o.r. they?

I tried to upload these at the same time as my lovely portraits (See: Monday) but blogger was being grouchy. So here they are today for your pleasure and further Walter family humiliation:



Further proof that either:

a) Marriage is rough

b) Colorado has not done us any favors aesthetically

or

c) That DMV photographer hates humanity and has unleashed on the city of Longmont a scourge of really terrible driver's license photos, much like Pandora opening her box in legend old.

My money is on c.

ooh you think you got it

I might be starting off the relationship with my daughter on the wrong foot.
When I wake up every morning at 5:00 for a bathroom trip, I panic when I don't feel her moving. Yes, I panic every morning. You would think that after nine months I would learn that she just doesn't move before the sun rises, because like any sane person, she's sleeping. But no. I haven't learned, nor is it likely that I will in the next week or so. Instead I drink a cold glass of water and poke my stomach until I feel a kick. Imagine sleeping peacefully in your bed, hours before dawn. In walks your mother. She throws a glass of chilled water on your head and pokes your bum until you move. Would that not make you mad? And if she did that every day, would you not be dealing with some serious resentment? Do you think Ivy will forgive me? Or will she hear my voice for the first time outside the womb and scream, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU CRAZY LADY?!"

remind me later

Look at that young, bringht, cheery, thin Utah driver with the hair that's doing just what it's supposed to do. It's too bad that one of the only two good pictures ever taken of me was merely the size of a quarter and not plastered on a billlboard somewhere. But the miniature nature of the portrait stop me from feeling a boost of confidence everytime I was required to pull out my ID. Yes, that's me, I'd reassure the cashier/bouncer/highway patrolman with my eyes. No, I don't model, stop it, you're making me blush (all said with my eyes). Lest you think my vanity is getting the better of me, I guess you're right, but let me remind you that this is one out of only two good photos ever taken of me, so I had to milk as much pride from it as possible until the time came to take a new license photo. Unfortunately that time came last week. 

It could be the 25 pregnancy pounds, the expired hair cut, the muggy DMV air, the rule against tilting your head sideways in the picture, or the photographer who seemed vexed by my very existence, or all of these factors combined that turned that bright, young Utah, driver into an unkempt 58 year old woman who still has yet to change her last name to that of her husband's (MY BAD).

As far as baby arrival is concerned, I've made exactly the same amount of progress as I had made at the last doctor's appointment. So it looks like I'll be pregnant forever.

i asked her her name

Kelly, my pedicurist, asked what we plan to name our baby. When I told her Ivy, she said "All of my friends named Ivy are very pretty and very wild. They like to go to the bars and are very sexy." I find it incredible that she has more than one friend named Ivy and that they are all sexy drinkers. Seriously, guys, this name is turning out to pack a serious punch. Not only was it revealed on Gossip Girl (Spoiler alert) that Serena's "cousin" is actually the evil Ivy from Florida, who maybe isn't really evil but is at least deceptive, but also apparently, according to these reliable sources (click) I.V.Y. stands for Illuminati's Very Youngest. If I learned anything from the DaVinci code, besides, you know THE FACTS, it's that the Illuminati is sketchy. So are we, by naming our daughter after what we thought was a plant, dooming her to a life of Beyonce baby overshadowment, cultdom and wild partying? I don't know any more.

The good news is that I got my hair did, my toe nails are lovely, and I even splurged for a manicure. Because what's more important than being well polished while giving birth?
The bad news is that I'm still pregnant. 

I'm not gonna diss you on the internet, cause my momma taught me better than that

When I learned that Beyonce was pregnant, I cried. I cried because a) I'm pregnant and I cry about everything, b) I really like Beyonce and feel like I would get along with her if ever we were to meet, and c) I really like Jay-Z and the idea of him and Beyonce together and the the idea of them giving the world the gift of their offspring. For the past few months it's been fun to have something in common with someone as awesome as Beyonce. I just didn't realize how much we had in common. Have you ever met anyone named Ivy? Ever? In your life? Me neither. Which is why we thought Ivy was a safe choice as far as originality is concerned. Little did we know that Beyonce and I share a brain wave. On January 7 She and Jay-Z welcomed their baby girl Blue Ivy into their lives. And their baby Ivy is already way upstaging our baby Ivy. On the 7th the Empire State Building was lit in blue. No joke. And Jay-Z has already dropped a single about his daughter. Sorry, our baby Ivy. We haven't chosen what color of Ivy you are or made any arrangments to light up any buildings and we're not quite finished writing our rap about your birth yet. But I did wash all your onesies if that counts for anything. We're sticking with the name. Because, well, we called it first. And there were four Megans in my second grade class. I lived.

In other news, I'm dialated to a 1. And baby's head is low. My hospital bag is packed. Camera charged. Playlist made. So...we wait.

like some cat from Japan

Dear Baby Ivy,
So listen. It's been 37 weeks. And what a 37 weeks, amirite? It's been a real pleasure serving as your dwelling these past nine months. But it has been nine months. And as of tomorrow, you are totally in the clear to make your big debut. Girl, it's time. Are you nervous? Don't be. I promise we don't care if you're bald. And while I can't guarantee that we know what we're doing, I can offer food, shelter and a whole bunch of pink clothing. Let me entice you with materialism for a moment, if I may.

Look what your dad got you for Christmas:

Look at the view from your crib:

Look at these shelves filled with YOUR stuff:

Plus we have a Play Station. And a dog. Beats a placenta and cramped womb if you ask me.
Still not sure? Ok, I didn't want to bring this up, cause I don't want to give you any sort of body image issues. But the truth is, you're gaining weight, which is really great, but not so great for my maternity tops that don't fit any more or the aching back that wakes me up once every hour.
So you just let us konw when you're ready. We'll be here.

and whiskers on kittens

I had high hopes for my doctor's appointment today. I imagined Dr. N taking one look at me, exclaiming "GADZOOKS! Get this woman to the hospital! There's a baby on the way!" Instead he said, "See you next week." Yargh. Never before in my life have I looked forward to pain. But now every twinge, every shooting sensation and every back ache ignites the hope that maybe labor is on the way. I rejoiced when I threw up, knowing, just knowing, that contractions would start soon. Nope. It was just a bad sandwich.

I should not talk to strangers, and not for the safety reasons Officer Friendly covered in elementary school. I should not talk to strangers because I am psychologically/physically incapable of carrying a conversation like a normal, well-adjusted human being. While in line at the airport, the girl behind me asked where I got my shoes. I should have told her where. Instead I told her where, why, my feelings on the particular brand of shoes, my reasoning for buying said brand, when some online sales occur, and how to best keep them clean. Then, having nothing left to say, I turned around to face forward again. Then, realizing just how strange this behavior was, I decided to hide in the bathroom for seven minutes, wait for that section of the line to pass, then rejoin the line in the back. Better to lose my place in line than try and think of any possible way to convince the shoe-admiring stranger that I am not afflicted with sharetoomuchthenpretendweneverstartedaconversationitis.