Friday, February 27, 2009

It's not pregnant brain, this is just how I am!!

It is said that most Preggo's go through a spell of forgetfulness and absentmindedness. It starts when the stick says 'Pregnant' and lasts through the last child's high school graduation.

I have prided myself on my ability to stay level-headed, mostly rational, and - with the help of my many, ever changing lists - not forgetful. I do find myself forgetting common words. I'll be in the middle of a sentence and I'll have to explain what word I want to use next because, although it is on the tip of my tongue, I just can't seem to get it out. Other than that, my mind seems to be pretty much the same.

So either I have always been absent-minded and crazy, or I don't have it as bad as other Preggo's.

Today, though, was an exception to the rule.

I always have a plan in place when I run errands - the most economical and gas-saving route, usually ending at the grocery store. I was halfway through my errands when I saw Costco and remembered my car needed gas. Although it wasn't on my list, I pulled in to fill up my tank. This was my first problem. I try to never deviate from my To-Do list. There's enough stuff on there anyway.

I filled up the tank, pulled my receipt and reached for my car handle to drive away.

It was stuck.

What? Stuck?! Wait, I don't mean stuck. I mean it was locked. With my purse, cell phone and car keys laughing at me from the passenger seat.

My first thought (which I said out loud and repeated several times). "Oh, shit."

Ooops. Good thing I didn't have a baby in the car yet!

First off, I know what you're thinking. It's the same thing DTB asked when I called him to leave work and go home to get my spare keys.

'Preggo, why don't you just hold onto your keys instead of throwing them in the front seat?'

Well, see, I try to multi-task. And the time that it takes to fill up my gas tank is usually how long it takes for me to do an interior sweep of all the crap that has piled up in my car since the last time I filled up. I fold sweaters and blankets that have been tossed into the back seat; I look under seats and mats, only to find the dog's leash (which we thought was lost forever) and 87 cents in loose change. I grab receipts, soda cans, and gum wrappers to throw out.

More than once I have thrown my keys away with the trash.

After a while, I realized that I can't distinguish between the keys (necessary item) and all the rest of the unnecessary trash I have in my hands. (I also threw away my keys to a rental car once. Same deal - I cleaned out the rental car, tossed the keys in the trash can and walked calmly into the airport. Thank God for a good Samaritan who saw what I did, fished out the keys and returned them to the rental counter!) This has taught me to not have my keys in my hand.

Why not put them in my pocket? Because not everything I own has pockets (Which is another story in itself, but I really think that every article of clothing should have pockets!) and if I get stuck in a routine of putting the keys in my pocket and one time I have no pockets, then I get all confused about where I put the keys. And I turn into one of those stereotypical comic actors who can't find their wallet, so they pat their bodies down strategically: first back pocket, then front pockets and shirt pockets, all with very grand gestures.

This is not the first time I have locked my keys in my car. In college, I did it three times. Twice in the campus parking lot, but once on the main street across from campus with the keys still in the ignition. Yes, my truck was still running when I got out of class. Fortunately, my class was only an hour long and my roomie - after learning the hard way - kept my spare key on her key chain.

Anyways, after 30 minutes of leaning against my car (trying to ignore the rude stares of pissed-off people on their lunch break who only have 10 minutes to get back to work but there's some stupid, pregnant chick blocking one of the pumps) and trying to forget that I have to go to the bathroom, DTB shows up with extra car key in hand. My hero!

He ceremoniously remote-unlocks my car before he even pulls into the station and I quickly jump in my car and pull away before I can embarrass myself any further.

Which is when I realize that I have left the gas nozzle and hose still inserted into my gas tank.

(Not really, but wouldn't that have been a fitting end to the story!?!?)

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Things that should be on baby registries but aren't:

Things that should be on baby registries but aren't:

  • Video camera: For documenting and preserving all those record-breaking moments. You know, like first giggle, first steps, and first what-the-hell-is-that poop

  • Digital camera: When a video camera might be just a little too graphic, but you still need to keep these memories.

  • Manicure/Pedicure/Facial spa certificate: Really, what is better for a mom-to-be (or even that DTB who is secure in his manhood) than pretty nails and a face that glows with more than just pregnancy.

  • A pair of really great heels: In your new shoe size, seeing that your feet have probably swollen and grown, and now that all those really great shoes you have been collecting since college are too small, you need a new pair of shoes. Great shoes.

  • The complete set of Sex and the City/Friends/Big Love: Whatever your fancy, you will need hours of mind-numbing, wonderful TV time - broken up in half hour increments. Half hour is all the time you will ever have in one sitting and your favorite TV show will help pass the time during breast-feeding, diapering, laundry and the millions of other things that have to be done now. And with these shows having some - ahem - adult content, it will probably be the last time anything beyond Elmo and Dora the Explorer will be on your TV.

  • A Stereo: Not a CD player with Mickey, Goofy and all the gang plastered all over it - as this just jacks up the price 75%. But a handheld stereo - what back in my day we used to call a 'boombox' - with a CD player and tuner. Something that plays all the music that puts Bjorn to sleep, all the CD's Preggo wants to listen to while rocking Bjorn, and a tuner so Bjorn can get used to the country music Preggo loves and the rock 'n' roll that DTB loves best.

  • Big Screen TV: Preferably a flat screen. This goes with the DVD collection above - anything that provides downtime entertainment is worth it, I'm sure!! Also in this category is the Netflix Box, a Nintendo Wii (hey, it can be for the kid!) and a big bunch of liquor and beer for after Bjorn goes to sleep.

  • Vaca: For those of us who put our pre-baby money into the mortgage, credit cards and car payments, a BabyMoon is not an option. And a post-BabyMoon? Please! If we were budgeting before, what makes us think post-Bjorn will be any different? But if someone wants to give a weekend of babysitting and a cabin in the snowy woods. . . . . well, that's a different story!

I am sure that there are hundreds - millions! - of other items that should be included but aren't. I could probably write all day thinking of different, better and more extravagant things. What it really boils down to is this: no one needs to buy any Preggo anything. It is not a requirement to be a good friend and relative. Every little item that is bought is appreciated whether on a registry or not. But in this day and age, every bride-to-be and mom-to-be is expected to create a registry - so shouldn't we have some of the things we really want on it?

What would you want on your registry that isn't available?

Thursday, February 12, 2009

A new baby is in town!

No, it's not mine - I still have months to go, thank God.

But DTB's best friend and wife - whom I call Monkey Mama - had their baby!

Willie Aaron was born February 11 at 6:01 pm - at a bruising 10 pounds!!! I don't think she had a baby - I think it was a starting linebacker.

Congrats to you both - DTB and I can't wait to meet him!

You don't ever have to be lonely

Many things occured to me last night as I was lying in a comfy, cozy hotel bed in Los Angeles, wondering what it would be like to not travel for a living.

1) I was lying on my back, and it wasn't hurting. It was very comfortable. But that made me think about how I'm not supposed to be in that position, yadda yadda yadda, so I moved to my side.

2) Los Angeles is not full of beautiful, perfect people like it appears in the tabloids. Most of the people here are normal people working normal jobs and leading normal lives. They just do this among the smog and the craziness.

3) I miss DTB. Other flight attendants always brag that we have more time at home with our families than those with 'normal' jobs. I did the math, and I disagree entirely.
** If I had a normal 8-5 job, and DTB still had his all-over-the-schedule job, I would be home every night by 6 and there all night. This week, we would have spent about 35 hours together. But, I left for a few days, so this week we will be spending only 18 hours together. That is all. (No, I am not counting my sleeping time in all this. Thats my time, not couple time!!) Maybe people whose DTB's have normal jobs, too, spend more time with them than not, but I don't think that's true in my case. DTB works normal work hours, plus alot of nights and weekends.**

4) Just when I was calculating #3, I realized that although flight-attendanting can be the loneliest job in the world sometimes, for the next four months, I wasn't going to be alone. Ever. Bjorn was going with me to LA, to Salt Lake, to Denver and to Buffalo. It's an incredibly calming feeling to know that no matter what, someone is always there. And, just in case I forget, he kicks me to remind me.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Used is good

Garage sales are a Preggo's dream come true!

A pack and play for $17? Sure!

Winnie the Pooh slippers/diaper cover/onesies/pants/sleepers/jackets/t-shirts for $3? You got it!

Mat with Hanging toys (which I'm sure has a name but I don't know it) for $5? Why not!

And that is only the beginning. I have absolutely no problem with used stuff, especially when I can see that there are no poop stains or odd smells wafting up from the fabric.

Want to make a Preggo happy? Shop at garage sales!!! In this economy, no one should pay full price for something they can find for a steal.

*hint hint* If you're having baby fever and want to buy Preggo and Bjorn anything, do it from a garage sale! Then treat yourself to a pedicure with the cash you saved - better yet, get a great deal and treat you and Preggo!

Friday, February 6, 2009

What you've been Waiting For: Hot Dog Burning Leg Syndrome

This is the third time it's happened, but the first time I woke up DTB.

'Hot Dog Burning Leg Syndrome'. Yes, I think that is the medical name for it.

Let's start at the beginning.

When cooking on the grill, it is easy to get distracted. There's no timer on grills. Lucky for me, I have always liked the burned hot dogs the best, so I don't mind when someone gets distracted or forgets about the hot dogs because they are so busy checking on the steak. It's ok. My favorite hot dogs are the ones that are charred all the way around, and have split long-wise, with all the juices running out of the middle.

It may be my favorite way to eat a hot dog, but its not a favorite way for my leg to feel.

See, in the middle of the night, I sometimes wake up with this burning sensation in my leg. Almost as if my leg has seized up completely. My calf muscle is so tight, it is rock hard, and the whole lower leg can't even throb with pain because of the overwhelming feeling of the worst pins and needles ever. It is as if my lower leg - from the knee to the ankle - is a hot dog, and I can feel it burning and split open.

Thus, the 'Hot Dog Burning Leg Syndrome'.

I have no idea if this leg issue is real, and if it is real - and not just a dream, because it only happens at night - what causes it. Maybe if I knew what caused it, I could stop it.

The good news? Once I start to feel it, it is probably less than a minute before the feeling goes away completely. Incredibly painful, but definitely not long-lasting. Maybe this is a weird way for my body to get ready for the pain of labor. But doesn't my body realize that I plan on getting lots and lots of drugs so that I don't have to feel pain at all?

Thursday, February 5, 2009

It's beginning to feel alot like a baby. . . . .

DTB felt Bjorn high-five him last night.

For the second time, actually. I wanted to make sure the first time wasn't a fluke before I wrote about it.

The first time was actually on Super Bowl Sunday (yes, when DTB was giving Bjorn Fetal Fives and Baby Bumps!). With one hand on my tummy, one hand waving a Terrible Towel and a beer between his legs, DTB was having a great Super Bowl day - especially when he looked over at me and said 'Was that it?!?!?'

'Yup. Sure was, DTB. Sure was.'

Bjorn kept high-fiving (he really likes watching football!!!) but DTB only felt that one hit.

Then, yesterday, when I returned from a three day trip, we were eating dinner in the usual positions - food on the Elvis trays, TV turned on and DTB's hand waiting to see if Bjorn was going to say hi. Apparently Bjorn likes Pei Wei 'cause he was giving bumps like crazy! Again, DTB only felt one of these kicks. But he still felt it.

I am so glad he can finally feel it from the outside! It almost makes me feel guilty how much I get to be involved and how little DTB is involved in the incubating. He doesn't get to do anything except watch, ask questions and just nod-and-smile when I talk about my 'hot dog burning legs'. (Yes, that is a post for another time - if I can ever figure out how to explain it!) Now he actually gets to feel stuff from the outside, which has to make this whole thing a little more real to him. Not that it wasn't real before, but it is more solid proof that I haven't just been hitting the potato chips a little too hard! Potato chips don't tend to kick back when prodded.

On the note of DTB being more involved, I have decided to let go of some of my OCD tendencies. (Have I already said this? Tried this? I really am going to try!) I have this idea of exactly how the nursery should be done. The order of the steps. The colors. The designs. But, DTB is really good at this do-it-yourselfer stuff, and since he doesn't get to do the incubating, I think he should get to do the decorating. (Don't worry, DTB. I don't expect you to get all 'HGTV/OMG these curtains look SOO GREAT with your shoes/I think I broke a nail' on me.) We have a plan for the nursery - a chair rail, stripes, some new paint colors. . . . and I think DTB should be the one to decide how it goes up (rail first, paint first, etc.) and what colors to use. I do have an opinion and I will voice it, but he should get first dibs on what he really wants. After all, I get to do the incubating. Shouldn't I let him do something big, too?

And, in the spirit of long posts everywhere, I have my 23 week pics to post. This is from last Friday, as I am actually 24 weeks tomorrow, but, hell, people - I'm a working Preggo. I post the pics when I can!

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Fetal Fives

Ever since Bjorn has come around, DTB has been giving him 'Baby Bumps'. You know, the 'fist bump' that the Obamas made famous, but people have been doing for years in lieu of shaking hands. That's right, DTB Baby Bumps my belly. He and Bjorn fist bump.

Today, during Super Bowl (Go Steelers!), DTB created the Fetal Fives. Same as a Baby Bump but its a high five to the tummy. A Fetal Five. I can't wait until he can feel it when Bjorn fives him back!

Check the Next Box, please!

There comes a time in a woman's life where, in a questionnaire, she no longer gets to check the Age Box marked Age 18-24. The next box is for the age group of 25-39, and even if she happens to be on the very bottom of this maturity totem pole, it still can feel like a hit to the stomach to realize that the survey-makers don't know what age she is, and will lump her in the same category as those who are just on the brink of the other side of the hill.

I passed this momentuous 'Age Box Check-off' a few years ago and had absolutely no problem with it. Age has never been an issue, and becoming 25 just made me feel stronger, and more ready for anything that may come up in life. C'mon life, I can take it - I'm getting older and wiser!

Weight, on the other hand, is something I never thought I would have to come to terms with.

At Doc's office, the first thing I do is step on the scale and the nurse (usually an impossibly cute, perky and toned blonde) writes down my weight. But not before making a comment like she has the last two times 'Whew! Looks like you had a good month!' as the weight continues to rise. And isn't the weight supposed to rise? Isn't it good for Bjorn that I eat all the major food groups (fruits, veggies, protein, fiber, dairy, cheese, ice cream and french fries) to make him as strong and healthy as possible?

On a typical doctor's office scale, there are two Slides used to determine weight. The bottom Slide has notches for 50, 100, 150 and 200 pounds while the top has no notches and glides smoothly along in 1 pound increments until the level is in the middle and a weight is confirmed.

This time I had to check the next Weight Box.

The Weight Box I have been in for as long as I can remember (months, years, decades!) is with the bottom Slide firmly set in the 100 pound notch and the top Slide slowly inching its way back and forth across the 1 pound-ers as my weight fluctuates with age and beer-filled parties.

Not anymore. The Slide is now firmly set in the 150 notch and the top Slide is only moving to the right.

I am not going to go on a diet. I am not going to worry about my weight gain, especially since Doc isn't worried about it. I am not going to be obsessive and stupid about weight at a time when putting on weight is the healthy thing to do. I repeat: I am not going to go crazy worrying about weight.

But I never realized before how much my weight and size was a part of who I am. I have always had an athletic build, and therefore had more weight on me than was considered 'average'.
** Side note: Once in college - at the Quack Shack - I was told by a Wacky Doc that I was on the verge of being overweight! This was my freshman year at college, when I was 5 foot 1, wearing Size 2 jeans. (I hadn't discovered the joys of late night pizza and beer quite yet.) Overweight. I blew Wacky Doc off, as I knew that I was athletic, in shape, healthy and pretty happy with my size - but because I was so thick and heavy with muscle, she thought it was appropriate to tell me I was close to being overweight. Stupid doctor.**

I've always been pretty happy with my size and weight, and able to control my size fairly easily. I can workout a few times a week and tone up to look better, or I can eat some stuff and add a few pounds if necessary. It's been easy.

But now I have absolutely no control over my body. I have no control over the places where I will gain weight - boobs, belly, hips, butt. I've even heard that some women gain weight in their feet and noses! I haven't read of any nose exercises to prevent this, so I think its all just luck of the draw. There is absolutely nothing I can do to give all my extra weight to Bjorn and Bjorn only. I can't stop eating when I'm hungry - that's not healthy. And even Gabby Reece (who's prenatal workout I just bought and I LOVE) appears to be having a hard time breathing and moving during her workouts. If she's huffing and puffing, you know I am too. Its not necessary to maintain the same level of exercise as before, and its not appropriate to think that a body with a new center of gravity and new varying levels of tiredness and weight, can handle it.

The real problem I have with the bottom Slide firmly set in the 150 notch is that I feel I had no control over it - which is probably my first lesson as a Mommy.

There are many things in life that I won't be able to control, so instead I have to just buck up and take it. Learn how to deal with it and view it in the best way possible. Learn how to turn uncontrollable situations into positive situations. Stop viewing the world as something this OCD personality can control and just roll with whatever life throws at me.

How's that for a introspective self-help guru-like approach??