Tuesday, March 29, 2011


Cycling while pregnant…verdict: acceptable, but don’t fool yourself into thinking that you’re at all capable of the things you once were.  Like jumping street curbs.  Pregnancy (and early motherhood) do funny things to your head.  Staying fit and active is good for you and baby.  Flying over the handle bars and into the concrete sidewalk negates all that good intention.

A bit banged up – a few tender places on the right side of my body, but yes, Peanut and I are doing fine.  However, the soreness sure doesn’t improve the lack of a good night’s sleep, in addition to the late-night trips to the restroom and the lumbering adjustments in sleep positions.

Friday, March 25, 2011


That's right.  I'm hot.  Very hot.  And no, I'm not referencing my new hot bod.

I'm referring to my internal temperature.  I look like I just stepped out of the sauna – hair frizzed out, sweat bubbles on my nose.  If this is a preview of what hot flashes during menopause might be like, God help us all.  Frankly, it’s only March (border-line April), and my chances of surviving May and June are null -- I might erupt.

A friend prompted me with an email this morning inquiring about my clothing size.  In the midst of a hot flash, you wanna talk about my size?  And my clothes?  Fasten your seatbelt, Missy!  What were once my baggy, droopy-ass jeans…they barely made it around my healthy new ghetto booty this morning.  Good bye XS and hello XL – I’ll be seeing you soon!

I got to thinking I'm really getting frustrated with the lack of reasonably priced, stylish maternity clothes.  Seriously!  I've pretty much given up on finding regular clothes to fit my hot bod.  But that leaves me with a terrible fate -- shopping only in the [cue dramatic music] maternity sections.  Bleh!  Sorry, but those stores make fun of us…with their floral prints, empire waists, shirts that tie into a bow in the back, pastels, bedazzled goofy sayings across the tummy (i.e. "Rub My Belly for Good Luck", “Knocked Up” – no shit, Sherlock!), tents, tie-dye, head-to-toe corduroy, denim, velour, etc. 

Suddenly, I feel bad for my rant.  Well sorta.  The world is full of tragedy — always, actually, though seemingly moreso right now — but it doesn’t mean that if you personally didn’t lose your home, family, and pet chinchilla in a tsunami that your struggles don’t matter or somehow aren’t hard.  I mean, sure, if someone is sitting there moaning about their hangnail, I get how that might be kind of trying.  All in all, there is no honor and glory in that which sucks.  Period.

All I am really doing is saying, “Hey, I’m finding my particular battle hard today.”  So if you’re my friend, I would hope that would be okay with you.  If not, just ignore me – wash your cat or take a call or whatever.  I get it.  Whatever you do, don’t remind me that other people have real problems, way worse than mine.  It’s code for “you are not entitled to your feelings, and P.S. I’m a better person than you.”  It doesn’t help.  It’s more honest to just kick someone when they’re down, frankly.  Then you could throw your arms in the air and scream “VICTORY!” and feel as superior as you want, right out in the open!

Thursday, March 24, 2011


I’ve had pain lately in my tailbone area and I haven’t been snow skiing, roller blading, much less running, in months. Early this week I could barely stand up from my generic black office chair on wheels without feeling this crushing pain in the tailbone region. A colleague has offered to bring me a back support pillow. Butt toning exercises, such as Kegels, help slightly. My cool yoga friend said he would send me some helpful stretches, but if you have any other suggestions, do share. If it gets any more geriatric over here we’ll have to pull out the bingo cards and hop on the casino bus to Tunica.

Speaking of youth (or lack thereof)…that fleeting feeling of being immortal, invincible, even irresistible. Short of things that are against the law, or just really bad for us, how do we recapture that feeling? Cosmetic procedures, that’s how! In my inbox today, there was advertising for all the youthening I can afford. One really captured my attention…laser hair removal. How nice that would be. Considering I can’t bend over (very well) or without squashing wee one.

The offer of the day is “Buy One Area Get 2nd Area For 1/2 Price”. Of course, the 1/2 price is for the “equal or lesser value” area. How exactly is this determined, this valuation of my hairy areas? Is it the quality of the hair? The quantity? And how does one get a handle on that before committing to the procedure? Is there an appraisal process? Does someone drive by the house and snap shots of me in unfortunate postures? Is there a hidden camera in the office bathrooms?

So much to ponder. It makes my brain feel tired, and old. There’s that word again. Damn you, “old.”

Wednesday, March 23, 2011


On the subject of food.  I don’t want to feel as fatigued and gross as the first pregnancy.  But come on, they’re baked goods. They are like my siren song of junkiness.  Put a chocolate chip cookie in front of me and I’ll sing like an angel! Seriously – my friends don’t call me “cookie monster” for nothing.  Everyone is leaving me cookies, muffins, candy, cupcakes…"for the baby."
Plenty of us can stuff ourselves to the gills with “good” stuff and then still manage to find a leeeeeetle bit of room for the “bad” stuff, even if it means a stomachache later.  (And by “plenty of us” I mean “me.”)  How do you nicely turn down the junk food gifts from coworkers?  I feel powerless.  POWERLESS.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


Monday, March 21, 2011


The one thing every mama dreams of as soon as she sees the telltale + sign on the pregnancy test, "what will we name him or her?"  For me, of course, it was two weeks after the shock wore off.  It's usually a deeply personal process, one that takes much research, discussion and compromise to come to the PERFECT name.  Except for Pete and me –- we decided within an hour’s time. 

I recently read an article on BabyCenter.com titled,
Someone Stole My Baby Name that made me start to think about what I would do if someone did indeed steal my baby name -- which no one would – in fact, the few people we’ve told (no names mentioned) sorta turned up their noses.  On the other hand, my cool friends (and you know who you are) love it.  

The article discusses the different ways baby names are "stolen" -- either purposefully or inadvertently -- and how to deal with the situation.  The bottom line is if someone steals your baby name, there is really diddly you can do about it.
I do know a few sly mamas who knew their prego friends had sticky fingers when it came to names, so they lied about what the baby's name would be. That's pretty hilarious, IMO.  I may do the same for this baby from this point forward - although I will tell you that his first name will start with "R”.  For a girl, we anticipated River Marie or Rory Marie – Marie belonging to that of Pete’s grandma.

I do think there are some occasions when grand theft of the naming kind is acceptable - like if you are a third-party association to a name (i.e. a friend of a friend of a friend). Celebrity baby names are also up for grabs - although it might be kind of obvious if you choose one of the off-the-wall ones like Apple or Scout.  Some mamas-to-be throw out multiple name options before they decide on "the one."  I say any of the names she didn't use are also up for grabs.  All is fair in love and baby naming!  Hehe!
And the moment you've all been waiting for.  Me.  Huge.  Ta-da!

Tuesday, March 15, 2011


It’s a BOY!!!  And though he behaved shyly during his anatomy exam, the results reflected he is normal and healthy.  We are thrilled, to say the least!  Here's Bebe Roach's first photo opp...

Nevertheless, there are two sides to this sentiment -- I'm happy that he is progressing, but the pressure/concerns have raised significantly.  How much is childcare?  Where are we putting the crib?  We haven’t registered at the hospital!  What is a layette and do I need one?  The nursery – oh no, the nursery is still a study.  My stomach itches. My stomach itches. My stomach itches.

On a different note, I gained 16 pounds my first trimester.  To put that into perspective, “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” the so-called “pregnancy bible” read by 90% of pregnant women in America, suggests gaining between two and four pounds in the first trimester.  Oops.  I will see your two pounds and raise you 14.

I thought I was having a “skinny” morning (relatively speaking).  At today’s checkup, however, I weighed in at a whopping 126 lbs.  I’ve gained a total of 23 lbs in 20 weeks.  Oy vey!  The doctor claims this is textbook weight gain.  Really?  To what was originally a 103 lb 5’3” frame?  I doubt that.

I know having “big balls” is prized, at least metaphorically, but guys, imagine if your balls were twice their normal size…swollen, sensitive, hanging heavy.  As awesome as they might sound, big, giant balls would get in your way.  I just bought a bra in 36D, and I still must refrain from a robust inhale for risk of exploding out of my new D cups.  These new boobs are tender and unwieldy.  It’s hard to sleep without rolling over and pinching one of them, much less, have Pete elbow one of them in his sleep.  Sometimes I wake purely from the growing pains I feel in one or the other.  My point is this: you want to have balls, you want to have brass balls even, or balls of steel, you may even want to go balls to the wall, but big balls? I would think twice.

Let me just say – I can’t wait to be in real clothes again!!  I am so over the tent-wear.  Pretty sad that with 20 weeks to go, I’m already planning my way back into fashion.  While I’m completely aware that patience is a virtue, in this instance, I’m more like a hare than a tortoise.  40 weeks is not quick.  Rather, it’s like quicksand, and sloooows down the closer I get to my due date.  Amidst it all, I just want to meet my little man! 

For now, I guess I’ll keep rocking the oversized sunglasses and leggings – oh, and huge round belly.

Friday, March 11, 2011


Seriously - the peeing is out of control. Every 30 minutes, off I go to the bathroom. I remember peeing frequently the first time and second time around, but not THIS much!  I just read that it may have something to do with where the placenta attached -- the baby could be sitting on my bladder more so than last time.  Ay-yi-yi!!  A message to my future child: keep it moving you little booger... the uterus is still pretty roomy so there must be another place to settle in.  Muchas gracias!
I’m sure this site is uber old, but funny nonetheless, http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/category/photos/pregnancy/
What were these women thinking?! And how in the world did they talk their husbands into this trip to crazy town? Let's blame it on the hormones...

If you are a fellow prego, I warn you - view at your own risk.  Hysterical laughing may ensue causing sudden, uncontrollable peeing.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011


I can remember bringing Keegan home from the hospital 11 years ago. I sat in the back seat, staring at him so intently, with such focus and emotion, that I’m surprised his tiny hatted head didn’t explode.

I did the same with Bailey, of course. (Suddenly, I feel a reminiscent prickle of sweat thinking about it.) We were trying to feed her. We tried to burp her, tried the breast, tried the bottle, tried rocking and swaying and shhhhing and swaddling and I don't remember what all, in this screechy crescendo of dismay, hers and ours. She was crying, I was crying. This went on for approximately 3 months, unless she was found lying in the football hold latched onto my left breast (her preferred pacifier).

Mercifully, I’ve forgotten the majority of those challenging days, and once again looking forward to our new arrival in July. July? Yes, July 28th to be exact. ("Da'am Gina" 's birthday). Pete is focusing on the exciting fact that we will soon be parents (again, that is, not that we aren’t still parents to Fric and Frac), but I can’t help but focus lately on the fact that our life is about to change in such a huge way. I know it will be okay. It will be hard…but good. Different… but good. Awesome even.

It will be everything we think it will be in terms of sleep and sacrifice and uncertainty and life-shattering change, but it will be worth it for reasons that are hard to articulate and describe, and once we’re in the thick of it, (I try to remind myself) that we won’t really care. You don't really NEED anyone to articulate and describe WHY it’s worth it, because…it just IS. Having children is purely fulfilling on so many levels, regardless of the hardships that are packaged right along with them.

Imagine an amusement park. A roller coaster…the newest, biggest ride...everyone’s talking about it. Your terror spikes just as the cars start to move and again right as you climb that first hill, and then everything pauses at the peak and BAM! you’re off. It’s faster, bumpier, and crazier than you ever expected. It slows down to a stop and you sit there, kinda blinking and kinda wobbly. “That was awesome” you say, because it totally was. “Let’s do it again!”

That’s motherhood.

P.S. We find out what we're having next Monday! Well, yes, it's a baby. I am referring to the gender. So stay tuned! :)

Wednesday, March 2, 2011


There was a time in my children’s younger lives when potty humor reigned. At 9 and 11, however, it hasn’t seized.

I found myself wrinkling my nose in disgust as my son talked about poop on the way to school the other day, reminding me that in a few short months, our lives will revolve around poop….poopie diapers, floaters in the tub, and plainly the scent of poop and baby powder that will soon be the standard aroma. A few minutes later, he tells me he wants a poop sandwich for lunch (followed by gales of laughter). I know it’s what kids do. But it’s not funny. And just when you think you’ve escaped it after the days of potty training your child, it hunts you down again in the form of pre-teen humor.

Kids will be kids, right? I let it go if it’s harmless enough. But at the dinner table? And in public? That’s cause for a reprimand in my book.

Then, just last night, the kids and I were lounging on the sofa watching American Idol. Keegan played on his iTouch during the commercials. There’s a song, I assume called “I need you.” Anyhow, when the chorus began, he leaned forward and sang, “I need poop!” He sang it with feeling, with heart, in key, and he stretched out the word “poop” as the band stretches out the word “you.” And I lost it.

The word poop fit so nicely into this love duet and sounded so ridiculous and so…spot on. I belly laughed real good. Don’t you love the way belly laughs cleanse your soul, make you feel light and airy and just…happy? I felt grateful to poop right about then, and grateful to Keegan for bringing me that moment of joy.

So, as I wiped my watery eyes, I decided that sometimes…poop is funny.
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