Oh Shut Up Already!

Throughout my entire pregnancy I've heard a couple statements that all women -- not just pregnant ones -- relish hearing:  "You're so small!" and "You're not big at all!" Most times though, instead of elation I feel ashamed as I walk myself through a serious of questions that make me question my own sanity on regular basis:  Am I eating enough to feed the little boy growing inside me? Am I gaining enough weight? Have I been working out too much? What am I doing wrong?  I mean, I think I'm huge...why don't people see what I see?  Like other women, I've endured a warped sense of self and the occasional unhealthy body image. So I don't need anyone fretting over me about how big (or little) they think I ought to be at this point in my pregnancy. It's taken me the last 34 weeks to get used to everything that's happening with my body so I can at least attempt to keep up the pregnancy glow and exuberance. Kyle tells me I'm beautiful and look great all time, and I had finally gotten to a point where I actually believed it.

All of that came crashing down at the CVS on 4th and H St in Northwest DC.  Since being pregnant I've noticed that not only are people more apt to violate your personal space (UBR count to date = 10), but they also feel compelled to say all kinds of random things that you wouldn't normally hear from strangers on the street. In aisle 6 as I searched feverishly for some pregnant-lady friendly cold medicine, I was approached by the older lady responsible for bursting my bubble. "Gosh, you're SO big!" And as if saying it once wasn't enough, she stood there and repeated it like four times! Are you serious? I wanted to smack her, but rather than make a scene in the CVS, I just kept smiling through clenched teeth thinking that if I maintained my composure, she would go away. Nope!  Instead she started asking questions and making conversation.

Lady: What are you having?
Me: A boy.
Lady: No wonder you're so big.
Me: Huh?
Lady: I knew it was a boy.
Me: Really?
Lady: Yeah, you're carrying all tight and neat. You'll be back to normal in no time.
Me: Good to hear!
Lady: But you are big!
Me (in my head): Oh for heaven's sake!

She finally just walked away. I said she was older (which can be a breeding ground for crazy), but Kyle and I have deduced that she was probably drunk or high. In either case, she put me in a mood that led me to eat only watermelon and a half a bratwurst as we watched the fireworks. I'm sure that wasn't enough, but hopefully I filled the void the four bottles of water I consumed. I'm good, right?

The lesson here is pregnant chicks are sensitive, so just shut your mouth! Say we're too small and we're paranoid. Say we're too big and we're hurt. You can't win, so it's safe to say you can stop trying and we won't be mad at you for your silence. But if you're looking for something to guarantee niceness, my weaknesses these days are fresh watermelon and air conditioning. Either of those will keep you from dying -- literally and figuratively -- and may even bring the absent smile back to my face that's usually reserved for when I'm making fun of other people.

In temps teetering between 90 and 100 degrees with outrageous humidity, it's going to be a long six weeks!

Midnight screams and potty runs...

                                                       ...and the baby isn't even here yet!

More stuff no one tells you about! Oh, I was warned about pains from contractions, labor pain, back pain, and leg pain! No one says jack about the other pains you'll endure, often suddenly and without warning. It's the pain associated with the uterus getting wider so the baby can pass through. This phenomena? Round ligament pain.  Oh my goodness, it is excruciating!

I wake up in the middle of the night and usually at least one of my inner thighs is aching beyond belief. Sometimes it's a quick, sharp pain that goes away on its own, but other times it's a dull ache that can be eased by applying pressure to the area. The easiest thing I've found that doesn't involve taking medication is to roll over on the side where the pain is located, which sometimes violates the "rule" that says pregnant women have to sleep on my left side.

Most times they creep up when I've gotten up too quickly during one of my middle of the night potty runs. Depending on how alert I am, I've been known to scream out, waking Kyle (which at that moment is not my priority). On other occasions, I just breathe heavily using techniques that hopefully will serve me well when the time comes. They generally go away after a few minutes and with any luck I get back to sleep for more than an hour before I have to pee again.

Speaking of pee, this week's activities took me to a completely new place regarding bathroom usage. After spending too much time in the sun -- pouring beer no less -- I Googled my blurry vision, abdominal cramp on my right side under my rib, and excessive swelling, and found that those were symptoms of  pre-eclampsia -- a serious condition that can only resolved by delivering the baby.  It really didn't occur to me (or Kyle for that matter) that I could just be dehydrated. After a brief discussion with Kyle, I called the hospital. They told me to monitor my symptoms through the night and then come in the next morning.

The following morning I went to the hospital. I gave a urine sample and they took blood. Of course I made it there on the training day, so I was subjected to three stabs to get blood and a bunch of goo on my belly with paddles that don't require the goo. My temperature was a little low and my blood pressure a little high (a pre-eclampsia risk factor). The baby's heartbeat and movements were normal. I was cramping, but not having contractions. The non-in training nurse took an ultrasound. Baby Matoush is still a boy and is already head down -- Yay, he passed his first test!

Unsure what would happen next the training nurse told me to strip from the waist down. About 20 minutes later (thank goodness for my Kindle) she came back and apologized. I'm still not sure what happened but she had take more blood (two sticks when there should have only been one -- got to remember to ALWAYS bring my stress ball) and another urine test.

Another 15 minutes and the doctor came in. He went over the risks factors for pre-eclampsia and assured me that my symptoms were more consistent with dehydration, but he was still glad that I came in. He also told me that I was naked from the waist down for no reason, he didn't feel I needed a cervical exam unless I really wanted one (Uh, no). He then ordered perhaps the most annoying test yet in order to establish a baseline in the event I returned with the same symptoms. A 24-hour urine sample.  The kit had two jugs, a bucket and bedpan type thing.  What in the world?

The bedpan type thing fits over the toilet and has a spout so you can pour it in the jug (we should use these in the military, it would make the urinalysis tests much easier than holding the cup in your stream and praying for precision so none gets on your fingers)  The bucket can be filled with ice and one of the jugs is stored in the bucket until its returned to the hospital, or you can just place the jug in the refrigerator. Most ridiculous thing ever -- jug of pee hidden behind the liter of Diet Pepsi and wrapped in a plastic bag.  I committed to this nonsense which wasn't at all pleasant given how often I have to go to the bathroom now. Thankfully I didn't spill any even when I was barely awake.

My favorite part was wandering through the ;parking lot and then hospital with the big jug when I returned the "specimen" to the lab. You know the feeling...everyone knows what it is, no one wants to makes eye contact while you have it, and the technicians pick it up with gloves. Nice!  If that isn't a way to make you feel good about yourself, I don't know what is.

Ahhh...the joys of impending motherhood!

8+ months (33 weeks) and counting

Mama Wants Her Body Back...Seriously!

For the last seven months I've watched as my body has been taken over by the life I'm carrying inside me. Don't get me wrong, I know both what a privilege and a blessing it is to be pregnant, but that doesn't mean I don't find myself screaming at the top of my lungs (in my head of course), "This has to stop!"

To some the transition seems gradual. And I guess on the outside it does seem that way. As my belly gets bigger, my previously slamming booty shrinks -- apparently due to gravity (my belly is pulling my butt forward, making it appear to flatten). My boobs have already ballooned to what I think is an uncomfortable size, but apparently that transition has only just begun.  My body temperature is jacked, so I'm hot all the time. My back hurts.  My legs cramp often.  And there is all sorts of activity going on in my belly at all times of the day (and night jarring me awake) as our little boy gets comfortable or plays in the space that's been his home for all this time.  All of this in the name of bringing a life into this crazy world.

Thankfully, I haven't gotten any stretch marks. Well, I haven't gotten any more. Growing up, soccer and track required me to have a lot more muscle and power in my legs that could be accommodated by my then 100 pound frame.  People keep saying that I don't look very big, well part of that is as the baby grows, he's really just filling in the beer belly I managed to get since moving out to DC and taking up residence in the sports pub every Sunday during football season. Based on that alone, I'd say he's got quite a bit of space to move around in!

Did I mention how difficult it is to do lady maintenance during this period of growth? I can barely see my toes, but I know they need work. My hair grows incessantly. I've gone from shaving every week or so, to shaving every couple of days or so.  And my bikini line?  Well I can't see that at all without a mirror. Kyle mentioned that things were getting a little out of control "down there." I wanted to scream, "Do you really think I care!?!" If it wasn't for the fact that it was hot as hell, I probably wouldn't have done anything.  But, I decided to address it and scheduled a waxing appointment. Big mistake! Waxing never bothered me before, but with this damn sensitive pregnancy skin, it was the most excruciating experience ever. If it wasn't for the fact that my waxing technician was this crazy dude with the same accent as Martin Short's character, Franck, on Father of the Bride, I can assure you I would have bolted out of there only half done. Instead I laughed through the pain...I wonder if I'll be able to channel this memory during labor?

There are a couple of good things too though - duh. My nails are growing better than they have in years. Unfortunately though, as I mentioned earlier my toenails are growing too fast for me to get them done. I suppose I could try and do them, but since I can barely reach my feet to put on my shoes, I don't know makes anyone think I'm going to try and soak, file and paint them myself.  So, we've got a bunch of foot fangs going on. I even scratched myself on the leg in my sleep. Ridiculous!  Along with my leg and underarm hair growing too fast to shave, the hair on my head is growing too. This also comes with consequences.  My premature gray hair is taking over and its all coming in gray. And with everything else I have going on, I don't have time for color touch ups. Apparently, I'm also glowing, but I think that's just from the fact that it's hot as Hades in DC (and even more humid) coupled with the fact that I'm sweating more than I even thought possible, and in places that shouldn't even rub together.  Bring on the chafing cream!

The worst though, is all the procedures. I started our recent long weekend by getting blood drawn six times in one day! Never mind I was only supposed to get it done four times for the test my doctor ordered -- really can't stand stupid lab technicians -- but I now have to bruises to prove their incompetence. And, forget about the nasty drink I had to consume in five minutes, which thankfully didn't make me sick, but I do believe I was most irritated by having to sit still for four hours.  And apparently more of this awaits me too!  But at least I don't have gestational diabetes.

I may complain, but every day I remind myself that Kyle and I are truly blessed, and in a couple of short months we will have a beautiful baby boy who won't even understand, let alone care, until he's much older what this experience has meant to us, and all my discomforts will have been long forgotten. In the meantime, I miss my body and want it back as soon as he's done "cooking."

Keep praying, we're at seven months and counting!

                                           

Rattles, and bottles, and mobiles -- Oh My!

I knew babies needed stuff.  Women need stuff.  But it seems like babies need more stuff than three women combined!

My first foray in the online land of baby stuff ended with me shutting down the computer in a fit of frustration. I kind of thought I knew what I needed, I just wasn't prepared for all the varieties! This isn't Bath & Body Works, but there were just as many flavors and scents!  I mean, I went to the link for bottles and there were 188 items! Seriously!?! Overwhelmed was an understatement.

It was time to call on my friends. Once again, Beth came to my rescue. She sent me a list that her friend sent her when she was welcoming her first baby. It gave me a starting point for the basics: bottles, pacifiers, crib sheets, etc. After an extensive review, I knocked out those things.

Next, my friend Amber passed on the book, "Baby Bargains." I'm sure most of you non-first time moms have heard of it, but for everyone else, it is a wealth of information on brands, safety ratings and most importantly the ability to compare the grades of each.  Okay, that helped me knock out my big ticket items like high chair, swing, pack 'n play, and car seats.

Finally, I called in my local consultant. I printed out my registries and over Olive Garden's salad and breadsticks, Ty and I went through them line by line, crossing out what I had but didn't need and adding things I forgot. Most important, she made sure there weren't duplicate items on the different registries. After that ordeal, we headed to Burlington Coat Factory's Baby Depot to add all the stuff I forgot. 

This trip was way better than my first solo trip to Babies 'R Us when I started hyperventilating and broke out in hives and had to leave.

Even after all this, I'm sure there's more stuff I missed, or stuff the baby won't even like, but I've got to get it done and don't have time to read all the damn books associated with baby registries! So, if you have some advice, feel free to pass it on, but don't get mad if I don't listen. We're running out of time, and one hour diatribes on the importance of using Dreft to wash all the baby's clothes don't fit into my schedule. But don't think I don't appreciate you thinking of us.

Waterworks isn't just a space on Monopoly...

I knew the moment would come. I just hoped and prayed that it wouldn't -- that I would be spared. But, it did. And I wasn't.

I cried. In a movie. And it wasn't even a sad one!

What in the world? I'm not a crier!  But I did, and I'm noticing that my eyes well up more often in the last couple of weeks than they have since I left all the pre-teen drama behind in intermediate school. I mean, one of my favorite movies is "Steel Magnolia's." I've seen it hundreds of times (I quote it frequently), but when Shelby dies and her mom freaks out in the cemetery, I don't cry. I didn't cry when Kyle and I saw "Marley and Me," "Taking Chance," or "The Secret Life of Bees, even though I looked over and the man I love was all teary eyed.  Hell, I didn't even cry when Kyle proposed.

But in is this romantic comedy at noon on a Saturday, I cry? What is happening to me? I'll tell you...it's the damn hormones! I'm sick of the hormones! This baby better appreciate everything happening to his mother.

Everything I've read said that crying is normal...in the first trimester. If you've seen me lately, it's clear that I'm definitely no longer in the first trimester. The basketball hidden under my shirt is in no way deceiving.

Anyway, this is how it all went down.

I went to the movie, "The Backup Plan" with a good friend of mine. We're both 36, but she's not in a relationship, so obviously this movie -- about a woman who's not in a relationship, wants a baby, and decides to be artificially inseminated -- has special appeal. Towards the end of the movie, the main character freaks out thinking that her leading man isn't going to be there for her and her unborn "backup plan." Her friend intervenes and reminds her that she's got to take a chance on love. In a split second, I thought of the chance I took by giving my number to a complete stranger, especially on a day that started with me hating the entire male species.  It only took a few seconds and I was crying -- not the ugly face, can't breathe because of the boogers in your nose crying, but crying nonetheless. My girlfriend, who is quite emotional, chose that moment to look over at me.

"Are you crying?" she said.

"Shut up," I said.

Of course now she's all excited and wants to check out more sad movies so she's not the only blubbering idiot in our party. Whatever!

Hopefully this too shall pass...I got a rep to protect!

The Land of UBRs

A UBR is an Unauthorized Belly Rub.

I just can't (and don't intend to) understand the fascination with pregnant ladies' bellies. Never in my entire life have I felt compelled to reach out and touch someone else's belly -- especially not some stranger! Lately though, I have become acutely aware of this crazy phenomenon.

To date I've been the recipient of three UBRs. The one that started it all I already talked about in an earlier blog. When the second one happened, not only was I speechless, but I felt powerless to stop it. I had gone out for happy hour with a couple of my friends, and we ended up meeting up with a couple of guys who knew one of the ladies. The two gentlemen were nice enough. One -- The Offender -- actually knew quite a few of the same people as I did, so we had a great conversation. After I finished eating, I called it a night early. Before I left, I hugged my friends and shook the hands of the two gentlemen.  As I was shaking The Offender's hand, he reached in, touched my belly -- which you could barely see in my too big for me dress -- and told me to take care. Seriously? A UBR... in a bar? I only met him that night! Neither of us has had that much to drink in less than 90 minutes that would make conditions for a UBR appropriate.  Once again though, it happened so fast, that just as I became enraged that it was happening at all, it was over.  Traumatized, I took my belly shopping. We got some cute things from Baby Gap.

The next one was even weirder. I went to get my eyebrows waxed. I hopped up on the table and assumed the position. As I lay waiting for the technician to begin, she started asking me questions. Boy or girl? When?  Then. It. Happened. She didn't just touch it, she RUBBED it as if she was making a wish!  And all the while, I was trapped on the table and couldn't -- more correctly wouldn't -- leave because my eyebrows were a bushy mess!  But no tip for her!

What blows my mind is there are people who have actually confessed their obsession with wanting to touch my belly, but have refrained at this point. Let me repeat:  They are obsessed.  Stop the madness!  What for?!?  I just don't get it. And when I asked what was the big deal, the response blew my mind. One explanation in particular began with a scene from a science fiction movie where the kids are touching those balls with the electrical current flowing through it. You remember them, right?  The ones where the current move to match wherever you put your hands. What came next was even more mind blowing...something about feeling disconnected from the "supreme power," and because there is a life growing inside me, touching my stomach would make them feel more connected to this so-called "supreme power." Can we say cuckoo for cocoa puffs! Now, what do you say to that?  I know one thing, based on that confession and obsession, I'm even more against you touching my belly! I don't know what kind of vibes would be passed on.  Hell, even Kyle's asks before he touches it.

As I said before, it will happen again.  I've accepted that.  But, I can't even fathom what my response will be like when I'm pushed to my breaking point and go off. 

Pray for me...and them!



A sampling of shirts I found at www.cafepress.com to address the issue. Which one should I get?

1.

2.

 3.

 4.

Holy Crap!

I'm warning you...this one might fall in the category of too much information, but some folks need to know!

Since I got pregnant, I've experienced a  multitude of body changes. Belly, boobs, and butt -- there isn't one part of my body that isn't undergoing some massive reconstruction.  My sense of smell is out of control. Things I could barely smell before on my own plate I can now smell from across the room.  Fortunately, I didn't get morning sickness, but far worse in my opinion is what I did get, unbelievably constipated.

What really sucks is I wasn't all that regular before, take pregnancy and the hormones that come with it, production slows down in your digestive system, and you've got a recipe for complete disaster! Experts say "drink more water" and "eat more fiber."  Even after a good faith effort to heed these precautions, it still hasn't worked for me.

I've never been a fan of going number 2 in public, so I've been fortunate that my pregnancy poops have hit me at home. It's still kind of an ordeal though. I grab my book, turn on the radio, and settle in for what sometimes can turn into a 30 to 40 minute ordeal -- sometimes more -- and often the fruits of my labor are nothing more than just "rabbit pellets" (as described by my friend Nicki). All that hard work for virtually nothing!

This time I wasn't so lucky. I had an early class and after class I went the to library to study.  I sat down, and wouldn't you know it, within 10 minutes I began to feel the signals that my body gives me when it's ready to go:  lower back aches and aches in my legs.  Damn it!  I didn't want to go in there, but I couldn't hold it (years ago I held it for a four-week stretch and the outcome was not good). Off to the toilet I went without my usual comforts. Although I was in the library, I couldn't very well take a book into the toilet, especially considering there's a sign on the door that said, "For hygiene reasons library materials are not allowed in the restroom."

I pinched the first one off without too much trouble, checked it out and did a courtesy flush. Not bad...met the requirements as outlined by About.com, http://altmedicine.about.com/od/gettingdiagnosed/a/stools.htm.  It was the color of plain cardboard, left the body easily without strain or discomfort, was four to eight inches long and the consistency of toothpaste.  But the next couple?  Whew!  I wasn't prepared at all.  I worked hard for them.  Once I finished and I wiped, I checked out the fruits of my labor. OMG! They were huge, looking like two boulders stacked on top of one another!  I didn't see a good ending to this story, but there was nothing I could do but wait. The automatic flush activated...and the boulders, stacked on one another along with the toilet paper stayed right where they were, taunting me.

At this point I assessed my options:  1) Leave it and make it someone else's problem or 2) Stick my hand in the toilet to move things around. One more attractive than the other, but I didn't think I could do either in good conscience, so I said a prayer instead. (Oh shut up, people have prayed for worse!)  Thankfully God heard me and on the next flush everything down. That truly could have been a hot mess! Could you imagine if someone came in while I was huffing, puffing and bracing myself against the stall?

The lesson here is try harder to eat more fiber and drink more water so I can control the bowel movements and not let them control me! Believe me, it's a lot harder (figuratively and literally) than it sounds.

Better luck for me next time!