Maternity Shopping...Not So Fun!

I'm a woman who could really do without shopping. I usually know what I want or need, I go in, get it, and leave. My first maternity shopping expedition was not like that at all. I knew I needed dress for Easter. I would find one and be done. Sounded simple enough, but that is not how it turned out at all!

I scoured the maternity clothes websites first. I found some very cute and very overpriced dresses. I'm not cheap but I wasn't about to pay more than $100 for a dress that I probably would only wear once during the pregnancy -- especially if we don't make it back to church (pray for us that we do). I thought Target.com and I would be friends, but the website revealed that what was in style for pregnant ladies is...BOWS!  Bows in the front. Bows in the back -- always hated tie-back fashions. Bows every-fricken-where! Who comes up with this stuff?

To avoid going to the mall and since I can still pretty much wear my other shirts and pants, I attempted to put on one of my dresses suitable for Easter church service. I have some really cute ones from Ann Taylor that I've only worn once or twice, so I figured why not. I'll tell you why. My ballooning belly cannot be accommodated by my slim-waisted Ann Taylor creations -- not even the ones with an empire waist! Devastated, I got Kyle up at the a$$-crack of dawn on Saturday and we head to Potomac Mills to visit the Motherhood Maternity Outlet, but not before a necessary stop at Denny's for an order of Moons Over My Hammy!

Turns out it wasn't so bad. Unlike the Motherhood Maternity stores I've been into at the mall, the outlet was nicely organized. The ladies were friendly -- maybe too friendly. In fact, our saleslady didn't leave Kyle's side at the dressing room. Yes, she was providing the answers to his string of questions on the difference between nursing bras and sleeping bras, the best cream to prevent stretch marks and every other question not answered during his reading of "What to Expect When You're Expecting." Glad he was getting the info, but I definitely could have done without a stranger in my audience. Ugh!

I tried on some dresses. They all had tie-backs. Doable but I really can't stand tie-backs!  Bless his heart as Kyle rationalized for me why the tie-backs have to be there. I can still hear him: "They can't just make this huge garment and not have a way for it to be slimming for you ladies. The designers just want to accentuate your cuteness."  Oh shut up, mister!

I tried on a couple of skirt and shirt combinations. Loved the skirts. The shirts, however are too damn long! Again in steps the new spokesperson for pregnant lady fashion. Kyle reminds me that "the extra length is necessary to accommodate the fact that a woman's belly is lifted from its normal position, and the shirt has to be long enough to cover it." Bless his heart, but I still needed him to shut up!

I managed to find something suitable for church and a couple of other options for when I get dressed up. All suffered from tie-back or too-long shirt nonsense, but I surrender. There's no fighting it anymore. The shopping expedition deemed a relative success, we headed back home to start cleaning out and organizing the guest room to make room for the baby. First task?  Kyle's closet.  That's a story in itself...and it's one that's only just begun.

I give it (up) for thee!

Pregnancy is one of those experiences where every day is different and you are constantly learning...about stuff you can't do.

When you first find out you're going to have a baby you begin purging your life of things that defined your bliss in your twenties.  No cigarettes.  No soda.  No caffeine.  No alcohol.  I don't smoke, so no challenges there. Soda was a little trickier and so was coffee -- I'd just started drinking more of both when I started my school program.  And, since I found out I was pregnant in the middle of football season, I was regulated to spend my Sundays in various sports bars watching my Cowboys without the benefit of a cold beer to relax me as they put up quite the inconsistent season. While giving up alcohol might have seemed difficult at first, it's only supposed to get harder and much more ridiculous from here. 

Here's a sampling of the rules I've heard so far:
You can (and should) exercise. But, you can't do exercises on your back (could decrease blood supply to the placenta). Keep your heart rate below 140 beats per minute. Whatever I need to break a sweat and 140 beats per minute doesn't do anything for me!  Perhaps most importantly though, you can't work out as hard as you used to, nor can you go as long.  Trust me, I've tried pushing it and the little one taking up temporary residence in my body lets me know I'm not in control of this journey.

Say goodbye to sleep (except in the first trimester when you're tired as hell). Between getting up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and readjusting the damn pillow so I can sleep on one of my sides (the left side is recommended, but my shoulder gets stiff) and not my back or stomach, I don't truly feel rested anymore -- and the baby' s not even here yet!

No lifting over 20 pounds. This can come in handy. If you're bull-headed and independent like me, it can really get in the way of your daily routine.  I got things to do and this rule can slow me down.

There are even rules about sex. If you're not high risk (and you know if you are), you can have it.  Just watch what positions you use (can't be on your back for too long).  He can't blow air in your vagina.  And spotting after it is normal.  You in mood, now?  Yep, all over that...whatever!

And of course, the reason for this tirade...good over-the-counter medicine to control cold and flu-like symptoms. I woke up with a scratchy throat and and congested sinuses. My offered solution?  Sudafed!  It doesn't even do anything.  I don't have a fever, so that's all I get.  My nose is running a marathon and I can't seem to get it to stop, my head aches, there's pressure in my sinuses, and all I can take is Sudafed? Not to mention, it doesn't help me sleep. Worst sleep ever!  Please Lord, I need my nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever so I can rest medicine! Is this asking too much?  In my head I'm even contemplating what affect Nyquil could really have on our growing baby?  I probably won't do it though.  Kyle is watching me like a hawk and he'd know.  I should have studied harder in my math and science classes in high school.  Maybe then I would have gotten good enough grades in those classes to position myself to find a miracle cure for everything that seems to plague pregnant ladies so they don't feel crappy all the time! Where is that damn pregnancy glow I keep hearing about?

From what I hear, this is just the beginning of things I  have to give up and get used to -- especially if I intend to breastfeed later.  That's not even it, don't even me started on the things you get on this journey.  You know what I'm talking about.  Morning sickness (which I didn't get), bigger boobs (yep, up one cup size), stretch marks (hoping to ward off with cocoa butter and Jergen's lotion), constipation (which I could have done without) and more. All in the name of the growing life inside me, and the joy he or she will undoubtedly add to our already blessed lives.


This too shall pass...right?

My first belly intrusion

I heard it.  I'm sure you've heard it.  I just never thought it would happen to me.  Alas, the myth is true.  People -- relative strangers, in fact -- really do feel compelled to touch a pregnant lady's belly.

By now most of you have heard about the dead squirrel in our vents. On the day the maintenance folks came to  remove it, I'd be home alone. Because he's a good fiancé, unbeknownst to me, Kyle made arrangements for an older couple down the hall to come down while the maintenance and pest control people were here to be with me for moral support.  Wonderful gesture, but also very annoying.  I'm 36 years old, and I've lived on my own for the last 13 years!  I've had maintenance people in my place of residence before.  I know what to do if I'm uncomfortable, and I know how to act when they stop acting right.  I really didn't want to have to entertain people while the maintenance and pest control folks did their thing, so when Margaret came by, I thanked her and let her know things were under control.

The guys found and removed the dead animal in under 20 minutes, and then went out their truck to get supplies to clean the area and patch up the holes.  When they returned, they brought a visitor.  It was Margaret's husband, Ennio.  He's such a nice little old man, with the cutest Polish accent.  He inquired about the work, said the apartment smelled a lot better and asked how I was doing, as he frequently does since finding out about the baby.

Then. It. Happened.

Before I knew it, he had reached over, patted my belly, and asked about the baby!

In my head I was screaming, "Step away from the belly old man!"  And just like that it was over.

I got through this first violation. I can accept now that there will be others.  The only question is how I will handle the others.  As my friends though, you've been warned.  Enter my belly region without my permission at your own risk.  Pass it on!



At 18.5 weeks (4.5 months). I could have sworn folks said I wouldn't show until my sixth month. Damn...this apparently going to be a long road -- there and back!

What do you mean you ate it?

Warning: Never come between a pregnant lady and her food!

That warning holds especially true if the woman in question turned psycho when she was hungry, hot, or tired BEFORE she got pregnant.

Kyle and I cooked a couple of meals at home, and ate out a few times, so we had quite a few leftovers. On Wednesday we discussed who was going to take which leftovers for lunch the next day. We settled on Kyle taking the cheeseburger and I got the pizza. Imagine my irritation when I came home, looked in the fridge only to find my pizza gone!

Are you serious? I don't think I ask a lot -- yet. I just wanted pizza! Completely irritated, I climbed into bed for a nap without eating. Childish I know, but I was annoyed. I wanted that damn pizza! After an hour my stomach was growling so loud that if I waited much longer, it would begin eating itself, so I ate the damn cheeseburger!

When Kyle got home, I asked him why he didn't eat the cheeseburger? (Take note that I didn't accuse him of stealing my pizza, although that is exactly what he did.) Basically he forgot that we had discussed it. What? How am I supposed to raise a child with someone who can't remember something as simple as "Don't eat the pizza?" He claims that he remembers "important stuff." Funny, I thought food was important...for the baby? That's the rationale he uses when I "forget" to take my prenatal vitamins: "Honey, those are important...for the baby."  Men and their disease, CRS -- Can't (or won't) Remember $hi+! They better recognize. Trust me, all the books say that if a woman was crazy before she got pregnant (which I was), chances are that psycho behavior will be amplified while pregnant (like mine is). Watch out!

The worst part of all is he didn't even eat it!  He went out to lunch instead. Conjures up the image of my favorite t-shirt -- one of many I no longer fit -- "Boys are dumb, throw rocks at them!"

In any case, he did redeem himself. He came home with a photo, addressed to me, and autographed by none other than former Dallas Cowboy, Herschel Walker. Sweet gift! I thanked him profusely, but couldn't ignore the continuous loop in my head, "Don't think this is gonna make me forget you ate my pizza, Buddy! I got my eye on you."

This is your first -- and only -- warning. I WILL stab you with a fork if you come between me and my meal!

Who designed maternity military uniforms because that's who I need to slap!

About a month ago, I found myself struggling with the button on the pants of my Airman Battle Uniform (ABU). My friend Beth told me to loop a rubber band through the hole of my pants and hook it onto my button. It worked but it made it all the more real that this baby is really coming AND it was time to get maternity uniforms. No sense waiting until I'm even more uncomfortable!

I polled my military girlfriends to get a better understanding for what sizes I should be looking to get. The consensus was I should get at least two sizes bigger in both the pants and the blouse. So, off to the military clothing sales store I went.

My first visit to Andrew AFB's military clothing sales store was a horrific experience. They had three sizes: 8, 10 and 22. Ridiculous. Air Force talking points on the ABU leads you to believe that the women's sizes are supposed to match a woman's actual pant size -- that's a lie. I tried on the 10. It fit but wouldn't give me room to grow, if you know what I mean. I tried on the size 22 and said out loud to the reflection in my dressing room, "These better not fit, or this Angry Black Woman will go postal!" Thankfully they did not. The blouse sizes were not an issue. I found one that fit and was long enough (another recommendation by Beth). Since they didn't have the right size in pants, I went online and ordered a full set to get me started.

Two weeks after that incident Kyle and I headed back to the Andrews store. This time they had a bunch of sizes. I tried on the size I ordered and all was well. Just to be safe, I tried on a couple bigger ones and to see which fit better. Since there's no real way to know how big you'll get and what will be the right size at the end, I balled up my winter coat and put it in where the belly would grow to give me a better idea. Yep, I made the right call. They didn't have all the blue uniform parts there, so we headed to Bolling AFB. Blue pants? Check. Blue shirt? Why the heck is the back pleat stitched up? But, left with no choice, check on that too.

Although I will have to wear it, I didn't have to try on the dreadful maternity service dress jumper, also known as the blueberry muumumu. Thankfully Beth sent me one. Fat, less than stylish and rolling across the stage at my graduation in July... can't wait! What more could a woman ask for? Pockets! That's right, there are no pockets on any of the maternity uniforms! I declare that whoever came up with this nonsense should be slapped! Do they think we don't need pockets? Do they really think we don't carry anything around. I don't know about any other pregnant ladies, but I carry a lot of $hi+! In addition to my mini-wallet and keys, I at least have Chapstick, a snack, a bottle of water, Tums, and lotion (never know when your belly will start itching) -- you name it, I've got it and no where to put it all. Oh yes, I suppose I could pile all that crap into a purse. But I'm sure if you ask any pregnant woman, not one would agree that drawing more attention to their growing hips and butt by placing a huge purse on one of them is not high on their priority list right now!

Now tell me, where should my slap be delivered? I guarantee all pregnant ladies in uniform will thank me!



Check out my limited uniform options. Aren't they just too sexy for words?!


No, this is not me! I haven't gone so crazy that I'd cut my hair off!


All hail the blueberry muumuu...why can't we get rid of this?

Old People Say the Strangest Things!

As predicted, ever since I started telling people that I'm pregnant, I've been getting advice -- solicited and unsolicited -- from everywhere, but especially from those more seasoned in age. And you know how I love old people.

I went to visit the home of a woman for whom I have an enormous amount of respect. She shared with me the ins and outs of her pregnancy and offered a few pieces of advice -- some that made perfect sense, and others...well, you'll see:

- Establish the baby's routine early: "Everyone and their mother will want come and see you and your new bundle of joy, but don't allow it until you feel you're ready."

- Avoid creating a force field in and around your house: "The baby has to get used sleeping through noises. It's not going to always be complete silence in any house, so run the vacuum, turn on the TV, do the dishes, and listen to the radio just like you did before."

- Keep lotion handy: "No one wants stretch marks, so make sure you always have lotion available. I used a mixture of Jergens and cocoa butter rubbed it on my belly at least twice a day, or whenever it was itchy."

And the pièce de résistance:
- Get your body ready to breastfeed: "Take a washcloth and scrub your breast with it. Don't be gentle, make it rough. After you're done with that, take a toothbrush and brush around your nipple."

I just didn't get that last one, but I just couldn't bring myself to ask!

Father forgive me!

I will not be a victim of "Society Says"

The last couple of days have caused me to ponder how I'm supposed to be feeling about being pregnant. I AM excited! I FEEL blessed! Most importantly though, I AM scared to death! So as I tell people about the pregnancy, I find myself doing so the same way I'd tell them it was snowing outside. The conversation goes something like this:

Person: Hey Monica! How's it going? Long time no hear, what's new with you?

Me: Good to see you too. Not a whole lot going on except that I'm (blank) weeks pregnant. How have you been?

Person: What?!?

It's actually pretty funny to see their reactions, so I just can't help myself. I've never been a gusher, so it seems odd to me that people would expect me to behave otherwise! But if it will make folks feel better, I will scream on demand and shed a tear as they recall the stories of their own experiences. Sound good? Well you wait for it because it's likely to happen as soon as pigs stage a coup, and fly out your butt!

I can only be who I am. Being any other way is stressful and that's not supposed to be good for the baby. Ha! How's that society?!

Talk Soon.

Still ticking away...

Went in for 16 week OB appointment.

So far the most stressful part of these appointments for me is the part where they take my vital signs. At least today my favorite little nurse was there. And when I say little, I mean little. She probably comes up to the midway point between my waist and my boobs. See, little! Anyway instead of taking the time to take blood pressure manually, they use this machine, which almost always registers my blood pressure in the pre-hypertension range. I reminded her of this and sure enough, she didn't listen, but proceeded to lecture me when it came out high. Whatever lady! If there weren't other people in there, I probably would have smacked another couple of inches off her, starting with her "Mom Hair Helmet!" But, I was brought up to not act like a complete fool in public so out to the waiting room I went, where Kyle was enthralled by the breastfeeding segment on the Newborn Channel. All breasts, nipples and areolas -- basically a little soft core porn to start the day. I know, I know, it's not porn but the miracle of life, but I barely look at my own, so I don't want to someone else's with my donut and chocolate milk!

Our regular nurse practitioner is awesome. I wasn't even mad that after she measured my uterus, she commented on my developing pooch. I told her it was just my old beer belly getting filled up! She has decided that I am completely crazy(and I am) but she did say I can come and see her every two weeks instead of every four weeks if that would be make me feel better. She has no idea what she has gotten herself into. Because of the level of crazy I've exhibited, she highly recommended against our plan to get a fetal heart monitor for the house. I agree. I mean, what if I couldn't find it because the little kolohe (rascal in Hawaiian) was hiding? That would be my kid, hiding because they have done something they have no business doing and don't want to get caught.

It took a while for her to find the heartbeat, but find it she did, and I was relieved! The big, strong man in my life? Well, obviously a lot more sensitive than me, had eyes filled with tears. Thankfully he didn't cry though, because I know I would have laughed out loud! Yes, we are in the midst of a complete role reversal. I bet he's waiting for the hormones kick in where I become more emotional. I keep reminding him that every woman is different and instead of making me more emotional, I'm likely to become more paranoid and crazier than ever. I wonder which one he'd REALLY prefer.

In any case, Baby Matoush's heartbeat was loud and clear, so we'll take that to mean that all is well. Next step? I get to go to Maternal Medicine to have my "at 36 you are really too old to be having a baby" ultrasound as a high risk patient. Hopefully we'll be able to figure out the little stinker's sex so I can get cracking on my nesting preparations!

Happy Day!