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!

He's Coming!

Most people already know this, but Kyle and I found out we're having a boy! We were excited...and relieved!  I've been very anxious the last few weeks thinking we might have a girl. Not that we wouldn't have been just as excited, but mentally I don't think we are/were prepared for raising a girl. I'm not prissy. What if we had a prissy girl? Everyone kept saying that she would grow up to be however we modeled her. I say, nope. My mom was kind of prissy back in the day and my sister and I are damn near frat boys! My prayer was answered. Our baby boy is healthy so far and we'd like to keep in that way!

The ultrasound was a lot of fun. Our doctor was awesome. He regaled us with stories of 11-pound babies (please pray that doesn't happen to me) and deliveries from the old days of anesthesia and forceps while we watched our little boy move around on the screen. He's a feisty one...or maybe it was the Diet Coke I had that morning to make sure he wasn't sleeping and we could check out his package and know what we're getting into.  It was really cool. While the doc took various pictures of our growing boy, I tried to figure out what was on the screen. At one point I asked if one huge circle was his head. The doc said, "No, that's his butt." That's when he pointed out the "pee pee" (as he called it). Can't believe I thought my son's package was a really big ear! Good thing we have a professional -- he gets paid to make me look crazy, but I really didn't need any help!

Because my fiancé has proved to be a sensitive one, at one point I felt like I had to check on him as he watched the ultrasound over my shoulder.
Me:  You alright back there?
Kyle: Yep.
Me:  You sure? We got any tears?
Kyle: Nope, I'm keeping it in.

I only tease him because I love how he's so involved in it all and I'm privileged to be with a man that isn't ashamed to show his emotions.

Now that we know it's a boy, we've narrowed down the names but have decided that we'll keep the one we choose to ourselves -- not necessarily my choice, but Kyle doesn't ask for a lot, and since he's asked for this, I will oblige. See, I CAN compromise!

I know, this isn't like my usual posts, but it was one I wanted to share.
Happy Easter!

Isn't he precious?

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!

The journey begins...up a hill in the freezing cold in the middle of the night.

o, a little over 12 weeks ago I found out that Kyle and I were going bring a new life into this world. I'm just as excited as I am nervous. Now, at a little more than 15 weeks pregnant, I finally realized that there is so much crap that no one ever tells you, nor can you read it in a book. That's why I'm here -- to share my journey, but more importantly to tell you the truth about my pregnancy, which so far doesn't have a whole lot to do with "pregnancy lady glow" and wonderfulness.

Last night my girlfriends and I went a full-moon hike at the National Arboretum. It was advertised as a "four-mile long, mildly strenuous hike" that would be a "magical trip through moonlit gardens, meadows and woods." What they don't say is you'll be moving at the speed of light and won't get to see anything in the fricken dark! Oh yeah, and you're not allowed to talk so that the others on the hike "can just enjoy nature" -- at the speed of light and in the dark! Since it's the middle of winter, we headed out well-layered (after a detour to Jill's condo to get more clothes) and ready to enjoy the night...that is after I'd gone to the bathroom for the third time in 45 minutes!

As we started, there are a couple of items that need to be addressed: It was really too cold for this undertaking and there was not a clearly agreed upon pace between the Shrek-sized tour guide and the regular-sized, diminutive in some cases, women on the hike. The guide was well over six feet, and what looked like a stroll for him was a course in speed walking for the rest of us. And, my newly pregnant and out of breath body rejected it immediately! He had us take the first hill like we were on the Bataan Death March. I don't know about anyone else, but I moved as fast as I could and still fell to the back of the group with the one-armed guy (the other was in a sling) responsible for the flashlight and monitoring the back of the group. He insisted we only had one or two more hills in the hike. At the time I thought, "that's one or two more hills that I might need someone to carry me." I don't say anything, but if one could get a glimpse of my face, they'd see I was definitely rolling my eyes. Whose ideas was this again, and what in heaven would possess me to agree?

What does this have to do with being pregnant? Well, as it turns out, pregnancy takes all the fitness progress a woman has made and throws it out the window! I was huffing and puffing like we were running a marathon. And for the record, I'm not out of shape, but I sure as hell felt like it, especially carrying me, the baby, a backpack filled with pregnant lady essentials (snacks and water), wearing two shirts, two pairs of long thermal underwear, sweatpants, gloves, a hat, and a jacket. If I had nuts, I'm sure I would have sweated them off...running up the mountain on a mixture of road, snow, and mud. Maybe the baby has them...and now I've encouraged stinky male behavior.

At least after my hot shower, my wonderful fiance let me sleep alone in the bed with all the pillows now required for me to sleep in the "right" position to protect the baby...a story for later, and just one of many things people don't bother to tell you before you get pregnant.

Cheers!