We’re currently on the Great Family Tour of 2010, visiting relatives in several parts of the country between trips home for E to take his midterms and me to regain my sanity. On Friday we celebrated one of my nephew’s birthday in the grand tradition of generic children’s entertainment everywhere: Chuck E Cheese. In the hopes that I could eat my pizza and caffeine free Diet Coke (damn fetus) in peace, I bought the world’s most overpriced balloon. Although I personally found it terrifying, it has provided at least three children several hours of entertainment. Best $2.19 I’ve ever spent.

Baby Evan is clearly too cool for this place. You can tell because he's wearing his shades inside.

My child ran in circles ALL DAY and yet he still got up at midnight and 3 am, demanding attention and milk. Why exactly did I think a screaming infant would be a good addition to this scenario?

GET IT? A TATTOO TOUR. TAT-TOUR.

Despite my suburban house in New England, my collection of Better Homes & Gardens magazines and my love of knitting, I am not as straight laced as I sound.

Just a warning for those related to me: if you’d like to continue pretending you have no knowledge of my ink, stop reading immediately. You can pretend I’m too smart/classy/God-fearing/whatever helps you sleep at night to EVER defile my body with an EVIL, VILE tattoo. If you do continue reading I don’t want to hear any of the following phrases, ever:
You’ll regret that when you’re 70
Why would you DO that to yourself?
Jesus kills a puppy every time someone gets a tattoo.

The answers are, No I won’t, because I like art and that’s ok I hate puppies anyways.

Still reading? Let’s start with my least meaningful tattoo:

Savannah, Georgia, September(ish) 2003

Yeah, it’s a lower back tattoo. In my defense, having a tramp stamp was practically required to attend C of C. I used to sit behind girls in EVERY class and stare at their butterflies/tribal art/lilies/Chinese characters/etc and wish I was cool enough for a tattoo. My mom had threatened to stop paying for college if I got one, which scared me enough to wait until senior year. I figured by then she wasn’t going to throw $40,000 down the drain just because of a little flower – although I did call to warn her I MIGHT be getting one about 30 seconds before the guy started.

My sister drew up a rough design for me and E (then just a boyfriend) drove me down to Savannah, since tattoos were still illegal in South Carolina at the time. Funny story, I told everyone at work he was taking me down to propose when it turned out his “surprise” was just a tattoo. Imagine how HILARIOUS it was to go into work on Monday to show off my ass crack instead of my left hand.

Norwich, Connecticut, October 2007 (and also, a teeny tiny baby bump)

For some crazy reason I decided I REALLY needed a ribcage tattoo and wouldn’t listen to anyone who warned me how much it hurt. I spent HOURS on the internet printing out “good” hummingbirds to show my tattoo artist, but he ended up drawing this one for me. He did the vine and the flowers freehand with a Sharpie and the whole thing took 2 2-hour sessions. I barely remember the first one when he did all the black because I was in such a pain haze, but the second one is vividly awful in my memory. SO MUCH PAIN. But in the end I love it so much I’d do it again. The bird is in honor of my uncle Scott who passed away in August 2007, who I think would have liked it, despite what his mother might say if she knew.

Charleston, South Carolina, April 4, 2008

Charleston is my favorite place in the world. I went to school there, I met my best friend there, I met my husband there, I got married there. So when my husband and I went back for my best friend’s wedding in April 2008 we MIGHT have skipped out of the rehearsal dinner a little early so I could get the South Carolina state flag symbol on my ankle. I had originally wanted it on my foot but chickened out at the last minute, which I regret a little bit. I think foot tattoos are classier than ankle tattoos. But whatevs, the guy did a fantastic job and the detail is really good for all black.

Groton, Connecticut November 2009

And finally, the tattoo I got in honor of Baby Evan. It’s an E and a 3 to stand for Evan Richard III but also a butterfly which I thought was pretty clever. Since I got it a few people have asked if it’s a tooth though, so maybe it’s not as butterfly-esque as I would have liked. I’m thinking I might incorporate a tattoo for this next baby somehow so it looks less toothy.

Now, because he wanted to play too, I’ll show you my husband’s tattoos.

Groton, Connecticut, 2006

A guy on E’s submarine drew this up while they were underway. The quality of the work is…not the best but the meaning is super duper special. The cards are the 8 and 7 of hearts and the chip says 2004 – our wedding date (8-7-04). Then if you look on the 1 chip, the middle of “Calypso Ultimate” says “soul” (calypSO ULtimate)…so there are 2 hearts, 1 soul. It’s very sweet without being too dorky. Unless you consider poker dorky. He’s hoping to have someone re-do it in the future to make it easier to read.

Groton, Connecticut, July 2009

Don’t even get me started on this one. I think it’s scary, although I do have to admit the art is fantastic, especially considering the guy drew it on just an oral description of what E wanted. It was in honor of making chief (an E-7 in the Navy for those who care about these things) so there’s a lot of significance in the anchor and the horns. Just don’t ask me to explain it what exactly it is. E’s ultimate plan is to have full sleeves on both arms (Sorry Mom!  And E’s Mom!) but I think his next tattoo will be something in honor of his kids. Plural now.

Be sure to check out the rest of the links below to see some more awesome art!

My pregnancy amnesia is totally out of control. I showed up to my appointment today super excited to see my little jelly bean/gummy bear/sweet pea/other adorable yet oddly edible nickname for a fetus and instead I got a naked exam and a blob. How did I forget that early ultrasounds are done internally?! You’d think being probed like an alien abductee would stick with you but apparently my brain doesn’t find it necessary to hold on to that kind of information. Thanks for nothing BRAIN.

The good news is everything appears totally normal and right on track. We saw the heartbeat – ONE heartbeat – and the doctor somehow managed to measure what he says was the baby but looked like nothing to me. If the ultrasound wand hadn’t been jammed up my hoo-hah I would have been afraid he was accidentally looking at part of the peanut butter sandwich I had for breakfast. Although if a sandwich had a heartbeat that would be really weird.

Most boring ultrasound ever

Whaddaya know, I was wrong. THIS is the most boring ultrasound ever.

Turns out my super-tentative-just-a-wild-guess-who-really-knows-WHEN-I’m-due date guess was…right. Almost right. New due date: December 26th, 2010. I guess Christmas is going to be at our house this year, since I probably won’t feel much like driving 6-12 hours in the car while 40 weeks pregnant. I’m also hoping for a really punctual baby because, HELLOOOOO,  2010 tax deduction. I’m already having visions of the clock counting down the seconds to January 1st and E screaming “PUSH HARDER! DADDY NEEDS AN IPAD!”

We find out the sex on August 4th. Until then, I think I’ll call him Sandwich. Sandy, for short.

Baby Evan’s face is a pretty clear reflection of the mood I’ve been in this week. I’m annoyed at everything. I’m pissed no one ever responds to me on twitter. I’m sick of all the Top Best Most Important Coolest Prettiest Mommy Blogs Lists that require 4o bazillionteen votes and if you DON’T play along you end up in the loneliest most unread corner of the internet covered in mold. I’m tired of trying to write every day only to end up posting boring crap that even I don’t want to read. I feel like until I know this fetus is healthy and growing and alive I can’t focus on anything else, which is making me a lousy mom and a neglectful wife.

My first pre-natal appointment is tomorrow at 10:30 am. Hopefully I can be funny again by noon.

Considering my last pregnancy only ended 13 months ago, you’d think I could remember simple stuff like OMG DID YOU KNOW MORNING SICKNESS ISN’T JUST IN THE MORNING?!?!?! and SOMETIMES FOOD YOU USED TO LOVE IS SUDDENLY GROSS! I mean, I know am the first pregnant person ever in the history of the world but how come I forgot these things already?

Some stuff is new this time. Some really, really not fantastic stuff. Like how when the morning sickness does hit first thing in the morning I have to run to the bathroom to empty my always full  bladder (serious baby, how are you kicking me in the bladder when you are smaller than my finger nail????) or I pee myself a little when I throw up. Dry heave, pee. Dry heave, pee. Sneeze, pee a little more, just because it’s so much fun. I bet no one ever you told you THAT joyous bit of second-pregnancy news before. Congrats! You need Depends!

I don’t remember being this tired last time either, although that might be because I slept through my whole first pregnancy. I was like a real-life Disney princess, deep in an endless slumber,only wakened by true love’s kiss. And by true love’s kiss I mean bacon. It may also have something to do with the toddler-sized hell demon I chase after all day and still get up to feed at night. Possibly. I’m hoping I get that second-trimester energy back with a vengeance or nothing is every going to get done around here ever again. Bebeh #2 is going to be sleeping in a drawer for sure.

Also, although my scale says I haven’t gained any weight (although that was before the THREE cheeseburgers yesterday) the button on my jeans is already at Busting Threat Level Red. My “bump” this time is going to be closer to a “giant misshapen abdominal tumor” and I can’t even blame people for asking insipid questions like “Wow, are you STILL pregnant?” or “You’re due WHEN??????” starting around month five. My poor ab muscles have already given up and are on suicide watch. They ask that you please send candy. But not chocolate. Because for some God-forsaken reason, this fetus hates chocolate. Even thinking about the brownie I ate last night makes me want to throw up again. And I really can’t do that. I’m all out of dry underwear.