t always drink one everyday, but I would say I have maybe 4 or 5 a week. And when I’m at home, I drink caffeine free Coke (which tastes just as good). So even when I do drink soda, I don’t drink that much. But every time I order myself a delicious glass of Coca-Cola Classic, Tommy says to me one of two things…”Be sure to spit out the caffeine” or ”If that boy comes out with 12 arms, I’m going to let him pop you in the head with every one of them.”. He always has a great way of putting things into perspective for me. You gotta love em’.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-6638464229985613882?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/6638464229985613882/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=6638464229985613882' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6638464229985613882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6638464229985613882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/baby-thoms-is-all-hopped-up-on-caffeine.html' title='Baby Thomas is all hopped up on Caffeine'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-5684699815776119379</id><published>2009-01-21T12:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T12:38:47.407-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Long Story Short.....but still pretty long</title><content type='html'>I had quite an emotional day last Friday. I’m on my way to work in the snow. The roads are terrible so I was in no hurry. I was driving approx 10 mph for the most part of my drive because there was so much traffic. About half way to work (and an hour and half on the road) the traffic broke up a bit and I was now driving approx 25-30 mph. And then the guy in front of me slams on his brakes, which, of course, causes me to do the same. As soon as I hit my brakes, I lost complete control of my car. I’m starting to slide sideways, but then luckily (I’m not sure that is the best word to use)…the concrete median stopped me. Thankfully, I didn’t hit anyone and no one hit me, and thankfully, me and baby Thomas were ok…physically…but emotionally was a different story. I rationally ran a quick list of options through my head. 1. Call the police. 2. Call Tom. 3. Move my car from the side of the road so no one hits me. 4. Get out and look at the damage. After I was done with my list, I decided to call Tom first (who was traveling with work). As soon as I heard his voice, I broke down and all rationality went out the window. I was bawling! I couldn’t believe what I had just done and I couldn’t stop thinking about what could have been. Tom was very understanding and calming. He told me not to get out of my car, and to drive it to the next exit. I got off phone with him so I could drive…and I cried all the way to the next exit (which took about 10 minutes cause of the traffic). I parked my car in a parking lot and got out to look at the damage. It could have been much worse, but it wasn’t pretty. My bumper got pretty roughed up. There were some other minor damage to my wheel, headlight and fender. I called Tom again, and again, I couldn’t stop crying. I decided I was going to sit in that parking lot until I could drive again without crying. Tom eventually calmed me down. Once I got off the phone with him, I called work…and as soon as I started talking…I started bawling yet again. I told them I was not going to come in to work. Since I was crying so much I know I made the accident sound much worse then it actually was, but I really couldn’t control myself. Then I called my friend Kim and tell her why I wasn’t going to be at work. She got the worst of my hysteria. I couldn’t even make out words correctly when I was talking to her. I just couldn’t get out of my head “what could have happened”. My mind just kept replaying these vivid terrible thoughts. I was torturing myself. Finally, after talking with Kim, I felt calm enough to drive home. I white-knuckled the steering wheel (hands at 10 and 2 of course) all the way home. Once I got there, I fully focused on Thomas. I sat and monitored his movements just in case the accident (or my stress level) had shaken him up in any way. But he was just as bouncy as ever. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary with him, so at that point I finally started to relax a little. What could have happened, didn’t happen, so I was so very thankful. I know in a previous blog I talked about my improved driving abilities….scratch that. Now my walking and my driving require a whole lot of concentration. I’ve got some precious cargo on board and he needs me to be extra careful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-5684699815776119379?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/5684699815776119379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=5684699815776119379' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5684699815776119379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5684699815776119379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/long-story-shortbut-still-pretty-long.html' title='Long Story Short.....but still pretty long'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-7475191586431048240</id><published>2009-01-19T09:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T09:50:32.927-08:00</updated><title type='text'>24 Weeks!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SXS6OLQgXtI/AAAAAAAAACg/iB_P3AsaOus/s1600-h/New+Image.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293060214770130642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SXS6OLQgXtI/AAAAAAAAACg/iB_P3AsaOus/s320/New+Image.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Isn't it funny that my boobs are pretty much twice the size they were before I got pregnant, but in this picture, they look non-existent compared to my belly!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-7475191586431048240?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/7475191586431048240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=7475191586431048240' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7475191586431048240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7475191586431048240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/24-weeks.html' title='24 Weeks!'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SXS6OLQgXtI/AAAAAAAAACg/iB_P3AsaOus/s72-c/New+Image.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-7962175229673786165</id><published>2009-01-19T07:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T09:31:45.284-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My New Favorite Pass Time</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-f858fb4324df3b71" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v15.nonxt1.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Df858fb4324df3b71%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331481657%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D7783715996AB390BC378C893610BED1985A872EF.5AA3B1B6EF3297EF555D644707B6FCBE53B9DB05%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Df858fb4324df3b71%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DOA2mMvWPsl60JOHm-PG_ZTFX36c&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v15.nonxt1.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Df858fb4324df3b71%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331481657%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D7783715996AB390BC378C893610BED1985A872EF.5AA3B1B6EF3297EF555D644707B6FCBE53B9DB05%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Df858fb4324df3b71%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DOA2mMvWPsl60JOHm-PG_ZTFX36c&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I know this may not look like much, but this is truly my favorite thing to do nowadays. When the remote bounces a little bit, that is baby Thomas moving around. One time he kicked so hard the remote fell off my belly, but I can't get him to do that again.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-7962175229673786165?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=f858fb4324df3b71&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/7962175229673786165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=7962175229673786165' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7962175229673786165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7962175229673786165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-new-favorite-pass-time.html' title='My New Favorite Pass Time'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-9056926213260776871</id><published>2009-01-15T07:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T07:44:28.498-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank You Angie!</title><content type='html'>I wanted to say THANK YOU to my friend Angie Carter, who walked me through Target last night explaining the dos and don’ts of all the baby items on the shelves….mainly the breastfeeding section.  In the beginning, that section scared the crap out of me.  But last night Angie helped me tackle that section with no fear.  I was armed with my registry gun and I was scanning storage bags and nipple soothers left and right.    I know what works, what doesn’t, what I shouldn’t waste my money on, and what I should spend money on.  Thank you very much Angie for taking the time to do that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-9056926213260776871?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/9056926213260776871/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=9056926213260776871' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/9056926213260776871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/9056926213260776871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/thank-you-angie.html' title='Thank You Angie!'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-1719702073326176093</id><published>2009-01-15T07:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T07:43:36.986-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Weight</title><content type='html'>I was a little hesitant about blogging about this since it kind of bothered me a little.  But by reading my friends blogs (Traci &amp;amp; Cori) over the last year or so, it has taught me to blog the truth and nothing but the truth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a baby doctor appointment yesterday…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dr. Maynard: “Well, your weight has jumped up there quite a bit since your last appointment.  But you won’t get a lecture from me cause in the last 4 weeks, there have been a couple “eating” holidays, so we’ll let this one pass.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  “Yeah…eating holidays…let’s blame it on that.”  (I did not mention the Twinkie and Nutty Bar incident.).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From my December 15th appointment up until yesterday, I gained 10 pounds which equals a total of 20 pounds in the last 24 weeks.  The 20 pound total does not bother me, it’s the fact that 10 of it was acquired in the last 4 weeks.  I understand this is what happens when you get pregnant and I’m not complaining one bit.  I’m willing to put myself and my body through ANYTHING to have our happy healthy baby Thomas.  I know I’m going to gain weight and I’m really not that worried about it, but I realized yesterday that I’m gaining weight because I’m eating the things that I want and not eating the things that baby Thomas needs.   He could care less if I eat a box of Girl Scout cookies or a bar of cream cheese.  He’d probably rather I ate some celery sticks or a banana.  So, I’m going to try things his way for a while.  I don’t plan to deprive myself of cravings, but maybe now I can just eat one Girl Scout cookie instead of ½ the box.  My goal for my next appointment is 7 pounds.  Wish me luck!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-1719702073326176093?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/1719702073326176093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=1719702073326176093' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/1719702073326176093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/1719702073326176093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/weight.html' title='Weight'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-3907096148751904678</id><published>2009-01-14T12:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T12:26:36.128-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stretch Marks the Spot!</title><content type='html'>I found my first set of stretch marks on my hips near my back.  They are faint, but they are there.  Apparently my hips were not prepared to get so big back there, but my belly and my ass planned ahead and are stretching themselves to the limit flawlessly.  Way to go belly and ass!!!!  Keep up the good work!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-3907096148751904678?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/3907096148751904678/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=3907096148751904678' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3907096148751904678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3907096148751904678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/stretch-marks-spot.html' title='Stretch Marks the Spot!'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-172779814113069242</id><published>2009-01-12T14:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T14:28:06.636-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can anyone ever just be whelmed?" - Alicia Silverston, "Clueless"</title><content type='html'>I’m starting to feel a little overwhelmed with the preparations for the baby. We still have so much to do, and I just realized that next week, I will officially be in my 3rd trimester. Yikes! I know it will all fall into place like everyone says, but it is not in place right now, so I’m starting to freak out a little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a look at what goes on in my mind on a daily basis:&lt;br /&gt;Pick out and order baby furniture…I’m gonna pee my pants…finish registering…where do I sign up for birthing class…quit stressing yourself out…order baby bedding…pick out a daycare…pick out a pediatrician…don’t fall down…how do I learn how to breastfeed…why did I just yell at Tommy…where did that weird dream come from…is it too soon to eat again…is it normal for my back to hurt this bad…why is it so hot in here…paint the baby room…what if Thomas turns out to be a girl…will my face ever clear up…did I remember my prenatal vitamin today…is that a stretch mark…my feet hurt…and so on…and so on…and so on…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of this stuff makes for a pretty exhausting day. No wonder I’m in bed by 8:00.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-172779814113069242?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/172779814113069242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=172779814113069242' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/172779814113069242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/172779814113069242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-know-you-can-be-overwhelmed-and-you.html' title='&quot;I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can anyone ever just be whelmed?&quot; - Alicia Silverston, &quot;Clueless&quot;'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-3593186561974392186</id><published>2009-01-07T09:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T13:48:41.389-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A couple things I am more aware of now that I'm pregnant:</title><content type='html'>1. &lt;strong&gt;The speed limit&lt;/strong&gt;. I believe that I have become a somewhat better driver. (Except for that minor accident I got into early on in my pregnancy...that doesn't count).&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;strong&gt;Intersections&lt;/strong&gt;. For some reason, intersections make me nervous now. Every single one I go through, I have a brief and terrible thought that someone will run a red light a hit me.&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;strong&gt;Cussing&lt;/strong&gt;. Before, when someone cussed, I never thought anything of it...but now, every cuss word stands out to me.&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;strong&gt;Other pregnant women&lt;/strong&gt;. Tommy owned a motorcycle when we first started dating. I learned, as an unwritten rule, while you are out for a ride, you are to wave at every other motorcyclist you see, and they wave back at you. I thought this was really silly. I drive a Honda Civic.....I don't wave at everyone else who drives a Honda Civic, and they don't wave at me. But now I kind of understand. When I see a pregnant woman, I literally want to throw my hand in the air and wave it back and forth. I want to talk to her and ask her all the basic questions that I get asked. And I want to rub her belly.&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;strong&gt;My bellybutton&lt;/strong&gt;. You could probably measure out a cup of water in my bellybutton right now. I'd like for it to pop out soon so I don't start losing things in it, like my keys or my cell phone.&lt;br /&gt;6. &lt;strong&gt;Strangers&lt;/strong&gt;. Now that I'm showing, lots of random strangers talk to me. It's actually very sweet. I think that pregnant women give off a sense of kindness and approachability. It's almost like we are wearing signs that say "ASK ME ABOUT MY BABY". I love the attention and I will jump on any chance to talk about the handsome little man growing inside me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-3593186561974392186?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/3593186561974392186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=3593186561974392186' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3593186561974392186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3593186561974392186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/couple-things-i-am-more-aware-of-now.html' title='A couple things I am more aware of now that I&apos;m pregnant:'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-511487295248970049</id><published>2009-01-06T09:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T10:15:09.081-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I've got a confession to make....</title><content type='html'>There is no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to blurt it out.............I ate an entire box of Twinkies and and entire box of Nutty Bars in a matter of 4 days.  There, I said it.  But in my defense, I was home on vacation with nothing to do but eat.  Needless to say, Twinkies and Nutty Bars are no long allowed on the grocery list. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and for those of you who are counting, go ahead and add another mark on your "Melissa busted her ass again" list.  Remember sliding down your stairs on your butt when you were little? I'm pretty sure that is exactly what it looked like to the tree trimming guy who was standing at the bottom of my stairs waiting on his check.  Only I'm not little by any means, and my slippers flew off both of my feet and hit him.  He was mortified....I just stood up, laughed uncomfortably and said "don't worry, I do this all the time".  He asked me 100 times if I was ok, and after reassuring him that I was a pro at this whole falling down thing, he took his check and was out the door.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-511487295248970049?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/511487295248970049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=511487295248970049' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/511487295248970049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/511487295248970049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/ive-got-confession-to-make.html' title='I&apos;ve got a confession to make....'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-4651571839384967318</id><published>2009-01-05T13:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T13:01:30.387-08:00</updated><title type='text'>We're Back On-line!</title><content type='html'>I have been on vacation for the last 2 weeks so I haven’t been able to blog. We recently found out you can get this thing called “the internet” installed in your home. We had never heard of such a thing. We thought “the internet” was just a luxury you can use at work, but apparently this convenience can be brought right into your own home. I know…..sounds crazy right? But, it’s true. We hope to have it installed in the next few weeks. Man….what will they come up with next…..running water…..electricity…..who knows. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last few weeks have been great for me and baby Thomas. The first week we did what Tommy calls “The Cannonball Run”. This is where we drive to approximately 10 different houses, spread out all over Missouri, in a matter of 4 days. It is very stressful but always worth it to get to see all our family over the holidays. But once baby Thomas is old enough to understand Santa, our “cannonball run” days will be over. We plan to stay at home on Christmas day, open all our gifts and lounge around in our pj’s playing with new toys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thomas got lots of clothes and gifts for Christmas, which was such a nice thing to receive from our families. I didn’t expect any gifts for him at all, so it was a nice surprise. Last week I went through and washed all his tiny new clothes…which for some reason really opened my eyes. This baby has been a part of my life, my body and my thoughts for the last 22 weeks. But when I pulled his little tiny clothes out of my dryer and began folding them, he also became part of my home. It was so neat to actually see traces of a tiny little person in our home. It somehow makes me miss him even though he’s never physically been here. But his endless karate chops and sidekicks are a constant reminder that there is no need to miss him…cause he is right where he should be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-4651571839384967318?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/4651571839384967318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=4651571839384967318' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/4651571839384967318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/4651571839384967318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2009/01/were-back-on-line_05.html' title='We&apos;re Back On-line!'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-1543827955977117875</id><published>2008-12-18T08:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T08:40:18.681-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Look!!!!</title><content type='html'>Why do I feel the need to show off a picture of my son's penis to anyone who will look at it. I show them the penis picture before I even show them a picture of his face. I pray that the need to do that will go away once he gets here. Otherwise I will be finding myself in some uncomfortable situations.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-1543827955977117875?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/1543827955977117875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=1543827955977117875' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/1543827955977117875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/1543827955977117875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/12/why-do-i-feel-need-to-show-off-picture.html' title='Look!!!!'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-5216915604924042591</id><published>2008-12-17T05:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T14:13:24.445-08:00</updated><title type='text'>IT'S A BOY!!!!!!</title><content type='html'>Holy cow was I ever so wrong! Never once did I even think about the possibility that there was a little boy growing inside my belly. Not that I didn't want a boy...I honestly didn't care what it was. I just had an overwhelming feeling that I was having a girl. I even remember telling Tom before we went into the sonogram that he needed to be prepared for her to tell us we were having a girl. I was so sure....I've been calling this poor little boy a "she" for the last 5 months. Maybe that is why he decided to show us his "manhood" within the first 5 seconds of the sonogram. He seemed to be very proud of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlE9Sez2kI/AAAAAAAAAB4/7U5GLLHg7o4/s1600-h/boy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280827857792391746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlE9Sez2kI/AAAAAAAAAB4/7U5GLLHg7o4/s320/boy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;His bits and pieces! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlE874Q8xI/AAAAAAAAABo/aeZEc6Ijhwo/s1600-h/Profile.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280827851725140754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 189px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlE874Q8xI/AAAAAAAAABo/aeZEc6Ijhwo/s320/Profile.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;His profile - with his little mouth open! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I have the ability to pick things up with my feet and I also use my feet as a weapon to pinch the crap out of Tommy when I find myself defenseless in a wrestling match. The sonogram showed us a picture of the baby's foot and the doctor said "there's a nice gap between his first and second toe....who's feet does he have". Tom said "oh, no....that's Melissa's monkey foot". Be prepared Tommy...once I teach little Thomas how to use his foot as a weapon, you are going down!!! :-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It's hard to explain the feeling that comes along with finding out the sex of your unborn baby. It ranks right up there with finding out we were pregnant. Two very different feelings of excitement, but both feelings are so amazing. I can't even begin to imagine all the amazing feelings we have in our near future with our beautiful baby boy. Thomas Michael Tod!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-5216915604924042591?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/5216915604924042591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=5216915604924042591' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5216915604924042591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5216915604924042591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/12/its-boy.html' title='IT&apos;S A BOY!!!!!!'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlE9Sez2kI/AAAAAAAAAB4/7U5GLLHg7o4/s72-c/boy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-5208948782137222337</id><published>2008-12-15T05:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T05:30:47.285-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Glimpse Into Our Future Family</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUZatNgVNwI/AAAAAAAAABY/2m-hbFpoXSk/s1600-h/Picture+of+kids.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280007345904367362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUZatNgVNwI/AAAAAAAAABY/2m-hbFpoXSk/s320/Picture+of+kids.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dave and Busters has a photo machine called "The Gene Machine". It takes a photo of you, and a photo of your spouse and prints out a photo of what your children might look like. The boy, to me, looks pretty cute (but of course I'm a little bias because I'm his mother)....but the little girl, for some reason, looks a little like a monkey. Maybe it's the strange hair do. I think if we fixed her hair a little, she'd be perfect.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4:00 today is our appointment for our sonogram. After that, I will hopefully not have to refer to my baby as an "it" anymore. I'll let you all know the news tomorrow!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-5208948782137222337?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/5208948782137222337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=5208948782137222337' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5208948782137222337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/5208948782137222337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/12/glimpse-into-our-future-family.html' title='A Glimpse Into Our Future Family'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUZatNgVNwI/AAAAAAAAABY/2m-hbFpoXSk/s72-c/Picture+of+kids.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-6823578043421741656</id><published>2008-12-12T10:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-12T10:27:50.485-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shout Out</title><content type='html'>I want to do a quick "shout out" to my wonderful husband! Congratulations on your awesome year end review. I am, and always will be, so proud of you and all of your accomplishments. You work your ass off to help provide for our little family and you deserve all the wonderful things you've got coming to you! This year started out a little rough while we were still trying to get pregnant, but we are ending this year with more than I've ever asked for. I love you...and Happy Birthday baby!!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-6823578043421741656?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/6823578043421741656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=6823578043421741656' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6823578043421741656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6823578043421741656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-think-my-baby-has.html' title='Shout Out'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-3394193978738314673</id><published>2008-12-11T10:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T10:26:16.311-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Very First Maternity Shirt</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUFaCCs53vI/AAAAAAAAABQ/ynxNWPepUsY/s1600-h/53400075+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278599229386383090" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 275px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUFaCCs53vI/AAAAAAAAABQ/ynxNWPepUsY/s320/53400075+copy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I bought my first maternity shirt last night, and guess how much it cost..... only $3.60.  I've been having a hard time finding maternity shirts that fit me, so finding this little gem made my day.  It actually makes me look like I'm pregnant instead of looking like I have a pot belly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-3394193978738314673?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/3394193978738314673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=3394193978738314673' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3394193978738314673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3394193978738314673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-very-first-maternity-shirt.html' title='My Very First Maternity Shirt'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUFaCCs53vI/AAAAAAAAABQ/ynxNWPepUsY/s72-c/53400075+copy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-2173470313703952190</id><published>2008-12-10T07:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T07:22:48.934-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Terrible Sound of Music</title><content type='html'>You know that “glow” I blogged about??? Well, it’s gone. This morning on the way to work was a completely different situation. It snowed last night, and it snowed pretty good. The side roads are still a little icy, but the main highways were perfectly fine. But you wouldn’t know that by the way these idiots were driving this morning. It took me a little over an hour to get to work. My glow was gone, my smile was gone, and my baby heard lots of “flipping idiot” and “a-hole” (obviously this is the censored version of what was really said).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, in order to calm myself down, I put in a little Norah Jones. I love to listen to Norah. Her voice and her music is very soothing and relaxing. I thought my baby might need a little relaxation since our morning was not off to a good start. Now…I can’t help but sing along with my good friend Norah, and in my head, I sound just like her. But in my belly, I have a feeling Norah and I don’t sound quite the same. I’ve always had what is called “A Mrozowicz Voice”. (Polish translation – not a very good voice). I’m guessing the sound of my voice is probably the loudest sound the baby hears. It could probably hear Norah faintly if I would shut my mouth and let Norah sing, but I don’t. So my poor baby has a terrible idea of what music and singing really sounds like. Maybe I should just stick to telling the baby stories and talking to it. If I stop singing now, the baby might have a fighting chance to have some sort of musical talent. Tommy, this means you are also not allowed to sing near my belly. The combination of our terrible singing is bound to scar this child for life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-2173470313703952190?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/2173470313703952190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=2173470313703952190' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/2173470313703952190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/2173470313703952190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/12/you-know-that-glow-i-blogged-about-well.html' title='The Terrible Sound of Music'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-3803013027029648730</id><published>2008-12-08T10:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T10:24:57.179-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Glow</title><content type='html'>I was told the other day that I have that “glow” you get when you are pregnant. Granted, the people who told me this are 2 of my very good friends (Kim and Traci) and I think they just say things like that cause that is what friends do. But whether I have that glow or not, I definitely &lt;strong&gt;feel&lt;/strong&gt; that glow. On my way into work the other day, I was sitting in traffic, my radio was off and it was silent in my car. I happen to look over at the car next to me and all of a sudden I noticed I was smiling at him. But really, I wasn’t smiling at him personally….I was just sitting in my car, all alone in silence, and I was smiling. It sounds a little weird and I’m sure the guy next to me thought it was a little weird too…but it felt nice when I realized that I was stuck in traffic but I was completely happy. That same day is when Kim and Traci told me I had “the glow”. I wasn’t going to argue with them cause I knew exactly what they were talking about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-3803013027029648730?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/3803013027029648730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=3803013027029648730' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3803013027029648730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3803013027029648730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/12/t.html' title='The Glow'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-3635592475871137137</id><published>2008-12-05T10:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T10:43:28.665-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Busta Move Baby</title><content type='html'>I got to feel my baby move this week!  What an amazing feeling.  It was just the tiniest little tickle from inside.  I've possibly felt it move before this week, but at that time I wasn't sure if it was the baby or just some little gas bubbles.  But this week I can for sure say it was the baby.  And ever since I felt it move, I've been able to feel it about once a day.  I look forward to that moment each day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tom heard that if you shine a light onto my belly the baby will move away from the light and I could maybe feel it move.  We've done this a time or two and I've felt nothing.  After we had done this a couple of times, I got to thinking...if the baby is moving away from the light, that would mean it is afraid of the light.  So, here we are, scaring the shit out of our baby for our own entertainment purposes.  Now Tom is afraid we've scarred it for life and the baby is going to have some sort of twitch each time someone turns on a light.  Parenting skills may not be off to the best start!  :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I better quit blogging now...I've got a busy day ahead of me.....growing little toes and kidneys and stuff.  It's an exhausting job, but someones gotta do it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-3635592475871137137?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/3635592475871137137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=3635592475871137137' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3635592475871137137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/3635592475871137137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/12/busta-move-baby.html' title='Busta Move Baby'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-4141639339682287270</id><published>2008-12-03T14:24:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-04T06:02:17.618-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Immature</title><content type='html'>Me and Kim were talking, and wondering if we are immature as mothers, or if our mothers were also immature, but hid it from us kids. As we compare ourselves to our mothers, we wonder if they ever did the same child-like things we do, like:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Laugh anytime anyone says the word "balls" (just typing that makes me giggle)&lt;br /&gt;Drink Kool-aid all the time&lt;br /&gt;Honk the horn and wave at random strangers just for a laugh&lt;br /&gt;Sing loudly with their girlfriends in the car&lt;br /&gt;Do stupid dances on the dance floor like "the shopping cart", "the sprinkler", "the running man", "the cabbage patch"...&lt;br /&gt;Eat cereal for dinner&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could never imagine my mother doing any of these things...but maybe she was just a good mother and tried to keep her immaturities to herself. Does that mean that I should too?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-4141639339682287270?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/4141639339682287270/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=4141639339682287270' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/4141639339682287270'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/4141639339682287270'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/12/me-and-kim-were-talking-and-wondering.html' title='Immature'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-7296632019163255478</id><published>2008-12-01T09:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T16:50:01.823-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Get Knocked Down But I Get Up Again</title><content type='html'>Ok....so no one really knocked me down. It's more like I fell down...yet again. I am a VERY clumsy person as most of you already know. Pretty much on a monthly basis, I find myself with brusied knees or scrapped elbows. Since I've been preggo, I've already fallen down twice. Once was down my stairs at my house (but don't worry, I've fallen down these stairs so many times, I actually know how to do it without hurting myself). The other time was this past weekend in the Hy-Vee parking lot. It was raining so I was somewhat running to my car when all of a sudden I found myself sitting down on the wet pavement with a throbbing knee and foot. I have no idea if anyone saw me. Just another day in the life of Melissa. Tom wants me to start wearing a helmet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And unfortunatley my gracefulness has been passed on to my adorable 3 year old niece. She stayed with us a few weekends ago and I know she fell down at least 10 times during her visit. One minute she is sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, and the next thing you hear is "thump" and she is on the floor. She never once cried...she just gets back up and says "I'mmmmmm oooooookkkkkk" in her cute little 3 year old voice and goes about her business. Poor thing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-7296632019163255478?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/7296632019163255478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=7296632019163255478' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7296632019163255478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7296632019163255478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-get-knocked-down-but-i-get-up-again.html' title='I Get Knocked Down But I Get Up Again'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-9198775858715305857</id><published>2008-11-25T10:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T14:29:42.031-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Transition from Fat to Pregnant</title><content type='html'>I'm wondering...would it be weird for me to introduce myself to people by saying "Hi, I'm Melissa....and I'm pregnant". Of course I want the world to know I'm pregnant because it is the single most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. But I also want the world to know that I'm pregnant so they don't automatically assume I'm growing a "muffin top" under my shirt. Honestly, I've never been more excited about gaining weight. In my head, the more weight I gain, the bigger my belly gets. Apparently, that is not the case. My hips and butt are being greedy and they are stealing the the weight away from my cute little baby belly. I know that soon enough those gigantic maternity pants that I have will fit, but in the meantime, I just plan to rub my belly alot while in public. That might help them notice my baby bump instead of the rest of the stuff overflowing from the top of my pants. :-)  Really, it's not that bad.  As of my appointment on Friday, I've gained a total of 6 lbs which the doctor says is "right on track".  But I worry because I don't exercise, and my eating habits are the exact same as my 5 year old nephew. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and doctor also said that the heart rate of the baby is "flirting with the possibility of a girl"!!!!!  We find out for sure Dec. 15th!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-9198775858715305857?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/9198775858715305857/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=9198775858715305857' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/9198775858715305857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/9198775858715305857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/11/transition-from-fat-to-pregnant.html' title='Transition from Fat to Pregnant'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-7250285388798483764</id><published>2008-11-18T10:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T10:37:14.281-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cravings</title><content type='html'>Do any of you know of a pregnancy book that states that the husband is responsible for satisfying all food cravings, no matter the time of night? I need some proof in writing. Tom was under the impression that this did not become his responsibility until the 3rd trimester.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried last night to get him to go to Sonic for an Oreo Blast. After a small amount of pouting (on my part), he finally said he would go. To be honest...I didn't even want an Oreo Blast...I was just testing my limits. :-) But I ended up telling him he didn't really have to go. If I were to send him out into the night to satisfy a food craving, I wouldn't waste my time with ice cream...I would send him out for a block of cream cheese. I could eat those things like candy bars right now. Mmmmmmmmmmm!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-7250285388798483764?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/7250285388798483764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=7250285388798483764' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7250285388798483764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/7250285388798483764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/11/cravings.html' title='Cravings'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-6573026047016924407</id><published>2008-11-17T09:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T11:27:35.256-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A letter to my baby!</title><content type='html'>It truly amazes me that right now you are a tiny little human just hanging out in my belly. You have fingernails, you suck your thumb, and you can hear my voice and heartbeat. You have no idea that in a few months you will come home for the first time and be sniffed from head to toe by your two four-legged sisters. You have no idea that (if you are a girl) Peyton will be your BFF and (if you are a boy) you will watch Booker and Bodey in amazement as they do all the big-boy things you will do one day. You have no idea that you already have &lt;strong&gt;10&lt;/strong&gt; cousins! You have no idea that Santa comes to the May house on Christmas Eve, sets out all our presents, while you and all the other kids hide downstairs. You have no idea that when you laugh, you will probably throw your head forward, hold, then throw your head back...just like a Mrozowicz. You have no idea how many times in your life you will have to say "my last name is Tod...T.O.D...just one D" and you have no idea how often they still spell it TODD. You have no idea that your daddy is so excited about you, that he has put his manliness aside and is in the process of crosstitching you a quilt. Whether you are a boy or a girl, this fishing quilt will be your absolute favorite blanket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have no idea how much you are loved already. And I had no idea I could love this much! Can't wait to meet you!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-6573026047016924407?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/6573026047016924407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=6573026047016924407' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6573026047016924407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/6573026047016924407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/11/letter-to-my-baby.html' title='A letter to my baby!'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8536245001218472291.post-8985358543118931725</id><published>2008-11-13T12:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T07:15:02.078-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Everything is growing</title><content type='html'>As everyone who is reading this already knows, my eggo is finally preggo. I'm 15 weeks along and everything is doubling in size. The baby of course if growing daily which, in turn, is making my belly pop out and I find it adorable. I am unable to pass up a mirror without looking at my little baby bump. My boobs on the other hand have surpassed doubling in size and they are fast approaching the triple mark. I started out this pregnancy as a 34B. Around 10 weeks I had to buy a new bra which is a 36C. 5 weeks later (now) my girls are C's no longer. They have reached the size that women pay good money to have, and men pay good money to see. When does this stop? My poor husband doesn't even look me in the eye anymore. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far pregnancy has really been a breeze. No sickness and only a very small period of fatigue. I have been able to enjoy every second of it. My pregnancy dreams have given me an insight as to what my mind is subconciously worried about. Apprently, I'm afraid Tom is going to be struck by lightning because he is holding up 2 egg beaters in a thunderstorm. I'm also afraid that I'm going to forget that I'm pregnant and go tanning many times in one day. These are two things that I never thought would enter my mind, but now....Tom is no longer allowed to use the mixer. :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8536245001218472291-8985358543118931725?l=imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/feeds/8985358543118931725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8536245001218472291&amp;postID=8985358543118931725' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8985358543118931725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8536245001218472291/posts/default/8985358543118931725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://imgonnabeababymama.blogspot.com/2008/11/everything-is-growing.html' title='Everything is growing'/><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07436870240161250555</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='19' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sArv52z0MJk/SUlb-kViRwI/AAAAAAAAACI/GYnKgVQO_BQ/S220/Profile.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
