Friday, December 26, 2008
Apparently, one is to catch Bjorn when he comes out, the other to swaddle him. I think I just found the perfect "going-home" outfit - but we'll need a matching bow if Bjorn is a girl!!
Thursday, December 18, 2008
This year I noticed a growing trend in the packages. Nestled among the sweater-shaped and book-shaped packages addressed to Preggo, DTB and Dog (yes, the family dogs buy presents for each other) were some addressed to Bjorn.
Yes, to my unborn baby of 41/2 months (about-ish). Now, tell me, how is he supposed to open these? I don't think Bjorn has thumbs yet - maybe he still has those flipper/fin hands and feet, still. (I guess I should keep track of all this development stuff, but I figure its all gonna happen the way its gonna happen whether I track it or not!) Even Dog opens her presents with her nails, teeth, and a whole lot of spirit. But, Bjorn? Should I put the presents on my tummy and see if he can claw his way through the layers? Should I wait until he's born to open them?
Or I could just open all the presents for Bjorn. After all, the boy/girl thing is going to be a surprise, so we don't need any more!! (BTW - maternal instinct?? I'm guessing a girl. DTB says boy. And the majority of blog readers also said boy. I guess we'll have to wait and see. And while we're waiting, you can put your $20 in on the boy/girl poll. Winners split the pot with DTB and Preggo. . . . . )
Monday, December 15, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
I call it 'Pregnant or Just Plain Fat?'
Being in that purgatory stage myself (I can feel the eyes on me 'Is she? Look how she devours that piece of pizza. She isn't. But, oh, she glows. Maybe she is!'), I find it strangely amusing to see if I can give as good as I can get.
Of course, with the media attention surround the 'Pregnant Man', men are no longer exempt from my prying little eyes. It adds quite another dimension to the game, and one that leads to much inner giggling.
I've always been a people-watcher, but with the invention of 'Pregnant or Just Plain Fat' (P or JPF from now on), I find that I am even more so. I will play for hours and hours - constantly entertained, when before I would need a good book, a soda and an annoying TV game show playing in the background.
You know the best part of P or JPF? No one knows I'm playing. Except me. And, well, now you know. But I don't think you're telling. (In fact, if I know you as well I think I do, you're playing with me!)
The rules are simple and P or JPF requires fewer supplies than even TicTacToe. No paper. No pencil. All that is needed is a pair of eyes (although I have to admit that a comfy chair does make the game even better).
Find a spot that's good for people-watching. As a flight attendant, I use the airport regularly, but I have found that the mall, the grocery store and even church (I told you its an evil little game!!) are great places to play. Just sit back and watch. Decide for yourself if she's P or JPF. I've never played with a friend, but I can see that it could definetely increase the fun factor. Anyone in?
I also play P or JPF when I am watching celebrity interviews on TV or glancing at the pictures in the tabloids. To me, it's open season on celebs ever since Eva Longoria said that her size 2 body was "not pregnant, just fat" after she put on a few pounds. This opened the door and ushered in a flooding of rating celebrity fatness. After all, if Size 2 can be declared "fat", then I have a whole new crowd of people I can start bringing into my game.
I have no qualms about playing Pregnant or Just Plain Fat. I know its disrespectful, devious and a little bit evil.
I'm ok with that.
Turns out that there are four of us (three wives and one who works for his company) that are all Preggo. Three of us are pretty close to each other's due dates. Like by a week or so.
Apparently, that was a slow time at the office!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
You're probably thinking 'Then, go eat!'
Well, I did. Alot. And I'm still hungry.
Before this whole Preggo thing, I would eat about four or five times a day. Alot for most people, but then, you don't understand the life of a flight attendant. I ate whenever there was a lull in the flight times, about every three hours or so. I didn't eat full meals- a salad one time, half a sandwich a few hours later, some cheese and crackers, maybe the other half of the sandwich and then a serving of veggie mac and cheese a little while later. Not exactly pigging out, but enough so I never got really hungry.
Now I eat even more. And I didn't think that was possible.
For those of you that have never been Preggo (and this includes you men), you have no idea what this hunger is like. Its a pit in your stomach, to use the cliched version. Really. It feels like my stomach is completely empty, regardless of the three meals it has already taken in today. And, although this might just be a me-Preggo thing and not an every-Preggo thing, I swear that Bjorn is hungry, too. That I can feel the pit of hunger in two places, the top of my stomach and the bottom - Bjorn. Seriously.
It was so bad a few weeks ago that I made DTB stop at a fast food restaurant (isnt that an oxymoron to call fast food a restaurant? But what else do you call it??) when we were driving an hour across town to a Texas Tech Football Happy Hour. We were halfway between our house and the Happy Hour and I was so hungry, I made him stop. Because if I get really hungry, I get nauseous and no one wants to see that happen.
But I can't eat alot. I sit down to a meal and I'm starving and I can only eat a 1/4 of the plate. I can't eat another bite if you forced me to. An hour later I will be starving again and have to eat. It feels like I eat all the time, shoveling one bite after another with no reprieve, save a few minutes here and there where I'm sleeping or serving you a seltzer water, one ice cube and a slice of lime (if we're on the West Coast :).
I have never eaten so many apples in my life, as these actually satisfy a hunger craving for more than half an hour. I've taken to carrying them with me everywhere, no matter how long I think I will be away from home. Because the minute I need something to eat is the minute I need something to eat!!!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Vote in the poll on the left to vote what you think Bjorn is. When the tally is in, I'll let you in on what the maternal instinct is telling me.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Then he took out a portable ultrasound machine - pretty much fits into a pocket. I swear, this thing was smaller than most cell phones! But it still worked, as we could hear Bjorn just fine. Doc looked at us "Can you hear that? That's your baby. Your baby." and stared at me, waiting to see my reaction. As if now I'm supposed to get all weepy because I can hear him. It's very cool, don't get me wrong. But I didn't feel the need to get all emotional, clutch DTB's hand and weep with joy and gratitude. After all, I'm not a romance novel.
After a few minutes, I guess Doc realized I wasn't going to cry, so he moved on to other things.
"Well, you gained two pounds this month, so that's perfect!"
Wait a minute here. . . you're telling me that with my current diet of BLT's, Pizza, Hamburgers and French Fries (with, granted, lots of apples and strawberries thrown in there), I have only gained two pounds!?! How is that possible?? Shouldn't I have put on so much more - how did I get to be so lucky?!?
I was coasting on the thought of eating nothing but the fried foods I love when DTB broke my dream. "Maybe since you're not working out anymore, you lost 8 pounds of muscle. Then, gained ten pounds of fat. That would make the scale only read 'Two Pounds.'"
Dammit. He's right.
And, since I enjoy my pizza very much (if you can't tell from the amount of times I work that word into one of my posts), I decided a little extra moving around wouldn't hurt. Now that I'm not so tired all the time, I actually have the motivation and time to get up and do something.
I bought a Prenatal Yoga DVD. (First, I researched classes around town, but the nearest place is 45 min away. I want to go to a class to make Preggo-friends, but I don't want to have to drive across town to see them all the time. And the local YMCA, Lifetime Fitness and Coyotes Gym don't offer any kind of prenatal exercise class. Yet. I'm going to see if I can petition them to start one.)
Shortly after lying on my side, twisting my legs and arms in stretching positions, I realized something very important about myself. I don't like yoga. More power to those who do, but I'm the kind of girl who needs to sweat, curse and burn when working out. I don't like water sports, yoga or anything that brings 'inner peace and tranquility'.
Which leaves walking and minor weight lifting as my choice of exercise. I started today with a 45 minute roundtrip outside, and I have to say - it is beautiful right now. Sunny, gorgeous and in the upper 60's-lower 70's. Perfect for a brisk morning walk with my dog, sans the IPod. Just me and my thoughts. And DTB, if he wants to come. He's always welcome.
So, I gave in. I give into my own feelings of strength and exercise. I give in to the clothing designers who want me to pay $75 for a pair of maternity jeans unless I can wear my own for as long as possible (with the Belly Band holding them up). I give in to the endorphins that make me feel energized and positive after a good, long walk. And I give in to the need to get out of the house, do something worthwhile for myself, and then come back home to a big, cheesy pizza.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
I slammed that suggestion down pretty quickly, stating that a first pregnancy is scary and overwhelming enough without having more added stress and yadda yadda yadda. DTB backed off, reminding me that I'm the one doing all the work from this point on, so if I wanted to know, he wanted to know also. It was up to me.
Then I had a night to think about it.
And we had our OBGYN visit today, but it was too early to see Bjorn's business. Too early to know. Which gave us another four weeks to decide.
And - surprise! - I think I want it to be a surprise. Maybe. I haven't decided, so lets work on a pro/con list here.
See, there are very few reasons for finding out the gender of a baby. And if you ask me, none of them are very good reasons.
1) Nursery decor. Pink, blue or whatever for whichever sex you are given. Does that really matter? Does a baby care if its room is decorated in a typical gender role color? Can't boys like red and girls like blue?
2) Baby clothes and accesories. People want to know so they can buy you baby clothes and gifts and such. But, should I find out something as important as gender just so people can buy me and Bjorn presents? That doesn't seem right - it seems selfish! Besides, I like non-gender-specific colors better anyway, as that stroller and car seat is probably going to be used for the next couple of kids, too.
3) Names. We already have a girl name picked out and I think we are pretty close to a boy name. So whats the point? We know what the kids name will be, so whats the point in calling Bjorn its right name now as opposed to later?
4) Because we can. Definetely not a reason for me.
There are just as many reasons for not finding out, and these seem a little more personal, and thus, worth acknowleding.
1) Tradition. When DTB and I were married, we were asked if we wanted to write our own vows. We both agreed that the vows the church used everyday worked for our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents and so on, and we didn't need to mess with something that worked. The Catholic church is steeped in tradition and we wanted to be a part of that. I believe in the same idea for the baby. Our parents didn't know. Neither did their parents or anyone who was pregnant before the '70s. It's a tradition.
2) Special. DTB wants the gender-naming to be special. Instead of an US tech rubbing jelly on my belly, pointing to a computer screen, he wants to be in the delivery room amidst chaos and pandemonium and hear the words "It's a -----". He thinks that's exciting. I agree.
3) Motivation. Some women have mentioned - just in passing - that labor can be hard. Ok, ok. . . I heard it's a bitch. But the not-knowing kept them motivated a little longer, a little extra incentive to see what was going to happen next.
4) Surprises. I'll know for the rest of my life what gender my baby is. These next six months are the only time when DTB and I get to play guessing games and be surprised. Why not just let it be?
5) Mistakes. I have heard horror stories about Preggos who found out the gender, only to be bringing home their baby boy dressed in a frilly pink dress. Knowing me, I would be so worried about the US being in the minute percentage of errors that I wouldn't believe it anyway until Bjorn pokes his cute little head out. (I don't know if you've ever seen an US before, but I can barely see that its a baby in there, much less what the business is!)
I always told everyone that I had to find out the sex; that I can't stand surprises. But thats not true. I love surprises. I was never the child that searched the house to find my presents for Christmas. If I did find a package that looked slightly present-like, I quickly would look away so as to not ruin the fun that comes with wondering. I was always the one who loved the suspense of knowing there was something under that tree for me, and if I just waited a little bit longer, I would find out what it was. I adore being surprised.
What would you do? And if you already have children, what did you do? Would you do it all over again? Why?
**BTW. I took an "Old Wives" gender quiz, using all those old wives tales we've all heard about carrying the baby high or low or what you're craving and so on. 48% boy, 52% girl. Could go pretty much either way. In case you're wondering.**
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
I am not nesting. I am throwing-out. I am clearing-a-way. I am done with stuff I don't need.
I had THREE HUGE boxes of clothes that I hadn't worn in at least two years and I thought 'Get these things OUT of my house! Now!'
So I did. And brought them to a consignment store around the corner from my home.
While at this haven of used clothing, I rummaged around aimlessly and finally asked the Mom and Daughter owners if they sold maternity wear.
"Nope, sure don't. . . . . . . Normally. But we have a box of it back here that was accidentally mixed in. Want to try it?"
A pair of jeans, khakis and - count 'em - five shirts later, I was good. That is, until I walked around and found more maternity shirts hiding right out in the open with the regular shirts! Six shirts later, I went to the counter to decide what to get and what to skip when the Daughter said. . .
"Since this stuff wasn't going to be sold anyway, why don't you get everything in the 'maybe' pile and we'll just give you the rest of the stuff."
You mean you'll give me the two pairs of maternity pants and 5 shirts for free? Sold!!! (Plus, they think I have great taste. They took all my clothes and said they would be sold quickly!)
No, the blog before this was not morning sickness. Thank you thank you thank you thank you. It must have been a bad omelet or a bit o' the flu. Either way, I am back to eating for two thankyouverymuch and loving every minute of it.
But, thanks, loyal readers for all your phone calls, emails and messages relating your worst throw-up stories. For some reason, my throwing up doesn't bother me. Yours does. It's kinda gross. And if I really had had morning sickness, I would've thrown up after your stories. Thanks again!
I am only allowed to show DTB one new baby thing a day. Meaning, if I get a package - thanks C-Momma!!!! - with a few receiving cloths and some cute baby clothes, I have to show him one blanket a day. Keeps the overwhelming fight-or-flight response away, I guess. It does kind of draw out the process a bit. I end up not showing him anything. He'll figure out its there eventually. He doesn't need to know about it all right now.
For those of you who are flight attendants, have seen me in my flight attendanting uniform or have ever seen a waitress of the sky, get ready, because you are about to see one in. . . . a maternity uniform! (Squeals of agony! Shrieks of terror!)
These things are hideous. I have Double-XS pants that fall right off, and both my legs can fit in one of the leg holes. Horrible. And I'm not really that tiny. I'm just short. So I have put off wearing them. Until now.
See, I can't stand having another spoiled princess of a West Coast snob request "help" with her Louis Vuitton bag, only to drop her end of it while we are lifting "together". I refuse to help you. (Would you like to see my doctor's note about 'not lifting more than 25 pounds'?) And I refuse to apologize for not helping you as you give me a dirty look and "accidentally" swing your oversized Gucci tote into me when walking away. I have enough bruises from elbows, armrests and luggage. I don't need anymore from your fake (yeah, I said it. Fake!) designer bags. And if you can't lift it, don't bring it.
I figure that if I am wearing my maternity uniform (at least the voluminous shirt that makes even a non-Preggo look six months), some Good Samaritan in the next row over will offer to help you out instead. And I can stand there, rubbing my belly absentmindedly like you see every pregnant woman doing.
DTB and I have a doctor's appt tomorrow morning. Bright and early at 7:30 in the am!
I'm only 15 weeks along, but I'm hoping that Bjorn is big and strong and can show us with full frontal force if I'm going to start buying pink or blue. Otherwise, we might have to wait a whole nother month. I am so not good at waiting.
But, judging on nothing more than motherly intuition, I think Bjorn is a. . . . . .
What? Did you really think I was going to blab it all on here? :) I know what I know and I'll let you know if I was right. But not now. Later. I wanna see if this whole 'maternal instinct' thing pans out first. . .
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
I am so sorry. I am sorry for thinking that, because I didn't have any morning sickness, that I was somehow better than you. No, not necessarily better. . . just luckier. I'm sorry for thinking that I was luckier than you, and hoping that this luck would carry into me not having stretch marks, gestational diabetes or a baby with an odd number of fingers and toes.
I am sorry for complaining that I gain weigh super-fast and eat everything in sight. I'm sorry for wishing that Bjorn didn't have me eat every two hours and that for once I wouldn't wake up starving. I'm sorry for noticing that you don't even look pregnant at all, because you can't keep any food down, while I have something that could be a bump.
I'm sorry that when you ask me "Have you been sick at all?" (As you all ask. Every last one of you.), I answer "Nope. Not at all." I'm sorry that this annoys you and you must relate to me all the times you were sick with yours, all the while looking at me like I must be from Mars because I didn't go through this particular rite of passage. I'm sorry I didn't have morning sickness in my first trimester and that you did.
I'm sorry that I didn't believe you when you said how bad morning sickness was. I thought you were exaggerating - a drama mama. After the fifth time throwing up this morning (in an airplane lavatory, of all the nasty dirty places!!) I now believe you. If I had to do this everyday for a couple of months, I wouldn't want to be pregnant, either.
I'm sorry I ate an omelet this morning. A large omelet that I paid good money for in the airport. (And we all know airport food isn't cheap!) Because less than an hour later it was no more than mush coming out of my mouth and nose. I'm sorry that I didn't listen to your words of wisdom and always, always, always bring along saltines. Just in case.
Most of all, I'm sorry for hoping that maybe this isn't a delayed case of morning sickness, but is instead a mild case of food poisoning, or possibly a stomach virus. After all, it is just two days before National Eating Day and I sure would hate to miss it. I'm sorry for not wanting to go with you through this natural but hellish ordeal of impending motherhood, but I would much rather think that this will pass in a day or two, and I can go back to eating everything in sight. I'm sorry I ever complained about eating too much, which I won't do anymore if I can just not throw up again.
Once again, Mothers with Morning Sickness, I'm sorry. Completely and totally sorry. Good luck and eat much.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
What to Expect When You're Expecting. Written by Heidi.
Which should be re-titled as '"What horrible things could happen if you don't do everything right when you're expecting" or "What Heidi continually calls a 'miracle of life' while lamenting the gas, stretch marks and diabetes that could follow your little miracle".
Right when we found out, I drove to the over-priced bookstore to find What to Expect When You're Expecting. I flipped through it in the over-priced bookstores coffee shop, only to find that every page was like a record of all the things I must do, all the things that could go wrong and all the ways I had to do them. This was definetely not the book for me.
My philosophy: If crack addicts and 16 year olds can do it, so can I. It can't be that hard.
Not to mean that I'm not going to read up on stuff, and be careful with myself and my child and all that jazz. I will. But I don't think worrying about every piece of chocolate (it has caffeine!) I eat, or everytime I lay my ass on the couch instead of walking around the block (exercise is good for you!) will make things any easier. I can figure this out.
But I do still get the What to Expect daily email. Usually I find its not that bad- how big the baby is and little notes to pass on to the DTB so he knows what's going on. If I don't think its pertinent, I just delete it. No biggie.
That was, until I received the email the beginning of this week titled 'One Bump or Two'.
Heidi talks about how at this point, Preggo's pants are probably getting a little tighter, and you're only at the end of the first trimester! She gives three scenarios for why Preggo might be feeling the pinch: 1) You're having twins!!! (Nope. Not I, said the duck. We checked. Repeatedly.) or 2) The baby is bigger than normal. (Could be. DTB's a pretty big guy. And we already saw that Bjorn was longer than expected.) or 3) You're taking this eating for two thing "just a little too literally" (tsk tsk!!). The quotes in that sentence are hers.
I'm sorry, Heidi, but did you just suggest that my pants will no longer fit because I eat too much?!? Not a good thing to say to Preggo. I find that pregnancy has caused my patience switch to be disconnected; I can no longer turn it on for you. Nothing happens.
There was nothing in this two-paragraph email about the different ways different women grow, or the fact that now you almost could look pregnant and not just like a sorority girl after a binge-drinking night. Almost.
Just the haunting sentence that this eating for two thing may have been taken "just a little too literally". If I had a grandma who tsked-tsked me (instead of a Grandma who is super-cool way beyond her 80-something years), I would think she would be saying this. Not Heidi, a woman who helps many women (but not this one!) get through the craziness that is first pregnancies.
I don't have a weight issue. I don't know how much I have gained and I rarely weighed myself even pre-pregnancy, as I could tell how my body was doing by how I wore my clothes. But I think Heidi just gave me a complex.
One which I will happily get through with another helping of cereal for breakfast. Bjorn is hungry.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
My three nephews are the funniest and sweetest boys ever. I can say that because I spend minimal time with them, and therefore only see them at the best, and even when I do see them at their worst, I think it's cute. Because it's them and they're my nephews.
I always worry that when I see them that the next time, they won't remember me. After all, they are 6, 4 and 2.5 - that's pretty young to start making long-lasting memories. But I know the memories they give me I'll never forget.
While in Houston, I was hanging out with the SIL (Sis in Law) and some of her family and friends, one of which was a cute 2 week old little boy. We were hanging out in an empty house - just bought, so no furniture was moved in yet- playing on the floor with all the boys. When The Nephews started jumping on me like a horsie, my SIL yelled at them 'Boys, off!! She has a baby in her belly!'
Of course, they jumped right off, stared at me, and stared at my belly.
'You have a baby in your belly?' asked the 4 year old.
'That's right. I do.'
The 2 year old put his hand on my boob. 'Baby?'
'No. Not in there. In my belly.'
'In your belly?' asked the 4 year old again.
Since saying belly is easier than explaining to the kid what a uterus is, I replied 'Yes, in my belly.'
He went on playing with his brothers, and I thought the whole thing was over until a few minutes later and I was playing with the 2 week old.
The four year old walked up to me and asked 'Are you eating the baby?'
'No, I'm not eating the baby. What are you talking about?'
'You're eating the baby! It's in your belly!!'
And this is why I love my nephews.
Anywho. . . . lots and lots of stuff happening when I saw friends and fam, but I'll keep it all to the bare minimum of whatcha need to know.
A few weeks ago I posted about a maternity resale shop I went to, where 5 shirts cost only $20. As crazy as it may seem - I beat that!! GMTB (Grandmom-to-be) and I went to a resale shop in the Dallas area called Kid to Kid. I don't know if this store was set in the midst of rich people, or if we just got lucky on the day we were there, but we struck gold! All name brand clothes in conditions that looked like they had never been worn. For less than $5 a shirt!! I even found my shirt that says 'I'm not fat, I'm knocked up' that I've been looking for. After all, I only get to be that tacky during this time in my life! And, as a bonus, we found ones that say 'All this from a kiss' and 'It's a tough job but someone's got to do it'. I almost wish I was bigger so I could wear some of this stuff. (And, yes, we also found shirts that didn't have sayings and were just beautiful shirts that I could wear everyday and for occasions. ) I'm telling you - we stocked up - 12 shirts, plus 5 onesies and outfits we had to buy for Bjorn, for only. . . hold your breath. . . . you ready for this. . . . $75!!! STEAL!!!
There is a drawback to shopping for maternity clothes before you actually need them. See, I'm not really sure how big I'm going to be in certain places. Some women gain in their boobs, some their bellies or hips and some all over. Which will I be? How will I fit into something in two/three/five months?
But GMTB is a very creative bargain shopper and decided that we couldn't let a little thing like size stop us from buying all these great deals. We decided that I would be one of those lucky ones that grow only in the belly (please, please, please make this true!!) and look like they're smuggling a basketball under their shirt. Maybe a volleyball depending on the month. Since we didn't have a basketball or volleyball with us, we looked around the store to find something comparable that I could stuff under the shirt. Below is a picture of innovative GMTB found to use intead. (This is not the actual one, as I tried very hard to not have any evidence available for future use. This is a comparable one. Mine was green. And didn't look so happy about his job.)
Yes, that's right. We found a large octopus toy that fit nicely into the clothes - except for a few loose tentacles that kept popping out of the bottom and gave every shirt a feel of something out of Alien. If I give birth to an 8 legged sea animal, at least I know that the maternity shirts will probably fit.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Your equilibrium is off, you want to eat fatty, greasy foods and you have to pee all the time.
And, just like when you're drunk, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Meaning, its now - or NOW! There's no in between with this business.
A friend of mine (also Preggo, but 12 weeks further along) recently slipped and fell in her bathroom. Something I did quite frequently at 2 am when I was in college. Aside from bruising to both her dignity and her foot, Preggo's friend and Baby are just fine. Maybe God watches over babies, drunks and stumbling pregnant women?
Regardless, if my inebriated college days are any indication, I'm sure there is much slippage in my future. There will probably be plenty of stubbed toes, black eyes and crumbling/dented pieces of wall. (Hee hee. Remember that time I broke my window with my head and accidentally pulled off pieces of the wall? I think I have pictures of that somewhere. Sigh. . . those were the days.) I've already succumbed to eating "drunk food". (AKA food you wouldn't normally touch in the light of day but when, after hours of drinking, you see the neon sign up ahead you start shouting and pointing that you have to have it. i.e. Taco Hell, Whataburger and any other place that is designated as either 'Fast Food' or 'Open 24 Hours'.) Greasy food makes me happy now.
I really have no choice in the going-to-the-bathroom- thing. When your body talks, you listen.
Maybe I have no choice in swaying like a drunken sailor. Not yet, of course. But later, when the baby has sapped not only my strength but my ability to walk in a straight line without tripping.
So, I have decided to embrace the inevitable and give it the old college try. And I practically aced stumbling in college.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Also, Bjorn is now a week larger than they thought it was. I'm at 10 weeks, 6 days and it is measuring 11 weeks, 5 days. Either I'm gonna have a giganto baby or it's coming early!
Even though Bjorn is bigger than average, this is how big he is. About.
That's right - we're having a Gummi Bear!! Although there are multiples in this picture, there is only one bun in the toaster. Trust me. DTB asked the Ultrasound Tech about twenty times just to make sure.
**Note: I use the term 'it' and 'he' when describing Bjorn, but thats just because I can. I don't think of Bjorn as an 'it' but I don't want to confuse anyone, and 'he' is just more generic sounding than 'she'. I don't know why, but it is. And I don't want you to think we know its a he and start buying me blue stuff. We don't know yet. If you're looking for things to buy, just buy Texas Tech, Houston Astros or Pittsburgh Steelers stuff. The kid will definetely be rocking some of that!!**
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Cute, very cute - but there are NO similarities because they have no pictures! Something as random as this can't be right, right?!
And, last but definetely not least, a myspace quiz (which asked the question 'What do you want to do when you get older?' with the answer choices a)work, b) still Party, c) do drugs, d) be a deadbeat (wouldn't that be doing drugs??), e) ummm idk yet, and f) go to college. Yes, those were my choices. Obviously this was going to be a very accurate test). At this time, I was really enjoying myself, seeing all the possible baby choices. From myspace, I got this picture:
Monday, November 3, 2008
I also remember some article or book or something about wild animals that smell a storm coming. Local ranchers will tell stories as to how they knew the tornado was getting close to them. "Well, see, them there ky-otes started runnin' an' then I seen some rabbits and hares a-runnin' too and then I just knew that the Big One was a-comin' my way." Somehow, there is an electrical charge in the air that triggers a fight-or-flight response in animals.
In this same fashion, I now believe that babies can smell pregnancy.
See, I've always been good with babies. I don't really get freaked out if they start crying; I just coo a little, rock them a little bit and hope for the best. And if that doesn't work, there's always food. Can't cry as loud if their mouth is muffled with food! But I've never been as good as I was this weekend.
I was at work, working 11 hour days on the plane. And every single flight I worked was packed full with babies. Not just any babies. CUTE babies. The kind of babies that require you to stop and tickle them and smile and make funny faces. And -if you're me - the kind of cute babies that require you play peek-a-boo and hide and seek around every corner. Anything for a laugh, right?!
And all these babies would do was laugh. And reach up for me to hold them. And gurgle and coo and kick their pudgy legs and act nothing but cute. Not a single one cried and smelled of poop. None of them threw up on me or anyone else. They just giggled and smiled, two teeth barely protruding from their gums. These babies knew that sometime soon I would have my own giggly, gurgling poop-maker to play peek-a-boo with. I think they were just warming me up!!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
After all, just today I have had to: clean up the trash that she dumped in the kitchen, clean up the crayons that she ate and broke on my beautiful silk shantung duvet, wash her face and paws because she got into God-only-knows-what that made her all black and ashy all over, and took her for a walk around the neighborhood because she was in my face begging me to do so. That is just today.
She is the most annoying dog I have ever met. You tell her to sit, she will stand. Tell her to stand and she will roll over. She will eat leftover chicken off the counter with me standing not more than two feet away.
She also has the most adorable personality. If DTB and I raise our voices, she hides in the back of the closet. If we get off the couch, she will immediately jump into our spot to keep it warm. And if I cry, she runs right over, flops on top of me and licks my face. She's very cute.
Which is the reason we keep her.
And probably most new parents keep their kiddo's for the same reason. They cry, poop and throw up all over the place. Not very attractive. But, occasionally, you see a smile that makes you so happy and everything is worth it.
And, yes, I did just compare my dog to a baby. Get over it.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Because when DTB and I went to see him last time, DTB thought he would be such a smart ass and ask him a question during the Q & A portion of our visit.
"So, Preggo tells me that she can no longer do the dishes or laundry now that she's pregnant. Not true, eh, Dr?" and then looks at me, like 'I got you now!!'
Without skipping a beat (I swear!) Dr OB looks straight at him and says:
"She's right. And she can't make the bed, cook, or pump her own gas either. Have a great nine months."
Love this guy!
On another note:
I went to the dentist today, and found out that you have to tell them when you're pregnant because your OB has to fax over a release note so you can get your teeth cleaned. Who knew going to the dentist could warp your unborn child?! What's it gonna go - make him need braces in 10-11 years? Probably gonna happen anyway!
But I was talking to the chick at the checkout desk, and it turns out that she has an 8 month old baby boy and goes to the same OB clinic that I do! Crazy, huh - especially since its definetely not the closest one to us. She said she drives all the way across town because they were so good it was worth it. Good choice, Preggo! I feel like this was my first major decision as a Preggo and I passed it with flying colors.
Pick out a OB? Check.
Pick out a College? Check.
See. . my job here is done!! (Ok, maybe not done for at least another 7 months. . . . . . and then another 18 years. . . . . and then whenever they can't afford the plane ticket home and need me to pay off their credit card bills. . . . . . . )
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Many people (ok, ok - really, just the grandparents-to-be) have been asking if I have a baby bulge yet. My answer? Ummm. . . I don't know.
I really don't know.
See, I could have a baby bulge right now. Or I could have an I-love-pizza-and-french-fries-alot bulge. Or an I-don't-do-100-crunches-a-day-anymore bulge. Or work-out-at-all bulge. It could be any of that.
But yesterday, the very sensitive DTB said to me 'Wow - you really look pregnant now!' while I was wearing a tight tank top. I couldn't help but think, Thanks DTB - what you really mean is that I'm starting to look a little fat.
Then I decided to change my tune. Give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was so excited that I was finally starting to show a little bit. After all, I may be feeling different on the inside, but the only way he gets to experience it is from looking at the outside. And I get to look fat. No one tells a Preggo 'Wow, you're really packing on the pounds there! Time to lay off the bon-bons!'. They just say things like 'Awww. . you're really starting to show now!' or 'Your belly bump looks so cute.' So why not work it as much as possible?
I did Google Image '9 week pregnant belly' today. Just to see how mine compares to other 9 week Preggo's (although I am technically almost at 10 weeks). Surprisingly (at least to me) was how many of them were larger than I am. But every woman's body is different and every pregnancy that a woman has is different, so I really can't compare to others. But I can say this: Even if this is a pizza-french-fries-potato-chip bulge (because I have been really craving salty stuff), I am going to say its a baby bulge. What do you think???
Bad news: Usually my head is hitting the pillow about 8 pm. And that's if I had a nap, too.
I know DTB is getting sick of me saying it, but here it is again. I'm tired.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Seriously. It made sound weird but its true. In this day of online self diagnosing and excessive litigation, everything is cause for worry. Self- diagnosing you probably understand; who hasn't been on websites such as webmd to diagnose a back spasm or long-term headache (only to see that the list of diagnoses run from migraine to heart attack to MS)? But excessive litigation? Yeah. Because with all the lawyers and courtroom drama running around, there is always someone ready to sue for someone else's mistakes. So all these books that speak out on pregnancy and what to expect when you're, well, expecting have to list every single possible thing that could be potentially harmful to you. Your doctor may say you can have a glass of wine, but don't think you'll read that in a book.
So when I read that not taking prenatal vitamins in the first trimester can lead to such things as neural tube defects, I immediately went to Walgreens and bought the one I trusted the most. They were fine for the first few weeks. I took them (when DTB would remind me - I blame pregnancy brain for the forgetfulness) and all was good and well. Until three days ago, when suddenly - right after taking the vitamins - I raced to the bathroom just in time to throw up.
Good picture, huh?
Not fun, especially since I was feeling so lucky that I didn't have nausea and morning sickness. That's what I get for being cocky!
Thinking this was just a fluke, I took the prenatals again the next night. Uh oh. Same thing again. Now, once is an accident. Twice is a problem.
Then I did what any nervous Preggo does and called my doctor. After a few voicemails and missed calls, I finally talked to someone who calmed all my fears. Since alot of women have morning sickness in the first trimester anyway, they can't keep the prenatals down. And their babies turned out alright. But since the only nausea I was feeling was only when I took the vitamins, it would be best to change brands.
Even better - since I don't like taking pills of any kind (they always seem to get stuck in my throat and then I can taste them because they start to dissolve right near my taste buds and they taste nasty), I asked if chewable prenatals were available. Then I could feel kinda like I was just taking a Flintstones everyday.
Not only are they available (for prescription only), but they are 1/8 of the price of the prenatal vitamins I bought over the counter. Yes. Cheaper.
I haven't taken them yet, but I'm actually looking forward to it. If only they were in shapes like the Flinstones are, but instead of being Dino and Bam Bam, they could be a baby rattle, a bottle, maybe even a pacifier. . . . .
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
(Yes, that is my pee on the end of the stick! Ewwww!)
Then I found an old shirt and made my incredibly disagreeable dog wear it. It said 'I'm the Big Sister' (Although it looks kinda weird on her in that picture and that's because she kept running away from me and wouldn't let me straighten it. She was very unhappy with her role in this production.).
And then we went to the doctor two weeks later and found out that we're having this:
Which looks like a little alien baby, but I'm told they all look like this and he will grow out of it. Here's hoping!!!
Monday, October 20, 2008
There is a commercial with a mother in a park who has lost her child. She uses some kind of electronic child-finder to locate him (and he has a red balloon - how cute!) that only relies on Duracell batteries.
And I started crying.
Not because I was so moved by the mother finding the child, or because he once was lost but not he was found. Not because I thought how that could happen to me someday, and I was imagining the relief I would feel after he was found.
No. Not for any of that.
I was crying just because. One moment I was eating lunch and watching Desperate Housewives, and the next I was crying all over my plate. With no clue why. I wasn't sad or relieved or anxious. I was just crying.
I think that is called a hormone freak-out.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
But, I did find a cute jacket and four shirts. All for less than I spend on a burger at my favorite restaurant. Not a bad deal. And one of the shirts says 'Oh Baby' on it in sparkles. Since I couldn't find one that said 'Don't worry, it's not yours' I figured this was the next best.
Not that I will fit into them for the next four or five months, but they're still cute. So totally worth it.
See, you are going to get fat no matter what. So why delay the process with a few extra runs?
Your belly is going to expand to enourmous amounts - much bigger than the biggest bowl full of jelly you ever envisioned. Your boobs are going to become anchors on your chest; your hips and butt will widen and thicken.
Sounds appealing, doesn't it? I think this is why pregnant women get 'the glow' - so they still have something beautiful about them.
I don't care what all they say about exercising while pregnant. I think it is just a dirty joke.
- Exercising makes for an easier labor and delivery? Tell that to the millions of women who have come before me. I have never once heard one of them said that labor was easy for them. An easy labor is something you pray for, and a miracle you hope is granted to you. It can not be decided by the miles you ran and the brownies your forsake.
- Exercising can decrease the amount/severity of stretch marks? Sorry, sweetheart, but that's a big ol' lie. Much like dimples, flat feet and the ability to sniff out a 70% off shoe sale, whether or not you get stretch marks is inherited from your mom. If she got 'em, you probably will. That's just the facts.
- Exercise helps you sleep better and have more energy? First of all, the last thing I have after I run is energy. It has all been taken out of me. I want to do what I was doing before I went to exercise - sipping some juice and watching Reba, The View or Sex and the City. And the reason you sleep better is because your body is exhausted. It is practically screaming at you 'Stop working me so hard - I'm trying to make a baby here!' So, listen to it and make your only exercise the punch of the channel and volume buttons.
- Exercise gives you an all-around better feeling about yourself? I don't think so. All I'm thinking about when I'm running is 'Do I run like a duck?' and then I realize I need a bigger sports bra (or maybe I should just layer three or four) and to spray-tan my very white legs. Surprisingly, none of those things make me feel better about myself.
Most mornings (ok -if we're gonna be honest here, about two or three times a week), I take my very excitable dog for a walk. We briskly walk around the entire neighborhood, covering every inch of the two community parks and three blocks that make up our neighborhood. This takes about 15 minutes - sometimes a little more. We walk very fast, but we only walk. By the end of the 15 minutes, she is tired and wants to go home to sleep so we can do it again tomorrow. (She's very excitable, but also pretty fat and lazy!)
If I promise to take her 4+ times a week (hey, I'm a flight attendant - there's no way I could walk her everyday; I'm not even home everyday!), can I count this as 'exercise' and be done with this whole working out thing?
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Can I just tell you the sweet thing he's been doing lately without being completely sappy??
Whenever he wants a hug, he'll say, "Can I have a hug from you guys?" or "I want a hug from both of you."
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
I can eat whatever I want. Really. I eat all the nutrients I need because I really do eat pretty healthy now, but if I want that bowl of ice cream or the last remaining quesadilla - it's mine. No one gets the last bite of food but a pregnant woman.
Now that I'm completely sober, I just laugh at all the drunk people at bars. And I no longer have to worry about a DWI.
People give up their chairs to me. Even though I don't look even a little bit pregnant (except to myself and to DTB, the two people who see my body everyday and therefore can notice the slightest difference), once they find out, they immediately offer me a chair if I'm standing, or run to get me a glass of water. I try not to take advantage of this, but really - it's just too easy!
I have an excuse to run out and buy new clothes. And regardless of what you may think about maternity clothes, some of them are really cute. Granted, large bands that wrap around your belly and elastic pants are not attractive. I'm talking more about the shirts. Baby-doll, empire waist and skin tight that is designed to stretch to show off your belly - that's what I'm looking for. And I am pretty much required to buy them. Nothing else will fit!
I can sleep all day and blame it on baby. That's the best part, I think.
Monday, October 13, 2008
See, the whole process lasts 40 weeks. If you multiply 40 by 7 (the number of days in a week), you get 280. Then divide 280 by 30 (the average number of days in a month), you get 9 and 1/3. That's right, more than 9 months.
The only saving grace in this whole counting nonsense is that the starting point for counting doesn't make much sense either, so it really is 9 months from the moment you find out, but its not really 9 months from the moment they start counting. If you're not incredibly bored with this incredibly mathematical post by now, keep reading and I will enlighten you.
The medical world begins the countdown-for-baby on the first day of the woman's last period. Not at when I think would be the most logical day, which is the date of conception. (Which, crazily enough, I was able to determine with an online test! Much like I figured out What '80's movie I most resemble and What kind of flower am I.) No, they begin counting before the sperm has even left the body of the man, before the baby is even a tiny little zygote and before the woman has gotten past mind-numbing cramps and an insane urge for peanut butter M&M's. They begin counting down the pregnancy before the law, and the church, even deems it a baby.
Watch out, ladies. If you just started your period, this could be the first day of your countdown! (Scary, isn't it?!?)
No hot tubs. Or hot baths. If I absolutely have to take a bath (Which I do -I'm addicted to the ultimate relaxation), then I must take it lukewarm or just a tad hot. Apparently anything hotter than that will curdle the milk. Or boil the baby. Something like that.
Also, no cheeses that I like. No blue cheese. No gorgonzola. No feta or goat cheese. These are all unpasteurized and can contain bacteria. Unfortunately, those are all the best tasting cheeses, so I'm out of luck. Usually I am a huge cheese person, so I would just put up with American and Cheddar for the next few months, but the only thing that really seems to be turning me off is normal cheeses. No Cheddar and no American for me anymore. Just the sight of it makes me all queasy.
Friday, October 10, 2008
So, nine months (more if breast-feeding) without alcohol, I can handle. No smoking? No problem. No illegal drugs, I can handle.
I cannot handle the no caffeine rule.
Now, granted, it is more of a suggestion than a rule. Limit yourself, all the doctors say. Caution against using, say the books.
I say screw you; I can't wake up without coffee. (It is so bad, in fact, that BB -Big Brother - bought a coffee maker before I came to see him the last time. I made such a stink over not having coffee in the morning. He says it was for his fiancee, but I know it was for me. ) And I can't get through a 12 hour day at work where I had to wake up at 3 am, without coffee or Dt Coke or all of the above. I'll still drink the requisite 400 gallons of water a day and go to the bathroom every three minutes. But I'll drink the coffee, too. That is the way I function.
Also, even though it is beautiful weather right now, and perfect for being outside, I can't ride a motorcycle. Apparently, the female body is not made to shake and bake. Nor can I ride any roller coasters, go skiing (dammit!) or take any non-tylenol drugs. Tylenol ones are ok in the first trimester; others are not.
The list goes on, but these are the ones I am most upset about. It's been a while since I rode on the back of DTB's motorcycle and I really miss it. But I guess nine months isn't the end of the world. And with the bozanga's the way they are right now, even running gives me a black eye. A bike ride would be even worse.
Monday, October 6, 2008
And, they confirmed it - we're gonna have a baby!
I even got an ultrasound today. Saw Bjorn. He (she/it) is about 5 mm long. And weighs practically nothing (Which means those 7 pounds I've put on in the last three weeks are all me. Dammit!). But he has a heartbeat - a strong whoosing heartbeat like a dishwasher or a washing machine (Please tell me I'm not domesticated, but what else can you think of that whooshes that way??). You know - whoosh. Whoosh.
Oh, shit. I think this means we're gonna be parents.
What do I do now????
Thursday, October 2, 2008
All day long today I have wanted salt. French fries. Potato chips. Salt.
But I have been too lazy and tired to get off my butt to go get me some. And DTB is working late tonight, so he was out of the question.
So I finally got my shit together and started my errands. First stop: a birthday present for my brother. Didn't get it at the first place, and was on my way to the second when I passed a McDonald's. Yummy. . . . . fries.
I stopped. Large fries on the way. Yay SALT!
This is when I stopped being Preggo and became Psycho-Preggo. I crammed those fries into my mouth so fast, I had to breathe out of my nose for the next ten minutes. Again, yay for salt!
Then I got the bright idea that if I was stopped at a red light, I could slather my fries in ketchup. That wouldn't be too unsafe, right? After all, I was stopped. And that led to eating while driving and that led to. . .
ketchup on my white pants, my green top and in my hair. Yes, in my hair.
That was when I called it a day and went home. Tomorrow I'll look for Brother's birthday present.
Since her head is going to be stuck in a toilet for the next few months, clean them.
Yes. Grab a brush and some cleaning solution. It is not that hard. People have been doing it for decades, and no one has gotten hurt. Go ahead. Squirt, rub and clean.
Trust me. It makes her throw up even worse (yes that is possible!) when she spots skidmarks on the back of the bowl or turdlets floating in the water. Clean the toilet. Keep it as clean as possible.
Oh, and when she sees that gross stuff in the toilet bowl, it also makes her mad at you. Whether it's yours or not. But she knows you see it too, and could clean it up very easily. And you don't throw up at the sight of a gallon of milk. So just do it.
So I cannot be making this up, or using this as an excuse.
I am tired.
Last night I went to bed a little after 9 pm. I woke up at 1:45 am when DTB came to bed. Then again at 5:15 am when his alarm went off. Got up for a few minutes at 6:30 when he left. Went back to bed until 7:30 when The Bane of My Existence (my dog) knocked over the trashcan and ate everything out of it. Smacked her, cleaned up and went back to bed. Woke up about 9 am, ready to start the day. I didn't feel well, so I went back to bed about 11 and woke up at 12:30.
In other words, my entire day so far was spent sleeping.
Is this a problem? Am I going to be punished for this by never being able to sleep again once the baby is born? I am tired. All the books say I am going to be bone tired for the first three months, as my body has to figure out how to use its energy and grow this new person. But this tired? This is crazy!
I think I'm gonna go to bed and think about it.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
First of all, I am (I think, since I haven't had my first prenatal visit yet to confirm) 6 weeks pregnant. Maybe even 7. Not quite sure.
And, according to all these books, I should not be showing yet. In fact, I should not be able to tell much of a difference at all.
Instead, I swear my stomach is about three times as big as it normally is and my boobs - don't even get me started! They now have their own zip code. I know all the books say that it is just bloat, but it can't be. I quit drinking cokes and carbonated beverages, so shouldn't my bloat be going down? Sigh. . . I can't be showing yet- I can't afford those cute maternity clothes yet! And I'm not even very sure how to buy maternity clothes. If I'm a medium now, does that mean I buy a medium for later, too? I want to buy some of the stuff on sale since I'll be at my heaviest in summer and now is when all the summer stuff is on sale.
On another note, I found a book for DTB. It's called My Boys Can Swim. Hee hee. And for myself? Jenny McCarthy's book Belly Laughs, The Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy and Fit Pregnancy for Dummies.
I think I'm ready for my first visit!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
And I told him again that it was because he was teasing me all week. Last week, our friends - who are five months pregnant - were in town. So, in the spririt of pregnancy and hormonal women everywhere, his answer to everything was that I must be pregnant. Tired? Must be pregnant. Hungry? Must be pregnant. Didn't want to watch Law & Order SVU? Gotta be pregnant.
Then I thought about it some more. And I think it was something more than just the teasing. See, I have thought I was pregnant every month. Even when it was plainly obvious I was not, I still thought it was true. A sort of psychosomatic pregnancy. I began to feel nauseous and tired, forcing my body to feel the way I thought you were supposed to feel. I noticed changes in my skin, hair, nails and body, thinking every little change I noticed was pointing me to the direction of babies, diapers and all-night feedings.
I think I went through twenty pregnancy tests before the end of the first year of marriage. (Good thing I got them on bulk discount!) I tested days before you are supposed to be able to, and sometimes just because. Just to see. I took pregnancy tests when I couldn't concentrate, when I couldn't sleep and when every batch of brownies I made came out burned. After all, these could all be many signs I don't know about!
Always thinking, 'Hey, there's probably a 50/50 chance I am.Let's see.'
I guess I thought that this time, too. I thought, 'Hey. It's about that time. Let's try it and see. DTB has been teasing me about it alot.' But all the other tests were negative, so I just assumed this one would be, too.
But I passed this one with flying colors! Or, at least, with two lines.
Friday, September 26, 2008
I wanted so bad to tell her that I was pregnant, too. But I knew I couldn't. So I sat there and chatted like I normally do, while on the inside I was screaming 'Me too! Me too!!!!'
On another note. . .
Two days ago, a guy on the plane stopped me. He said,'I don't mean to be disrespectful, but. . . ' and I thought he was going to go on and on about how we don't serve meals anymore and he needs more than three peanuts in a bag and so on and so on. Instead, he follows that up with 'But your body is slamming!' (as he eyes me up and down) 'Slamming! And you are stacked!'
Now, this was the day after I had found out I was pregnant. The DAY AFTER. So, of course, the laughter just bubbles up from inside and I can't help but laugh and laugh. And I know he thought I was laughing because I was embarrassed (I wasn't) or flirting (most definetely wasn't) but I was laughing because of course I'm stacked - that's one of the first and earliest signs of pregnancy!!
I bet he would have changed his tune and ran as far as he could had I told him that the reason I was stacked was because my body is preparing to make milk for my unborn child!! But I just laughed.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Seriously. I have already been to about a million websites, discussing the first trimester, finding where to buy cute maternity clothes and discovering once and for all if I can get a tattoo while pregnant. (Cautioned against that. Whatever disease you might get from a needle, your baby might get also. Totally not worth it.)
I don't want the next 9 months (and the next 18 years, for that matter) to be about baby. Hopefully, this is just because it is all new and exciting and different. Hopefully, in a few weeks - after the first doctors appt - I can stop thinking about it all and get back to my life. After all, women have been having babies for thousands of years. I think I can do it all right, too.
Yes, a book for the man who never reads. Except possibly in the bathroom. Even then I think there's more Tetris and Bubble-Popper on his Blackberry than reading going on.
When we got engaged, I immediately went to the big-and-overpriced bookstore to see if they had any insights on how to do this whole wedding thing properly. I came to the conclusion that weddings are a huge mess of who-wants-what-where and how-to-let-your-parents-run-the-show. Fortunately, I didn't waste my money on those books, preferring to plan by the seat of my pants and with a loose grasp on tradition and parental rights of vetoing.
But DTB found the book to calm his fears that I (or his mother, or mother-in-law) would become bridezillas. Called The Clueless Groom's Guide (by Peter van Dijk), it waylaid any fears on how to propose/buy groomsmans gifts/answer the ever important question 'Which buy-a-new-motorcycle-expensive invitations look best, the ones with the ribbon or with the monogram?'
And DTB read it, loved it and actually applied some of the principles in the book to our planning. (I believe that is where he got the idea to shut up and not say anything when my mom would call three times a night to ask about the exact color ribbon we needed.)
And now I need something just as funny, interesting and devoted to daddies who have no idea what they are getting into. (My book-to-read for mommies who have no idea what they are getting into is Jenny McCarthy's Belly Laughs.)
So, any ideas? Any clues? Anything to help prepare the utterly clueless??
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
I can only relate this now, in the calmest and simplest of terms, because I have had almost 48 hours of contemplation and acceptance.
Yesterday I was a mess.
After the first test said 'pregnant' (Or did it? Were there two lines or only one? Did a faint line mean that I was only 'sorta pregnant' or was I the whole shebang? Who thought of putting two lines on a pee stick as being the sort of thing women who are hormonal/emotional/teetering on the faint line - or is it two? - of insanity want to see?). . as I was saying. .
After the first test said 'pregnant', I did the first thing everyone I know would do (whether they admit it or not).
I looked online at all the cute maternity tops. You know, the ones that say 'It's not mine' and 'I only wanted a backrub'.
I was almost to the checkout page when a little voice inside stopped me, prodding me to go get some more tests. Just in case.
So the little voice and I went to the grocery store, buying sandwich meat, shampoo, vegetables and - oh yeah - a pregnancy test. This time, one that clicked off the seconds with an hourglass while it was thinking and then - WHAM - would announce that you were either pregnant, or not pregnant.
Again, I was pregnant. I think the test results are in, folks.
I just stared at the stick, wondering how something covered in my own pee could be so interesting. Involuntarily, my hand went to my mouth and when I looked in the mirror I saw that it was covering a big, shit-eating grin. Apparently, I was excited!
As an emotional girl with WAY too much time on her hands, I had already decided how I would tell DTB. (Not how I wanted to tell him - that would be to just call him up and say. 'Guess what? You did it, buddy! I'm preggo!' I wanted to do it that way because I can't keep a secret worth shit. But I knew that wasn't fair to him or the situation.) So, I rummaged thru garage sale clothes until I found an old, plain t-shirt of mine, cut the sleeves and neck, and, with a thick black Sharpie, wrote "I'm The Big Sister' on the back. Much to my dog's chagrin, this was for her.
And she did her part as best she could, running to the door the second DTB came home. (I really think it's because I told her she could take off the shirt after he had seen it on her. Little did I know, we would think it was so cute, she had to wait a few more hours!) DTB looked at her, read the shirt, and then said 'Huh?'
He always was very eloquent.
But he figured it out (my saying 'I think I'm pregnant' might have had something to do with that) and, after another pee-test proclaiming that I was, in fact, pregnant, he seemed to understand. And, he seemed to need to put his head between his knees and breathe. And drink. Can't say that I blame him. It's going to be a long nine months without alcohol for me.
Then I went to work today. (Oh yeah, I'm a flight attendant. So, its not like I just went to the office down the street. I'm two time zones away, in a hotel, and won't be back for three days.) Crazy thing to do. I felt like crying the first flight away from home. I held it together, though, and realized that I needed to work as much as I could before I couldn't work anymore. Let's see how long this phase lasts.
Regardless, the big news is.. . . . . I'm pregnant!!! And no one knows but me, you, DTB and the dog. And the dog ain't talking.