This is me before we headed out on our Kentucky weekend, Jan 19th.
Spampy's in there somewhere!
Somewhere in those size 13 Charlotte Russe jeans ;-)
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Photographic Evidence
This is me before we headed out on our Kentucky weekend, Jan 19th.
Spampy's in there somewhere!
Somewhere in those size 13 Charlotte Russe jeans ;-)
Happy Pants
Saludos, toodles... I'm officially 4 months pregnant. That's a whole new trimester. How I scoffed at the books that said things like... 14 weeks... 15 weeks... you will definitely be wearing maternity clothes by now. Ha! I was wearing maternity clothes because I work at Motherhood Maternity... not because I needed them. And that was only the tops. No pants.
Until Friday, January 26th.
I was helping out at the other Motherhood, which is essentially a department within Macy's. (whoo hoo Dayton Mall, you so faaaancy with your two maternity stores!!) Not a lot to do up there, as there's no cash register, dressing rooms, and oftentimes, no customers. Thus this little corner of Macy's (between the fatty clothes and "intimate apparel") is chock full o' stock. Every rack is just brimming with sweaters, pants, panties, camis, sleepwear, pants, clearance... so much that any innocent browsers who pull an item towards them for a closer look leave that piece of clothing hanging mid-air, supported against gravity by the equal and opposing force of hundreds of other clearance tops and pant suits. Without going into further unnecessary details about the physics of retail merchandising, I was basically up there to straighten and tidy the entire department.
Easy enough, job done. Don't tell Mother's Work Inc., but I even took about 35 minutes to take a walk through the mall and eat a piece of mushroom pizza from Sbarro's. But towards my 9pm end time I still had two rouge pairs of pants that I could find no home for. So I clocked out and took them over to the fitting room. And tried them on. And...
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Orgasmic sigh of delicious comfortable relief. And a sudden realization that I was HOT. (was - at the time. still am now too) After a week or two of wearing my size 13 Charlotte Russe jeans (yeah, it was a hard call, but I convinced myself that particular style ran small... I had bought them with Marena in Chicago when I was about 6 days pregnant) with growing discomfort, especially when sitting down for 8 hours a day, I had picked up two fabulous pairs of seven dollar athletic pants from Steve and Barry's. Essentially fancier sweat pants, that had a nice enough cut to them that they passed off as biz casual for work... and that I wore to sleep, work, work out, and, that fateful Friday, to Macy's. They were getting a lot of good use but I only realized that the black pair I had on had shrunk up to a niiiiiicely conspicuous flood pant. Which made me feel like a tool. So donning those perfect length petite medium black twills with the mid-belly was like stepping into a pair of custom-made Levis.
I spun around and looked at my backside. Nice!
The second pair was equally delightful. Green cargos with neat little pockets. Another mid belly. Deeeeelightful. Bought 'em both. Came home and modeled. Felt like a real honest-to-goodness pregnant lady in my new happy pants.
Some ladies hold out until they're at the point of no return. We had a lady on Saturday who walked out in an entire outfit - ENTIRE outfit - after coming in to buy her first maternity clothes at like 5 or 6 months. Bless her heart... she bought pants, shirts, bras, and undies... and handed me a fist full of tickets and a packet of panties with one missing. I got it. She was wearing it all out. Good for her.
But you gotta get the pants. Wearing your regular jeans with a tummy sleeve or bella band will make you feel like a fat a**. Wearing maternity pants makes me realize that it's just my abdominal area that's expanding, and that perhaps that time on the elliptical is making my posterior even nicer. I dunno. I've never felt like I've had slimmer legs than now.
God bless the designers at Motherhood Maternity!
That was more of a ramble than anything... but I'm a little flustered after the season premier of Lost :-)
Until Friday, January 26th.
I was helping out at the other Motherhood, which is essentially a department within Macy's. (whoo hoo Dayton Mall, you so faaaancy with your two maternity stores!!) Not a lot to do up there, as there's no cash register, dressing rooms, and oftentimes, no customers. Thus this little corner of Macy's (between the fatty clothes and "intimate apparel") is chock full o' stock. Every rack is just brimming with sweaters, pants, panties, camis, sleepwear, pants, clearance... so much that any innocent browsers who pull an item towards them for a closer look leave that piece of clothing hanging mid-air, supported against gravity by the equal and opposing force of hundreds of other clearance tops and pant suits. Without going into further unnecessary details about the physics of retail merchandising, I was basically up there to straighten and tidy the entire department.
Easy enough, job done. Don't tell Mother's Work Inc., but I even took about 35 minutes to take a walk through the mall and eat a piece of mushroom pizza from Sbarro's. But towards my 9pm end time I still had two rouge pairs of pants that I could find no home for. So I clocked out and took them over to the fitting room. And tried them on. And...
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Orgasmic sigh of delicious comfortable relief. And a sudden realization that I was HOT. (was - at the time. still am now too) After a week or two of wearing my size 13 Charlotte Russe jeans (yeah, it was a hard call, but I convinced myself that particular style ran small... I had bought them with Marena in Chicago when I was about 6 days pregnant) with growing discomfort, especially when sitting down for 8 hours a day, I had picked up two fabulous pairs of seven dollar athletic pants from Steve and Barry's. Essentially fancier sweat pants, that had a nice enough cut to them that they passed off as biz casual for work... and that I wore to sleep, work, work out, and, that fateful Friday, to Macy's. They were getting a lot of good use but I only realized that the black pair I had on had shrunk up to a niiiiiicely conspicuous flood pant. Which made me feel like a tool. So donning those perfect length petite medium black twills with the mid-belly was like stepping into a pair of custom-made Levis.
I spun around and looked at my backside. Nice!
The second pair was equally delightful. Green cargos with neat little pockets. Another mid belly. Deeeeelightful. Bought 'em both. Came home and modeled. Felt like a real honest-to-goodness pregnant lady in my new happy pants.
Some ladies hold out until they're at the point of no return. We had a lady on Saturday who walked out in an entire outfit - ENTIRE outfit - after coming in to buy her first maternity clothes at like 5 or 6 months. Bless her heart... she bought pants, shirts, bras, and undies... and handed me a fist full of tickets and a packet of panties with one missing. I got it. She was wearing it all out. Good for her.
But you gotta get the pants. Wearing your regular jeans with a tummy sleeve or bella band will make you feel like a fat a**. Wearing maternity pants makes me realize that it's just my abdominal area that's expanding, and that perhaps that time on the elliptical is making my posterior even nicer. I dunno. I've never felt like I've had slimmer legs than now.
God bless the designers at Motherhood Maternity!
That was more of a ramble than anything... but I'm a little flustered after the season premier of Lost :-)
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Statistical Goodness
Jan 24, 2008
About 14 weeks and 5 days pregnant
Weight: 151 lbs or so
Weight gain: somewhere between 8 and 5 pounds... not sure because it always flux'ed between about 143-146. Let's say... 6.5 pounds gained :-)
Bust: 36
Waist: 30.5
Belly: 38
Nothing new to report other than it's freezing cold down in Dayton and just about everywhere else...
About 14 weeks and 5 days pregnant
Weight: 151 lbs or so
Weight gain: somewhere between 8 and 5 pounds... not sure because it always flux'ed between about 143-146. Let's say... 6.5 pounds gained :-)
Bust: 36
Waist: 30.5
Belly: 38
Nothing new to report other than it's freezing cold down in Dayton and just about everywhere else...
Second Trimester... and Back on the Soapbox for a Moment
Happy beginning of the second trimester to me. Now things seem to be getting a little more interesting; there's beginning to be a perceptible size difference in my abdomen, boobies are still luscious, and all clothing related to those regions are generally getting tight. Apparently this is the time where your body is increasing the volume of blood, and as a result I get out of the shower and have a personal showing of the "Human Body" exhibit - I can see blue veins spidering all through my chest, neck, arms, shoulders. It's strange, but neat to see. (Alternate theory: perhaps as the result of the dark cold months of fall and winter my skin is just going more towards totally translucent... yikes!)
Having exhausted my current stash of pregnancy books and often (stupidly) confused by reading ahead in those "week-by-week" books, I've moved onto the next frontier: actual PARENTING books. How to deal with having just had your baby and such. How to get the little bugger to sleep happily and how to interpret those different types of cries. How to make a positive difference in the life of an infant and allow them to grow up a self-sufficient, independent, yet well-loved kid. All that sort of thing.
Lord knows you take things away from your interactions with friends, coworkers, complete strangers and all... and perhaps as a couple Mr. George and I do that more than most. We analyze ourselves and others a lot... and it's an exercise that provides fodder for interesting conversation but also makes you very introspective. One issue I'm personally concerned with is whether or not you can spoil a baby. When does that switch flip... or is it something that you've been doing from square one that results in a over-indulged little pig child? Pardon my terminology. But seriously?
Here's something I read... and found both fascinating and very comforting.
"When we think of spoiled children, we think of those who are rude or willful, who seem to be concerned only with themselves. How does this process take place, transforming a tiny baby who is newly experiencing the world into a child whom nobody wants to be around?
I think of a spoiled child as one whose ability to cope with the world has been damaged, or spoiled. Perhaps her parents worried so much that they tried to remove every obstacle or challenge from her path. Perhaps they got into the habit of being her entertainer or providing enough distractions so she lost her natural curiosity and never learned how to entertain herself. Perhaps they overdirrected her play and experiences so she never felt free. Or perhaps they didn't set appropriate limits so their child never learned self-discipline.
Attending to your baby in a loving manner is not the same as spoiling her. It demonstrates your love. While you attend to her needs, allow her the space, the time, and the support to do what she can on her own, whether it's to self-sooth, cry when she needs to cry, or explore her environment. Through observation you will learn to distinguish the fine line between her needs and yours, and learn how to help her help herself. [the bold is my addition]
The effort will be well worth it as your child grows to be a confident person who respects her parents because they respected her."
Everybody's been there. I've sat on a plane full of pre-adolescents who repeatedly told their loving but probably overindulgent parents to "SHUT UP!" You see SuperNanny dealing with kids who are so warped that they actually physically harm their parents when they don't get their way. You meet adults who, because of their actions, their conversation, their decisions, their lifestyles... you can tell they maaaaaay have been just a leeeeeeetle "spoiled" by their parents themselves. Channeling the whining power of children in the Dayton Mall alone could produce electricity for southern California, if some Monsters Inc. type technology was invented.
But every so often, and it seems to be more rare nowadays, you encounter a NICE, POLITE, CLEVER CHILD.
We definitely want one of those.
Having exhausted my current stash of pregnancy books and often (stupidly) confused by reading ahead in those "week-by-week" books, I've moved onto the next frontier: actual PARENTING books. How to deal with having just had your baby and such. How to get the little bugger to sleep happily and how to interpret those different types of cries. How to make a positive difference in the life of an infant and allow them to grow up a self-sufficient, independent, yet well-loved kid. All that sort of thing.
Lord knows you take things away from your interactions with friends, coworkers, complete strangers and all... and perhaps as a couple Mr. George and I do that more than most. We analyze ourselves and others a lot... and it's an exercise that provides fodder for interesting conversation but also makes you very introspective. One issue I'm personally concerned with is whether or not you can spoil a baby. When does that switch flip... or is it something that you've been doing from square one that results in a over-indulged little pig child? Pardon my terminology. But seriously?
Here's something I read... and found both fascinating and very comforting.
"When we think of spoiled children, we think of those who are rude or willful, who seem to be concerned only with themselves. How does this process take place, transforming a tiny baby who is newly experiencing the world into a child whom nobody wants to be around?
I think of a spoiled child as one whose ability to cope with the world has been damaged, or spoiled. Perhaps her parents worried so much that they tried to remove every obstacle or challenge from her path. Perhaps they got into the habit of being her entertainer or providing enough distractions so she lost her natural curiosity and never learned how to entertain herself. Perhaps they overdirrected her play and experiences so she never felt free. Or perhaps they didn't set appropriate limits so their child never learned self-discipline.
Attending to your baby in a loving manner is not the same as spoiling her. It demonstrates your love. While you attend to her needs, allow her the space, the time, and the support to do what she can on her own, whether it's to self-sooth, cry when she needs to cry, or explore her environment. Through observation you will learn to distinguish the fine line between her needs and yours, and learn how to help her help herself. [the bold is my addition]
The effort will be well worth it as your child grows to be a confident person who respects her parents because they respected her."
Everybody's been there. I've sat on a plane full of pre-adolescents who repeatedly told their loving but probably overindulgent parents to "SHUT UP!" You see SuperNanny dealing with kids who are so warped that they actually physically harm their parents when they don't get their way. You meet adults who, because of their actions, their conversation, their decisions, their lifestyles... you can tell they maaaaaay have been just a leeeeeeetle "spoiled" by their parents themselves. Channeling the whining power of children in the Dayton Mall alone could produce electricity for southern California, if some Monsters Inc. type technology was invented.
But every so often, and it seems to be more rare nowadays, you encounter a NICE, POLITE, CLEVER CHILD.
We definitely want one of those.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
"Zumba baby"; "Zumba, Baby!"?
Have you heard of Zumba? It's the new "thing" in exercise - apparently. I stumbled upon it about 7 days into our new gym membership. I was already hitting the yoga classes pretty heavily, as they are hidden in the back of the gym by the nursery in a dark, wooden-floored, candle lit room where all the fat old ladies hide. (You can skulk in the back door and never have to cross paths with any of the hot body building types who live in the front, main gym.) So far I hadn't had the guts to wander towards the big front aerobics room, where occasionally I would see extremely cut, tanned people jumping and crunching under the direction of a very tightly muscled man of indeterminate sexual preference named Maurice.
Then, flyers advertising a new class called "Latin Hip Hop Zumba" started appearing in the bathrooms and bulletin boards. I was drawn to the "latin" part... not so much "et tu, brute" but more "arriba arrriiba! viva mexico! tequila tabaco y ron! dale pa' atras!" and all that. So I went to the first class...
Our teacher is this bootylicious lady, possibly Dominican or something, but definitely bootylicious and so full of spunk and fun that she infects an entire room with it. How she has turned a bunch of 40-something white ladies into a bunch of dancing fools! (There are some younger folks, including a crazy Middle Eastern girl with no rhythm, a gangly high school senior who dances like a mascot, some cute older Indian ladies, and one rowdy Puerto Rican lady who always requests Cumbia Kings. Oh, and then there's me, the abnormally excited white girl who knows the words to Spanish songs but had never heard "I'm Bringing Sexy Back" until the class) Teacher's name is Camelia and she's a Zumba pro, teaches all over Dayton, and her Wednesday night in Centerville is actually her 3rd back to back class of that day... so we get a crazed woman who's not holding anything back :D
Anyway, last night my friend Tabby came with me to Zumba. It was her first time, and she did great and had a fun time shaking her booty. I had missed a few classes here and there, so it was a little bit of a refresher for me... and as each week goes on, I'm moving more and more into being a pregnant lady doing Zumba instead of just doing Zumba. I think that when Baby comes out, he/she is going to not cry, but yell "I'm bringin' sexy back..." and all the nurses will respond... "What!?!?".
About midway through class, we were approached by a cute little middle aged blond woman; she was the embodiment of country-fried sweetness... she's in Zumba almost every week and is probably about a buck twenty and five feet tall. She came up to us both, but sort of looked to Tabby and said, "Now, I don't want you to take this the wrong way..." I started thinking immediately that any constructive criticism was not necessarily welcome, as I considered myself a Zumba semi-pro and thought Tabby was doing good enough to not appear a beginner. Mind started racing for a defense... unnecessarily, as she continued... "Now, I don't want you to take this the wrong way... (long pause and uncomfortable smile)... but you two have the cutest hip movements!"
Haaaaaaaaaaaaah!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MirhQhqAXBw
Our instructor's site... oh God, she's a life coach... I didn't realize :P http://mobetterme.com/site/
Anyway, Zumba is super fun so go out and do it!
Then, flyers advertising a new class called "Latin Hip Hop Zumba" started appearing in the bathrooms and bulletin boards. I was drawn to the "latin" part... not so much "et tu, brute" but more "arriba arrriiba! viva mexico! tequila tabaco y ron! dale pa' atras!" and all that. So I went to the first class...
Our teacher is this bootylicious lady, possibly Dominican or something, but definitely bootylicious and so full of spunk and fun that she infects an entire room with it. How she has turned a bunch of 40-something white ladies into a bunch of dancing fools! (There are some younger folks, including a crazy Middle Eastern girl with no rhythm, a gangly high school senior who dances like a mascot, some cute older Indian ladies, and one rowdy Puerto Rican lady who always requests Cumbia Kings. Oh, and then there's me, the abnormally excited white girl who knows the words to Spanish songs but had never heard "I'm Bringing Sexy Back" until the class) Teacher's name is Camelia and she's a Zumba pro, teaches all over Dayton, and her Wednesday night in Centerville is actually her 3rd back to back class of that day... so we get a crazed woman who's not holding anything back :D
Anyway, last night my friend Tabby came with me to Zumba. It was her first time, and she did great and had a fun time shaking her booty. I had missed a few classes here and there, so it was a little bit of a refresher for me... and as each week goes on, I'm moving more and more into being a pregnant lady doing Zumba instead of just doing Zumba. I think that when Baby comes out, he/she is going to not cry, but yell "I'm bringin' sexy back..." and all the nurses will respond... "What!?!?".
About midway through class, we were approached by a cute little middle aged blond woman; she was the embodiment of country-fried sweetness... she's in Zumba almost every week and is probably about a buck twenty and five feet tall. She came up to us both, but sort of looked to Tabby and said, "Now, I don't want you to take this the wrong way..." I started thinking immediately that any constructive criticism was not necessarily welcome, as I considered myself a Zumba semi-pro and thought Tabby was doing good enough to not appear a beginner. Mind started racing for a defense... unnecessarily, as she continued... "Now, I don't want you to take this the wrong way... (long pause and uncomfortable smile)... but you two have the cutest hip movements!"
Haaaaaaaaaaaaah!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MirhQhqAXBw
Our instructor's site... oh God, she's a life coach... I didn't realize :P http://mobetterme.com/site/
Anyway, Zumba is super fun so go out and do it!
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
On a lighter note!
We like to imagine what our baby would look like. Suri Cruise is one... she's got the weirdness of me as a toddler, and some feature's of Saby's nieces. Maybe add curly hair?
Damn, I tried to find pictures of Sarah McLachlan's daughter India, as her daddy's "of Indian descent" and her momma's a good strapping Irishwoman... no such luck.
Shall speculate more about the genetic experiment that is our Mallu Catholic Irish German Swedish Dutch Baby later :-)
Other than that...
Again, pardon the last post if you're not into that kind of thing. I realize in pregnancy, as with anything, drama is what you make of it. Perhaps that's something everybody would go through, pregnant or not, and they just have enough restraint to not mention it in public. I don't want to give the impression that I am above any sort of pain or suffering or misery or anything... or even that everything is constantly just a big bowl of cherries.
But, primarily, it IS a big bowl of cherries. I really think it's just how you look at it. Yeah, there's heartburn, big bloated bellies, and yesterday I had to pee like 8 times in the span of 75 minutes, but that is nothing compared to the thought that me and Saby are having a baby. Any discomfort along the way are temporary, preparatory for the "discomforts" and changes of early parenthood, and in regards to both I'm keeping a very positive outlook. It's for Baby! What can be a better reason than that? I've probably felt worse in the past from eating gigantic greasy dinners. It's not just about me anymore, and it's not all about me either.
As my sister always says in regards to any pregnancy, you are not the first, nor will you be the last person to be pregnant. There have been millions before you and there will be millions after. It's not a sickness. Unless it's an unplanned pregnancy (and my heart goes out to those babies) it's probably something you've wanted, tried for, prayed for, possibly even cried for. Now you have it... and others do not. So buck up and deal.
Interesting passage I read in a book...
"If a pregnant woman wants and needs to be pampered, "waited upon" and coddled, and buys into the concept that pregnancy is an abnormal condition and that she is "ill," the attention that she gains during a troublesome pregnancy and a difficult birthing can definitely make it all worthwhile in her mind. She barely tolerates her pregnancy and constantly proclaims her annoyance at all the aches, pains and other pregnancy "disorders" while she uses body language that demonstrates her plight. Family members often contribute to this scenario by cautioning the woman that she must "give in" to her frality during this precarious time of her life.
...Nevertheless, it is important to assess your own motivation and intent as you approach your birthing and consider, in light of all we've spoken of here, how you will apply these Laws of the Mind so that they work for you.
Motivation is closely tied to your intent and your self image. It is said that a woman births pretty much the same way that she lives life. For that reason, it is imperative that you take the time to do an assessment of how you see yourself and whether this image is productive for you or counterproductive. Much of the determining aspects of how you will make important choices concerning your birthing are factored on how you regard birth and your own role in this experience."
With that said, let me fully recognize that I am a bit of an attention whore. But first and foremost, I want positive attention. I want to overachieve. I want to prove a point, and prove people wrong. And as a result, I want to have the best damn pregnancy anybody we know has ever heard of, to give hope to everybody who has only heard the miserable side of things. I want to pass on to my possibly-daughter an attitude towards birth that is positive; as my mother and sister did, perhaps by mostly passing along nothing until recently. Their pregnancies? Mom had 2, both with a little heartburn and few other noteworthy issues, despite her last (me) being high risk due to her age. (she did go on to have a 36 hour labor and a caesarian, but hey...)
My sister? She mentions nothing terrible, and one of my fondest memories from her first pregnancy (Jessica) was walking at East Harbor State Park with her and her digging a belly-sized hole in the sand so that we could lay together on the beach. During the subsequent pregnancies she was in the midst of moving her family from Michigan to Ohio and then back. And Molly's homecoming was to a furnished apartment that the Kerr's called home while their house was being rebuilt after a 3rd floor pipe burst and flooded the entire house while they were on vacation. I asked her husband about it over Christmas... he said "it's always going to be challenging. But it's only as bad as you make it." And he gave a look that said "you can do it."
I guess my first note of thanks to our baby is for all the inspiration for personal reflection.
But, primarily, it IS a big bowl of cherries. I really think it's just how you look at it. Yeah, there's heartburn, big bloated bellies, and yesterday I had to pee like 8 times in the span of 75 minutes, but that is nothing compared to the thought that me and Saby are having a baby. Any discomfort along the way are temporary, preparatory for the "discomforts" and changes of early parenthood, and in regards to both I'm keeping a very positive outlook. It's for Baby! What can be a better reason than that? I've probably felt worse in the past from eating gigantic greasy dinners. It's not just about me anymore, and it's not all about me either.
As my sister always says in regards to any pregnancy, you are not the first, nor will you be the last person to be pregnant. There have been millions before you and there will be millions after. It's not a sickness. Unless it's an unplanned pregnancy (and my heart goes out to those babies) it's probably something you've wanted, tried for, prayed for, possibly even cried for. Now you have it... and others do not. So buck up and deal.
Interesting passage I read in a book...
"If a pregnant woman wants and needs to be pampered, "waited upon" and coddled, and buys into the concept that pregnancy is an abnormal condition and that she is "ill," the attention that she gains during a troublesome pregnancy and a difficult birthing can definitely make it all worthwhile in her mind. She barely tolerates her pregnancy and constantly proclaims her annoyance at all the aches, pains and other pregnancy "disorders" while she uses body language that demonstrates her plight. Family members often contribute to this scenario by cautioning the woman that she must "give in" to her frality during this precarious time of her life.
...Nevertheless, it is important to assess your own motivation and intent as you approach your birthing and consider, in light of all we've spoken of here, how you will apply these Laws of the Mind so that they work for you.
Motivation is closely tied to your intent and your self image. It is said that a woman births pretty much the same way that she lives life. For that reason, it is imperative that you take the time to do an assessment of how you see yourself and whether this image is productive for you or counterproductive. Much of the determining aspects of how you will make important choices concerning your birthing are factored on how you regard birth and your own role in this experience."
With that said, let me fully recognize that I am a bit of an attention whore. But first and foremost, I want positive attention. I want to overachieve. I want to prove a point, and prove people wrong. And as a result, I want to have the best damn pregnancy anybody we know has ever heard of, to give hope to everybody who has only heard the miserable side of things. I want to pass on to my possibly-daughter an attitude towards birth that is positive; as my mother and sister did, perhaps by mostly passing along nothing until recently. Their pregnancies? Mom had 2, both with a little heartburn and few other noteworthy issues, despite her last (me) being high risk due to her age. (she did go on to have a 36 hour labor and a caesarian, but hey...)
My sister? She mentions nothing terrible, and one of my fondest memories from her first pregnancy (Jessica) was walking at East Harbor State Park with her and her digging a belly-sized hole in the sand so that we could lay together on the beach. During the subsequent pregnancies she was in the midst of moving her family from Michigan to Ohio and then back. And Molly's homecoming was to a furnished apartment that the Kerr's called home while their house was being rebuilt after a 3rd floor pipe burst and flooded the entire house while they were on vacation. I asked her husband about it over Christmas... he said "it's always going to be challenging. But it's only as bad as you make it." And he gave a look that said "you can do it."
I guess my first note of thanks to our baby is for all the inspiration for personal reflection.
Not for the Faint Hearted
Please qualify yourself under one of the following categories:
Are you are at all squeamish about bodily functions? Does the thought of cleaning up a pet's mess mess you up? Then you may want to skip this post.
Are you are the sort of person who can sit through the entire infomercial about full body cleanses and the 45 pounds of poo they found in John Wayne's colon? Carry on, my strong-stomached friend. Or if you've been quietly willing some sort of misery-inducing equalizing factor to visit my so far rainbow- and puppy-filled pregnancy, you might like what's coming too.
If you're somewhere in between these two, carry on with caution, maybe reading through your fingers as if it were a scary movie... that's what I did.
So. Last week or so has been a new milestone in this whole experience. Alluded to, sort of foreshadowed movie-style, by Swapna over Thanksgiving weekend when she said to no one in particular that "pregnancy constipation is really a problem", I discovered that perhaps my cross to bear might be a giant bloated tummy and the depressing inability to poop. Not total inability, mind you, but a depressing bout of both delayed and lackluster performances. Sort of like Michael Vick going from one of the most promising quarterbacks in the league to being banned from the NFL. (I made that up... is he really banned? I know he's in jail... but things aren't that bad!)
I was a superstar poo'er. A girl we knew in college used to call people in to try and show off the results of her newly cleansed colon. I was along that line, although not that crass and public. All star stuff you should call mom about. But all that's gone now.
Lately I've been battling some espantosa horrible gas that puffs out my stomach about as much as a 5 pound baby. (which, at about 12 weeks, is frightening) Pants that fit previously are suddenly tight enough to merit unzipping, and I can play my exposed stomach like a timpani drum. Sounds sort of like a ghatam. Ping-parap-pararap-ping! So I started eating rolaids and bananas. Which both, while nice stomach comforting foods, are constipating. Whoops, didn't realize that. Bring on more gas; much more more more embarrassing, noxious gas, more obnoxious bloats, and these really amazing digestional cramps.
And nothing seemed to help! I understand that the digestive system slows down thanks to progesterone produced during pregnancy. I understand constipation is something that takes a few days to work through. But I wanted relief NOW from gassy belly. So two nights worth of Milk of Magnesium, fruit juices, prayer, and a worried, semi-disgusted yet caring husband led up to this morning's happenings.
First off, thank GOD I stayed home from work today. (a clue to anyone squeamish to leave this off NOW) My job at National City Mortgage is currently in training mode, so we sit all day in a classroom at computers learning about mortgages and how to deal with depressed and angry callers. We sit all day. That may also be part of the problem. I digress. There is some sort of virus slowly making it's way around the training room, and I wanted to try and head it off by taking a break and getting some sleep. So slept in, woke up leisurely, and had a soy milk coffee.
Maybe my body has been missing the supine position in which I'd normally check mail, read, and drink coffee. Or perhaps the radiation and pressure from the computer on a pillow on my lower abdomen has some effect that I've been missing, sitting so attentively (ha!) in Customer Service University. But whatever it was, I got the "urge" - the telltale urge to go, and so to the loo I went.
AND HOW I WENT. It was one of those issues where you have to draw a bath afterwards. Without being terribly graphic, let me say it was a.) painful, b.) nauseating, and c.) seemingly without end. It was not a situation where I was in control of things - I could feel my abdomen sort of contract in a very natural yet not-my-doing sort of way, and then voila! I had gone. And none of the funny business from before - it was call-in-your-roommate worthy. That happened like 4 times. The first time, I got done and started the bath, thinking "good Lord, that's uncomfortable." (Perhaps at the moments my exact thoughts were more like, "Ahhhhhhhh, #$&!^@#$!") But as I started the bath, the "urge" came back. Subtle... like a little kid who really wants to tell you something, but knows not to interrupt. Round two brought thoughts to my head of "how can I handle natural labor if I can't even poop without feeling pitiful?" Then I pulled it together a little bit, and started a sort of relaxation breathing that one of my books suggests. Then things got better, and those weird automatic abdominal surges came back, and a few minutes later, I was all done, in the bathtub, and feeling MUCH MUCH MUCH better.
(I didn't even need the bath afterwards, but it just looked so warm and inviting...)
So there you go! I weighed myself (in honor of John Wayne) after the whole ordeal and am proud to say I'm holding steady at about 148 lbs, which is just about where the midwife weighed me in on the 14th of December.
Lessons learned? Mind your bananas. Don't OD on Rolaids. And let your body do what it has to do... there is no set "normal" as far as poo, so as long as you're getting your fiber and getting enough "time supine", I suppose life will be fine.
Now, what to have for lunch? :D
Are you are at all squeamish about bodily functions? Does the thought of cleaning up a pet's mess mess you up? Then you may want to skip this post.
Are you are the sort of person who can sit through the entire infomercial about full body cleanses and the 45 pounds of poo they found in John Wayne's colon? Carry on, my strong-stomached friend. Or if you've been quietly willing some sort of misery-inducing equalizing factor to visit my so far rainbow- and puppy-filled pregnancy, you might like what's coming too.
If you're somewhere in between these two, carry on with caution, maybe reading through your fingers as if it were a scary movie... that's what I did.
So. Last week or so has been a new milestone in this whole experience. Alluded to, sort of foreshadowed movie-style, by Swapna over Thanksgiving weekend when she said to no one in particular that "pregnancy constipation is really a problem", I discovered that perhaps my cross to bear might be a giant bloated tummy and the depressing inability to poop. Not total inability, mind you, but a depressing bout of both delayed and lackluster performances. Sort of like Michael Vick going from one of the most promising quarterbacks in the league to being banned from the NFL. (I made that up... is he really banned? I know he's in jail... but things aren't that bad!)
I was a superstar poo'er. A girl we knew in college used to call people in to try and show off the results of her newly cleansed colon. I was along that line, although not that crass and public. All star stuff you should call mom about. But all that's gone now.
Lately I've been battling some espantosa horrible gas that puffs out my stomach about as much as a 5 pound baby. (which, at about 12 weeks, is frightening) Pants that fit previously are suddenly tight enough to merit unzipping, and I can play my exposed stomach like a timpani drum. Sounds sort of like a ghatam. Ping-parap-pararap-ping! So I started eating rolaids and bananas. Which both, while nice stomach comforting foods, are constipating. Whoops, didn't realize that. Bring on more gas; much more more more embarrassing, noxious gas, more obnoxious bloats, and these really amazing digestional cramps.
And nothing seemed to help! I understand that the digestive system slows down thanks to progesterone produced during pregnancy. I understand constipation is something that takes a few days to work through. But I wanted relief NOW from gassy belly. So two nights worth of Milk of Magnesium, fruit juices, prayer, and a worried, semi-disgusted yet caring husband led up to this morning's happenings.
First off, thank GOD I stayed home from work today. (a clue to anyone squeamish to leave this off NOW) My job at National City Mortgage is currently in training mode, so we sit all day in a classroom at computers learning about mortgages and how to deal with depressed and angry callers. We sit all day. That may also be part of the problem. I digress. There is some sort of virus slowly making it's way around the training room, and I wanted to try and head it off by taking a break and getting some sleep. So slept in, woke up leisurely, and had a soy milk coffee.
Maybe my body has been missing the supine position in which I'd normally check mail, read, and drink coffee. Or perhaps the radiation and pressure from the computer on a pillow on my lower abdomen has some effect that I've been missing, sitting so attentively (ha!) in Customer Service University. But whatever it was, I got the "urge" - the telltale urge to go, and so to the loo I went.
AND HOW I WENT. It was one of those issues where you have to draw a bath afterwards. Without being terribly graphic, let me say it was a.) painful, b.) nauseating, and c.) seemingly without end. It was not a situation where I was in control of things - I could feel my abdomen sort of contract in a very natural yet not-my-doing sort of way, and then voila! I had gone. And none of the funny business from before - it was call-in-your-roommate worthy. That happened like 4 times. The first time, I got done and started the bath, thinking "good Lord, that's uncomfortable." (Perhaps at the moments my exact thoughts were more like, "Ahhhhhhhh, #$&!^@#$!") But as I started the bath, the "urge" came back. Subtle... like a little kid who really wants to tell you something, but knows not to interrupt. Round two brought thoughts to my head of "how can I handle natural labor if I can't even poop without feeling pitiful?" Then I pulled it together a little bit, and started a sort of relaxation breathing that one of my books suggests. Then things got better, and those weird automatic abdominal surges came back, and a few minutes later, I was all done, in the bathtub, and feeling MUCH MUCH MUCH better.
(I didn't even need the bath afterwards, but it just looked so warm and inviting...)
So there you go! I weighed myself (in honor of John Wayne) after the whole ordeal and am proud to say I'm holding steady at about 148 lbs, which is just about where the midwife weighed me in on the 14th of December.
Lessons learned? Mind your bananas. Don't OD on Rolaids. And let your body do what it has to do... there is no set "normal" as far as poo, so as long as you're getting your fiber and getting enough "time supine", I suppose life will be fine.
Now, what to have for lunch? :D
Monday, December 24, 2007
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