Exploding Radiator Hoses, Addison’s Disease and a Failed Delivery Attempt

The past few weeks have been really, really strenuous for our family.

A few Saturdays ago, CLP and mini Gwinn went to a birthday party about 30-45 minutes away from our house; I stayed home because of bedrest. They took my car because it’s a lot more comfortable for longer drives than Captain Laser Pants’ Wrangler, and on their way home, my upper radiator hose split and spewed antifreeze all over the inside of the hood, sufficiently causing the car to overheat. CLP was a quick thinker and pulled over immediately, but unfortunately, it was on the side of one of the busiest interstates in America: I-75. Of course, with all the craziness of moving last Fall, being pregnant, etc, I forgot to renew our AAA membership. So after frantically reinstating our membership and ordering a tow truck, I started having contractions as I worried about my favorite people on the planet getting clipped on the interstate. After two hours they were finally home, and all was ok, but we were feeling the pressure of needing a more reliable car. We talked about buying a new Grand Cherokee equivalent to the one we currently have, and then laughed at the $50k price tag. Since I’ve performed this exact repair as a single girl living in Minneapolis (on my old Jeep Cherokee) we both knew it was an easy and cheap fix. A few hours of work and some misordered parts later, old Fancy (that’s my car’s name, Fancy) was as good as nine years’ old new again. I have a whole post about how I would be this exact car if I were a car, but I digress.

Just a few days later our little Corgle mix, Lenny, started acting lethargic. Stopped eating, started puking, and lost his pep. CLP took him to a new vet, who speculated that maybe he had eaten a stick or caught a bug, gave us a $250+ bill and some medicine, and sent them home. After a few more days of weight loss and lethargy, we became gravely concerned and took him to our old vet (fantastic, reliable, but more expensive and far away). Some tests, x-rays, subcutaneous fluids an overnight stay and another $800+ later, we found out our little Lenny Lou has Addison’s disease. Addison’s is an endocrine system disorder that affects the adrenal glands’ ability to function. It looks a lot like renal failure, and sometimes can be confused with Cushing’s. The good news is it is treatable with daily prednisone (he’s already getting food aggressive and it’s only been a week) and a monthly $125 shot. He’ll have a normal life, but this treatment will last the rest of his days.

A few days after that I went to my OB for my 35 week check up to find out I’d lost my plug (gross, I know, sorry), was over 50% effaced, and was 2 cm. dilated. She said, “You really could go into labor at any time, but the good news is there isn’t any traffic on the weekends, so you will be able to get here easily in the next couple days.” That was the 11th. On the 15th, when I went in for my next appointment, I was dilated to 4 cm and she said she was surprised I hadn’t gone into labor yet. We talked about bringing my overnight bag with me on the 21st if I was 5 cm. dilated, and we talked again about inducing on the 21st because of my high blood pressure (which had been lower for a few weeks). She said she would send me to labor and delivery with my bags on the 21st. On the 17th I saw my high risk doctor, who told me the baby was a full pound bigger than mini Gwinn was at birth. He said I wasn’t in labor just yet, but was “probably” going to “go into labor in the next hour or two” and he advised I stay close to the hospital, take a jaunt around IKEA, and see how things were. After an hour of milling around at IKEA, I went home. After no contractions over the weekend, but a lot of symphysis pubis dysfunction pain, we were looking forward to today.

My parents came down to stay with us last night to help with mini Gwinn while CLP and I went to the doctor’s office. We packed my car with the bags, nursing pillow, treats for the labor and delivery team, and headed to the hospital with anticipation. I could barely walk from the SPD pain, but we were eager to see the doctor and go to the maternity ward. We waited. And waited. And when she finally came in, she did a quick check to tell me I was still 4 cm. and tried to leave. CLP told her I was in physical pain, which she brushed off as “late pregnancy discomfort”, told her I couldn’t walk, reminded her we live 45 min. away from the hospital, and that I’ve been dilated for weeks now, my blood pressure was high again today, that I have no plug, and we had made provisions based upon what all the doctors told us. After waiting at the doctor’s office for two hours, we were sent home, tired and disappointed, and still very pregnant.

My parents went home, we snuggled and played with our little guy, but it’s so frustrating. The symphysis pubis dysfunction pain is keeping me from sleeping for more than an hour or two at a time now, and I’m barely able to walk. Before, I wasn’t too worried about delivery since my first was so uncomplicated. Now that I know 2.0 is bigger than mini Gwinn, that labor with SPD this severe will be painful, and that the length of the labor will be ridiculously short, I’m a little freaked out. I don’t want to deal with stitches (I have no idea how to take care of them and I haven’t had to mess with them before, plus I have other people to take care of!), apparently I’m going to need the epidural for SPD (I’m allergic to the epidural), and I may or may not get to the hospital in time to get one- lots of contingencies in this- AND not knowing when this is going to happen, I’m stressed. The average couple usually has family in town, hasn’t had to deal with bed rest for the preceding three months before delivery, doesn’t live almost an hour from their hospital and hasn’t had the string of bad luck we’ve had in the past 30 days.

Can you tell I’m a little overwhelmed?

My Uterus is at Capacity

This Saturday marks the 36 point in this pregnancy. But my uterus is at capacity. There is no more room, I tell you. No more. We’re inducing (as far as I know) on the 21st and it cannot get here more quickly. Between the braxton hicks contractions, getting up five to seven times a night to pee (NO joke) with symphysis pubis dysfunction keeping me from taking steps (I do a heel to toe shuffle to get around at night), the acid reflux, high blood pressure and headaches, I’m totes over it.

Hopefully in the next post I’ll put up pictures of the nursery and all the awesome stuff mini Gwinn has been doing (like singing, which is ear chocolate: sweetest thing ever, or peeing on the potty on his own volition, and saying the cutest crap ever).

For now, though, I’m complaining. It’s cool that I get a nonstress test and ultrasound every week, and it’s cool that in 14 days we’ll have a new little dude, but for real, can I be done?

Update on the Big Boy Room, 33 Weeks

Bed rest shmed shmrest?

In lieu of actual bed rest, I’ve been trying to “take it easy”, and in my opinion, re-doing a big boy room and a nursery count as “taking it easy”. Over the past week I’ve updated mini Gwinn’s bedroom with some new decor, including new curtains, sheets, pictures, and a big boy bed (so proud of him for transitioning so easily!). The paint and the twin bunk beds (obviously we’re separating the bunk beds for two different rooms) were the most expensive aspects of the update, but the nursery has the same accent wall design and the bunk bed cost was split in half, so really, new pictures and all, mini Gwinn’s total cost of room update equaled $165 (furniture included). I’ll put up nursery pictures for 2.0’s room when that’s finished, but for now, here’s mini Gwinn’s room:

Space & robot print

Fox and “funny robot”

Lego guy and space ship

big boy bed!

The accent wall

Vintage Marvel comic prints

In other news, I’m 33 weeks and Captain Laser Pants has told me I’ve officially crossed into “torpedo belly” territory. This week at the high risk doc, the measured the (not so) little guy and checked his lung development to make sure he’s ready to make his debut FOUR WEEKS from today. A few days ago he was 4 lbs, 9 oz, and I think they said 15 in. long? So, even though he seems big to me, the doctor told me not to expect him to be bigger than 7 lbs. total. His lungs look awesome and there is virtually no hint at needing an amniocentesis to test lung development before the induction. I’m so relieved for that!

But I’m not so relieved that acid reflux is back in a BAD way. Or that the symphsis pubis dysfunction is HEINOUSLY painful these days, and practically constant, when before it was just at night. I have a near constant headache as well, most likely related to the high blood pressure, but long story slightly shorter: I’m so over this pregnancy. I’m done. April 18th can not get here soon enough.

Any way. Mini Gwinn has started counting, talking constantly, and generally is just the most adorable he’s ever been in his entire life. I’ve got some mom guilt action happening right now because I hate that his world is about to be turned upside down with the addition of a little brother, but I hope he loves having a life long best friend, even if he doesn’t grasp that right now. He may harbor some toddler resentment for us in the upcoming months, but maybe one day he’ll be thankful for the existence of 2.0.

My hot husband and sweet boy at our fave Mexican restaurant

I’ve been reading a lot that somehow my heart will swell even more when I see my husband with our second child. And despite my pregnancy- induced angry outbursts (only on occasion) at little things CLP does, I have a hard time believing I’m going to love him more in four weeks than I already do. The way he’s stepped up in caring for our son and our home, and still being so loving toward me… he just amazes me. His patience and strength through such a trying time in our lives are inspiring. And I love him so much. Even if he does leave tuna on the counter by the sink and I run into it with my belly. Knowing we’re about to change our lives for the third time since we’ve been together, I’m trying to sit back and enjoy these little delicious moments of joy, just the three of us. We’re going to be even more exhausted and our patience will be worn, but I wouldn’t crawl through the trenches of hell (or child rearing) with anyone else at my side.

Ok, thanks, pregnancy hormones. You can shut up now.

What are you up to, interwebs?

30 Weeks and Coach

Mini Gwinn’s Valentine’s Day

Hey interwebs, how was your Valentine’s Day/ Presidents Day? We were finally able to get out of the house by the day before VDay, so I was able to add the finishing touch to mini Gwinn’s Valentine’s present- balloons. He had a little dinosaur decorated box of chocolates, a new book (this kid will sit still for over 10 books a day), a fun robot bag, but he loves balloons, so we of course needed them to complete his present.

Mouth full of chocolate, reading his new book “I Stink”

I gave Captain Laser Pants a Nintendo NES (the original Nintendo) retro- game system with Super Mario Brothers, Duckhunt, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II (everyone knows the first one was crap), complete with a duck hunt gun and candy.

I asked for tulips for my Valentine’s Day, CLP delivered.

CLP brought home tulips, dairy free brownies, and my favorite Chinese food takeout. The real surprise, though, arrived this Tuesday night.

Gambit looks amused wearing a scarf.

It was not this dog. Or his scarf.

Cool kid is cool

They’re Captain Laser Pants’ sunglasses, but MG wears them better.

30 weeks pregnant, none of this outfit is maternity. Please note that glorious bag…

See that glorious bag I’m sporting? I’ve been in lust/ love with it for months. You see, interwebs, I’ve been carrying a $6 backpack from Target to use as my diaper bag/ personal bag. It’s not a big deal because 90% of the time I’m with mini Gwinn, and a backpack holds everything he needs, as well as my wallet, phone and keys. But on those occasions when I’m alone, my options were to carry the ridiculous backpack or to juggle my wallet, phone and keys (in addition to whatever else I was out to get).

Enter my request for a purse.

Pre-baby, my purse was the size of my current wallet. Tiny. But since the necessity of a diaper bag has entered my life, something like a purse is just extra weight (plus, my current wallet is huge, and my olden days bag would never hold it). But as MG gets older and the next little guy’s appearance is just around the corner, a backpack is just as impractical as carrying two or three bags. I wanted something that I wouldn’t have to replace every few months (like a cheap purse or even cheaper backpack), so it needed to be well made. I wanted something that would be appropriate in practically every situation, with or without kids, so it needed to be versatile (and in my language that means “classic”). “Well made” and “classic” equals, of course. Coach.

Btdubs. The dress, chambray shirt, leggings combo I’m wearing in that picture cost a grand total of $18.37. I’m pretty thrifty when it comes to this sort of thing. So when I asked for a Coach bag for Christmas, Captain Laser Pants and I talked at length about the need for something that could hold the insane amount of stuff I lug around every day. It was an investment, I told him, but a worthy one. Coach bags are made so, so beautifully and they are made from incredibly durable glove leather. The bag, after a lot of research, would have to be a 1973 Coach duffle re-issue. Nothing else came close to it in terms of quality, craftsmanship, and beauty.

I had asked for it again for my birthday. And Valentine’s Day. And my husband sweetly told me that no store carried this re-issue anymore. I sighed, resigned myself to buying it after the baby was born, and pushed it to the back of my mind. Mini Gwinn needs a big boy bed, we’ve got to stock up on diapers, and our life isn’t really the kind of life that has designer handbags in it.

So when CLP took out the trash Tuesday night and reemerged from the garage with a huge, carefully wrapped package, I was confused. But then I saw the embossed “Coach” sticker sealing the tissue paper and my jaw hit the floor. The protective bag it came in was nicer than any purse I’d ever owned, and the real deal, the piece de resistance, was inside. I swooned. Caressed it. Wanted to sleep with it between us. I’m no label lover (really), but there really is a difference.

Ok, lovegush over this bag is done for now.

I’m 30 weeks pregnant (and 48 lbs.heavier and counting) and my OB confirmed we’re inducing between 37-39 weeks because of all my health problems. The hematologist will see me again a week before to check my platelet count, and if it’s still sketchy, I get to take prednisone to bump up the numbers before 2.0 makes his debut. Yuck. But I’m relieved to know for sure he’ll be here in April. Well, relieved and a little overwhelmed. His nursery is empty, mostly. There are some dog food cans and a carpet cleaner in it…

I need to get on this nesting business, eh?

Nothing Important

Love ’em or leave ’em, the guys on Duck Dynasty have some funny things to say. Captain Laser Pants and I have many belly laughs while watching the show. One quote I heard from Phil, the patriarch, though, stuck with me. I can’t find it verbatim (if you search his name and ‘quote’, you mostly get results from the GQ hit piece written up on him. Don’t think it’s a hit piece? Did you read it? I digress.), but it was something to the extent of: women leave their families, change their name to yours, have your children, raise your children, keep your house […] go easy on them.

If I had heard that five years ago, I would have wondered if women had any say in their marriages at all.

Now? I get it.

I love my husband. I love my precious, sometimes wild, son. I love the little nugget growing inside my body, despite how crappy I feel. while growing him. I love that my husband’s career affords us the luxury for me to stay home to raise our boys.

But.

Of course there’s a ‘but’. I miss having financial independence. I miss silence. I miss the distinct satisfaction of having an entirely spotless home. I miss feeling like I had some contributing value to society, whether it be through my efforts in my career, volunteer work, or just having something thoughtful to say in an adult conversation.

I miss adult conversation. I miss being heard. A two year old boy and the three dogs that usually surround him do not hear me, let alone listen to me. I miss having something clever to say that wasn’t about someone eating crayons or ingesting Vick’s vapor rub or how many surfaces can be covered in poop in less than thirty seconds. I miss my husband hearing me as an intelligent resource for witty repartee or insightful wisdom and not just a source for where more wipes are located. I miss being heard.

When I was studying in college, I thought I would have my master’s in Library Science by now. I thought I’d be flourishing in my specialty of children’s literature. I thought I’d be certified to be an American Sign Language interpreter and working with deaf children. I thought I’d be pursuing my passions and utilizing my set of talents. I thought I’d see the faces of children that were learning and my thanks for my work would be on those little cheeks.

Marriage was hardly on the radar, children weren’t even on the screen.

Although I understood the existential insignificance of my life (what I do or want to do won’t ever impact the way the world turns or thinks), I never thought I’d live day to day with it blaring in my face.

I cook and I clean and I sweep and I mop and I do dishes and I clean crap off the soles of shoes and I cut hair and I feed dogs and I pick up endless toys while my body aches and I’m so tired and no one says “thank you”.

No one ever tells you what a hard job motherhood truly is. Society tells us over and over again that women who stay home to raise children are lazy or stupid and selfish for not contributing to the financial gain of the house. But they’re so, so wrong. It’s not bio-engineering, but my job is hard. And there aren’t seasonal reviews or cost of living raises at the end of each year. And there aren’t “thank yous”.

I love my family. But I would also love to be thanked once in a while.

To those outside these four walls, and even to those inside them, what I do looks like nothing important. If the laundry isn’t done, America doesn’t go to war. But I’ve put aside my old hopes and dreams to pursue the career of taking care of a family. My family.

And I wonder how that stacks up against those great, influential men and women who gave up everything to pursue their dreams.

Is theirs a bigger sacrifice? I suppose it’s all relative.

We’re Having a …

See the blue cupcake mini Gwinn is demolishing?
I made a surprise cake and cupcakes to tell my fam.

We’re having a boy!

Body Dysmorphic Disorder and Pregnancy

I’m the first to admit that I’m a Sally Sad Pants for the majority of my pregnancies. It’s not just the physical aspect of major discomfort, but the mental damage a seemingly exponentially growing body can have on my psyche.

The pinched pubic bone nerve is legit now. With mini Gwinn, I used ice packs, support girdles, yoga- anything I could do to alleviate the pain, I tried. My doctor didn’t have much advice to give on the issue, and it’s not exactly like you can get a massage to help this. It’s back full swing, and taking a toll on my day to day. When I roll over in my sleep, or get out of bed, or out of a car, go up and down stairs- pretty much any movement where your legs move at all- I feel shooting pain. Good times, right? Really, if it was just the physical stuff that I was combating (you know, the growing belly, the bizarrely curving spine to accommodate the baby ‘bump’, swollen feet, etc), I could probably manage this second go around the block.

But, like I’ve written about long ago on this blog, I also have body dysmorphic disorder. It’s not a commonly known mental disorder because it’s one enveloped in shame. Those of us that have been diagnosed with it (and those that haven’t) don’t want to talk about it. It’s an obsessive mental disorder that focuses on a few flaws, perceived or real, in one’s appearance. For me, those flaws that I’m neurotic about are my face and my weight. Since I’m prone to acne, particularly while pregnant and postpartum, my skin looks like a topographical map. And my weight? Well, I’m not one of those fortunate goddesses who only gains 13 pounds while pregnant. I think my boobs weigh that much now.

Is it sacrilegious to buy a burka and niqab?

Any way. I try to keep my mouth shut about it. When polite inquirers ask how I’m feeling, I refrain from saying, “Fat.” But this little corner of the interwebs is my sound board, so I’m telling you. When someone tells me to cheer up or shut up or “just think about your baby!”, it’s like telling someone with depression to “just feel better”. Do you tell someone with a broken leg to just feel better? No? That’s because it’s a “real”, physical issue. Mental disorders aren’t perceived as “real” to many. But the fact is that BDD has been crippling in many instances in my life. I’m embarrassed to be seen in public, dreading to even go to my doctor’s office tomorrow. And the last thing I need is to be shamed for feeling ashamed. Except for maybe another pinched nerve. That’s probably the actual last thing I need.

 

 

Pregnancy after Accutane

Even though it wasn’t covered much in the blogaroonie, I was on ‘accutane’ (technically “isotretinoin”, accutane is no longer on the market. I was on Claravis and Amnesteem) for 8 months between 2012 and 2013. The standard round for this medication is 4 months, if that gives you any indication to the nature of my cystic acne. According to what my dermatologist said, I was on a double dose for my weight, as well as double the standard round. It was  fairly hard on my body (like moderate joint pain), but over the long period of time I was on it, my blood work stayed good enough that I wasn’t technically at risk.

After mini Gwinn was born, my skin went absolutely haywire. I developed painful cysts all over my face that stayed for weeks. Every time my newborn touched my skin, I cringed. When I saw the dermatologist, she told me I really had no other option aside from isotretinoin to help. Between his birth and this spring (around 18 months), I was left with dramatic scarring, especially on my cheeks. The medication doesn’t fix the scarring, but it does prevent more cysts from forming.

During my first pregnancy, I had several bouts of breakouts, but nothing like what was to come once my little guy was born. Now? I’m still having small breakouts once in a while. But it bodes well for after pregnancy. At least, I’m hopeful. There’s a chance that I’ll have to do another short round (4 months) after this delivery. We’ll see.

 

Target Thinks I’m Pregnant

Have you seen this article from Forbes.com about Target’s analytic results, based upon one’s purchases, of a calculated score of the likelihood of her pregnancy? The anecdote featured in the article even details out a true story of a dad finding out his daughter was pregnant based upon the targeted advertising the mega- store does. It’s kind of crazy, right? For the record, I’m a die- hard Targetophile. I can tell you about their “May I Help You” initiative, their rules for lines not being over two guests per line, their design for end caps and retrofitting for new features of the store (I’ve been to the Target museum in its headquarters in Minneapolis, eaten lunch in the HQ cafeteria [it’s catered, folks!], and know the inside scoops on their big meetings that have Fergie and Faith Hill). The fact that the store gathers and analyzes this kind of data (and to this level of personal privacy invasion) should freak me out, especially since I hate the idea of “big brother” watching what I already do, but honestly, I think it’s kind of cool in a “that’s really, really crazy and creepy, but thanks for taking interest in me” kind of way.

Any way. So, Target thinks I’m pregnant. I’ve even gotten emails with VERY specific advertising, (no joke): for athletic second time moms, how to handle the second round with an active toddler”. So, not only does the big- box store know I’m athletic (well, that’s a loose term, but “desperately pursuing athleticism” doesn’t have as much of an appeal), but it knows the age of my child (which is fair, I did register for my baby showers there).

Joke’s on Target, I’m not pregnant.

I have been toeing the line on looking at maternity clothes (only if they’re at their cheapest clearance price), etc etc, but I haven’t taken the plunge for a 2.0. Captain Laser Pants is ready, and I’m more in the category of “HOLY CRAP JUST LET ME LOSE FIVE MORE POUNDS AND WEAR MY CLOTHES FOR A WHILE”. To his credit, he’s not forcing me to make him a baby this week or anything, but he is letting me know that this is the year for another kiddo. My reasoning behind not wanting another one is 100% selfish. The first pregnancy was so, SO bad (partial placenta previa, kidney stones, preeclampsia symptoms, bed rest, 55 FREAKING POUNDS gained, pinched pubic bone nerve) and honestly, I’m pretty fond of my abdominal muscles. It’s nice to feel pretty, especially now that Spring is here and I can wear my favorite clothes again, and the last thing I ever felt while pregnant was pretty/ attractive. To add to it all, mini Gwinn is SO MUCH FUN right now. I don’t want to miss a moment with him. He says things like “aceful” (graceful) and “fabuwous” (fabulous), and “Where’s Daddy?”, “You do this. I do this,” (when I’m reading to him), he gives kisses and leans in for them, and he’s just so darn funny. But CLP doesn’t want him to grow up alone. And, because my husband was an only child and he truly wants another baby, I feel like it’s my responsibility as his wife to give him his heart’s desire. He wants another baby more than I don’t want another one. And it’s not even the additional baby I don’t want. It’s the pregnancy. I will happily take a newborn home. I just don’t want to do the baking.

How have you moms of many dealt with the knowledge of a potentially impending baby? Please assist in talking me out of my selfishness.

My Mom’s Gonna Hate This One (Or: Moderately Revealing Post- Baby Weight Loss Progress)

Ok gang. I’ve been off the grid (again) due to a really busy month, a cold, and a certain little person growing five teeth (including two molars) at once.

I’ve been semi- obsessed with weight lifting lately. Until I really started digging around, it felt like my options for a weight lifting routine were really lame (like Prevention Fitness magazine “lift these two 3 lb. weights for sculpted arms in a week!”) or steroid- using dudes looking to max their pump. Either one extreme or the other can work for some, but not for me. So I talked to some trainers, looked around the intwebs, and decided what I was doing was working, I just needed to do more. So, here’s what I’ve been doing at the gym lately and here are some progress pictures.

Warm Up: 1 minute walking on incline on treadmill, 4-5 minutes running an 8.22 minute mile OR walking on the stair mill for 4-5 minutes at ~80-100 stairs a minute
Pull Ups (4 sets of 4)
Farmer’s Carries (45- 50 lbs. each hand)
Standing Weighted Penguin Taps (45-50 lbs each hand, 2 sets of 20)
Leaning Lateral Raises ( 15-20 lbs, 4 sets of 6)
Bench Press (so far I’m up to 20 lbs. plus the additional 40 of the bar [I’m new to bench press!], 3 sets of 8)
Running on treadmill for 1.5 minutes at 10.00 minute mile
Balance Squats on Bosu Ball (3 sets of 10 with 15 lb. free weight)
Crunch Machine (45 kg, 3 sets of 10)
Suspended High Knees (holding yourself up on dips bars and bringing your knees to your chest alternately, 4 sets of 20)
Running on treadmill for 1.5 minutes at 8.22 minute mile
Leg Lifts (leaning on giant workout ball, each side, 2 sets of 20)
Some Move with the Stability Ball Between Your Ankles/ Leg Raises (lay flat on your back, raise the ball up and down 10 times, rest, do it again. It’s really, really hard)
Basket Twists with 25. lb free weight (2 sets 20)
Push Ups/ Modified Push Ups/ Army Style Push Ups (24 total, varying positions) – no girly push ups!
Cool down: Walking 3 minutes on treadmill, stretching

I have to admit that my thighs are still my problem area, mostly due to a really unpleasant pinched nerve issue from pregnancy that keeps me from running races and doing much inner thigh work. If you have advice on this, bring it! I need help in that area big time.

5 weeks post- delivery

5 months post- delivery

10 months post- delivery

16 months post- delivery

In other news, what the heck, Spring? What happened to 72 degrees and sunny?

Also, this guy:

He models for Janie and Jack. Not really.

My sister’s mother in law is an awesome photographer, and she captured a rare moment of mini Gwinn being still and pensive.

So, also in other news, six of my girlfriends are currently pregnant. Dare I say I’m feeling a twinge (TINY) of jealousy while still being excited for them?

Do you have workouts you love? Are you as bummed about Spring being bi-polar as I am?