We are popping! According to the What to Expect manifesto, the little scallop is apparently measuring in at about the size of the palm of my hand – and God knows I have large hands – but for whatever reason, this palm-sized creature of the deep equates to my stomach starting to resemble a large exotic melon of sorts that wants to take itself out for a little frolic around the block. At least that’s how it feels. I am still, however, riding that pamplemousse train pretty hard, so it literally could just be a bunch of bubbling gas collected from a dozen or so too many sparkling waters. By the end of each work day I am 100% done with pants of any variety, except for leggings, glorious leggings, the stretchier and more worn out the better, as my gassy and/or child infested pelvic region expands to circumference uncomfortable for even my most generous pair of scrub bottoms. I was even so uncomfortable and grouchy one night after work that on my drive home I just took my pants off completely, and then spent the whole commute imagining what Gates was going to think if they had to call him after a terrible accident I was in and he had to spend the rest of eternity wondering what his wife was doing driving around in her underwear.

So every evening at home be like:

We’ve started the search for a daycare, heeding the many warnings from fellow parents that lots of the facilities in the area have waiting lists and we best be jumping on one unless we want to pull a Peter Pan type situation and leave 12 week old nugget Gates in the care of Mr. Sir, our 100% untrustworthy pooch. Idk… seems legit to me.

We loved the first place we toured! Run by the nicest ladies at a church, most of the teachers there have been there for 20+ years and were so sweet and welcoming. One of the teachers was pushing one of those strollers that holds like a million toddlers, and the kids all had little sun hats on for their walk and they were waving and smiling at us. One of the wee ones spots the director who is with us and gets all excited and he goes, “Hi Carol!!!!” and waves all happy. And she sighs and is like… “Hi. It’s Karen…” LOL. Anyway it’s close to our house, the price is right, and they have summer programs for school aged kids so if we are still kicking it in our beloved neighborhood when that time comes we could stick with this place long term.

Summer started off with a bang with our annual Wisconsin Dells bonanza with the crew, and boy oh boy are the shenanigans much more interesting and easy to recall without the handicap of the drunk as a skunk —> crippling hangover cycle that I usually stumble through for those 3 days. This year I was like a reverse fortune teller, and was able to fill everyone in on the events of the previous nights that usually get lost forever in the haze of warm weather, Fireball, and spastic dance moves. Tales of creative/semi-disgusting late night snack combinations, reminders of inappropriate activities occurring in shared bedrooms, reenactments of alcohol induced hilarity – as the sober Sally of the club I could keep nice close tabs on everyone, and make sure nothing was forgotten… even the parts we all wish could be unseen. With my head on straight and non-hazy eyes I was also able to keep the wild pony Gates harnessed and corralled, and could tuck him in on the air mattress I stuffed between the wall and the bed before the witching hour struck… the witching hour being when ol’ Gatesy sometimes loses his marbles after one too many IPAs. Sleep tight papa Bear!

We then headed further north to Hayweird to watch the youngest of the Gloducks fly the proverbial coop of good old Hayward High. Fred had to give a speech at the graduation ceremony due to being the smartest person in Hayward, and of course she rocked it. It was so crazy to watch my little baby sister who all of a sudden isn’t a little baby anymore stand in the spotlight of all her successes and address a crowd of hundreds with confidence and poise, and of course humor – as resisting the humor urge at inappropriate times is a feat of self-control even the most well adjusted Glodoski hasn’t yet quite conquered. Totes tuned out the rest of the ceremony though… it was literally exactly like being back in high school, only now I don’t scope out all the cute boys in the room because:

1) It is far too hard to accurately determine if someone is over the age of 18, and

2) I already have the cutest boy in all the land legally obligated to provide for our loin fruit for the next 18 years sitting right next to me.

Speaking of baby daddy, he of course kept us giggling like a couple of little teenage boys who just smoked a joint throughout the program. For instance, every time my parents could hear my sister’s trumpet part during the band performance they would lean over and tell us, “that’s Katherine”, as we couldn’t see anything, and Gates would nod, and then lean over to the total stranger next to us and whisper to her, “that’s Katherine”, much to the poor old lady’s bewilderment. He also made some jokes that I dare not repeat, so you’ll just have to trust me that they were hilarious.

I brought the trusty old steed Doppler to the motherland with us, so Nana and Grandpaps could have a little listen to the cricket’s ruckus… and, well, I think this picture pretty much sums all of that up:

Other things I’ve done recently:

1.  snuggled this:

2. planted this:

3. which took longer than anticipated and resulted in this:

4. and practiced parenting like this:

I also tweaked my back pretty impressively and will be seeing a spine doc as soon as I stop procrastinating it. Not at all pregnancy related, just a problem I’ve avoided long enough that my body is finally rebelling in an enormously painful capacity. I was self-treating my injury by ignoring the problem and/or pretending I know how to do yoga and trying to just stretch it away, but this eventually resulted in me getting stuck on the floor for a smallish amount of time, and this simply will not do. I was not thrilled to burn through a precious sick day waiting to be un-crippled, so I am finally out of excuses for not getting the old bones creaked back into proper position. Along with this little physical handicap, my brain seems to be getting mushier by the second. Is pregnancy brain a real thing? I spent like 15 minutes looking for the butter while I was cooking up a delicious and nutritious meal of hot dogs and potato chips and I could not for the life of me figure out where it went after I realized I hadn’t put quite enough of a disgusting amount into the pan and needed a smidge more. It was awful. I was so confused. I had almost given up when I opened the cupboard for the 10th time and stared, and there it was, just chilling by the cereal. Of course! Yet when I’m trying to get some sleep…

Up next: 20 week ultrasound, another trip to Hayward for my 10 year reunion, a quick little bounce out to Cape Cod to see Michelle, camping in Door County, and getting chubbier by the second.

Getting close to having a half-cooked baby up in here, up in here!