Drum Roll, Please...

I purposely scheduled my second ultrasound to coincide with The Rev.'s triumphant return from Mexico. Monday rolled around and we made our way to radiology to find out if our baby has fingers, toes, eyes, etc. etc. The scan was going quite well, and the ultrasound technician was clucking to herself as she measured head, arms, legs, spine, and gathered other information needed for my doctor and the radiologist who would be examining the film. The Rev.'s face never left the monitor, as he took a look at his child for the very first time. And heard the heartbeat for the very first time. And learned that this child has already inherited my dislike for having a picture taken, as a little set of hands covered a little face for the entire test. At one point, the technician asked me to go and use the restroom, because baby decided to present the rear view for an extended length of time and she needed to measure some part of the frontal anatomy. Living proof that this child has inherited a sense of humor from my brother.

After the tech took all of the measurements, she turned the monitor so that I could see what was happening. She assured us that everything looked great (music to our ears), and happily obliged me when I asked if she could tell us what the sex was. "Give me just a second," she said, and maneuvered the sonar so that we could get a rear view. "You tell me what you think," she said, "Dad, what do you see?"

"That is most definitely a boy."

So, we will be welcoming a baby boy into our family in about 4 months. After the ultrasound, The Rev. and I took a two day mini-vacation to Palm Springs, where we discussed names and how to decorate the nursery. We have a name decided, but we will be keeping it under wraps until he comes around for formal introductions. For now, we will be calling him "Eliazer." For those of you who know my husband's first name, you will understand. You may get it if you have a great memory for Biblical figures.

Thank you to everyone for your warm congratulations and prayers. We are half way there.

Late Arrival

The Rev. arrived home on Saturday, after a tortuous journey home from Los Angeles. I left the house at 6 a.m. to be at the airport by 8 a.m., and after standing in the wrong terminal for two hours (I was at AeroMexico arrivals, he was stuck in customs), we finally caught up with each other outside of the international arrivals gate. We found the fried chicken and waffle restaurant, and for the past two days, we have done nothing but talk about driving back up to L.A. to eat chicken and waffles. For a southern girl raised on her mama's fried chicken, the bird I ate on Saturday was the best I have had since eating Uncle Lou's Fried Chicken in Memphis, Tennessee. It was that good. The restaurant looked really familiar to me, and then I read the back of the menu and realized why. It was featured in the movie Pulp Fiction, the breakfast scene where Samuel L. Jackson is telling John Travolta he doesn't eat bacon because "the pig is a filthy animal." The breakfast dulled the pain of the three hour car drive home. Only in California will it take you three hours to drive 76 miles.

The Rev. and I are slowly getting used to each other again, and I commented to him on Saturday night that it was strange for me to see two sets of feet propped on the coffee table. He replied, "It's strange to be watching a movie that is in English." We both agreed it is wonderful to be reunited. He commented on my baby bump, with a "Aww, you have a little bump." It wasn't until I was changing into my pajamas that his jaw dropped and he realized that his wife did learn something from him in regards to camouflage. "YOU'RE HUGE," are the exact words that came out his mouth. I just laughed and told him, "I told you so, and yes, I am going to get bigger in the next four months." The look on his face was absolutely priceless. And I can't wait to see his face when he sees the ultrasound today. Parenthood is sinking into his brain and I am loving every minute of it.

T-1 Day

The Rev. returns from his Mexican field trip tomorrow. I am driving to LAX tomorrow morning to pick him up, and in order to fulfill his request to eat American food as quickly as possible, I found a diner that specializes in fried chicken wings and waffles for breakfast. And it is only 7 minutes from the airport. I have already awarded this establishment four stars.

Yes, I am excited to see my husband after a three month separation, and I am even more excited for him to see my expanding stomach. I went from a tiny pooch to a small volleyball seemingly overnight, and people have begun to notice that I am pregnant. We find out on Monday if we will name the bean Roxanne Verbena or Waldo Hassellhoff. Kidding, just kidding. We haven't discussed names that much, and we won't tell until the baby is born. We have to keep some semblance of suspense.

My father drove in last week, and in an earlier post, I mused what I was going to do with him. Then I remembered he is into historical markers, and what better way to spend a day off then drive to South San Diego and see a monument to John J. Montgomery, the father of flight? We stood on the hilltop where he took his first winged craft into the air, and my father told me Montgomery would have beaten the Wright brothers if he had not met his demise in one of his creations. It was a 45 minute drive for a 15 minute session of staring at a slab of marble, but it made my dad happy, and we want to keep grandpa happy.

The Rev. and I will be heading over to Palm Springs for a few days to make sure we still like being married to each other and for him to practice speaking English again. The digital camera is returning with him, so I will try to post pictures soon!

Papaya Dreams

The Rev. will be home in two weeks. I spoke to him briefly last night and I told him I was to the point where it was like waiting for Christmas. He better show up at the airport in a red Santa suit, bearing lots of presents.

I am not particularly sympathetic when he emails various ailments or complaints. He thinks they are sympathy pains, but I told him he would never understand what I was going through until his chest swelled to the size of grapefruits. Sorry to be crass, but that is the best illustration I could think of at the moment.

He is also sick of papaya, which I gues must grow on trees down there, because he eats it at nearly every meal. I told him I had a tropical fruit trifle waiting for him at home and he threatened to re-decorate our floor with pink puke if I made him eat it.

He is doing really well, though, and his confidence in the language gets better every day. It will be interesting to see how longs it takes for him to get used to American culture again. I may spring some papaya on him just for the sake of memory lane.

I am feeling okay. I begin my 18th week today, and according to my co-workers I possess the official pregnancy glow. I still have my moments where I feel awful, like my body, which is finally adjusting to having this little person inside of it, demanding to be fed every two hours, decides to revert back to pregnancy week number 10. I've stopped with the eating of macaroni and cheese and now I am on an egg kick. Fried eggs, to be exact, which I normally liken to white rubber. Oh well, this rubber tastes good with swiss cheese, bacon, and toast. This kid is going to have a varied appetite. Just wait until my tastebuds come back for Thai. More hotter, more better. I will not be eating papaya any time soon.