Friday, December 26, 2008

Maybe he should get a catchers mitt instead. . . .

For Christmas, DTb received not one, but TWO, terrible towels - a must-have for any Pittsburgh Steelers fan.

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 has only just begun. . .

My family (and most of my friends, to be honest) live out of town from DTB and I, and we don't get much time off during the holidays, as this is somewhat of a very busy time for both of our jobs. So, during the holidays, we get innundated with packages from all these relatives that we can't go see; not that I'm complaining, I love looking outside my door and having yet another package on my front porch. Christmas should be all year round, I think.

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

Check it out!

Ok two days left to vote in my poll!!!

Its on the left side of the screen. Vote to tell me if you think Bjorn is a boy or a girl. . . and pics are below if you need to see 'how I'm carrying'. If you can even tell. :)

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Not your average party game. . .

I now play a dirty little game everyday. It's an evil game - I admit it. But, oh, it is so much fun.

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.

The Office

DTB's office Christmas party was last night. Fun times, especially since DTB has a built-in Designated Driver around all the time now! I do love watching everyone else get silly while I sip hot apple cider and sprite.

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

I'm still hungry!

I am so hungry.

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


I cancelled the Ultrasound to show if Bjorn is a boy or a girl. . . looks like its going to be a surprise for everyone!

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

I give in. . .

On Thursday, Doc said everything was going smoothly, and right on track. He even measured the Baby Bump for the first time!

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.

Another Baby Bump-date. . .

15 weeks. Doesn't look much different than 13 weeks, but Doc says its right on target!

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Maybe it should be a Surprise Party. . . . .

Last night, as we were being our usual active selves with our butts plantly firmly in front of the TV, DTB turned to me and said "Maybe we shouldn't find out if its a boy or a girl."


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

Random thoughts jumbled together to make one great big blog!

I feel like I have so much to say, but I never get on here to say it. . . so to catch you up on the wild, wild world of Preggo, I'm going to just go for it. This blog has no rhyme, no reason and no clue. Kind of like me.

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. . .