<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570</id><updated>2011-07-30T11:50:32.232-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My State of Mind</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>30</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-5359102494265318244</id><published>2010-05-05T01:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-05T01:47:57.605-07:00</updated><title type='text'>son of a bitch.</title><content type='html'>i am so fucking irritated right now i could scream. i can feel my blood pressure sky rocketing. it is 1:20 am, and i just got off the phone (yes, phone, as in not at home) with my husband. i was woken from a deep sleep, so i was confused when i answered. i knew he had gone out... he had a class until 9:30ish,then was going to go eat dinner, then come home around 10:30ish, maybe 11 at the latest. so when the phone rang i thought, "it must be early still." first words out of his mouth were, "i fucked up." ohmygodyougotaduiorsomethingwhathappened??? he tells me that he ended up meering up with my brother for a drink, lost track of time, and now isnt okay to drive home. so he wants to know if he should juat stay at said brother's house then drive home in the am, or cab home. (for anyone who doesn't know, my husband is currently laid off and stays at home w/ our son now.) um, hello??? cab it, of course! i need you here in the am to watch the baby so i san go to work! oh well, he was wondering if i could just take the baby to daycare in the morning because he has a sidejob to do. fuck me!! so now i have to get up even earlier, skip my workout again, pack up all c's shit, including another diaper bag from scratch since his is in your f-ing truck, get c ready, call and apologize profusely for the short notice for daycare and hope like hell she's not full, all the while trying to get my ass ready and to work on time. all because once again you have been irresponsible. granted, he was very apologetic, but sorry doesn't cut it. sorry doesn't deal with all the shit i now have to deal with in the morning. i do not handle this sort of thing well, especially when it comes to making sure everything i need for the baby is set. fuck! now its 1:45 and i'm having an anxiety attack. thanks a lot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-5359102494265318244?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/5359102494265318244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=5359102494265318244' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5359102494265318244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5359102494265318244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2010/05/son-of-bitch.html' title='son of a bitch.'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-499453526312988524</id><published>2010-04-19T13:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-19T13:43:19.134-07:00</updated><title type='text'>here we go</title><content type='html'>out of sheer desperation to change my post-pregnancy body, i have finally agreed to do the P-90X program with my husband. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;god save me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hospitals should prepare for my impending cardiac arrest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'll let you know how the first day went...if i'm still alive.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-499453526312988524?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/499453526312988524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=499453526312988524' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/499453526312988524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/499453526312988524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2010/04/here-we-go.html' title='here we go'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-3693763416755114476</id><published>2010-04-15T13:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-15T13:41:08.153-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a deeper need</title><content type='html'>this blog has existed is the past for several reasons. as of late it has served as a placed dedicated to my pregnancy and now my son. granted, i'm awful about updating things often. i know this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;today i am in need of a different blog... onewhere i can talk about the crap that is consuming my mind every day. mainly my struggles wth weight and the subsequent warped mind-fuck i'm experiencing. it's pretty bad right now, so this is going to be my way of coping. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;more to come.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-3693763416755114476?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/3693763416755114476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=3693763416755114476' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/3693763416755114476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/3693763416755114476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2010/04/deeper-need.html' title='a deeper need'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-4406018240102993780</id><published>2010-03-04T19:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-04T21:28:58.543-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Goober</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5CAAA9sPZI/AAAAAAAAAJw/jOjPzeUpNHk/s1600-h/228.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444992687238036882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5CAAA9sPZI/AAAAAAAAAJw/jOjPzeUpNHk/s320/228.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B__SiyKtI/AAAAAAAAAJo/ZsCxSFJKKYo/s1600-h/225.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444992674777148114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B__SiyKtI/AAAAAAAAAJo/ZsCxSFJKKYo/s320/225.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B_-rwIbjI/AAAAAAAAAJg/d9lLzrEW8Tc/s1600-h/234.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444992664364150322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B_-rwIbjI/AAAAAAAAAJg/d9lLzrEW8Tc/s320/234.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B_-K8KwCI/AAAAAAAAAJY/z7wb8kybB9c/s1600-h/233.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B_9eK1gRI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/gcxghUPKlFM/s1600-h/235.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444992643538190610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B_9eK1gRI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/gcxghUPKlFM/s320/235.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B7UoY1uPI/AAAAAAAAAJI/7njxh0i7O38/s1600-h/232.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444987543860132082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B7UoY1uPI/AAAAAAAAAJI/7njxh0i7O38/s320/232.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B7UKo9DoI/AAAAAAAAAJA/kjb4pp1fQKU/s1600-h/230.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444987535874657922" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B7UKo9DoI/AAAAAAAAAJA/kjb4pp1fQKU/s320/230.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B7TTEJ7AI/AAAAAAAAAI4/zKSMr7InGQ8/s1600-h/229.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444987520956361730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B7TTEJ7AI/AAAAAAAAAI4/zKSMr7InGQ8/s320/229.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B7Sl1G8oI/AAAAAAAAAIw/sHBGNyqK4GE/s1600-h/227.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444987508813656706" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B7Sl1G8oI/AAAAAAAAAIw/sHBGNyqK4GE/s320/227.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B7R4XfEZI/AAAAAAAAAIo/VZbE6aSAEO8/s1600-h/217.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444987496609812882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5B7R4XfEZI/AAAAAAAAAIo/VZbE6aSAEO8/s320/217.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tell me he is not the cutest thing you've ever seen?!??&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-4406018240102993780?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/4406018240102993780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=4406018240102993780' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/4406018240102993780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/4406018240102993780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2010/03/goober.html' title='Goober'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5CAAA9sPZI/AAAAAAAAAJw/jOjPzeUpNHk/s72-c/228.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-3709337376032681656</id><published>2010-03-03T22:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T23:01:40.022-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Silly pictures of my love...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49avJSU7aI/AAAAAAAAAIg/REQ_Wc4ptKg/s1600-h/238.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444670240507358626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49avJSU7aI/AAAAAAAAAIg/REQ_Wc4ptKg/s320/238.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49WAYwY6tI/AAAAAAAAAIY/WLVdy7iMsBs/s1600-h/201.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444665039159618258" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49WAYwY6tI/AAAAAAAAAIY/WLVdy7iMsBs/s320/201.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49V_7aZLEI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Yu13T6n6asA/s1600-h/168.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444665031282732098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49V_7aZLEI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Yu13T6n6asA/s320/168.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49V_aeM8rI/AAAAAAAAAII/tJ9vCCUcZVc/s1600-h/153.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444665022440338098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49V_aeM8rI/AAAAAAAAAII/tJ9vCCUcZVc/s320/153.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49VAF42tjI/AAAAAAAAAIA/5Yzx4CxhtwU/s1600-h/149.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444663934583223858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49VAF42tjI/AAAAAAAAAIA/5Yzx4CxhtwU/s320/149.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49U_RU9aEI/AAAAAAAAAH4/5F2qxg-3WQ8/s1600-h/143.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444663920474024002" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49U_RU9aEI/AAAAAAAAAH4/5F2qxg-3WQ8/s320/143.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49U-3hBsEI/AAAAAAAAAHw/H90SD42iWuk/s1600-h/017.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444663913545314370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49U-3hBsEI/AAAAAAAAAHw/H90SD42iWuk/s320/017.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49U96bX-AI/AAAAAAAAAHo/Vy6mvdbFUEY/s1600-h/015.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444663897147045890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49U96bX-AI/AAAAAAAAAHo/Vy6mvdbFUEY/s320/015.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49U9fJ8CSI/AAAAAAAAAHg/vzQFkyPWUhk/s1600-h/006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444663889826154786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49U9fJ8CSI/AAAAAAAAAHg/vzQFkyPWUhk/s320/006.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-3709337376032681656?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/3709337376032681656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=3709337376032681656' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/3709337376032681656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/3709337376032681656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2010/03/silly-pictures-of-my-love.html' title='Silly pictures of my love...'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49avJSU7aI/AAAAAAAAAIg/REQ_Wc4ptKg/s72-c/238.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-8055172894279047265</id><published>2010-03-03T22:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T22:26:15.429-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>2 weeks ago, we had an amazing snow storm that hit out of the blue. It had been 75 degrees one week, then all of a sudden there was a foot and a half of snow! Connor had seen snow before, but had never really been out in the mix. We decided to be Mean Mommy and Daddy and make him try standing in the snow, hehe. Can you tell from his face what he thought of that situation? :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444659523325508626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49Q_UrDvBI/AAAAAAAAAG4/ZNC_YzY7E9M/s320/088.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444659533794090626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49Q_7q9noI/AAAAAAAAAHA/yKIJNh2z0Ks/s320/092.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49RAYT7_mI/AAAAAAAAAHI/InCIJq72XhE/s1600-h/094.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444659541482143330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49RAYT7_mI/AAAAAAAAAHI/InCIJq72XhE/s320/094.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444659552275229058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49RBAhNaYI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/iT-lIvWuzyg/s320/100.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444659567295843186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49RB4eZy3I/AAAAAAAAAHY/294mFqhuax4/s320/098.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-8055172894279047265?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/8055172894279047265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=8055172894279047265' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/8055172894279047265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/8055172894279047265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2010/03/2-weeks-ago-we-had-amazing-snow-storm.html' title=''/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S49Q_UrDvBI/AAAAAAAAAG4/ZNC_YzY7E9M/s72-c/088.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-385909365910725374</id><published>2010-03-03T19:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T22:56:36.132-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Connor Dale Humphreys, 7 months 1 week old!</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-b5e24656b5baaa69" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v4.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Db5e24656b5baaa69%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331273375%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D7097D7B84E2944A40B4B1BDBB34B7C36ABD7C64D.684DFFE0E4409C4101617B1585E1FFBC10C6358F%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Db5e24656b5baaa69%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DGffxU2UxCB-oFUMTfeGaC3afBcY&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v4.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Db5e24656b5baaa69%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331273375%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D7097D7B84E2944A40B4B1BDBB34B7C36ABD7C64D.684DFFE0E4409C4101617B1585E1FFBC10C6358F%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Db5e24656b5baaa69%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DGffxU2UxCB-oFUMTfeGaC3afBcY&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-385909365910725374?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/385909365910725374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=385909365910725374' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/385909365910725374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/385909365910725374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2010/03/connor-dale-humphreys-7-12-months-old.html' title='Connor Dale Humphreys, 7 months 1 week old!'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-5541447350403985733</id><published>2009-05-07T20:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T20:46:54.792-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a good thing my husband doesn't have a foot fetish...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Here are my swollen-ass Fred Flinstone Feet after a long day. Notice how they puff out of the Birkenstocks they are squeezed into? Also, observe my cankle rolls. Yes, it's possible to have cankles on your cankles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOp9FMpdhI/AAAAAAAAAGg/v3GYWkyJEPw/s1600-h/069.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333293250569139730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOp9FMpdhI/AAAAAAAAAGg/v3GYWkyJEPw/s320/069.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Nooooow, I'd like you to notice how after the Birkenstock is removed, it still appears that I am wearing Birkenstocks. Buckles and all. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333293254830130946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOp9VEjBwI/AAAAAAAAAGo/_c2ah8IUF3o/s320/070.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Looooove it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh, and just for reference... this is what my feet NORMALLY look like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333294282714388386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 178px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 129px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOq5KPQF6I/AAAAAAAAAGw/iXRgcAuTgNM/s320/tattoo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-5541447350403985733?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/5541447350403985733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=5541447350403985733' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5541447350403985733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5541447350403985733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/05/its-good-thing-my-husband-doesnt-have.html' title='It&apos;s a good thing my husband doesn&apos;t have a foot fetish...'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOp9FMpdhI/AAAAAAAAAGg/v3GYWkyJEPw/s72-c/069.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-8650650020897098028</id><published>2009-05-07T20:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T20:47:43.303-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gorgeous</title><content type='html'>I am officially in awe of what my husband and I have created. My son is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'm in love and I haven't even met him yet. I'd introduce you more formally, but he still has no name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOm9yDBM4I/AAAAAAAAAGQ/eugn05Bd_t8/s1600-h/082.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333289964073464706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOm9yDBM4I/AAAAAAAAAGQ/eugn05Bd_t8/s320/082.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOm9sr4NbI/AAAAAAAAAGI/8KBzQB1zte4/s1600-h/079.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333289962634229170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOm9sr4NbI/AAAAAAAAAGI/8KBzQB1zte4/s320/079.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOm9Yv90-I/AAAAAAAAAGA/sfl3-_fi7Bg/s1600-h/075.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333289957282665442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOm9Yv90-I/AAAAAAAAAGA/sfl3-_fi7Bg/s320/075.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOm83ayPJI/AAAAAAAAAFw/dMzOlQEzOPw/s1600-h/073.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333289948335455378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOm83ayPJI/AAAAAAAAAFw/dMzOlQEzOPw/s320/073.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333291262478802162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOoJW--XPI/AAAAAAAAAGY/JDw6sjuWSHI/s320/074.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-8650650020897098028?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/8650650020897098028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=8650650020897098028' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/8650650020897098028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/8650650020897098028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/05/gorgeous.html' title='Gorgeous'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SgOm9yDBM4I/AAAAAAAAAGQ/eugn05Bd_t8/s72-c/082.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-155780576513681374</id><published>2009-04-22T20:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T20:35:37.922-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Checking In.</title><content type='html'>I haven't disappeared, I swear!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crazy thing is that I think about this blog every day and think of all the things I wish I could post as they come up. Shitty that I can't blog from work. :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay... just some updates and then I'll write more this weekend, and post new pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took my 1-hour Glucose Test for Gestational Diabetes about 2 weeks ago, and FAILED!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, then I had to go back to lab corps to do the 3-hour test (turned into 4 hours total). I had to fast for 12 hours, then go in and have my blood drawn 4 times over a period of 3 hours after drinking the crappy sugar drink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suuuuuper fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I worried like crazy. They told me that since I fasted before my 1-hour test and still came up high, then I'd most likely have Gestational Diabetes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, yesterday afternoon I got the call from the doctor's office...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I DON'T HAVE IT! WOOHOO!&lt;br /&gt;My test results came out perfect! Yay!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lady told me to go celebrate with a cookie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I informed her that I was already eating a piece of cake. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm... what else?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have been dealing with some major stress with my family, which has led to battling some major depression there for a bit. Will write more about that later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first baby shower is tomorrow at work! I can't wait!!! YAY!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, off to bed, now... I'm exhausted. I have to save all my energy for mass consumption of junk food at the baby shower tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Priorities, people...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-155780576513681374?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/155780576513681374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=155780576513681374' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/155780576513681374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/155780576513681374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/04/checking-in.html' title='Checking In.'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-3648736762938664948</id><published>2009-04-06T21:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T22:02:53.370-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"The Kid"</title><content type='html'>As of right now, our unborn son is being referred to as "the kid." (Mind you, this is used equally as often as "the baby," so don't go thinking us heartless parents or anything drastic like that.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why are we calling him this, you ask?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because we can't agree on an f-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ing&lt;/span&gt; name, that's why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The newest saga in this whole argument?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fact that my husband wants to name our child "Marshall Junior."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so I get the whole idea that it's a man-thing to want to have your first son carry on a part of you and blah blah blah. BUT. It also leads to all sorts of bullshit, like having your credit reports get mixed up, having your medical records get mixed up, etc. My brother is a junior to my father, and they vehemently argue against it now, saying that it's a HUGE pain in the ass mistake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In addition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't like it. Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number 1: We wouldn't call him "Marshall." That is my husbands name, and most importantly that is the name I call out during sex. I WILL NOT call my son Marshall for that very reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number 2: The alternative to calling him "Marshall" is to call him one of the following: "Marshall Junior," "Junior," "J.R.," or "M.J." I HATE all of those. Why in the hell would I name my child something but call him something else? "Junior" makes me think of nothing else but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hicksville&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;trailer&lt;/span&gt; trash and I might as well doom him to a mullet and coveralls (I truly apologize if you call your child Junior. I just can't help the name association). And M.J.? Are you fucking kidding me? That's the chick from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Spiderman&lt;/span&gt;. I don't care if it's the same initials as Michael Jordan. It's gay and I won't call my child that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number 3: Our child is already getting the middle name "Dale" which is my husband's middle name and a family name he wants to pass down. Okay, I get it, that's fine. And he'll have my husband's last name. Again, fine, it's my last name now too. But &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;wtf&lt;/span&gt;?! Can't our child have SOMETHING in his name that has ANYTHING to do with ME?! I obviously don't want to name our son "Sarah Junior"... Duh, that's not what I mean. I just mean that I want his name to have some part of me, even if it's just that I get to help pick it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number 4: He needs to have his own identity. I'm already scared that he's going to be a total shit like my hubby was when he was little (he got kicked out of preschool, okay). We don't need to seal the deal by giving him hubby's same name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number 5: My husband HATED that name growing up. Why in the HELL would he pass it on to our child who would inevitably hate it also? Come on... being called "Marshmallow Humps-for-free" sucked back then and it would suck now too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Urgh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"M.J."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Wtf&lt;/span&gt;, indeed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-3648736762938664948?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/3648736762938664948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=3648736762938664948' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/3648736762938664948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/3648736762938664948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/04/kid.html' title='&quot;The Kid&quot;'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-5500159150163682371</id><published>2009-04-06T21:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T21:42:22.224-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"We just spent HOW MUCH on furniture for a BABY?!??" said husband...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SdrY53C07UI/AAAAAAAAAFA/FHi_SGlzK7Q/s1600-h/baby+crib.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321804398231612738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 216px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SdrY53C07UI/AAAAAAAAAFA/FHi_SGlzK7Q/s320/baby+crib.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SdrYR4GwKlI/AAAAAAAAAE4/1LaCvJTKrLg/s1600-h/baby+hutch.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321803711321746002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 216px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SdrYR4GwKlI/AAAAAAAAAE4/1LaCvJTKrLg/s320/baby+hutch.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SdrYR8gegRI/AAAAAAAAAEw/Vf9f0nQGWUc/s1600-h/baby+4-drawer+dresser.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321803712503382290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 216px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SdrYR8gegRI/AAAAAAAAAEw/Vf9f0nQGWUc/s320/baby+4-drawer+dresser.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yay! We ordered the baby furniture!!! It should be here Friday, which is ironic considering that the room is nowhere NEAR being done (barely even started, to be truthful). Whatev. It's coming and I'm STOKED!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Note: All furniture will be in the color "Espresso" to match our other bedroom furniture. I looooove it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;By the way... I should add in that I SUCK at keeping up on my postings. It's shitty because every day I think of things I want to post, and each night I go to bed kicking myself for not having even turned my computer on. I guess that's because I'm on a computer all day at work, so usually the last thing I want to do it be on one at home. But still... I have to be better about posting, because this is now my only record of what's happening thru this pregnancy, and NEWSFLASH... I don't have much longer left!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-5500159150163682371?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/5500159150163682371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=5500159150163682371' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5500159150163682371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5500159150163682371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/04/we-just-spent-how-much-on-furniture-for.html' title='&quot;We just spent HOW MUCH on furniture for a BABY?!??&quot; said husband...'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SdrY53C07UI/AAAAAAAAAFA/FHi_SGlzK7Q/s72-c/baby+crib.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-5233327360947698287</id><published>2009-03-25T19:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T20:00:12.432-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Milestone</title><content type='html'>So, hubby felt the baby kick last night for the first time! Yay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has been so impatient about waiting there with his hand on the belly, waiting to see if the baby will kick (which he never does).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But last night, he was kicking HARD, and the timing was perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The look on Marshall's face was priceless...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-5233327360947698287?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/5233327360947698287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=5233327360947698287' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5233327360947698287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5233327360947698287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/03/little-milestone.html' title='Little Milestone'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-776258648937504306</id><published>2009-03-12T19:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T19:06:29.922-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Got the Ball Rollin'...</title><content type='html'>Mission Accomplished!! We picked our bedding and theme for the baby room! Yay! I love it soooo much! The sweet thing is, hubby (who's an electrician in the union) loves this but said, "well, I just don't want our son to think he has to be a construction worker... I want better for him." Isn't that sweet?! :) I love that he's so concerned for him already. It melts my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/Sbm-2V7lIiI/AAAAAAAAAEg/0LWBwtOi-a0/s1600-h/workzone-lg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312487076269466146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/Sbm-2V7lIiI/AAAAAAAAAEg/0LWBwtOi-a0/s320/workzone-lg.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-776258648937504306?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/776258648937504306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=776258648937504306' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/776258648937504306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/776258648937504306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/03/got-ball-rollin.html' title='Got the Ball Rollin&apos;...'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/Sbm-2V7lIiI/AAAAAAAAAEg/0LWBwtOi-a0/s72-c/workzone-lg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-1277551624022237483</id><published>2009-03-07T11:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T11:51:45.399-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Bloggy Morning</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SbLO_mX59_I/AAAAAAAAAEY/ix2fbR19NTI/s1600-h/009.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310534502651131890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SbLO_mX59_I/AAAAAAAAAEY/ix2fbR19NTI/s320/009.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SbLO_Nv3GSI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/ZY9Ah6YPpqs/s1600-h/008.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310534496040720674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SbLO_Nv3GSI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/ZY9Ah6YPpqs/s320/008.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woot! Look at my beautiful little boy!!! And a boy he is, for sure! :) Check out the junk! Hahaha! Dad is very proud that it appears his young son is packin. Lol. I have to remind him how small the baby is still. But, looking good! We had our 21 week ultrasounds this last Monday and everything is healthy and right. The doctor was very pleased at how everything looked and says that both Mommy (hehe) and baby are right on-track. Check out the darling little nose in that profile. Ahhh. I am just swooning. I can't wait to meet him and see what he looks like. I imagne which qualities he'll have of mine and of Marshall. The possibilities are so exciting... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, for Gods sake! I have to quit posting and get to cleaning out the to-be baby room!  :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-1277551624022237483?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/1277551624022237483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=1277551624022237483' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/1277551624022237483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/1277551624022237483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/03/bloggy-morning.html' title='A Bloggy Morning'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SbLO_mX59_I/AAAAAAAAAEY/ix2fbR19NTI/s72-c/009.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-2935227835310695526</id><published>2009-03-07T11:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T11:44:17.829-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What do you think?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SbLNOFLxS7I/AAAAAAAAAEI/lUYvSgaT55Q/s1600-h/006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310532552416644018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SbLNOFLxS7I/AAAAAAAAAEI/lUYvSgaT55Q/s320/006.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I'm ready for a change. I'm getting into the "I'm feeling fat and ugly" part of pregnancy, and need to do something for myself that makes me feel good. Cutting my hair is out because 1) I love my long hair, and 2) my hubby would kill me if I cut it off, lol. But! Dying it is certainly an option! I just came across this picture the other night... Sassy, isn't it?!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; I need feedback though.... what do you think? &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-2935227835310695526?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/2935227835310695526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=2935227835310695526' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/2935227835310695526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/2935227835310695526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-do-you-think.html' title='What do you think?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SbLNOFLxS7I/AAAAAAAAAEI/lUYvSgaT55Q/s72-c/006.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-681257397120523430</id><published>2009-03-07T10:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T11:05:24.035-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh. My. God.</title><content type='html'>Who knows where I get these bright ideas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I surprised my husband when I told him that I had actually never seen a video of a child birth before. He thought it was required in sex-ed (kind of as a deterrent for teenagers). He remembers it being a horrific ordeal, and thought I was crazy to want to see it. He told me that he has no desire to see it again until we're personally having the baby (and even then he's not sure he'll be checking out the show south of the border). Well, this morning curiosity got the best of me. I was thinking, "shoot, I have to go through this myself, so why not see what it's all about?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After watching about 2 1/2 videos, I give up. I agree with Marshall. There is absolutely NO reason to watch that. I'll wait until I'm birthing my own child, thank you very much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm going to go vomit now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-681257397120523430?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/681257397120523430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=681257397120523430' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/681257397120523430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/681257397120523430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/03/oh-my-god.html' title='Oh. My. God.'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-8516743204627591622</id><published>2009-02-26T18:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T19:10:21.303-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Funerals, Memories, and The Belly</title><content type='html'>This weekend was interesting. I had to go to my uncle's funeral in Modesto, CA. It was quite bittersweet. Not just because of his death, but because of Modesto itself. Modesto was a place I spent countless weekends growing up. Both of my great grandmothers lived there. My parents, my brother and I went there all the time, and they were some of the best memories of my life. About 4 years back, my Noni died (one of my great g-mas that was 96 years old when she passed). Then 2 1/2 years ago or so my Gram (the other great g-ma who is now in the neighborhood of 95&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt;) was moved to Reno so she wasn't living alone. Since then, we hadn't been back to Modesto. It's not the same without staying in the whimsical home of Gram, with all the green trees and grape vines, flowers, wind chimes, pancakes in the mornings, saggy old bed on the porch, hours spent out back by the lemon trees talking... &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hmm&lt;/span&gt;. Well, despite our desire to leave Modesto as a sweet, dear memory, we still have to go back when stuff like this funeral comes up. It just sucks. It's not the same. We stayed at the Holiday Inn Express. We drove by my Gram's old house and Noni's old house. They've both been sold and changed. It blows. But &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;whatev&lt;/span&gt;. Still good to see family. So, moving on... a few pics to show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Sarah at 20 weeks! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Woot&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307299957533609954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SadRMS08j-I/AAAAAAAAADY/OeEaJ4Si5Js/s320/012.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Big '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;ol&lt;/span&gt; belly!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307299956990326626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SadRMQzat2I/AAAAAAAAADQ/y-nZBYUY65c/s320/009.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Here's the new Catholic church, Saint Stanislaus, that the funeral mass was held at. It was GORGEOUS. Looked just like one of the cathedrals in Italy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SadRMjaKz3I/AAAAAAAAADg/olJ6nnZGQEQ/s1600-h/016.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307299961984700274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SadRMjaKz3I/AAAAAAAAADg/olJ6nnZGQEQ/s320/016.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the handsome men I traveled with. On the far left is my little (well, younger) brother &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;TJ&lt;/span&gt;, then my dad Tim, then on the right my Uncle Chris. Don't they look sharp? :) &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307299968992145346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SadRM9g378I/AAAAAAAAADo/40lLCHq-tGg/s320/024.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weekend went down without a hitch for the most part. I was the only female in the group as my brother's girlfriend stayed home, Mom had to work, and my Aunt Jane (Chris' wife) had to stay home with their twin boys (1 1/2 years old). Talk about testosterone city. And my favorite part? Every person within arms reach of me &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;grabbin&lt;/span&gt; on the belly and commenting on how big my stomach is and am I sure I'm not having twins and oh my what a big boy this is going to be! I nearly punched 15 people in the face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-8516743204627591622?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/8516743204627591622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=8516743204627591622' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/8516743204627591622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/8516743204627591622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/02/funerals-memories-and-belly.html' title='Funerals, Memories, and The Belly'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SadRMS08j-I/AAAAAAAAADY/OeEaJ4Si5Js/s72-c/012.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-5011656463485164895</id><published>2009-02-16T08:37:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T09:31:33.994-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shitty Weekend. Literally.</title><content type='html'>What a shit weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, really, there was some good in there too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, it all started on Friday morning. I usually start work at 6am, but when my alarm went off at 4:15am, I wasn't feeling very well, so I decided to snooze and be into work by 8am. I slept in a bit, got in the shower at 6, then gave work a call to let them know I'd be in by 8. Now, every day when I'm getting ready, I watch a movie in the bathroom on the portable DVD player that my husband got me several years ago. I &lt;em&gt;LOVE&lt;/em&gt; THIS. It is really one of the highlights of my day. I get to watch whatever I want, and it makes getting ready less boring. Well, last weekend when Marshall (my hubby) had been cleaning out the garage, he was using the DVD player out there. So this Friday morning, I went out to the garage after my shower to go get it, and realized that not only was it not there on the shelf, but our garage door was open as well. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hmm&lt;/span&gt;. Well, maybe Marshall left the door open by accident last night, and he had already brought the DVD player back in for me and I just hadn't realized it. Okay. So go back inside, check... no DVD player. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Hmm&lt;/span&gt;. Back to the garage. Son of a bitch. Not only is the DVD player gone and the garage door open, but now I see that Marshall's big miter saw (whatever the hell a "miter" saw is... to me it's just a bit saw) is also gone from the shelf, the side-door to the backyard from the garage is also open, and the light outside that door is on. &lt;em&gt;(Note: We don't ever leave that light on, because if we do it shines relentlessly into our bedroom, preventing us from sleeping; also, that back door was locked and closed when I fed our dog the night before.)&lt;/em&gt; So I run back in to wake up hubby and tell him that I think we were robbed. He jumps out of bed, and then confirms that his air compressor is also missing. Another call to work to let them know I'll be in whenever, since I was robbed and have to figure some shit out. Police come, take a report, give us our case number for our Residential Burglary. Hooray. Now we are out a saw, a portable DVD player, the movie Full Metal Jacket (which was in the DVD player), and an air compressor. None of which we're likely to ever see again. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Damnit&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jump forward a few hours to work. Time for lunch. Girlfriend Erin and I go to Chili's. I order a delicious looking plate of food, which I sort of pick at. I'm not super hungry. Not sure if it's because of my raging sinus infection and bronchitis. Get back to work. Go use the bathroom. Wash my hands. Then rush back into the stall and proceed to barf up my entire lunch and then some. Great. Super. I feel like shit now. Go tell my supervisor that I'm going to take the rest of the day off. One co-worker feels sorry for me, another co-worker looks at me like I'm a pussy with that "of course you're throwing up, you're pregnant" look. Nope, sorry sweetheart, this is not pregnancy-related throwing-up. I've only thrown up 2x while pregnant so far and both times have been a quick little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;gaggy&lt;/span&gt;-up-chuck... NOTHING like this. So I get home. I'm feeling very sorry for myself. Meanwhile, hubby is home installing dead-locks on our recently burglarized home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hours pass... I have since camped out either in the bathroom or on the couch, my body completely ridding itself of anything and everything possible. I am convinced that I either have the flu, or a sweet case of food &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;poisoning&lt;/span&gt; from God knows what. Even more exciting is that I'm supposed to start my antibiotic horse pill for the crap-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;tastic&lt;/span&gt; bronchitis and sinus infection, which the pharmacist informed me would "upset my stomach" so to "take with food." Ha. Yeah. Right. As if that's a remote possibility at this point. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Whatev&lt;/span&gt;. I'll just start it tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All night and next day, no different. Still miserable. Trying to re-coop with lots of Gatorade. It's now Valentine's Day. We have reservations at a super nice restaurant that I've been looking forward to for 2 weeks. I'll be damned if I'm not going to eat until my heart's content. I'll just deal with the consequences later. So we go, and we have an INCREDIBLE dinner at David's Grill out at the Resort at Red Hawk where we were married this last June. Came home. Absolutely paid the price for eating all those tender sweet lamb chops, rich buttery mushroom risotto, melt-in-your-mouth petite &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;fillet, orgasmic white-chocolate caramel bread pudding&lt;/span&gt;... aaaaaah... sooooo totally worth the pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday was pretty tentative, but okay. Feeling weak because I'm COMPLETELY DEHYDRATED, but I'm chugging Gatorade like there's no tomorrow. Got a call from Mom. My Uncle died that morning (technically my great uncle, but not much difference to me)... he was an amazing, sweet man. Funeral will probably be next weekend in Modesto, CA. Damn. Get ready in my bathroom with no DVD player. Fuck. Tried to eat pizza. Regretted it. Went to the Reno Boat, RV &amp;amp; Home Show with hubby. Drooled over all the RVs. Went to Barnes &amp;amp; Noble. Got a new pregnancy journal and a board game. Went home. Ate Top &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Ramen for dinner&lt;/span&gt; (Have I mentioned that I really do love Top &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Ramen&lt;/span&gt;?) Then for the rest of the night layed around and played board games in front of a fire with my hubby. It was really nice. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So basically, the whole weekend has been a lot of shit mixed in with some pretty good times. It was a good weekend to spend time just Marshall and I. Maybe we sort of knew that with shit going so bad, we just needed each other.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-5011656463485164895?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/5011656463485164895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=5011656463485164895' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5011656463485164895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5011656463485164895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/02/shitty-weekend-literally.html' title='Shitty Weekend. Literally.'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-692064513597726056</id><published>2009-02-11T18:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T18:41:58.403-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Guy Gear</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SZOKJmFuE5I/AAAAAAAAACo/kXFR73Y03Vo/s1600-h/Labeled+Guy+Gear+Pic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301733083793200018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SZOKJmFuE5I/AAAAAAAAACo/kXFR73Y03Vo/s320/Labeled+Guy+Gear+Pic.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; It's a boy!!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Can't you tell?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Um, yeah. Surprise, surprise... the picture we were given is soooo hard to see. I was so disappointed when this was the picture our Doctor gave us, because when he was doing the ultrasound, it was all so clear! At that appointment, we begged to see if he'd look for us, since we weren't supposed to have another ultrasound until 3/2/09. He gave in, which was so nice of him! He looked and was showing us what's what... "okay, so it's as if your looking up at the baby like you're changing a diaper... the left leg is here, here's the right leg, and in between is what looks to be the junk." Okay, so he didn't call it junk, hehe. He told us not to go painting the room, but that it's a boy. I guess they have to say that? Dunno, but in my official, professional opinion, it was clear as day! My husband pointed out that he takes after his father. Hehe. (Watch it be a girl now, lol.) So we have the "official" diagnostic ultrasounds on 3/2/09, just to confirm what our Doctor told us, but I'd be super surprised to find out that he was wrong. I mean, come on... can a baby va-jay-jay be that big?! If so, yikes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-692064513597726056?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/692064513597726056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=692064513597726056' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/692064513597726056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/692064513597726056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/02/guy-gear.html' title='Guy Gear'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SZOKJmFuE5I/AAAAAAAAACo/kXFR73Y03Vo/s72-c/Labeled+Guy+Gear+Pic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-1785201415582924906</id><published>2009-02-11T18:05:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T18:26:49.784-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Belly</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Okay, so here they are... official belly shots! =D At this point I'm almost 19 weeks pregnant. And my belly is GIGANTIC. Supposedly I've only gained 4 lbs (as of my last &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;appt&lt;/span&gt; 1 1/2 weeks ago). Apparently my stomach is pulling weight from unknown places (hopefully my ass), because it's feeling like more than 4 lbs! And no, I'm not having twins. In fact, if another person at work jokes about me having twins I might punch them in the face. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SZOFBpnYz_I/AAAAAAAAACY/WlY5F8MQANE/s1600-h/008.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301727449742626802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SZOFBpnYz_I/AAAAAAAAACY/WlY5F8MQANE/s320/008.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The side shot... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SZOEZ0QdsRI/AAAAAAAAACQ/-cZ5D3G-RPc/s1600-h/004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301726765404500242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SZOEZ0QdsRI/AAAAAAAAACQ/-cZ5D3G-RPc/s320/004.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this shows you what I see when I look down, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hehe&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301727454010208738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SZOFB5g28eI/AAAAAAAAACg/uOQebsyq0nc/s320/012.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, things are looking pretty good. I'm in good spirits, aside from the ass-kicking cold my dear, sweet husband gave me. And of course, with me it turns into a full-blown sinus infection. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Ack&lt;/span&gt;. But I'm starting to feel better slowly, thank God. As it is, pregnancy has cast away most patience I had to begin with, and being sick is like the straw that broke that camel's back. I was bordering on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;preg&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;zilla&lt;/span&gt; this last Friday, so hubby is glad that normal Sarah (well, "pregnancy-normal Sarah," which is pretty damn far from "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-pregnancy-normal Sarah") is back again. Things are pretty peachy as long as nobody pisses me off, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;hehe&lt;/span&gt;... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-1785201415582924906?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/1785201415582924906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=1785201415582924906' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/1785201415582924906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/1785201415582924906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/02/belly.html' title='The Belly'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SZOFBpnYz_I/AAAAAAAAACY/WlY5F8MQANE/s72-c/008.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-5479251795082823201</id><published>2009-01-26T08:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T10:00:13.504-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Old Wives Tales and TMI</title><content type='html'>16 weeks today! I'm almost starting my 5&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; month! HOLY SHIT! This time is flying by when you look at it like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, let's get the update out of the way: Everything is peachy for the most part (knock on wood). I have only been sick once. Heartburn has really let up. I'm getting some more energy back (I can actually stay up past 10:00pm now!). I'm showing a TON so I don't just look like I'm getting fat. Yep, everything is pretty much peachy. Although, now I'm waiting for the ball to drop because my reasoning says it just can't be this easy. My husband in convinced that I'm going to start being miserable around the 6-month mark. He thinks I'll get sick of the belly and sick of pregnancy. I'm not so sure about that. I can see that coming around the 8 1/2 month point. He's referring to that point as my transition into "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Pregzilla&lt;/span&gt;." Very clever, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so I want to talk a little about the Old Wives Tales and all the little "when I was pregnant" or "my friend's baby" &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;tid&lt;/span&gt;-bits that people feel the urge to spew forth our way when they see or hear of pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First: Prediction of the sex.&lt;br /&gt;I love that everyone has a way to predict the sex of your baby before even a doctor is able to do so. Any what do they base their decision on? Well, when I had first found out I was pregnant (which was super early, people... we're talking like a few weeks), a woman at work stopped, looked at my face, and declared that based on the weight gain in my face that I'm having a girl. That's right. Weight gain in my face. Then, another co-worker had me stand up and do a full turn-around, and assessed in a matter-of-fact way that I'm losing my hourglass curves around my waist (implying that I'm getting fat around my middle), which meant it was going to be a boy. The best is a third co-worker of mine. Each time she comes around she literally man-handles me. She has to grab the belly, feel my sides all the way around, shake me around a bit, then stand back and think for a minute. Then she's got some sort of "well, she's carrying it all in front..." or "she's getting butt-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;sy&lt;/span&gt;, so"... yeah. Now, prediction of the sex apparently isn't just made based on physical changes. It's also made based on how the pregnancy is going. As you just read above, I'm having a rather smooth, easy pregnancy so far. According to another co-worker, this means for sure that I'm having a girl. "If they're easy in the womb, they'll be tough when they're out!" Which apparently means that girls are tougher to raise then boys. But then, another woman will dispute that and say, "Oh no! If you're having an easy pregnancy than it's going to be a boy, for sure!" Love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Comparison&lt;/span&gt; of Pregnancies.&lt;br /&gt;Obviously pregnancy is a very common &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;occurrence&lt;/span&gt;. Most woman experience it at least once in their lives. That then becomes a special link between women, so that if you never had anything in common with a particular person, you do now. This link is then taken advantage of by every passing woman in the grocery store, in the hair salon, at work, etc. Now, don't get me wrong! I love talking about pregnancy, and I love hearing all the great stories people have, and I could honestly talk about my pregnancy all day if given the opportunity. However. There is a type of woman that I'll call the "one-upper." This is the woman who doesn't really want to know about you. She just wants to let you know that her pregnancy was either much better, or much worse, than yours. For example, if I have been experiencing heart burn, she had it so bad that she was vomiting up stomach acid. Or, if I have been completely exhausted, she was so tired that she slept for a weeks straight at a time. On the flip-side of this, you have the "one-upper" who wants to rub in how much better her pregnancy was. If I point out that I've been too tired to exercise, she says, "Oh really?! I do yoga 6 days a week and still run every morning!" Or if I've gained 8 lbs already into the 2&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; trimester, she only gained 4 all the way up until the middle of her 3rd trimester. Or the best example: my aunt. First of all, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;loooove&lt;/span&gt; my aunt, and she's a rock-star for birthing twins about 1 1/2 years ago. But. Last Thanksgiving, in answer to my family's questions, I explained that I had been totally exhausted, had been having pretty bad heartburn and nausea, etc. She later piped up and said that she didn't understand women who had all the "cliche" pregnancy symptoms, she never felt any of that and she was even pregnant with twins! Well, you just learn to let that stuff roll off your back because it's not the last time you'll hear it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third: Horrors of pregnancy, labor, and birth.&lt;br /&gt;This might be my favorite. As if being pregnant for the first time isn't scary enough, now it's time for all the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;wack&lt;/span&gt;-jobs to tell you about how AWFUL their labor was, or the HORRIBLE birth defects their children were born with. For example: I was talking to a co-worker about the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Downs&lt;/span&gt; Syndrome testing we were going to do that week, and for some reason my co-worker though this would be an appropriate time to tell me about her niece who was born with HORRIBLE birth defects. And not just that, but the whole story about how it wasn't detected with all the testing, then at birth the baby had club hands and feet, brain and head problems, retardation, etc. She even showed me a picture of the poor girl (now 15 or so) to bring it all home. I just don't get it. As insecure and scared as I am going into my own testing, why in the HELL would you bring that shit up?! Thank you for that. It's my favorite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, I really love hearing about other people's pregnancies! It's just so funny how some people completely lack tact as far as this is all concerned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you gals been victim to this too? I'd love to hear your stories... comment away, please!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-5479251795082823201?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/5479251795082823201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=5479251795082823201' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5479251795082823201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/5479251795082823201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2009/01/old-wives-tales-and-tmi.html' title='Old Wives Tales and TMI'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-4486082118585989455</id><published>2008-12-15T18:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T18:16:52.753-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Meet the Jellybean...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SUcPJrl-xyI/AAAAAAAAABo/76M80NNiPhE/s1600-h/073.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280205747110463266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SUcPJrl-xyI/AAAAAAAAABo/76M80NNiPhE/s320/073.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'd like to introduce you all to our little Jellybean! I'm 10 weeks along today, and I'm due July 13, 2009. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(Aren't the little toes at the top adorable?!)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-4486082118585989455?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/4486082118585989455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=4486082118585989455' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/4486082118585989455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/4486082118585989455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2008/12/meet-jellybean.html' title='Meet the Jellybean...'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SUcPJrl-xyI/AAAAAAAAABo/76M80NNiPhE/s72-c/073.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-6037092839725493481</id><published>2008-12-10T18:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T18:11:48.885-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Breaking the News to the Grandparents-To-Be</title><content type='html'>&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278356858771119730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SUB9mNzMnnI/AAAAAAAAABY/oosAtMCdqbs/s320/016.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So this was the night we went to my parent's house to tell them that they were going to be grandparents! I had already had it planned out for years in my head how we were going to tell them, and was soooo excited for the opportunity! I went to Target and bought some cute little sockies (couldn't find booties that I loved), and wrapped one pair for Mom to open and the other for Dad. We went to their house with an alibi of having to return their chairs to them, and that we were on "that side of town" to go look at furniture at RC Willey so we'd just "stop by." I don't really think they suspected anything was up, so that was even better! Although as soon as I made them each sit down at the dinner table, they must have known something was going on, hehe. So we handed them each their package, told them to open them at the same time, then watched their faces as the "NO WAY" look appeared. It was awesome! Of course, Mom started bawling, and Dad insisted that he knew that's why we were coming over. My husband snuck in the champagne and sparkling cider we had brought, then we all celebrated! It was so amazing to live that long dreamed of moment... it was just as special as I had imagined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SUB-AcsCJ3I/AAAAAAAAABg/ed9GGqlqhY8/s1600-h/019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278357309444204402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SUB-AcsCJ3I/AAAAAAAAABg/ed9GGqlqhY8/s320/019.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-6037092839725493481?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/6037092839725493481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=6037092839725493481' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/6037092839725493481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/6037092839725493481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2008/12/breaking-news-to-grandparents-to-be.html' title='Breaking the News to the Grandparents-To-Be'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SUB9mNzMnnI/AAAAAAAAABY/oosAtMCdqbs/s72-c/016.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-8019931935247803914</id><published>2008-12-03T17:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T18:09:35.224-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh, Exhaustion</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I'm sooooo tired!!! Gah.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had such aspirations yesterday and today of working out. I really did! I packed my gym bag and put it in the truck, which is my way of really dedicating myself to the plan. I declared to myself &lt;em&gt;several&lt;/em&gt; times throughout the day that "I am going to go work out after work!" And then, slowly but surely as the day wears on, I'm SOOOOO EXHAUSTED that I honestly consider the probability of me passing out right in the middle of my shimmying and hip-rolling. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"That would be bad," I say, so I better go home and rest. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Point of the story? Bed can't come soon enough. Ever. I love it. I fantasize about it all day. I can't WAIT to crawl in at the end of the day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It might just be the one thing I love right now more than food, hehe! ;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;In fact... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Hmm... maybe I don't have to wait for husband to get home and cook dinner... maybe I can just go straight to sweet, blissful bed... oh yeah, baby... here I come...&lt;/em&gt; ) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/STc7toxLOLI/AAAAAAAAABQ/cCkhxZCeht0/s1600-h/exhausted4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275751143711652018" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/STc7toxLOLI/AAAAAAAAABQ/cCkhxZCeht0/s320/exhausted4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-8019931935247803914?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/8019931935247803914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=8019931935247803914' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/8019931935247803914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/8019931935247803914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2008/12/oh-exhaustion.html' title='Oh, Exhaustion'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/STc7toxLOLI/AAAAAAAAABQ/cCkhxZCeht0/s72-c/exhausted4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-7750010761506256182</id><published>2008-12-01T18:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T19:29:17.858-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Weighty Issue</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/STSkatMtC2I/AAAAAAAAAA4/KctkV2xS5GE/s1600-h/scale.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275021842274126690" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 256px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/STSkatMtC2I/AAAAAAAAAA4/KctkV2xS5GE/s320/scale.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Gah. My pants are getting tighter around my tummy already. Maybe just pregnancy bloat? I know the baby is the size of a raspberry, so it's not like he's needing too much extra room right now. But I swear to God, my stomach is already pooching out. I've needed new jeans in a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;baaaad&lt;/span&gt; way for some time now, but I'll be damned if I'm going to buy maternity clothes at only 2 (almost 3) months &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;preggo&lt;/span&gt;. My pride can't handle it. My girlfriend says I should just suck it up and buy a pair of maternity jeans since I'll have to in a bit anyways. I had to point out that just like she refuses to buy any jeans labeled above a size 10/11, I refuse to buy maternity pants this early on. Truth be told, I'd &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;loooove&lt;/span&gt; to be in comfortable maternity clothes right now. But if anyone were to see that belly band and ask how far along I am, then give me the "oh really?!" face when I tell them, I'd likely die of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;embarrassment&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's really bad, isn't it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't help when I go see my skinny-ass cousin-in-law at Thanksgiving who is 2 months farther along than I am and has barely a little tummy bulge going on. She says her clothes are just now becoming limited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hello! My name is Sarah and I feel like a beast next to you. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then one of my co-workers keeps asking if I'm going to lose (yes, LOSE) weight during pregnancy. She's pointed out several people that have lost all sorts of weight (60 lbs, are you freaking kidding me?!) during their pregnancy. I especially love how she throws in the obligatory "Oh, but I'm not suggesting that you NEED to lose weight!" I responded that I'm going to do whatever my doctor tells me is healthy. Quite the concept, eh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can tell you this much... I know I'm not going to LOSE weight during pregnancy. In fact, I know I've already gained a few pounds. And I know I'm not going to be the woman that gains 100 lbs because I'm "eating for 2 at Taco Bell every night." (Well, shit. I suppose I don't really "&lt;em&gt;know&lt;/em&gt;" exactly how things will turn out.) But I do know what I don't want to happen, and I'm going to try with all my might to make good decisions as often as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want a healthy, happy pregnancy! I don't want people to negatively judge my pregnancy in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;comparison&lt;/span&gt; to their own. I want to hear amazing stories, advice and encouragement!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not too much to ask for, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-7750010761506256182?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/7750010761506256182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=7750010761506256182' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/7750010761506256182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/7750010761506256182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2008/12/weighty-issue.html' title='A Weighty Issue'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/STSkatMtC2I/AAAAAAAAAA4/KctkV2xS5GE/s72-c/scale.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-7999334366876028597</id><published>2008-12-01T08:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T09:33:41.617-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Big News!</title><content type='html'>Now that the last post is out of the way, time for the big exciting news...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/STQfL9IwOOI/AAAAAAAAAAw/7HdjNlvq2Ow/s1600-h/pregnant+belly.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274875353807993058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 238px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/STQfL9IwOOI/AAAAAAAAAAw/7HdjNlvq2Ow/s320/pregnant+belly.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I'M PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm 8 weeks today! (I think)... My first doctor appointment is on December 9th (1 week from tomorrow!). It's my husband and my first child, and we're so excited! I've been online reading and calculating and I think that my due date will be July 13, 2008. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's so exciting and so special. I've wanted this for soooo long, and I thought I'd have to wait for years and years! My husband and I are both 26, have been dating for 8 1/2 years, have been married since June of 2008. Anytime he was asked by anyone about having kids, his response was either "I'd be happy never having kids" or "Yeah, in about 20 years." Riiiiight. 20 years when I'm going through menopause? Great. So talk about surprised when I came home one night in the beginning of October to find that my husband had thrown my birth control away. Yes! Thrown away! As in, in the garbage! He made sure to tell me that this didn't mean we needed to start trying right away. Ha! That comment didn't hold up too well in the bedroom that night, or the next night, or the following weeks after. Now in retrospect, he honestly didn't believe it would happen so quickly... he thought it was going to take months and months! All that talk about getting the pill out of your system and such. I wasn't sure either... it could have turned out that we had fertility problems or something like that. So as much as I wanted it to happen right away, I didn't believe it would either. I probably took 20 pregnancy tests, all of which came back negative. Then on Friday morning of November 7th (four days after my last negative test), I was still wondering when that wonderful Aunt Flo would come to visit, so I took another test. This one was going to be just the same as the others... I really didn't look at it, just set it aside while I turned on the shower. Then I saw the test line showing up. Am I losing my mind? It's too early in the morning and my eyes are just fuzzy. I'm imagining things. But no... it got darker and darker. HOLY SHIT!!!! NO WAY, NO FREAKING WAY. I grabbed another test immediately, and sure enough that one was positive too. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here I am! Pregnant! I can't wait to go see the doctor next Tuesday. That's when we'll know if everything is healthy and going well. We should be able to see and hopefully hear the heartbeat. We'll maybe get to find out if it's twins or not (my husband and I both have twins in our families). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;SOOOOO EXCITING!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't wait to blog about it all as I go. I know my husband gets a little sick of hearing "all pregnancy, all the time" so this way I can divert some of it here. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-7999334366876028597?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/7999334366876028597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=7999334366876028597' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/7999334366876028597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/7999334366876028597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2008/12/now-that-last-post-is-out-of-way-time.html' title='Big News!'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/STQfL9IwOOI/AAAAAAAAAAw/7HdjNlvq2Ow/s72-c/pregnant+belly.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-3762200924437235774</id><published>2008-12-01T08:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T08:58:25.370-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Step in the Right Direction</title><content type='html'>I've been avoiding this blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back in August, I needed somewhere to spew my emotional hurricane. This was the place. Anonymous, therefore I could be nothing but totally honest. And I was, and it felt great. But now, several months later, I'm looking to move on from all that. I need to let go of that negativity to embrace the wonder that is unfolding in my life! So I logged back in and re-read all my previous blogs. I got to re-live the hurt, anger and betrayal for a few minutes, get lost a bit in the memories, and then purge it all by pressing the dreaded DELETE IT button. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ugh&lt;/span&gt;. I wish I was more &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;knowledgeable&lt;/span&gt; about blogging. I'm sure there's a way to hide certain posts rather than delete them, but if there is a way I don't know of it. So I deleted them. It's a little sad. They were so raw and so heartfelt. There were so few times I truly got to vent uncensored. Oh well. I think it had to happen for me to move on (in this blog, at least). It's not like the memories are gone... unfortunately there is not DELETE IT button in my mind. Luckily though, they fade to the back of my mind a little more each day, allowing me to let go and move on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I'm back... though, the jury is still out on what exactly "back" means. :) I've never been a dedicated blogger, but I'm going to try, because there are amazing things happening in my life and I want to share them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It feels good to move on...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-3762200924437235774?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/3762200924437235774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=3762200924437235774' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/3762200924437235774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/3762200924437235774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2008/12/step-in-right-direction.html' title='A Step in the Right Direction'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-3669315452593974314</id><published>2008-08-02T11:40:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T14:43:41.597-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It helps.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SJSqgngpkKI/AAAAAAAAAAo/oPEgop7znfo/s1600-h/033.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229992544622448802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SJSqgngpkKI/AAAAAAAAAAo/oPEgop7znfo/s320/033.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;He makes me so happy. I never thought I could love a dog so much. Thank God for him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-3669315452593974314?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/3669315452593974314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=3669315452593974314' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/3669315452593974314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/3669315452593974314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2008/08/it-helps.html' title='It helps.'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/SJSqgngpkKI/AAAAAAAAAAo/oPEgop7znfo/s72-c/033.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5948711773673433570.post-975628498796949042</id><published>2008-07-20T19:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T18:27:02.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Could I have finally found a reason to write?</title><content type='html'>I've had this blog for some time now, and finally I'm writing for the first time. If I'm being honest, the only reason I originally registered was to have access to other people's blogs. I never really had any intention to write, or maintain my own. And now, here I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's ironic, actually. I just had a conversation this last Wednesday with a friend of mine about blogs. She's completely obsessed with them, and uses her own blog as a way to talk about her trials and tribulations. I told her that I don't have anything to write about. My life isn't exciting enough. I'm not a tortured soul. I'm not a confused woman searching for myself. I'm just me. I have a really great life: a husband who loves me, a beautiful home of our own, a wonderful puppy that I adore, a pretty good job, a family that loves and supports me, friends that would do anything for me... I could probably go on for awhile, and for that I am so grateful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So really. What the hell do I have to write about?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I'm here, aren't I?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5948711773673433570-975628498796949042?l=herownstateofmind.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/feeds/975628498796949042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5948711773673433570&amp;postID=975628498796949042' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/975628498796949042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5948711773673433570/posts/default/975628498796949042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://herownstateofmind.blogspot.com/2008/07/could-i-have-finally-found-my-reason-to.html' title='Could I have finally found a reason to write?'/><author><name>Sarah</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05623497907145831367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkiKkWHB9Gk/S5Caxlm4bbI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNAN5lf9QuA/S220/170.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
