it's all about christmas 2022.





The real joy in these pictures is the foundation we are laying for a massive Christmas meltdown in 2022 when Lucy is a week from 14 (and Chuck is 40 and dying). Obviously we will force her to take her annual airplane picture with Bubba and obviously she will be thrilled. I doubt she will jump up and down on the bed in Santa pajamas so freaking excited about airplane with Bubba you'd think her baby-mind was going to explode. Just a guess.
 
Merry Boxing Day to you all!

lucy and the guinea pig

I was 10 weeks pregnant when I told Lucy she was getting a cousin.

Ok so that may seem a tad early to tell a small child, but in my defense, she practically beat it out of me. I was horribly morning sick that day, watching her at Fe and PK's house, and finally she said "Sister, what going on? You sick, but you not sick. What wrong with you?"

I explained that it was a parasitic baby sucking the life force from me. Confession: I may not have said it exactly like that, but pretty close. Anyways, she got the point but needed physical evidence so I showed her the 10 week ultrasound. You know, the one where it's just a blob of black and white and you smile and nod at Mom and Dad-to-be and say it looks beautiful? 3 1/2 year olds don't have that level of tact.

"Sister, you having a pig baby?"

"No, Lu, I don't think so, but fingers crossed."

"Oh, it gonna be the people kind?"

She did absolutely nothing to hide her disappointment that it was going to be a boring, old people kind of baby.

Later that day, she told Chuck that there was a baby in Sister's belly. She was thrilled to share the news - admittedly a little confused as to how Chuck already knew - so Chuck asked if she thought it was a boy baby or a girl baby.

"Oh I think it's gonna be a guinea pig."

And obviously we have done everything in our power to convince her that it was not a guinea pig. By do everything, I mean everything to help perpetuate this idea. We call it the guinea pig. We ask her about the guinea pig. She talks to the guinea pig.

On Tuesday, Chuck and I took her out to Snowflake Lane for a much needed play date. After telling us that being the Big Cousin sounded a lot like being a Superhero (and then describing in detail the outfit she will need for said superhero-ing), she made this shocking revelation:

"Sister. You and Bubba know people can't have guinea pig babies? Your getting a human baby."

It was devastating. 10 weeks of calling it the Guinea Pig and I was kind of thinking we were buying a cage and a running wheel not a crib. C'est la vie.

It's been a while since Lucy has been on the blog. She's 25 years old now (or turning 4 the first week of January). Loving preschool, very into "cooking", and fabulous.




penis penis penis vagina vagina vagina

 
Baby Allison is a ...
 
 
 
BOY!!!
We are over the moon and couldn't be more excited. Mostly, we're excited about the hope that Baby will turn out to be more like Chuck than like me, ie: nicer, kinder, taller etc. At least that's the hope.
 
We are also 100% sure it is a boy - he made sure we saw those parts a whole lot on that ultrasound. He made it very apparent that himz is male.
 
We're set on the first name, but aren't quite ready to share it with the world as the middle name needs some tweaking. Once that's under control, we will let you know. But I can tell you on the first name front that when your parents are Charles and Susan you just don't get to be "Bentley" or "Dakota". And also when your male with a female sounding last name, you're gonna need a pretty male name. I just don't think "Jamie Allison" is going to work for our boy (sorry Jamie, I still love you more than Nordstrom).
 
Alright well, seeing how we are half way through this pregnancy thing and now that we know what "it" is, I guess we should probably start in on that nursery and other "prepping" for the baby. Also, how many words can I put in "quotes" in this post? It's like a grammatical drinking game. Anywho, we'll get right on that nesting train, eventually...

place your bets


I kept meaning to take a 19 week belly picture this week to commemorate the last week we refer to the baby as "it", but that ship hath sailed. Chuck is at work (sucker), and Jack is still pulling the no opposable thumbs crap. If I was really dedicated, I'd set up the tripod and the timer, but since it's 10 am and I just now took a shower, that kind of hard work feels a tad too ambitious. I mean, I didn't even take this with one of my good cameras. It's a cell phone pic. I iz that lazy.

Anywho. Tomorrow is the 20 week ultrasound and baby better be ready to give us a peep show. We have no inclination or preference or anything that would suggest we "know" the gender of baby 2053 2013, but we have done some math and the way we figure it, we got a 50/50 chance at boy or girl. Feel free to check our arithmetic.

So, come one come all. Is this poor child a boy or a girl? Here are some of my old wives tale symptoms, just so you know:
  • I was horribly morning sick for the first trimester. It was a ball of giggles.
  • I'm carrying the way Fe did - straight out in front and not much going anywhere else.
  • No acne (don't know who I paid off to avoid that gem but I'll take it)
  • I'm not too into salty or sweet these days, but I am eating oranges like they are going out of style.
  • Chuck isn't gaining weight along with me, but we all knew that wouldn't happen. I'm a mere 9 pounds shy of Mr. Allison at this point.
We'll let you know tomorrow, assuming the world doesn't end before our 2:00 appointment. I'm pretty fine with it ending after that appt - so long as I get to go down knowing the gender of the baby.

Place your bets.

it's xmas card time


Merry Christmas!
Love, Chuck, Susie and Baby 2053 2013
 
Feel free to pin this to your "Family Photography" Board on pinterest. 
Also, for the record, I don't know if we're more excited about the baby or the matching sweaters. Tough call.  
.

i'm officially sigourney.

 

I know that I look like this. But on the inside I'm starting to feel a little more like this:


OK so persmaps that's just slight hyperbole, and I totally get that I'm not even at the "oh look, there's a foot" phase, but being kicked from the inside does take some getting used to. Beautiful, right, but also a little creepy. Not that I'm complaining, I'm just saying I've for sure been taken over and it's a different experience.

Also in the different experiences category is the rearranging of my insides. The one I'm super loving is having my large intestine shoved just under my chesticle region. I super appreciate feeling my you-know-what traveling through my upper body. It's a delight.

Chuck says my body is just changing.
He also says my body is a wonderland and that John Mayer taught him that.

And we're not even half way through this pregnancy at this point. I can only imagine where my body parts will end up by the time fairies come to get the baby out (that's how labor works, right?) and how many times I will have acted out the scene from Alien or the parody from Space Balls. I will beat those references into the ground by the time we're done with this.


Chuck is unclear by my chalkboard this week and decided to be the someone who is kicking. The man is a genius.

my thanksgiving miracle




I'm unclear how it is already Thanksgiving but we'll just move past that.

The most exciting thing about my week is not Thanksgiving - it is that we finally have a pair of maternity jeans in this house and my heaven those things are a dream. Question: do I need to stop wearing these once the kid comes out? Early prediction/answer: No.

I am loving these things. First of all, my fly is never down because I don't have one. Second, I don't need to unbutton my pants post dinner because there isn't a button to undo. It's like the freedom of going commando, but without the weirdness of it all.

Maternity jeans will now be my official Thanksgiving outfit for the rest of my life. I get the comfortable-ness of jeans but with room to grow a delicious food baby - that is when I'm not growing a human one. Maternity jeans are a Thanksgiving day miracle IRregardless of pregnancy.

Happy and safe travels to you all!

i just threw up.

Ok so we are definitely closer to being week 15 than week 14 (like 48 hours away), but whatevs. I am doing the best I can. I thought the second trimester was supposed to be cake. Apparently, it is, but I just throw up that cake. Fun fact, in the last 24 hours I have puked in an ash tray in the Safeway parking lot and all over our garage floor.

In related Allison news, Jack has had yet another round of the Kitty Runs so Chuck is literally up to his ears in cleaning puke and poop. He's relatively sure the baby will be less work than Jack and Me and I'm pretty sure he's right. We are a pair right now.

So, we've got the 14 week picture here and yes, I'm glowing.


No, I'm not. I threw up pancakes and french fries about 3 minutes after this picture was taken so enjoy that visual and you're welcome.

What's catching your eye most in that picture? The bump or the fact that my hair is in a ponytail? I know. It's the ponytail. First time my head has seen one of those things since late Winter of 'ought 8. Jury is out on what's going on with my hair so feel free to send suggestions. I have zero will to try and find a hairstyle.

And that's the game.
I'm calling it for tonight.

I really need to get this (nothing to do with) morning sickness over and done with ASAP. Not for health reasons, but because Breaking Dawn comes out Friday and over my dead body am I leaving that movie for the bathroom. I will puke in a popcorn tub before I miss my Edward.

Oh and here is Chuck at 14 weeks.


I'm not going to comment on his picture, his face in the picture or anything else. I will tell you that our weight is now separated by about 15 pounds. I'm on borrowed time, people. Borrowed time.

chuck's being a big boy.

I've read it in about every baby book.

Well, every section of every baby book that I'm allowed to read. See, I have a teeny tiny tendency to invent side effects based on reading the side effects list they give with medication, so I was banned years ago from any sort of readings ups ons anything I take. Hence, since the baby books come with lists of everything you could feel when pregnant or could have happen to you or the baby, I was obviously banned from reading baby books. Chuck knows what he's doing. He's a professional Susie-wrangler.

So Chuck handles reading the baby books. He's reading them all.

I kid you not. I was itching my stomach like crazy last week, like I had freaking lice on it, and said, "Is this supposed to be happening?" "Yep. It's your skin stretching." My body is changing in ways I don't understand, but thank goodness Chuck does.

Anyways, what I have read about pregnancy talks super much about how the Dad can feel left out or neglected because of all the attention on Mom-to-Be. Like they can act out like the children they're supposed to soon be raising.

Obviously I'm not too concerned about this with Chuck. Well, hold that. Obviously, he's always acted like a child, so I don't expect some miraculous maturity improvement by May. Rome wasn't built in a day and it's looking like Chuck's maturity will take about a lifetime.

Case. Point.
Someone wants his own weekly pictures taken.


So appropriate.

Anyways, plenty of people have been asking how Father Charles is doing with his looming parenthood, so let it be known, he's doing great. Better than great. He's been running the house and my life since week 5 when I came down with a nasty case of "holy **** I'm growing a human" sickness which is just starting to go away, and now I've got a sinus infection and am basically an invalid. The plus side: my bed sores are coming in nicely, he's added several casseroles into his "what I can make without needing adult supervision" repertoire, and I love him more than ever for it all.

he's basically dead to me.

This terrible thing happened when I was on my blogging sabbatical. I'm ready to talk about it with you. It's been rough. It's been emotional. It's name is Chuck Allison turned 30 and that makes me want to die.

I am not trying to sound discriminating here, but I am 29 and maybe I don't wish to spend the last year of my prime with an old man. I mean, it's just a lot of pressure on me being all young and spry and trying to keep him active in his age. It's becoming too much.

Also, it throws a big kink into the look of this blog.
Maybe you've never noticed this little button I made for our blog back in 2009 when Chuck was 27 - it feels like a dream ago.

Note that it says TWENTY-SOMETHING.
FYI one of us is no longer a twenty something so this is officially a lie.
So in addition to having to be married to a thirty something, now I have remake this button, which is a PAIN, and c'mon, how much do I have to do for this guy now that I am basically just his arm candy?

Ok ok ok.
I get that thirty isn't that old. And that many of my blog readers have past that milestone, and all it signifies is the death of Chuck's youth, so no big deal.

Fine. Fine.

Let's get to the party.
Obviously we had a big 30th birthday party for Chuck. He's one of the oldest in our friend group (because someone was sooooo good at Kindergarten, he got to do it twice) so he's the first in a rapid succession of dominoes that will fall this year. I am second to last in this wave of 30, and thank God.

My girl friends would like it noted right about here that I will be the first of all the girls to fall, but we won't talk about that. Let's focus on Chuck's issues for the moment and leave mine to next March. K?

So, the party.
The basics were, we did a party at home because we are home people.

I made it as cutesy as I could for a "manly" 30th birthday party.
(I had to really censor myself as apparently, pom poms and glitter are not good for boy parties.)


Everyone pinned the same thing from pinterest so we had three of these:




But they were all adorable and great and hey, that's the risk we all knowingly run with pinterest.

It was a good party.

Oh and here's a funny story, I decided we should have sumo wrestling suits.

Chuck didn't know I was ordering sumo suits, so this is him being surprised by cousin Mark attacking him in suit. He knew something was "up" when he saw me with a tape measure poking around the house, which made him worried at first, but then hopeful because whatever I was doing, at least some sort of thinking was going into the planning of it.

Let's rewind a little bit and hold hands down "how did we get here" lane:
I started thinking of Chuck's 30th birthday and how I imagined it, and what I thought he'd want. Then, I thought "I should rent sumo suits". So I did. Alright so that wasn't exactly as good a story as I thought because really the idea just came to me (like divine intervention) and something about it just felt so right. Like, yes, sumo suits is exactly what should be at Chuck's birthday.

And that's that.

Chuck is 30.
The thing about 30 is it feels very legit and a little bit like he needs to turn in his key card for the young fun club, and pick up his membership to the maturity outlet. I'm not a 100% sure, I may be a bit biased, but I just don't feel like this guy screams maturity and 30-something.

That is his "crunk goblet". It comes out only for the classiest and most special of situations/occasions. Yes it says his name. His sister made it for him about 7 years ago.

And now we will begin the pictures.








Two of my favorite delicate flowers.
They are just plain dainty.








Let's tell this story, shall we? First of all, that is not happiness on my face. That is panic. Josh snuck up behind me, picked me up, and cousin Mark pushed the bottom half of the suit onto me. It was aggressive and violent.

So naturally I picked Chuck as my opponent.

(If you have a second, find Dania in the above picture. She is unexplainable.)


Here's a missed opportunity:
We should have taken our Christmas card picture wearing the suits. I know, I know. These are moments we will never get back.

Award for hands down the most intense and aggressive match up:


These two. You wouldn't know it by looking at those pretty faces.


It was on.

A few more pics,  then we're done, I promise. This is kind of like being forced to go through someone's vacation pictures/slideshow. Am I right? That is the worst. But seriously, you can't blame me for this. People only turn 30 once (or never as I won't) and that once was 2 months ago for Chuck so I kind of need to go overboard here.


Emy and I are celebrating our 13th year of friendship.
Our friendship is a seventh grader.


Josh flew in from Montana just for Chuck's birthday.
He is single and a gem. FYI.


Guess who has a giant cartoonish mouth, hair that we aren't sure if we are growing out or cutting, and learned how to use the grill on her own this summer? THIS GIRL. Lit it on my own. No adult or Chuck supervision.




So Libby (left) and Chuck have back-to-back birthdays (except that she is two years younger). So his birthday party was on her actual birthday but she is such a good sport she let him steal her thunder. She did ask for a pygmy hippo in return, and Chuck has not paid up.





Best friends are the best part of life. Period.


Chuck's BFF and soul mate Paul (and Shiann) came in from LA. They said they couldn't come, then got Saturday off, flew in, and decided to surprise us. Chuck has great friends who will apparently travel great distances to celebrate him. I'm not surprised. Chuck's a pretty nice guy and people tend to like him.


Truth be told, this is all Chuck wanted for his birthday. Friends and lawn games. I reasoned that sumo suits were lawn games. He's a simple man.



This is the "30 club". I was invited to take their picture, but not to sit with them.

Well, that's it.
Chuck's 30. I met him when he was 19 and remember his 20th birthday like it was yesterday, which is terrifying because that is for sure only something old people say.


Oh one more picture:


Now we're done.
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