The winner is....

Baby Girl!!!!!

I would have been completely shocked if it was a boy. I willingly accepted a while ago that it'd be a girl. And we were right. And I'm SO excited.

Now on to the next great challenge: the name. I may be posting another poll regarding the name since Jericho and I will probably need outside parties to help us figure this one out.

Also, I found a nice baby-countdown widget through my friend Angie's blog. Isn't it nice? It's one of the only ones I've seen that doesn't have a creepy floating fetus.

And here is the best picture we could get of our stubborn, uncooperative baby girl. She wiggled and kept her back to us the whole time. I hope this is not a sign of things to come. She is her mother's daughter...

My Mean Doctor

I did a tally of everyone I know on Facebook that is having a baby this year. The grand total: 21. [22 if you count Mary twice since she's having twins].

Most of the ones that are due before me have already made grand announcements of the gender. And then there are some that are due right about the same time as me that have also found out their baby's gender [totally unfair]. I have a routine OB visit this week. I also have my gender ultrasound scheduled for March 21 since I'll be 20 weeks by that time. And 20 weeks is apparently the magic number for optimal baby-gender predicting. At least, at my doctor's office. Even though my baby book [written by doctors] and other friends said that an ultrasound between 18-20 weeks will tell the gender. Nope, not my doctor. 20 weeks.

With all these other opinions telling me that I could find out the gender by now [I'm currently about 19 weeks], I thought for sure I could convince my doctor's office to do my ultrasound at my appointment this week [a mere 10 days before the magic ultrasound]. So I called them under the guise that I wasn't sure when my next appointment was. When the nurse told me it was the 11th and that my gender ultrasound was the 21st, I asked if we could combine them, for convenience sake, of course, and not because I'm freakin excited to know the gender. She insisted that wasn't possible and they can't tell the gender prior to 20 weeks. "Really?" I ask, "So my friends that had theirs at 18 weeks were just lying to me?" She says, "Well, it's possible, it's just our office policy to not do them prior to 20 weeks." If she had said that in the first place, I wouldn't have been as irritated. Did she really think I haven't read a single thing about prenatal care in the last 5 months, which all say 18-20 weeks? At my March 11th appointment, I will be just shy of 20 weeks. And ya know, pregnancy due dates and all that jazz are all a guessing game anyway. I could be 20 weeks now for all they know! They ain't God!!

So I would like to offer my own solution. Since they need their magic 20-week crystal ball to tell them the gender of my baby, I figure I'll research all the possible old wives' tales out there and make my own super-sound conclusion. Then when the ultrasound tech tells me the gender of my baby, I'll just sigh and say, "Yeah I already knew." How? They'll ask. "Well, everyone else in the world, including my unborn child, knows that gender can be determined before 20 weeks. So we figured it out. Thanks for the unnecessary insurance claim though."

According to the very official old wives' tales gender predictor quizzes that can be found on the always reliable internet, I will be having a girl [highest percentage of certainty is about 63%]. I won't go into the details of the questions because some of them are weird and I don't want you knowing that kind of information about me. The most common one that people keep telling me means that I'm having a girl is that I carry more like a watermelon than a beach ball. I personally think I'm carrying like a fire hydrant but that's apparently not one of the options. Old Wives' Tales Fun Fact: Did you know there is a gender myth out there that you can mix your urine with Drain-O and the color it turns determines a boy or a girl? Who even thought to test that!? I think someone is just messing with desperate pregnant women. And no, I didn't do this.

I also consulted a Chinese Gender Calendar and it indicates that I will be having a girl, most of the time. It depends on which chart I look at it. [And if you're wanting to check behind me, I'm 28 and conceived in November].
 

And just for the fun of it, I put a blog poll in my side bar for my readers to place their bets. The poll will close on March 21st at 8:45 am since clearly, the gender of my child will be instantly manifested at that very moment.

The One About the Robbery

I've waited to post about this because the ending is taking a while to develop. But it's a good story so if you have time, please read to the end and make the writing of this post not in vain. 

On December 16, 2010, I was working at the Chapel Hill courthouse. It was a Thursday, and like every Thursday, I was in court for the Department of Social Services cases. I sit in the jury box and take notes as my attorney tries the cases for the day. This particular day ended around 3:30 and another court started right after ours. This does not typically happen but because it was December and our district was short on court days due to the various holidays, they had to squeeze court time in wherever they could find it. The court that followed ours was CRC - Community Resource Court. It's kind of a watered down criminal court. It's criminal court for repeat offenders that also have diagnosed mental health issues.

After court on this particular Thursday, I collected my things as always and because I'd been sitting there since 11:00 [we had a 2 hour delay due to the "adverse weather"], my first priority was to use the bathroom. And because I consider myself "court personnel" I use the "court personnel only" bathrooms at the back of the building near the entrance to the judges' chambers. I threw my things- coat, purse, computer bag- on the chair outside the bathroom and a few minutes later, regathered my things and went out to the parking deck behind the courthouse. I got in the car and reached in my purse to get my wallet to pay for my parking. No wallet. After searching my purse about 20 times and all through my car, the clarity hit me hard that the only thing that could have happened was it was stolen out of my purse while I was in the bathroom.

And then I started to cry. I cry often and for a surprising number of reasons. This cry was a frustrated and "no way is this happening" kind of cry. I panicked a little when I realized I couldn't get out of the parking deck and was starving [and pregnant] and REALLY wanted to eat something and was about to call my boss for some money or at least Jericho to tell him what happened. But instead I regrouped and decided to investigate. First, some geographical information about where I am: the Chapel Hill courthouse is at a main thoroughfare on Franklin Street, right across from UNC campus. The main entrance to the courthouse is in the front, naturally, but I use the one in the back, again because I'm "court personnel" and that door is a locked, coded door. So the back entrance is not a high traffic area [also why I didn't think it a big deal to leave my stuff outside the bathroom].

I remembered that when I left the courthouse initially that there were a few people standing out back, and thought, maybe, just maybe those could be the people who stole my wallet since they appeared to have been the only other people to have recently left the courthouse by the back door. I went back to where they were and, of course, they were gone. I went back inside to look around [remember there is a criminal court going on]. I didn't see them so I told Deputy Charlie what I suspected and went out to Franklin Street to look around. I'm a little frantic at this point but relatively under control. Once on Franklin Street, I see an African American couple and two young children. I'm looking at them and going over and over through my memory if these could be the people that I saw behind the courthouse. I notice that they had a shopping bag with them  and are close to a number of small shops and convenience stores. Before I go hollering and flailing my arms at these people about stealing my wallet, I went into the stores to verify that they'd been there. First store, gave a description of suspected perps, asked if they'd paid with a credit card [since I knew I didn't have any cash in my wallet], the cashier said no, they hadn't been in there. Second store, same questions, and the lady said, "yes". I asked to see the credit card receipt. She showed it to me and at the bottom of the receipt under a signature that was most definitely not mine, was the printed name "C Kelley Belcher".

And then I turned green, doubled in size and broke down the door as I stormed out. No other time in my life have I felt the rage and determination and hysteria as I did at that moment. I exclaimed to the cashier woman, "That's me! Those people stole my credit cards!" In hindsight, I should have added, "Why didn't you check their flippin ID!?!?!" I ran out of the store and back down Franklin Street to where I last saw the piece-o-scum-people. They were gone. By now, I'm crying again. Not sad, weepy tears, but tears like I may actually inflict physical harm if I find these people. I went back to the courthouse and told Deputy Charlie what I'd discovered. He said they had just been in the courtroom for a hearing but were gone now. I started to run up and down Franklin Street [in my work heels, no less], in and out of all the stores and restaurants within two blocks, asking for help and giving these people's description. I'm crying and running and alternating muttering between threats and prayers. If any of you were on Franklin Street around this time and saw me, I hope this explains a lot. I'm sure I was a sight. I passed a couple of pan-handlers during my tirade and heard one say to the other, "Whoa, that girl is MAD."

After about 20-30 minutes of this, I knew they were gone. Luckily, there is a branch of my bank on that same block. I righted myself, put out the flames that were erupting from the sides of my face, and went into the bank. I quickly told the smiley counter guy that I needed to close my accounts because someone stole my wallet. He then called over one of the manager-type people. She came around the counter, put her arm around me and asked what happened. Apparently I looked like I needed a hug. Imagine that. I sob again and blabber to her the story. She sets me in an office with another manager-type person to take care of the logistics. Over an hour, and within less than an hour of my wallet being stolen, the fraudulent transactions were identified and canceled [a whopping $50 worth], all of my accounts were closed, the account and cards were flagged, and I got all new accounts. I still didn't have any money so I asked the bank man if I'm allowed to withdraw some cash before everything is closed. Sure! How much? *Sniff* I just need to get out of the *sniff* parking deck and *sniff* eat some dinner. *sniff* So like twenty dollars? *sniff* P-p-please? *Sniff*

I was so pathetic I laugh so hard every time I've had to retell this story. 

In all this time, I still hadn't called Jericho. First I make a phone call to address my basketball practice for that night that I'm most definitely not going to make it to coach my girls. I balled during that retelling about why I couldn't make it so I decided I still needed to calm down. I had a 30 minute drive home and Harry Potter on CD to mellow me out. And it worked. I got home and calmly retold the whole thing to Jericho, who stood wide-eyed the entire time. He gave me a hug and told me how proud he was that I'd acted so quickly in figuring out what happened and already addressed all the banking stuff. And he even picked up some dinner and rubbed my feet [but only after I played the "I was robbed today!!!" card a couple times]. 

I'm sorry folks, but the story does not end there. The next morning I got to work and told my boss about the exciting events that transpired after court the day before. I love my boss for a number of reasons. This was definitely one of them. All during the story, she was PISSED. She was swearing about this woman and how we were going to "get her!" and she was "going to pay!". She spent most of the morning on the phone with admins and judges at the courthouse figuring out who the woman was. In short, we determined that she'd been a defendant on the docket for CRC and that she was there with her two little kids and the only one to have her kids with her which means she was called first and the ONLY one dismissed promptly after her case, right about the time that I would have been hanging out in the bathroom. We found out her name and her next court date. She made an extremely idiotic choice in who she robbed that day.

I talked to the attorney in my office who handles criminal matters and she told me to file a police report. She told me what to do and by the end of the day, there was an investigator assigned to the case. Fast forward to the present. I hadn't heard anything in two months so I emailed the investigator last week to check in. Apparently my suspect has been tough to track down but that she would be in court later that week [Thursday] so the cop was going to go have a chat with her then. The investigator called me yesterday to let me know how it went. The suspect and her boyfriend/baby-daddy both denied knowing anything about the incident and they clearly "knew all the right answers" and how to talk to cops. All that can be done now is for the investigator to pull everything she has together and give it to a D.A. and they'll decide if they want to move any further. But as for now, nothing's really happening.

It'd be nice if this story had a more dramatic ending. It'd be nice if I could have vengeance and that wretched woman would pay for stealing from me. Luckily I believe in justice from more places than the court system. I don't believe in karma, so to speak, but I do believe that no act like this goes without consequences. I may not ever see the consequences that befall this woman, but I know she'll get them one day. Just the fact that she has a life that requires probation and monthly court appearances goes to show that prosperity and happiness don't come to those that put themselves above rules and make choices regardless of the harm it brings to others. And who stick their grubby paws in my fabulous Jessica Simpson purse.

I did learn some precious life lessons from this experience:
~ It's truly sad that we live in a world where people think they deserve someone else's property more than the rightful owner. But to know that people are stealing in front of their children, telling them that this is an acceptable way to live one's life makes me angrier than I can even put into words.
~ Clearly our court systems need some help if a defendant walks out of a criminal hearing and within 5 minutes has lifted someone's wallet and committed credit card fraud.
~ I will never say a negative thing about my bank ever again. They handled the situation better than I could have imagined.
~ Even the people at DMV are nicer once they find out you're there because your wallet was stolen.
~ I no longer have to wonder just how fast I can run in heels if the need arises.

Let's hope my phone call yesterday with the investigator wasn't the last and that the perp gets what's coming to her. I know I should be praying for her and especially those two kids. I know I should forgive her. But I'm not quite there yet. I'm not nearly as upset as I was 2 months ago but, as an author I read recently said, "Forgiveness is about getting to the point where you've stopped swinging your fists." And I'm not quite there yet. Not quite...

Valentine's Day

Jericho and I have never been big on Valentine's Day celebrations. We usually go out to eat and chalk it up as our celebration. This year I decided I wanted to make a nice dinner at home the Sunday before. Especially since I haven't cooked us any real meals in a WHILE. I'm blaming this on my weird pregnancy appetite and not pure laziness.

I decided to make a dish that I hadn't made since our first Valentine's together when we were dating. It's an involved, time-consuming dish. It's one of the most delicious dishes I know how to make and also, hands down, the most fattening. Hence why I only cook it once every few years. My body needs that much time to recuperate.

This recipe has fond memories for me. In college, a friend named Chris Merrill decided that he loved the Chicken Scallopini dish from Johnny Corino's so much that he begged the waiter one night to find out how to make it. So Chris became the holder of the coveted recipe for the Chicken Scallopini and one weekend got a bunch of us together for a group date at his grandparents' cabin in the Palisades and we all made this dish together for dinner. After that, it was made a few more times and fine-tuned and has continued as one of the most divine recipes in my collection. And, Corino's has since changed how they make it and the way we made is totally better.

One of the reasons I like this dish is because, although there is a recipe, there aren't precise measurements for the ingredients. I consult it to remember what I need to buy but that's about it. I feel that once you get going, the inner cook in you takes over and instincts dictate how much of this and that are required. In order to share it with you though, I've tried to clean up the instructions. This version is also morphed from the original. As I've matured in my culinary skills, I've churched it up a bit.

Ingredients
Chicken breasts- 1 per every two people
heavy cream (at least 1 pint)
1 large tomato 
1 small red onion, chopped
1 package mushrooms, sliced to preferred size
2-3 cloves garlic
1 package bacon
1/2 cup asiago cheese, grated (or Parmesan or Romano but I liked the asiago the best)
1 cup mozzarella cheese, grated (separate into 1/2 cup portions)
2 eggs, beaten
Bread crumbs
Pasta of your choice
Some butter

Instructions (with some added words of wisdom)
Sauce:
1) Cook the bacon. Let cool and break into small pieces. Do not undercook. It should easily break apart but not burnt. Chewy bacon in a sauce is gross. Set aside the pan of bacon grease. Yes my dears, you'll use it later. Paula Dean will be so proud.
2) Heat a saute/frying pan over medium heat, melt a tablespoon of butter and add garlic, mushrooms and onions to saute. [My tip on mushrooms: for sauces, slice mushrooms thin across, like an onion. For eating them as a side or along with other veggies, quarter in big chunks. And, according to Julia Child, don't crowd the mushrooms or they'll never brown!] Once veggies are done, dump out into a bowl and set aside. Set pan aside and keep it dirty.

3) In a large sauce pan (3 quarts or more), melt 2 tablespoons of butter over medium-low heat. Once melted gradually add 2 tablespoons of flour to make a roux. Once mixed, gradually add the cream while continuing to stir. Roux will eventually melt into the cream as the sauce heats up so don't worry if it seems to stay separated.
4) After sauce has heated, add the asiago cheese and 1/2 cup of mozzarella. [You may find you need to turn the heat up to medium. I cook with gas so mine is hot at pretty low settings.] Then add the bacon and mushroom/onion mixture. Depending on how you like your sauce, you may toy with the cream measurements. If your roux ends up making it thicker than you want, add more cream. I don't like a really thick, heavy cream sauce and since I can't thin it out with wine, I add some water (about 1/2 cup). The asiago cheese and the heavy cream are strong enough flavors that the water doesn't dilute them.

5) Go get your dirty saute pan and heat it over medium heat. When it's warm but not burning the saute leftovers, deglaze the pan with about a 1/4 cup of water. It should sizzle. Pour the liquid into the sauce. This step is not necessary but I think it adds even more flavor to the sauce and makes the pan easier to clean later. You'll be surprised how much the onion mixture adds to the dish. This also helps to thin out the cream some while still enhancing flavor.
6) Sauce is done. Set aside over low heat to keep warm and let the flavors keep simmering together.
Chicken:
7) At some point before you get going on the chicken, start your water to boil for the pasta and cook your pasta. The chicken doesn't take that long and you want that to be your very last step so they'll be hot and crispy.
8) Chicken tip: thinner breasts are optimal for this since they'll be getting fried and they'll cook much faster. Either buy the pre-sliced thin chicken breasts or you can always do it yourself. I also cut them halfway across. So you can get 4 little pieces out of each breast.
9) Beat 2 eggs in shallow bowl. Pour bread crumbs into another shallow bowl. You can always add more bread crumbs as you go so just start out with enough to get you going so you don't waste them.

10) Heat up your bacon grease again over medium heat. [Too hot will overcook the outside of the chicken before the inside is done and will probably pop a lot and burn your hands. Too cool won't cook them fast enough and they'll slowly soak up more grease as they cook. Ew.] Dip your chicken pieces in the egg then dip in the bread crumbs to thoroughly coat and place in the heated bacon grease. Each side only needs about 2-3 minutes, depending on thickness. But you can always check as you go with a knife. That's what I do because this is the only time I EVER fry anything and the procedure is still a little foreign to me.
11) Layer all your yummy pieces together, top with shredded mozzarella cheese and diced tomatoes.

And on to more pictures. Remember, it's part of my goals this year to take more pictures. So far, I've taken more pictures of food.

After dinner settled, we dove into this cake. I had about a gallon of  homemade caramel dip leftover from our Super Bowl party and needed to find a way to use it since Jericho looks at me funny when I eat it out of the container with a spoon. And so I made Better Than Sex Cake. Such a dumb name. But that's what it's known by so that's what I call it. Whatever you call it, it is pretty fantastic.

Then on Monday we had plans to go to a movie. Since we knew every restaurant would be packed with Valentine goers, the plan was to swing by someplace gross like Taco Bell to load up my purse and eat our gross, smelly food during the movie. But, on my way home from work, there was a brush fire on I-40 which shut down the highway and I sat in my car for about an hour. Good thing I had my Harry Potter on audio book to pass the time. Jericho called and asked what I wanted for plan B and I said pizza. A heart-shaped pizza. Turns out Papa Johns has a heart-shaped pizza on Valentine's Day. But it's $16 and you only get one topping versus the Monday night special of $9 for up to seven toppings. It's further evidence that Jericho and I will always be more of a practical couple than a romantic couple.

After dinner, I gave Jericho my present to him. Part of our non-Valentine-ness is we don't usually get each other presents either. I just happened to be shopping on Saturday and saw a gigantic Reese's heart. Reese's are Jericho's favorite. It still took him 3 days to eat it all.

And what is Valentine's without a card? One of the perks of looking for card at Wal-Mart is they are all so awesomely bad. SO bad. My quest was to find the worst. I figured any card that strove to be romantic while also managing to work "texting" into the prose was a winner. Jericho promptly displayed the card on our mantel. 


I realize at the end of this post that not only is it extremely lengthy [sorry], but that it seems that I do everything on Valentine's Day which is somewhat against the social norm. It seems the stereotype is for women to sit back and wait for their surprises of flowers and gifts from the men in their lives. I would gladly take on Valentine's Day as a day to make Jericho feel special since it seems every other day of the year is spent by him making me feel special. It only seems fair.

Some things I'm learning

Being pregnant pretty much takes over everything you do. Not that I'm complaining. It's a fun little adventure, actually. But I know that my pregnancy is not nearly as exciting to all of you as it is to me, nor will it ever be, no matter how wittily I attempt to relay my pregnancy tales. So I will attempt to limit your exposure to the play-by-plays of my life as a prego princess. But let's be honest. I'm going to tell them anyway. Because this is my blog and I do what I want.

Some things I'm learning 

At least 90% of the time when I tell someone that I'm pregnant, their eyes flit to my stomach. I'm not sure what they're expecting. Like all the times they've seen me prior to this knowledge, even say 10 seconds ago before they knew, I didn't look pregnant. But now that they know, they have to check.

I had my first ultrasound visit about six weeks ago. I was excited for this visit. But turns out it wasn't quite as exciting as I expected. We had some quick pictures taken of the teeny tiny baby. We heard the heartbeat and got some measurements. And that was about it. At one point, I saw on the table next to me there was a box of tissues. I thought, Oh crap. Am I supposed to be crying? Is the nurse judging me because I'm not crazy emotional at the first visible evidence of my unborn child? Do I not love my child!? Am I going to be a bad mother?!!!

I had a second ultrasound a few weeks later that was just the sound part and no picture. All I heard was the heartbeat. For some reason this ultrasound was much cooler for me than the one in the fancy ultrasound room with the big screen TV. I even let out a little gasp. I guess I'm just fine.

Pregnancy books and websites all compare the size of your growing baby to food. Congratulations your little one is now the size of a lentil! grape! kumquat! medium-sized mango! Who the heck knows off the top of their head what a kumquat looks like? This makes it a little depressing when I think about the size of this miniature child compared to the amount of weight I'm gaining... the numbers just don't match up. If my baby is the size of a lime, why can't I gain the weight equivalent to a lime? I'll even take two limes worth.

When you get horribly sick and have to go to the urgent care, you're just another sick person with the flu. As soon as you add "...and I'm also 13 weeks pregnant" the whole game changes. Nurses are nicer and they tell you fascinating stories of their own pregnancies. They pat your hand a lot and give you tissues. They bring you crackers and ginger ale and extra sheets and tell you how sweet your husband is for being with you the whole day [I already know this]. And when your flu test comes back negative [I tried to tell them] and your white blood count is high, you don't get to go home with a scrip for antibiotics. You get to go to the ER of your one-day delivery hospital. Also, when you are pregnant and it turns out you have pneumonia, everyone you tell is utterly shocked that you're alive and functioning. I just tell them this is what happens when you're a super hero like me.

My appetite is way weird. Hunger, nausea, and full all feel about the same. And baby does not like Mexican food. At all. I'm fortunate that my nausea has been really mild. Not enough that I'm yuking but enough that it's annoying and causes only a handful of foods to be appetizing. And I whine a lot and have stopped cooking for my husband and me because food smells freak me out and I really have no idea what I want to eat. Ever. I find that the most consistent food winners are cold, soft foods. I.E. yogurt, pudding, grapes, apple sauce, ice cream. Oh man, I can down me some ice cream.

[photo via]