The offending body part

Here are some pictures of little Kizzie from last week. She's about four pounds and kicking . . . literally. Just in case you can't decipher the ultrasound pics, the first one is her foot, the second one is her face profile. Lately, she's running out of room in there, so I'm feeling a lot of rolls, jabs, kicks, and my favorite, pushing on my ribs until they ache.

Right now we are at 33 weeks. Seven weeks to go. Arghhh. Get this kid out of me! Max kisses his sister and tries to shout at her every day. Good thing she can already hear him, or she would freak out when she comes into the real world. Only three more days of spring break. . . sniff.

Finally . . . preggo pics!

The first picture is what I look like right after school when I look somewhat fresh (ha!) The second picture is what I look like after I rip off my school clothes and get in my comfy clothes. And the face in the second picture shows you how I really feel. Sigh. . .
Sadly, I still have dinner to cook and Max to contend with.

Giuli's Top Ten

My sister told me about a show where ladies that didn't know that they were pregnant have their babies in the Burger King restroom, etc. I would like to go on record and say that there is NO way that any normal person would be unaware of their pregnancy. EVEN if she had no morning sickness and was fat.
I am fat, and pregnant, and here are my Top Ten Signs That You Are In the Advanced Stages of Pregnancy:

10. Your joints loosening make you waddle like an uncomfortable duck.
9. Just drinking water gives you heartburn.
8. Putting on your shoes has become an Olympic marathon (for more than one reason).
7. You are running to the bathroom every 30 minutes or so.
6. Your patience has dwindled to the size of a grain of rice, and perhaps it is the scary look on your face that warns people that you come in contact with so that they don't get hurt.
5. Your brain function dissipates in the middle of a sentence. And we're talking sentences like "My name is . . ."
4. Strangers in public start giving you looks of pity and are giving up their seats and their spots in potty lines.
3. Small children want to hug you all of the sudden, and people want to rub your belly like you are the Buddha.
2. You feel that making it to the end of the day deserves a cookie, or at least a serious foot rub.

and

1. You can actually feel something touching your organs from the inside, on places like your bladder and stomach. Yes, there are nerves there, I promise. If I didn't know that I was pregnant, and felt these scraping and hitting sensations from the inside of my body, I would be convinced (besides the obvious answer) that an alien was about to burst from my chest and sing "Hello My Darlin" al la Space Balls. With a cane, and top hat.

Oh How Proudly He Sang . . .

I just had to share this video with you. I am a lazy mama who rarely catches the really funny things that Max does on camera or video. I actually managed to get this one, and I think that you will laugh as hard as I did. We did not watch the Superbowl, but were checking our email on yahoo Sunday night and saw the story about Christina Aguliera messing up the national anthem. I just had to watch the infamous video of the whole thing, and Max was apparently impressed with her rendition. He then sat down at the piano and said that he was going to sing a "shong". This is the result, and I must say that he added his own pizazz to the performance! And since we're not exactly sure what the words are that he's singing, we can safely say that he didn't mess up the lyrics. Even if he did, he's just too cute! I think that even the harshest music critic can forgive such a lovable chunk of talent.

Ties to old family

Jack and I had a wonderful experience this weekend that has caused these images of his family members to float about in my consciousness all week. We were able to go to the Mesa temple and seal together his grandparents and great grandparents. All of whom have passed on since before Jack and I were married. I just have to show you their pictures and share with you their wonderful stories!

The second picture from the top is a picture of Jack's great grandparents: Stella Mae and Aaron Wesley. After noticing his fantastic ears, you will love knowing that love really is blind. Together they had twelve children. Jack and I have their small double iron bed, and bask in the knowledge that there were good times in that bed. To quote Jack's now deceased father, "What do you think people did before television?". The first picture of the series is one taken at Great Grandpa Fleming's funeral in 1970, with Stella Mae flanked by all 12 of her beautiful children. I can't doubt her creativity, for they have the names Jack (originally Jabel) Rastee, Doc (not short for doctor, by the way), John, Ruble, Vernon, W.D. (initials not short for anything), Eloise, Louise, Effie, and Mark. I just love that picture of Stella Mae and Aaron Wesley. Stella has a little elfish look of mischievousness that I adore.

The two bottom pictures are of Jack Fleming in the navy during World War II (he's the handsome character on the far left, first row), and then underneath him his bride Mary. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is that Jack not only has his grandfather's namesake, but his dashing good looks! About the only difference that I can see is that Jack Sr. has bright blue eyes and my Jack has dark brown ones. When little Max gets a haircut, he looks so much like Jack Fleming Sr. in his later years. I have to tell you that when we had Jack and Mary sealed to each other, then their son (Jack's uncle) Gary sealed to them, I was overcome with emotion. You see, when Gary was 17, he was hit by a car and killed walking home, and the family never quite recovered fully. I cannot even fathom that kind of loss, and I felt their joy so fully that I will never forget it.

I sometimes wish that I had pictures and stories for all of the names that I've done in the temple. We've all lived and loved and cried and laughed, and the most important thing to us after it all is our family. We don't get to choose our family members, but I swear if I had a lineup of adorable little boys to choose from, I'd still choose my special Max!

Let it Melt, Let it Melt, Let it Melt. . .

I love snow . . . right when it is falling and soft and flaky and white and pristine. New Year's week was beautiful. When you have nowhere to go and nothing to do but curl up by the wood stove and watch movies or make food. Luxury, by the way, when you have power in the snow :) Playing in it is fun, although snow angels are a little tricky when you are about six months pregnant. I decided to forgo the pleasure. Max's favorite snow trick is to throw himself head first into a bank and then laugh his head off. Our dog Bruce loves to play in it. I swear that our Mississippi born canine has some serious sled dog blood in him. We make snowballs and he catches them in mid-air. Here are some beautiful pictures of post snow fun in Strawberry a couple of weeks ago.

Now here is the reality. Snow is nasty, cold, and turns into icy cement after a couple of days. Jack's bug looks really cute all snow covered, then you realize that you have to dig it out of the driveway to get to work. Now all of the snow on the roads is brown and slush/ice. I've busted my butt on the ice covered parking lot at church. I'm watching stupid people from Phoenix sledding on the remnants of snow in front of WalMart. I'm tired of scraping my windshield every morning to get to work. Too Much Information Alert: my pregnant chest is aching from the chill air and I feel like a walrus disguised as an Eskimo when I dress for church. Think retro leggings with fluffy knee high socks and snow boots--all encasing swollen legs and ankles.

The sun has done an admirable job of melting a lot of it. I can actually see dried grass in patches, when it's not turned into mud, and the deadly four foot long icicles on my front porch have all gone. Hallelujah! The walkways and parking lot at school are less treacherous, and I've substituted my snow boots with sensible Velcro Mary Janes. How very stylish of me! I'm doing a little snow-melt dance here in the mountains (carefully, so as not to disturb my precarious balance), and it's slowly working. And I'm smiling, grinning from ear to ear because the crazy child doing flips in my womb is Kizzie Elizabeth Fleming. A girl!!!!!! I gladly give up my sanity and ankles and comfortable nights for this sweet blessing. We have had her name handy since before Max was born, and I have a feeling that she will take after both of her namesakes: strong and most-likely sassy Southern women who make the best of rough situations. Both Kizzie Bond and Kizzie Fleming are smiling from the spirit world and can't wait for their great great great granddaughter to be born. Right now I'm 23 weeks along; Kizzie is about a pound and head to butt measuring about 8 inches. She kicks the daylights out of me about 6 to 7 times a day and probably enjoys listening to her active big brother drive me crazy. I promise to allow someone besides Max take pictures of my prego belly and I will post them soon.

Love you all.

Just Checking in!

I feel as if I've neglected my friend duties lately because of end of the year stress, but now it is Friday and I'm looking forward to two weeks of rest . . . ahhhhh. I know now that my life is going to be a lot more hectic in a few months, so I might as well take advantage of it now. The baby is doing fine. He or she has been kicking the mess out of me for days. No one else can feel it but me yet, but this child is either going to be a break dancer or a gymnast. Believe it or not, since I've been really careful about eating and walking every day to pick up the car after school, I haven't gained a pound in almost two months. Don't worry, the baby is getting plenty of nourishment. I have been craving eggs and fruit. The other day I made myself a fried egg sandwich where the yolk was runny (yuuuummmmm) and it tasted so good I actually started moaning. On the very rare occasions where I've had to grab some fast food on the run, I've gotten very sick and been running to the bathroom. Unlike with Maxwell, the thought of a Big Mac kinda makes me ill.
In just a few days we will find out whether it is going to be a girl or a boy. The secretary at my school said to me the other day "Think Pink". Actually I'd rather think purple, or magenta. We will not reveal the gender of baby Flem until Christmas, however, so hold on to your hats. I know that you all are really not interested in my pregnancy body woes, but I've lost my ankles for a few months, and I've been downing Tums like they're candy. It's all coming back to me now, let me tell you. Waking up in the middle of the night coughing up stomach acid is totally disgusting. Poor baby Max had to take baby Zantac when he was a newborn because of acid reflux. Believe it or not, I discovered that the old wives' tale about excessive heartburn meaning excessive baby hair is mostly true. I'm willing to make the sacrifice, because I think that it looks a little strange when a cute baby girl is bald and wearing one of those baby headbands. I refuse to put hair accessories on my child unless they have hair to attach it to. I think that our kids are genetically doomed to be hairy, sorry baby. I'm doing well, though, and even better now that Jack has his volkswagon running again and can drive himself home from work. Woooo Hooooo! I'll post pics hopefully of Max "driving" the bug like he did the other day. He said that he was taking me to Granny's house, and made me buckle up like a law abiding citizen. See ya later!