There Must be Something in the Water!

Last summer Alex and I moved to the East end of Toronto. To be more precise, we live near Coxwell and Danforth. We are a ten minute walk from the beach and almost steps from the Bloor/Danforth Subway.
The neighbourhood is really cute and relatively affordable for a young family.
Most of the houses are semi-detached (except ours); there are parks and shops nearby; and there are two farmer's markets within walking distance on two separate days.
We also live by an elementary school and down the street from a high school.

Where ever schools are, children are easily found.
People like to live near the school where their children go. It makes sense. I lived a decent walk (on little legs) from my elementary school while my friends also lived within the neighbourhood.
There are children EVERYWHERE in this neighbourhood. They are climbing the trees, chasing after their pets, playing on their front lawns and even running after the ice cream trucks.

Considering the average house size in the neighbourhood is about 1000 square feet, one would think that maybe these homes would house maybe one child? NOPE, two or three or even four children can be stuffed into our little homes. In Europe, people have children in tiny apartments. If they can do it, we can too. I'm up for the challenge of having children in minimal space.
Minimal space or not, the families of my neighbourhood have been busy getting busy!
(I promise that the rest of the post is not icky).

Yesterday was my two-year wedding anniversary.
Neither Alex nor I are particularly romantic and after we bought our house, we have been trying to conserve our funds (not to mention that we have a very expensive little person joining our two-some very soon). We decided that instead of a weekend away, we would create a tradition of something we could do in the city.
On our wedding night, we had a bunch of our good friends join us for tapas and dessert (care of the staff at the hotel where our wedding was hosted). It was a beautiful day followed by a super yummy dinner with our good friends. We decided that we would celebrate subsequent wedding anniversaries eating tapas and enjoying each other's company. So that's what we did!
There is a really good Gluten Free tapas bar within walking distance of our house. Its called Relish.
The food is a bit pricey but totally worth it. We even stayed for dessert (Sambuca creme brûlée and flour-less chocolate cake). Yum! ( An aside: if you were wondering, the creme brûlée was enjoyed lactaid-free and I'm feeling great!) If anyone wants more info, let me know. Also, if you want to take me there, I will gladly go.

Anyway, on our way to and from the restaurant, we noticed that almost every woman we passed was pregnant.
I made a joke to Alex that all these women were going to be the parents of 'Peanut's' friends, bullies and carpool buddies to Hebrew school.
It was amazing to see how many women are pregnant in our neighbourhood. Is this normal?
Our next door neighbours are also expecting. They are due the week after us.
Friends of ours who live around the corner are having a baby in early January.

Social theory aside about the trends of birthrates of children of Boomers, I think that Toronto has spiked the water with something to encourage a mass spawning.
How did all these people become pregnant at the same time?
I can tell you that there wasn't anything particularly special about the winter or spring of 2011 that would entice conception (for example, no hurricane, major blackout or unbearable snowstorm). It was a long winter and a cold spring. Nothing we aren't used to in Canada. Also, might I add that I was in New Zealand for the worst of the winter weather of 2011 and I promise all of you that I came home just as non-pregnant as I left.
When Alex and I lived in Halifax, nine months after Hurricane Juan there were lots of babies. Funny enough, nine months after 'White' Juan (the most insane snowstorm I've ever seen!), again there were lots of babies. Both storms were about six months apart. People are definitely turned on by a good storm. Toronto hasn't seen anything that crazy weather wise, trust me.

With all the moms-to-be, I'm pleased that there are going to be lots of playmates for 'Peanut'. This means that school will be a buzz with parents not unlike myself and that the neighbourhood will continue to be safe and fun for everyone.
The best part about this is that nothing says 'gentrification' like a swarm of little kids around.
I love my 'hood but it has some creepy aspects to it. The soccer clubs open at all hours and the numerous old stores and pawn shops selling God-knows-what can soon be replaced by toy stores, candy stores and a Starbucks.
This is all hoping that the good people of Coxwell and Danforth can handle raising their children in their tiny homes. My parents did it and so will I.

The Good Side of Hormones

It has been about 21 weeks now and I figured that there was no time like the present to reflect on what I have learned about myself as Preggo-saurs Fox. (That is my official title. I'm doing away with the Emma and just calling myself Preggo-saurs Fox). <-- Just kidding. Please continue to call me Emma, Em, Foxy, Fox, Emshkies, Emmy or, what Alex calls me, "HeyEm?" (Yes, its one word). 

Over the past twenty weeks or so, I have learned a great deal about my body and myself. Most of these snippets of wisdom have been shared with you over the past two months in my blog. I'm delighted that so many of you enjoy reading it. I've heard tons of super feedback and so I'll continue to try to make you all smile. 

There is some wisdom that I have to admit that I have kept to myself (like 'Peanut's' sex, the daily bowel movement report and the really uncomfortable moments that my Mom considers apart of my whiny nature. I assure you all that I am whiny; however if you had the feeling of 1000 knives stabbed into your lower back, you'd be whiny too). 

As for the more general wisdom, I'm going to continue to keep it public. I believe that if I can share my experiences with you, regardless of whether or not you are planning to have children, have children or never want children, you can both celebrate and empathize with me about the miracle of childbearing. 

Over the past many weeks, I've griped about the hormonal takeover that has plagued my body and soul. Although I have a beard (which I have recently waxed) and become the poster-child for Proactiv acne products, there are some hormonal side effects that have made me smile. 

#1: I glow. 

My skin doesn't but the hormones are responsible for making me walk around like at grinning idiot even if I'm in a terrible mood. Luckily, this wears off and I can go back to being my usual grumpy self in the comfort of my own home. (Lucky Alex!)

I am generally happier as a whole. I don't know if I can blame the hormones for this but I will give them the benefit of the doubt considering the other crap they dish out. Could I still be excited about being pregnant? You'd think with the back pain that it would have killed any excitement by now; hence my hormone theory. 

#2: I have grown to LOVE (seriously) LOVE animals. 

I want dogs, cats, bunnies, fish, hippos, giraffes, squirrels and anything else animal like around me. Time to go to the zoo! 

Lucky for me, I have a cat. He's a pest at best. As mentioned in previous posts, he is truly a handful and with the baby coming, he is going to quickly learn his place. After last week's kick in the bits, Marley has already learned a good lesson from 'Peanut' and he will continue to be taught (even if it means that he is going to have his tail gripped or whiskers pulled). 

This weekend I moved Marley in with his 'Grandparents' (My Mom and Dad) while I cat-sit for a friend of mine. I'm sure my friend was super excited to have me help her out but I'm sure she didn't know she was that leaving her cat with a couple who is 1. Crazy in love with animals from hormones and 2. So excited to love something that they want to play and cuddle with it all the time. Lucky for all of us (cat included) this arrangement has worked out well. Alex is super in love with the cat too. Maybe my hormones are contagious?!!! Oh no! There is only space for one vagina in this relationship and I call it! He's probably just happy not to have his hand bitten off every time he leans in to pet the cat. (Ya, that's it...).

#3: The food. 

When you're hopped up on hormones that are there to make you gain weight, food tastes amazing. Ontario peaches are in season and I could eat the entire basket. The juice drips down your chin and all over your arm to make a delicious, sticky experience that can only bring tears of joy to your eyes. 

Even simple things like Friday night dinner at my parents' house last week was incredible. We had tacos. Seriously, tacos. The meat and veggies were a symphony of flavours in my mouth. 

I'm sure you are all wondering about my cravings. To that I answer, what cravings? I like everything (except super sweet things and ice cream. I know, weird). 

I'm not craving anything major. I've always liked pickles so no shocker there when I run down to the kitchen before dinner and have a late afternoon pickle on occasion. 

Overall, food is good any time but when you're pregnant, food is fantastic! 

Another good note would be that I haven't yet put on a crazy amount of weight from my love of food. I'm keeping it healthy and not indulging (except for last week's cheese fiasco-NEVER doing that again. I promise). I'm also exercising like my usual maniac self so there is a good chance that my preggo weight will come off after 'Peanut's' grand arrival. 

I'm sure my feelings towards my hormones will change by next week but because they make me feel like I'm on really strong anti-depressants, I'll give them some credit for making my life somewhat pleasant among the discomforts and aggravations of pregnancy. 

Lactose tolerance-intolerance

During pregnancy, many women experience hormonal changes ranging from extreme PMS to uncontrollable acne to even vision changes.
Lucky me. I've experienced all of the above symptoms.
The good news is that even though hormones are responsible for making my body into a three ringed cicrus, it has also changed some otherwise irritating symptoms for the better.

A couple of weeks ago I started craving cheese. I've always loved cheese. Even with my lactose intolerance, I have always loved cheese. Alex and I started buying lots of cheese. We bought the lactose free stuff because we knew it was safe and I didn't have to take lactaid pills with it. After a while, I got tired to eating only Gouda. The other lactose free cheeses aren't particularly good because their primary ingredient is rubber. (Rubber is hard to melt and never tastes particularly good on anything).
We bit the bullet and bought mozzarella cheese. I love mozzarella cheese. It's salty, mild and melts into a gooey mess that is best enjoyed when you have to scrape it off your chin.
After a few pizzas and a mitt-full of lactaid pills, I realized that my tummy was not reacting well to the cheese. I was bloated and constipated.
This was so disappointing.
I figured that I was so lactose intolerant that I couldn't even enjoy cheese with lactaid pills. Because I wanted to eat the rest of the cheese, I upped the anti. More pills!
After the soft-ball sized cheese was finished, I thought I was going to die.
I'm a veteran to stomach pain, trust me, but this was more aggravating than anything. My stomach wasn't hurting nor was I any more gassy than a teenage boy, but I seriously thought I was never going to poop again.

If you were wondering, yes, I drank my weight in water, ate fiber and fruit and veg and I exercise like a mad-woman. I did everything right and still couldn't figure out what was plaguing me.
I finally gave up. I tossed my lactaid pills aside and started eating cheese. I felt so liberated even though I was sure that this was a bad idea. At any minute, I could have that tell-tale cramp and have to run up the stairs to the bathroom.
Nothing happened.
I waited for a few hours and went to bed.
I had a series of "cheese dreams" (when I was little and ate cheese too late at night, I used to have scary or wierd dreams). This was nothing out of the ordinary.
When I woke up. I had to go to the bathroom. This was routine, however I always dreaded the experience because of my previous constipated outcome.
"PRESTO!"
Everything was back to normal.
This was so bizarre. I suffered for weeks before this and all of a sudden I felt great.
I called Alex.
He is never as excited about poo as I am but he was relieved that I was no longer uncomfortable and that we didn't have to buy lactaid pills anymore!

This story could end here but of course, the maniac inside me decided to test my newfound lactose tolerance-intolerance.
On Wednesday, I went with my friend Steph to visit her aunt up in Aurora. We thought a day by the pool would do us each some good. We were right about the pool part but wrong about our snack choices. We bought veggies and dip and a cheese tray.
It is never a good idea to put a pregnant woman next to her craving. I attacked that cheese tray as if the cheese was melting before my eyes. Yum!
At the end of the day, we packed up our leftovers and hopped in the car for the ride home. My tummy was a little sore but nothing awful. I knew I had eaten too much cheese but figured that it would digest and that would be that. I was wrong. I had a whole night of "cheese dreams" and a full day after of no 'results'. I also felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach. 'Peanut' was dancing on my guts all day yesterday and that didn't help my queasy cause.
I am feeling much better today and after a week of eating crap, I'm pledging to eat better. Nothing like a hangover to make you swear off driking for the rest of your life.

Like normal people who know this, I have yet to learn that I too have limits (and not a cast iron stomach). I have sincerely learned my lesson and I don't plan on going 'cheese-happy' for a while.
The good news is that I can eat cheese. I have to limit the certain kinds and obviously the amount. For example, Havarti (which is high in cream and milk fat) is probably not as good a choice as old Cheddar.

As for 'Peanut', its doing fine, cheese and all. It's been moving all around and often poking me in places in my body I didn't know existed. I guess with an all access pass to my insides, it can do what it pleases. At least 'Peanut' isn't stupid enough to eat copious amounts of cheese and expect the world to be sweetness and light. There is still time to teach you the idiotic ways of your mother, 'Peanut'. Consider yourself warned.

Housing a soccer player in my womb

For many proud parents, the day when their child dresses up in their soccer uniform and runs screaming onto the field is a day of much celebration (and hilarity). I love watching kids play soccer. One kid kicks the ball while everyone goes chasing after it. The poor bored kid playing in net has become so despondent that she has sat down in the grass and started picking a dandelion bouquet for her parents for after the game. The ball gets kicked again and this time it goes right into the net. The goaltender is nowhere to be seen because she ran off the field, with dandelions in hand, to find her Mom to take her to the bathroom.
Little kids have many ways of making us smile.

From before birth, our babies make us smile. Every time we go have an ultrasound, we get beautiful images that often make moms-to-be so happy they weep. I haven't yet cried in any of my ultrasounds but the image of the little monster inside me never ceases to make me grin.

Up until about two weeks ago, I couldn't feel 'Peanut' much. I thought I felt it but it turned out to be gas. Last week, the feeling of movement in my guts got stronger (whereas my gas levels stayed the same). I finally had confirmation that my baby was moving!
I immediately made Alex feel my tummy and he agreed that 'Peanut' was doing backflips in there.
Now every time 'Peanut' kicks, there is much excitement. I know this excitement will eventually wear off and the novelty of having something kick me in the guts will become not only tiresome but nauseating. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy it. I can't say the same for my kitty cat.

Yesterday morning, Marley decided that he wanted to eat my chin. I suspect that he saw that I was growing a beard and thought it needed grooming. (What it needs is waxing).
He lay down over my chest and sat his legs and bum over my tummy. Marley and I have a mutual agreement that this is the most comfortable position for both of us because his pointy paws aren't digging into any part of my chest or stomach and he can sit comfortably without me shooing him off.
Marley then went to town on my fuzzy chin. After about fifteen licks, I felt 'Peanut' start to move. All of a sudden, Marley jumps up on all fours and bolts off my tummy. He was officially spooked. I suspect that 'Peanut' started kicking and hit Marley in what's left of his man-cat-bits. I was right. I got up to find the cat and he was sitting in my desk chair giving himself a hearty lick.
I could not contain myself. I laughed for about twenty minutes and when I told my sister-in-law, we both laughed for another half hour.
Marley's kitty cat pride has been taken down because not only was he kicked in the bits but he was kicked in the bits by something that he can't see to retaliate the guesture. Hypothetically, he could maul my stomach but he would get another swift kick in the bits by my ever growing feet.

Poor cat. He has already learned the hard way that he is no longer the king of his domain. For us, we get to enjoy every minute of this journey (even if it diminishes our cat's dignity).

Never tell a pregnant woman that she looks huge!

My first piece of advice would be to not dish it out unless you can take it. As for the expectant mother, she can really dish it out so be extra careful with what you say to her.

Hormones are responsible for about ninety percent of my craziness when I'm not pregnant. The other ten percent crazy is genetics (Thanks Parents!). During pregnancy, I have found that my moods have been relatively pleasant and that I've toned down my craziness but upped my sensitivity factor. For example, instead of screaming like a banshee at Alex for not running the dishwasher (a bizarre behaviour that would otherwise be seen during any other time of my life), I would simply run the dishwasher and move on. An example of the sensitivity factor can be seen when I plop myself down in front of the 'Women's Network' for a Sunday afternoon RomCom and cry the entire way through. Let me tell you, there is something about Kate Hudson that makes my eyes water every time! I understand that this is strange, hence why I'm writing about it.

The sensitivity factor of my hormonal roller coaster is responsible for the ways in which I can handle what people say to me and when. Generally, I'm pretty cool. I wouldn't consider myself a particularly sensitive person. I can laugh at myself and I have enough self-esteem to handle a good teasing at times. Alex is thankful because he accuses himself of often having a "prickly" demeanour. He does, and that's why he gets TOLD when the dishwasher isn't run or the kitty litter isn't fresh. We have an understanding about each other's personalities (after ten years we'd only hope we understand each other), and we never take it too far.
Even pregnant, I still laugh at being the butt of many jokes. These jokes are usually directed at my personality and mannerisms. These jokes are never about my body because even not pregnant, joking about someone's body is tasteless. Yup, this topic is automatically too far.

(Author's note: You can laugh at the upcoming paragraphs about my body. I wrote them as entertainment. I'd rather be laughed with than laughed at. So enjoy!).

Recently, I have been feeling like my body has been slowly morphing into hippo-like proportions even though if you ask anyone (other than my mother), I look great. Having a little monster live inside you shifts your hold world, literally. I nearly fell on my face yesterday while picking up a shopping bag. My balance is completely off and it makes even the simplest tasks like getting out of the car or bending over to tie the trash seem like a dangerous move, unless you want to face-plant into the ground. (Yum! Dirt!)

As a developing hippo, I feel like gracefulness is no longer a characteristic of my body that I need to worry about. Although, this sets me up for the comments from on-comers about how I'm waddling down the street; or holding my back (because it hurts); or, (my fav) that I'm huge.
HUGE! HUGE!
I don't yet weigh 150 lbs, and my baby tummy doesn't quite stick out. I look round and by breasts are bigger but there is nothing about me that screams huge. If you want huge, wait a few months. I'm only half way there and I can not only see my toes but I can touch them too.
I get it. Maybe I'm over reacting because of the hormones. The last time I checked, no one wanted to be called 'huge' even if they are huge.

Recently my Mom told me a story about how my sister dealt with a situation where she was being spoken to in an unfavourable manner and she calmly responded with, "If what you are really saying is...".
I think my sister is brilliant and she handled that situation beautifully.
To take a page from the book of Wendy, I will respond to the unpleasant comments about my body by simply saying, "If what you are really saying [when you tell me that I look huge] is that I look healthy and beautiful? Then yes, I am."
My sister's way of dealing with situations like this are very cool and calm. Just a warning to everyone out there who dares comment on the epic proportions of any pregnant woman, we are not cool and calm. We are freaking out because we are always hot and dreading the day when we have to push our little monsters out of a very tight space.
If a pregnant woman responds to a comment about her ever-expanding-size with a comment from the book of Wendy, consider yourself lucky. But don't say I didn't warn you when you get the harshest verbal bitchslap of your life after telling a pregnant woman she has her own gravitational pull.

Roasting 'Peanut'

As many of you know, Toronto has been undergoing its hottest weather on recorded history. Yesterday we hit 37 degrees and with the humidity it felt like 48 degrees.
Children, people with compromised immune systems and the elderly were advised to seek shelter and take extra precautions against the heat. Being pregnant, I'm included in the formal warning against the heat.
I must have consumed 20 liters of water and sweat out 24.

As a summer baby myself, I love the heat. I never let it slow me down. This year is a little different. 'Peanut' does not like the heat.

Two days ago, my 27th birthday, I went with my friend Steph to my 20 week ultrasound. It was an hour of someone pushing on my lower abdomen with a wand going ooh and ahh over the little person in there. Luckily Steph was there. Otherwise I would have had to pee the entire time and not been able to see anything. We looked at all of 'Peanut's' organs and all its fingers and toes. Everything is there and everything works. *Cue sigh of relief here*.
We also found out 'Peanut's' sex. I mentioned at the beginning of my blogging that I wasn't doing to disclose that information on the blog. If anyone wants to know, message or email me. This way I can keep it a surprise for everyone who either doesn't care or wants to be surprised in December.

Anyway, the heat.

So, after the ultrasound, Toronto was literally melting. The tar on the roads was bubbling and the people walking the streets were soaked in sweat. I was starting to feel a little awful. No worries, nothing two liters of water could't cure. I was right.
That night, neither Alex, nor 'Peanut' nor I slept. Our air conditioning works but our room was still 28 degrees.
Yesterday was worse.
So after a restless night, I got up to train. Luckily, there was a breeze but it was 6:30am and the temperature was already reading 34 with the humidity. My client was a rockstar. If she's reading this, she should know that she's a real trooper and I'm so proud of her. :)
I came home, tried to nap and left to train again. After I finished my second session of the day, I was feeling a little bizarre. I had plans to meet Steph again and we were going to go to the beach.
While I was waiting for Steph at the subway station, I consumed an entire liter of water and sweat it out. I don't think I've ever been so hot in my life. 'Peanut' started to kick. I wasn't feeling good. Steph showed up and I drove like a mad-woman to the lake. The five minute ride felt like an eternity. I parked the car and waddled as fast as I could into lake Ontario. The minute the cold water hit my feet, I felt immediately better. It was strange how quickly the water affected my enitre body. 'Peanut' must have liked that too. No longer was 'Peanut' being roasted but slightly chilled in the previously toxic lake. Hopefully, the Internet and population of lake swimmers are right and the lake is safe to swim in or else 'Peanut' is going to grow a third arm.
I felt so good. Getting out was not as nice but the water had refreshed me in a way that nothing else could have. (Someone probably dumped auto coolant into the lake and we are all still enjoying that cooling feeling).

Last night, still feeling great from my swim, I went to team teach Body Attack. It was great. I felt so good. I did end up crashing after dinner last night because I was so tired but I generally felt good.

So, why is it that the water has such an effect on me (or anyone else for that matter)?
Well, science says that if we cool our cores, we will feel cooler. All our major organs are cooking in there in extreme heat and once you cool them down, you are doing your body good. Cooling 'Peanut' is my biggest concern. Preggo's are not supposed to get too hot because they can cause brain damage to their fetuses. If that is the case, then how do women in the Middle East, Africa and India manage to have healthy babies? I guess they go swimming and drink water?

After a fantasicly hot week, Alex and I have decided to go to the cottage (to be close to our own lake). This should keep all three of us cool and happy.

Also, as a follow up to the swimsuit post, I found my diving rash guard and a running skirt. The rash guard works perfectly because I bought a boy's size so it's long and it also covers my shoulders to prevent burning. The running skirt is comfortable and dries quickly.
My mother said that I would always find a way to swim. She was right. No expensive maternity suit necessary. I would have run into the lake naked if I had to. Lucky for everyone, I didn't have to.

To My Baby Daddy...

As many of you know, Alex and I share many things. House, Cat, Cars, and the best two days of the entire year, the 19th and 20th of July.
We are exactly one day apart in age. This makes for a week full of festivities! We started the week last Friday with an intimate party for friends and family. It was a hoot! I made Tapas and Paella. To top the night off just right, my parents brought both Blueberry and Cherry pies. Yum!
It was a super celebration.

Today is Alex's 27th birthday (insert old man jokes here).
Aside from being my spouse and soon to be father of Peanut, he is really so much more.
Alex is my best friend. He never fails to make me smile and he knows exactly what to do when I'm at my grouchiest.
Over the weekend, he took me on a romantic date to the South Street Burger Company for a sunset dinner at a sticky table next to the overstuffed trash cans. (He really knows how to treat a Lady).
While we were sitting at our not only sticky but wobbly table, the music coming from the plaza speakers began blaring a steel pan version of the 'Little Mermaid's" 'Under the Sea'. This made us laugh. The music is funny, yes, but what made me laugh were the memories I have of Alex singing 'Under the Sea' to me while I was resisting my PADI certification.

In 2006 Alex suggested that I get certified to dive so that I could accompany him and his Dad to Belize for a Dive Trip in the winter of 2007. Although a water lover by nature, I put up a huge resistance. I didn't want to dive. It was expensive and I hated the idea of relying on my (potentially) faulty equipment to keep me alive at 60ft. There were many tears shed over the idea of dive lessons but I eventually signed up to do it.  I really wanted to go to Belize and if my PADI certification was going to take me there, then so be it. Just before my first class, I was nervous. What if I hated it? What if I freaked out and drowned in the pool? That would be the last way I would want to go considering that I'm a pretty good swimmer. I loathed the idea of being uncomfortable near the water and my attitude clearly reflected it.
Just as I was leaving the house for class, Alex started singing 'Under the Sea'. I started laughing. First of all, for those of you lucky enough to hear Alex sing, its pretty amusing. Secondly, he NEVER sings unless its a big deal. I was flattered and realized that he was just trying to make me smile and calm me down. I immediately felt better. I sang 'Under the Sea' in my head for the rest of the night and occasionally giggled at the notion that this silly song was actually making me happy to learn to dive.
The dive course turned out to be great. I met some really neat people and it turned out that my swimming skills were an asset. I used less oxygen and I swam faster than everyone else. I was also very calm and comfortable in the water. Alex knew all of this and instead of expressing it in an ego-coddling way, he chose to sing; an act of true love and the only way he knew I was going to listen. (I'm such trouble!). As for the equipment, I inherited my sister-in-law's equipment and it's great stuff. I've had some replaced due to the fact that my luggage got lost on the way home from the Bahamas a few years ago, and the new stuff is even better. I've learned to trust my dive gear but more importantly, through Alex, I've learned to trust myself. He knows me better than I know myself.
(Note: Now when we dive, I ALWAYS sing 'Under the Sea' in my head as we descent. It calms me down and it is really the most appropriate song to sing when you are literally under the sea).

For Alex's 27th birthday, I wish him all the best and more. I hope that I have made his life as wonderful and fulfilling as he has made mine. I am truly blessed to be married to such a wonderful person and I am so excited to wake up next to him everyday (even if he has Dragon-Monkey-Stink-Breath). The next chapter of our lives is going to be a wild ride but I can't think of anyone I would rather share it with than him (singing and all).