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!!