As I write this there are two men downstairs in our basement installing our new furnace. In other words, I am sitting in my kitchen, tip-typing away at my computer, while someone else is cutting sheet-metal, wiring, moving heavy shit, and cursing.
I could totally get used to this.
And tonight there shall be heat!
Yes, real honest-to-god heat that will blow forth from grill-covered holes in our floors. And in the morning the house will be heated to a comfortable temperature automatically thanks to the genius invention known as the thermostat.
The prograaaaamable thermostat.
Yes - we are THAT fancy.
It gives me great pleasure to see that all the work we've been doing...all the replumbing of both gas and water, the hanging of ducting, and the constant swearing...it will all finally come to fruition in one! complete! project!
Until now I was beginning to think that DIY was really short for Do-It-Yourself-And-It-Will-Take-Forever-And-You-Will-Never-
Actually-Finish-Any-One-Project.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
and now...a few complaints
Things that are annoying me today:
1) My belly is always getting into the sink these days resulting in my walking around all the time with a big wet spot on my shirt.
2) I had the biggest craving for BBQ flavored Kettle Potato Chips and all my work's vending machine had in it was roasted garlic & herb. I never get cravings. And one of the few times I do and I can't do anything about it.
3) There was this guy on the elevator who was eating a bag of chips. Loudly. BBQ Kettle chips to be exact. And he didn't give me the bag no matter how hard I stared at him. Asshole.
4) This jacket I saw this afternoon on some coworker earlier. It was red plaid and looked like a short bathrobe.
5) Maternity shirts, like the one I'm wearing today, appear to be made for women with small chests. Not that I have a particularly large chest. But it seems that I have numerous maternity shirts that keep riding up over my boobs, as thought my boobs are too big - forcing me to constantly tug the shirt down or else look like I'm wearing a belly shirt. And pregnant women should not wear belly shirts.
6) A co-worker of mine is a sniffle-er. One of those annoying people who refuses to blow their nose when it is runny. As a result, anyone in near proximity must sit and listen to said co-worker suck the snot that is running down their nose back up into their sinuses every 10 seconds.
7) Britney Spears' Halloween costume.
8) I now have Roasted Garlic & Herb breath.
1) My belly is always getting into the sink these days resulting in my walking around all the time with a big wet spot on my shirt.
2) I had the biggest craving for BBQ flavored Kettle Potato Chips and all my work's vending machine had in it was roasted garlic & herb. I never get cravings. And one of the few times I do and I can't do anything about it.
3) There was this guy on the elevator who was eating a bag of chips. Loudly. BBQ Kettle chips to be exact. And he didn't give me the bag no matter how hard I stared at him. Asshole.
4) This jacket I saw this afternoon on some coworker earlier. It was red plaid and looked like a short bathrobe.
5) Maternity shirts, like the one I'm wearing today, appear to be made for women with small chests. Not that I have a particularly large chest. But it seems that I have numerous maternity shirts that keep riding up over my boobs, as thought my boobs are too big - forcing me to constantly tug the shirt down or else look like I'm wearing a belly shirt. And pregnant women should not wear belly shirts.
6) A co-worker of mine is a sniffle-er. One of those annoying people who refuses to blow their nose when it is runny. As a result, anyone in near proximity must sit and listen to said co-worker suck the snot that is running down their nose back up into their sinuses every 10 seconds.
7) Britney Spears' Halloween costume.
8) I now have Roasted Garlic & Herb breath.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Time and time again
At some point in the past 2 weeks time officially sped up and it has me a little annoyed.
We have been going at a reasonable tack, getting ourselves and the house ready for the impending arrival of our baby. But it has become very clear to me of late that we still have at least 173 things left to do, and only 3 months to do them in.
Or, 97 days.
Or, 14 weekends.
And that's only if the kid comes when he's expected.
Now, there was a time in my life - my sans fetus life to be exact - that 3 months felt like all the time in the world.
But given the fact that I have NO IDEA what having a baby in our house is going to do to our lives, I have to plan for us to check everything off our freakishly long list - so we don't have to deal with it after the baby is already here. I.e. plan for the worst case scenario.
Because - that is what I do.
I plan for the lamest, shittiest, most annoying situation. Mostly to annoy the piss out of my husband - the eternal optimist. But also because I like it better when I'm pleasantly surprised if things work out better than expected.
So I suppose in a case like this, the worst case situation would be that all we'll be capable of doing for a while is making sure the baby is fed and cleaned and loved. And if there IS any free time, that will be spent sleeping or eating.
Which doesn't leave much room for taking care of all the things we didn't get around to before the baby was born.
Like gutting the nursery so we can insulate the walls and hang sheetrock that doesn't look like it was hung by a contractor with only 3 fingers on each hand.
Or remodel the bathroom so we no longer have to avoid touching the walls in the shower because they are so disgusting and filthy from years of poor maintenance they are probably more petri dish than tile and grout at this point.
I can't even wrap my head around buying nursery furniture right now given there is NO nursery ready to set the furniture up in.
And then...and THEN...an order of books I placed from Amazon.com came last night. And I near about shoved them back in the mailbox.
Read?
I don't have time to read!
What the hell was I thinking when I ordered these books? Apparently I was playing a practical joke on myself when I ordered them.
Although I NEED to read them.
Being that they're all about birthing and taking care of an infant and all.
One might like to know what exactly to expect about the whole labor and delivery process.
Especially if one is going to have a baby IN 3 MONTHS.
And despite all this crap and worry that's going through my head, I'm fully enjoying the whole experience.
Something tells me that in a very short amount of time I'm going to look back on this time as the "quiet part of our lives".
We have been going at a reasonable tack, getting ourselves and the house ready for the impending arrival of our baby. But it has become very clear to me of late that we still have at least 173 things left to do, and only 3 months to do them in.
Or, 97 days.
Or, 14 weekends.
And that's only if the kid comes when he's expected.
Now, there was a time in my life - my sans fetus life to be exact - that 3 months felt like all the time in the world.
But given the fact that I have NO IDEA what having a baby in our house is going to do to our lives, I have to plan for us to check everything off our freakishly long list - so we don't have to deal with it after the baby is already here. I.e. plan for the worst case scenario.
Because - that is what I do.
I plan for the lamest, shittiest, most annoying situation. Mostly to annoy the piss out of my husband - the eternal optimist. But also because I like it better when I'm pleasantly surprised if things work out better than expected.
So I suppose in a case like this, the worst case situation would be that all we'll be capable of doing for a while is making sure the baby is fed and cleaned and loved. And if there IS any free time, that will be spent sleeping or eating.
Which doesn't leave much room for taking care of all the things we didn't get around to before the baby was born.
Like gutting the nursery so we can insulate the walls and hang sheetrock that doesn't look like it was hung by a contractor with only 3 fingers on each hand.
Or remodel the bathroom so we no longer have to avoid touching the walls in the shower because they are so disgusting and filthy from years of poor maintenance they are probably more petri dish than tile and grout at this point.
I can't even wrap my head around buying nursery furniture right now given there is NO nursery ready to set the furniture up in.
And then...and THEN...an order of books I placed from Amazon.com came last night. And I near about shoved them back in the mailbox.
Read?
I don't have time to read!
What the hell was I thinking when I ordered these books? Apparently I was playing a practical joke on myself when I ordered them.
Although I NEED to read them.
Being that they're all about birthing and taking care of an infant and all.
One might like to know what exactly to expect about the whole labor and delivery process.
Especially if one is going to have a baby IN 3 MONTHS.
And despite all this crap and worry that's going through my head, I'm fully enjoying the whole experience.
Something tells me that in a very short amount of time I'm going to look back on this time as the "quiet part of our lives".
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Loose criteria
“I really liked this doula – I feel a lot more at ease about this whole ‘giving birth’ thing I’m supposed to do in 3 months after having just met her.”
“Yea? Well that’s good.”
“Did you like her?”
“Yea sure.”
“No really, did you? Enough to spend possibly 30 hours with her?”
“The woman comes equipped with an iPod docking station with speakers. She passed any criteria I had when she told us that.”
“Slut.”
Friday, September 28, 2007
At least 5 toes...
Before getting pregnant I had wondered at what point you actually feel like a ‘mother’.
And after I found out I was pregnant I wondered if it wasn’t going to be until the baby was actually born, because just being pregnant wasn’t actually enough to give me mothering feelings as it turned out.
That is, until I started bleeding and had no idea what it meant – for me, my baby, or for my body.
And the idea that this was the foreshadowing of something more serious, or worst of all a miscarriage?
Suddenly you find out that amidst all the panic, and fear, and denial that this could be happening to you, there is also the undeniable feeling that you are the mother and this is your baby that’s at risk.
And a very new mother at that.
And what do mothers do when there’s something wrong?
Well, if they’re me, they apparently call their doctor at 10 at night and blubber about ‘bleeding’ and ‘what’s going on?’ and ‘is the baby ok?’.
And in between the blubbering and jagged breathing the doctor tried to advise, and suggested that we go to the ER. That an ultrasound should be done just to make sure that it wasn’t anything serious.
I’m not sure that the idea of going to an ER made me feel better or worse for that matter. I pretty much knew when I first dialed my doctor that there was a trip to the emergency room in our near future.
But my call to her left me feeling neither consoled nor informed about what was going on. Other than the fact that some bleeding can be normal – she didn’t really say anything else to make me feel at ease.
So we soberly got in the car and drove intoBerkeley
About half way there I started to feel rather calm.
As I’m sure Trevor found rather consoling.
I was fine.
The baby was fine.
There was no way that something horrible could be wrong.
That and the baby had begun it’s usual 10pm-12am yoga routine right about when we got in the car.
What could possible be wrong with the baby if the baby was moving around as usual?
And then it hit me.
We’re going to the hospital.
A hospital where we will be getting an ultrasound.
You know what happens during ultrasounds? Stuff happens.
Like finding out the gender of the baby.
And just like that I went from feeling 100% worried about the baby to about 20% worried and 80% excited that we were getting an ultrasound at 19 weeks and NOT 26 weeks.
We were going to find out what we were having!
Of course the 20% of me that was still worried seemed to have a strong hold on me.
But I felt much better when the triage nurse told me that I probably had nothing to worry about.
And then they took us in for the ultrasound and I got to hear the little heartbeat – all doubt and worry went away.
And when the tech said “the baby looks fine, everything is the way it should be” all I had left to ask was “can you see what it is?”
“Well, this isn’t your official anatomy ultrasound – but I can definitely tell you that you are having a little boy.”
And here’s a little keepsake for our fridge:
And after I found out I was pregnant I wondered if it wasn’t going to be until the baby was actually born, because just being pregnant wasn’t actually enough to give me mothering feelings as it turned out.
That is, until I started bleeding and had no idea what it meant – for me, my baby, or for my body.
And the idea that this was the foreshadowing of something more serious, or worst of all a miscarriage?
Suddenly you find out that amidst all the panic, and fear, and denial that this could be happening to you, there is also the undeniable feeling that you are the mother and this is your baby that’s at risk.
And a very new mother at that.
And what do mothers do when there’s something wrong?
Well, if they’re me, they apparently call their doctor at 10 at night and blubber about ‘bleeding’ and ‘what’s going on?’ and ‘is the baby ok?’.
And in between the blubbering and jagged breathing the doctor tried to advise, and suggested that we go to the ER. That an ultrasound should be done just to make sure that it wasn’t anything serious.
I’m not sure that the idea of going to an ER made me feel better or worse for that matter. I pretty much knew when I first dialed my doctor that there was a trip to the emergency room in our near future.
But my call to her left me feeling neither consoled nor informed about what was going on. Other than the fact that some bleeding can be normal – she didn’t really say anything else to make me feel at ease.
So we soberly got in the car and drove into
About half way there I started to feel rather calm.
As I’m sure Trevor found rather consoling.
I was fine.
The baby was fine.
There was no way that something horrible could be wrong.
That and the baby had begun it’s usual 10pm-12am yoga routine right about when we got in the car.
What could possible be wrong with the baby if the baby was moving around as usual?
And then it hit me.
We’re going to the hospital.
A hospital where we will be getting an ultrasound.
You know what happens during ultrasounds? Stuff happens.
Like finding out the gender of the baby.
And just like that I went from feeling 100% worried about the baby to about 20% worried and 80% excited that we were getting an ultrasound at 19 weeks and NOT 26 weeks.
We were going to find out what we were having!
Of course the 20% of me that was still worried seemed to have a strong hold on me.
But I felt much better when the triage nurse told me that I probably had nothing to worry about.
And then they took us in for the ultrasound and I got to hear the little heartbeat – all doubt and worry went away.
And when the tech said “the baby looks fine, everything is the way it should be” all I had left to ask was “can you see what it is?”
“Well, this isn’t your official anatomy ultrasound – but I can definitely tell you that you are having a little boy.”
And here’s a little keepsake for our fridge:
And we know he has at least a right foot with 5 toes:
Monday, September 24, 2007
A Penchant for Drama
Quick note: BABY AND MOM ARE ALIVE AND FINE.
After receiving some concerned comments, and then rereading my last post, I realized that I may have a knack for writing with a bit more drama and suspense when I am both pregnant and up to my eyeballs in work.
Who knew.
My apologies to anyone that may have feared for the worst for me and the beh beh.
I will try and finish my 2-part 'dramatization' in the next day or two.
But my job may have other plans for me.
After receiving some concerned comments, and then rereading my last post, I realized that I may have a knack for writing with a bit more drama and suspense when I am both pregnant and up to my eyeballs in work.
Who knew.
My apologies to anyone that may have feared for the worst for me and the beh beh.
I will try and finish my 2-part 'dramatization' in the next day or two.
But my job may have other plans for me.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Letters of complaint to upper management
It would appear that I've fallen behind on my blogging.
A letter submitted to upper management has indicated that there has been some dissatisfaction with the frequency, or lack thereof, of blogging at this here blog.
Big surprise there.
I bet half of you have fallen out of your chairs.
To be honest, I've almost blogged about 5 times in the past few weeks, but have stopped because I was procrastinating on telling the story I wanted to tell.
Not because the story is hard to tell - just drawn out. And there's a bit of news at the end of the story that I wanted to break to a few people on the phone first before I published over the vastness that is the internet.
Now that the phone calls have been made, I can now safely blast into the vastness.
This blog is probably going to be broken into 2 parts.
And those of you who are familiar with my other blog realize that this means I'll get only part of the story down and then allude to the final entry and never ever ever get around to it.
Ever.
Ahem.
Can't really say anything to lead you all to believe otherwise.
But this one is only a 2-part story...so I'm sure this shouldn't be too hard for me to complete.
And I SWEAR! This one I will finish.
Girl Scout's honor.
(I'm totally holding my hand up in the girl scout's honor salute right now)
So.
This whole story kind of goes back, to ohhhhhh...my doctor's appointment roughly around 16 weeks.
By this point in time Trevor and I were both dying to find out the sex of the baby. We knew that typically you would have to wait at least until 18 weeks for a gender determination ultrasound - 20-22 weeks for a more accurate determination. So the idea of waiting another 2-6 weeks was pretty much annoying.
But we had no choice, and we would put up with the waiting.
And so by the time we made it to my 16 week doctor appointment all I wanted to do was get the form from my doctor to allow us to set up our ultrasound at 20 weeks.
That way I'd have something ON THE CALENDAR.
And 20 weeks sounded good to me - not to soon, not too late.
It was going to be 20 weeks.
4 more weeks.
One month.
Just 30 more days.
So imagine how much I wanted to jump off the examining table and wring my doctor's neck when she informed us that we would not be having our next ultrasound until 26 weeks.
I should point out that I really like my doctor. She's great. Laid back, good sense of humor peppered with the right amount of sarcasm. Old enough to have a decent amount of wisdom under her belt, but not so old that she might employ the use of leeches during my labor...
But this was not news I wanted to hear from her.
26 weeks?
That was 10 more weeks!
DO THE MATH PEOPLE
That's, like, 70 days! A long amount of time that no one should be expected to endure!
And I'm PREGNANT.
You do not tell a pregnant women something she does not want to hear!
It might elicit one of the following responses:
a) crying
b) yelling
c) crying spontaneously interrupted with yelling
d) yelling spontaneously interrupted with crying
But I took the news ok I suppose.
Wanted to yell and all. But I kept that to myself.
She explained that the insurance companies (oh yes, how DID I know they had something to do with this) don't really like to pay for ultrasounds.
In their humble opinion, ultrasounds should only really be used to determine 'issues', 'life threatening' concerns, to make 'diagnosis'.
Blah blah fucking blah.
And apparently ultrasounds during pregnancy aren't really necessary as far as they're concerned.
But they succumb to paying for at least one - because FOR CRYING OUT LOUD a doctor and patient should at least have the right to make sure the pregnancy is HEALTHY.
So it's very common for insurance to pay for at least one ultrasound.
Two on the other hand is a little more tricky. And my doctor's office is usually able to bend the insurance assholes to their will and make them pay for at least 2 - one to make sure the pregnancy is healthy early on (8 weeks), and one to make sure it's progressing safely (at 26 weeks).
And so we left the doctor's office with our heads hung low - with the knowledge that it would not be for another 10 weeks that we would find out the gender of our baby.
Woe was us.
Life was over as we knew it.
But we took it like the supposed grown-ups that we are, and went about our day as usual.
And it didn't take long before we started looking into those 3D/4D ultrasound clinics that are popping up everywhere, considering the possibility of just paying for an ultrasound out of pocket.
So we could know 6 weeks early.
Cuz I might have died if I waited another 6 weeks.
And $100 for a 'gender determination' session seemed like an ok price to pay just so we could stop calling the baby 'it'.
And then about 3 weeks later, at 19 weeks, life threw us a little unexpected event - and we found ourselves sitting in the waiting room of the Alta Bates ER in Berkeley at 11 at night.
On a school night.
On THAT note...I'm off to go enjoy my weekend.
I'll finish this one up next week.
A letter submitted to upper management has indicated that there has been some dissatisfaction with the frequency, or lack thereof, of blogging at this here blog.
Big surprise there.
I bet half of you have fallen out of your chairs.
To be honest, I've almost blogged about 5 times in the past few weeks, but have stopped because I was procrastinating on telling the story I wanted to tell.
Not because the story is hard to tell - just drawn out. And there's a bit of news at the end of the story that I wanted to break to a few people on the phone first before I published over the vastness that is the internet.
Now that the phone calls have been made, I can now safely blast into the vastness.
This blog is probably going to be broken into 2 parts.
And those of you who are familiar with my other blog realize that this means I'll get only part of the story down and then allude to the final entry and never ever ever get around to it.
Ever.
Ahem.
Can't really say anything to lead you all to believe otherwise.
But this one is only a 2-part story...so I'm sure this shouldn't be too hard for me to complete.
And I SWEAR! This one I will finish.
Girl Scout's honor.
(I'm totally holding my hand up in the girl scout's honor salute right now)
So.
This whole story kind of goes back, to ohhhhhh...my doctor's appointment roughly around 16 weeks.
By this point in time Trevor and I were both dying to find out the sex of the baby. We knew that typically you would have to wait at least until 18 weeks for a gender determination ultrasound - 20-22 weeks for a more accurate determination. So the idea of waiting another 2-6 weeks was pretty much annoying.
But we had no choice, and we would put up with the waiting.
And so by the time we made it to my 16 week doctor appointment all I wanted to do was get the form from my doctor to allow us to set up our ultrasound at 20 weeks.
That way I'd have something ON THE CALENDAR.
And 20 weeks sounded good to me - not to soon, not too late.
It was going to be 20 weeks.
4 more weeks.
One month.
Just 30 more days.
So imagine how much I wanted to jump off the examining table and wring my doctor's neck when she informed us that we would not be having our next ultrasound until 26 weeks.
I should point out that I really like my doctor. She's great. Laid back, good sense of humor peppered with the right amount of sarcasm. Old enough to have a decent amount of wisdom under her belt, but not so old that she might employ the use of leeches during my labor...
But this was not news I wanted to hear from her.
26 weeks?
That was 10 more weeks!
DO THE MATH PEOPLE
That's, like, 70 days! A long amount of time that no one should be expected to endure!
And I'm PREGNANT.
You do not tell a pregnant women something she does not want to hear!
It might elicit one of the following responses:
a) crying
b) yelling
c) crying spontaneously interrupted with yelling
d) yelling spontaneously interrupted with crying
But I took the news ok I suppose.
Wanted to yell and all. But I kept that to myself.
She explained that the insurance companies (oh yes, how DID I know they had something to do with this) don't really like to pay for ultrasounds.
In their humble opinion, ultrasounds should only really be used to determine 'issues', 'life threatening' concerns, to make 'diagnosis'.
Blah blah fucking blah.
And apparently ultrasounds during pregnancy aren't really necessary as far as they're concerned.
But they succumb to paying for at least one - because FOR CRYING OUT LOUD a doctor and patient should at least have the right to make sure the pregnancy is HEALTHY.
So it's very common for insurance to pay for at least one ultrasound.
Two on the other hand is a little more tricky. And my doctor's office is usually able to bend the insurance assholes to their will and make them pay for at least 2 - one to make sure the pregnancy is healthy early on (8 weeks), and one to make sure it's progressing safely (at 26 weeks).
And so we left the doctor's office with our heads hung low - with the knowledge that it would not be for another 10 weeks that we would find out the gender of our baby.
Woe was us.
Life was over as we knew it.
But we took it like the supposed grown-ups that we are, and went about our day as usual.
And it didn't take long before we started looking into those 3D/4D ultrasound clinics that are popping up everywhere, considering the possibility of just paying for an ultrasound out of pocket.
So we could know 6 weeks early.
Cuz I might have died if I waited another 6 weeks.
And $100 for a 'gender determination' session seemed like an ok price to pay just so we could stop calling the baby 'it'.
And then about 3 weeks later, at 19 weeks, life threw us a little unexpected event - and we found ourselves sitting in the waiting room of the Alta Bates ER in Berkeley at 11 at night.
On a school night.
On THAT note...I'm off to go enjoy my weekend.
I'll finish this one up next week.
Friday, August 31, 2007
...and I was worried about deli meat
I heard about this poor poor woman on the radio today.
I realize this happened 3 years ago - but I wanted to take a moment to sympathize with her concerns.
I mean, jackhammers ARE loud. And it's not like the baby is totally insulated and probably hears nothing more than a distant rumble.
There really should be a moratorium on all jackhammering in any residential area.
For ever and ever.
I hope Mellisa Williamson had a reprieve from the jackhammering soon after, considering it must be very stressful for her.
Good thing she's managing her stress with cigarettes.
Wouldn't want the baby to suffer from undo stress.
I realize this happened 3 years ago - but I wanted to take a moment to sympathize with her concerns.
I mean, jackhammers ARE loud. And it's not like the baby is totally insulated and probably hears nothing more than a distant rumble.
There really should be a moratorium on all jackhammering in any residential area.
For ever and ever.
I hope Mellisa Williamson had a reprieve from the jackhammering soon after, considering it must be very stressful for her.
Good thing she's managing her stress with cigarettes.
Wouldn't want the baby to suffer from undo stress.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Some call it 'legroom'
There came a moment early on in this whole science experiment pregnancy that we decided we needed to upgrade our car situation.
I’m still driving the same car I bought in college – the only added ‘feature’ being the air conditioning. Everything else is as manual as it gets.
That and it’s about the size of a go-kart.
Trevor is driving an even older convertible two-door. Albeit his car has more features, only half of them are working correctly. The other half either don’t work, or require some patience/begging/banging/tugging on to get to work.
And if all that wasn’t enough, both cars are pushing 200,000 miles.
We love our cars – but we love our baby’s safety more. And IF either of our cars makes it another 50,000 miles, there’s no telling how well or safely either one would hold up in an accident.
And it is with this reasoning that we found ourselves at a
We test drove the new 2008 Toyota Highlander with what had to be one of the most unenthusiastic sales reps I have ever encountered.
Overall I thought the car had a good ride – nice roomy interior, good suspension, nice handling. I thought some of the added features were a bit over the top and not well thought out – not worth the extra money. And it was a bit annoying that you have to buy either the AWD or the 4x4 to get the 3rd row of seats. We only want FWD and don't like the idea of having to pay an extra $2500 to get AWD just so we can get a 3rd row of seats.
“So what did you think?”
“The back seats are too far back – you can’t reach the kids to hit them upside the head when they’re misbehaving.”
“I think that’s what they call ‘ample legroom’.”
“Yea, well, it’s lame. A parent needs to be able to smack their kids from the driver’s seat.”
We kicked the tires, took it for a test drive – found it to be quite impressive for the money.
As for Trevor?
“So how did you like the
“I liked it…”
“Yea, it felt a little cozier than the Highlander – maybe not as spacious?”
“Yea, I could totally swat the kids from the driver’s seat in that car.”
And with a little luck we’ll find a car with the right mix of what we need, and seats that aren’t so far apart that an occasional head smacking of the upside direction isn’t impossible.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Still Kicking
Someone is moving around down there – and it’s not my large intestine.
Or the small one either.
I’m not really sure what I was expecting would happen the first time I felt the baby kick. It’s always been one of those things that I was expecting would happen and was looking forward to it…
But I never had any thoughts or expectations on how I would react.
And with something like this, when there are already so many new and unusual feelings going on below your beltline, it’s hard to tell the difference between lunch digesting or a baby moving.
So it’s hard to know when you SHOULD react – or you might just be getting excited about that chicken sandwich working it’s way past your large intestine.
But last week I had felt sensations that could have just been general weird sensations that come along with being pregnant, or could be something else. Who knows really.
Then on Friday I was in the car with Trevor and felt what seemed to be most definitely a baby moving.
Just a quick nudge, and then a rub, and then it was gone.
And since that moment I have waited and waited. Pausing at the slightest sensation that MIGHT be that little nudge again.
And nothing.
Until today.
Just a little rub – that caught my attention.
And then a little tiny kick.
I think he/she was saying hi.
After 17 weeks of silence, of just being *with* each other, the baby is finally communicating.
Maybe just a kick today...regular kicking in 3 months…and then pissing you off daily in 13 years…
But it’s something to start with.
And after you’ve been pregnant for this long, it’s kind of nice to feel a little something that proves to you that you’re not alone.
And it gives you a memory to look back on fondly when they’re 14 years old and you wish that getting a kick in the stomach was fun again.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Just twiddling my thumbs
I am so lagging right now.
It occurred to me this morning on my commute - where I do some of my best thinking/self-chastisement - that I hadn't blogged in a while.
Shame on me.
I was supposed to be blogging more so that I could document this whole pregnancy experience and have it to look back on.
To lament for the days when I got a regular 8 hours of sleep and a daily shower.
But apparently I haven't had a whole lot to chat about.
To be honest, this whole being pregnant thing has been pretty uneventful so far.
I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I don't have all kinds of horrible ailments to be complaining about.
Life is pretty much status quo around here.
So there. Now I've written a blog entry that I will look back on when I have ALL KINDS of horrible things wrong with me.
And lament for the days when I had nothing wrong with me, and apparently all the time in the world to blog about how there's nothing wrong with me.
And one of these days I might get around to taking another "bump" picture and posting it.
Yes, that's right.
"Bump" is pregnancy lingo - or "pringo" - for my ever expanding belly.
And "Bump watch" is pringo for picture of a pregnant lady's belly.
I am down with the pringo.
Yo yo.
So stay tuned for the next installment of my "bump watch".
Can you dig it?
It occurred to me this morning on my commute - where I do some of my best thinking/self-chastisement - that I hadn't blogged in a while.
Shame on me.
I was supposed to be blogging more so that I could document this whole pregnancy experience and have it to look back on.
To lament for the days when I got a regular 8 hours of sleep and a daily shower.
But apparently I haven't had a whole lot to chat about.
To be honest, this whole being pregnant thing has been pretty uneventful so far.
I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I don't have all kinds of horrible ailments to be complaining about.
Life is pretty much status quo around here.
So there. Now I've written a blog entry that I will look back on when I have ALL KINDS of horrible things wrong with me.
And lament for the days when I had nothing wrong with me, and apparently all the time in the world to blog about how there's nothing wrong with me.
And one of these days I might get around to taking another "bump" picture and posting it.
Yes, that's right.
"Bump" is pregnancy lingo - or "pringo" - for my ever expanding belly.
And "Bump watch" is pringo for picture of a pregnant lady's belly.
I am down with the pringo.
Yo yo.
So stay tuned for the next installment of my "bump watch".
Can you dig it?
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Bloated and taking pictures
After overhearing much discussion at a baby shower recently on the topic of taking pictures of your belly throughout your pregnancy, I decided what the hell.
It seemed that most woman at the party hadn't - and regretted it.
And I hate it when I don't take the opportunity to learn from someone's else's mistake.
So here I am at 12 weeks:
That's right.
12 weeks exclamation point.
Now, I had apprehensions about posting a huge picture of my bloated belly on the internet. But everyone does it. And what can I say...I am such a lemming.
And this IS a blog about all things baby making.
Well.
Maybe not ALL things baby making.
Anyway.
Good God I had no idea I would be this big at 12 weeks.
I think I just look like I'm gassy all day long.
Here's another reason why I'm looking forward to telling everyone I'm pregnant - so everyone can stop thinking I'm just getting fat. Or have bad gas.
Poor Mary...not only is she a recovering alcoholic, but now she's putting on weight?
What a drag.
It seemed that most woman at the party hadn't - and regretted it.
And I hate it when I don't take the opportunity to learn from someone's else's mistake.
So here I am at 12 weeks:
That's right.
12 weeks exclamation point.
Now, I had apprehensions about posting a huge picture of my bloated belly on the internet. But everyone does it. And what can I say...I am such a lemming.
And this IS a blog about all things baby making.
Well.
Maybe not ALL things baby making.
Anyway.
Good God I had no idea I would be this big at 12 weeks.
I think I just look like I'm gassy all day long.
Here's another reason why I'm looking forward to telling everyone I'm pregnant - so everyone can stop thinking I'm just getting fat. Or have bad gas.
Poor Mary...not only is she a recovering alcoholic, but now she's putting on weight?
What a drag.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Step 1: Admit you have a problem.
One more week and I came come out of the closet.
It's about time.
I'm certainly excited about finally being able to share the exciting news, but I think it's the secret keeping that's driving me the most nuts.
A person can only come up with so many excuses as to why they're not drinking.
Especially when said person is usually found with a glass of wine in her hand at parties.
I would like to take this moment to point out my Blogger picture on the right.
Point made.
So, my friends are all either suspicious I'm pregnant, or in AA.
This last weekend nearly did me in when I went to lunch with one friend at this great Tapas place.
Tapas.
You know...Spanish for: Must eat with Sangria.
Fortunately I was able to quickly feign fatigue and claim that a nice caffeine pick-me-up was what I needed. So 2 Diet Cokes with lime were ordered and the Sangria was quietly avoided.
Sadly my alcohol avoiding was not coming to an end anytime soon though.
Off to a baby shower was next on the agenda for the two of us.
And upon arriving I was immediately offered a glass of red wine.
Fortunately the gracious hostess realized almost immediately upon offering me the red wine that most red wines give me raging headaches.
Only, I was not to get off that easy...
"Oh! But we DO have champagne if you would like that!"
(Damn, damn, THINK, damn, THINK FAST...)
"You know, in this heat I think wine will just make me sleepy. I think I'll start off with some water instead."
And thankfully my lunch companion decided to opt for water as well.
So at least I was looking no more pregnant at that moment than she was.
And then came the champagne toast later.
By this point I was convinced that if I didn't take the champagne, I would be nailed for sure.
Apparently I have this opinion of myself that I am SUCH an alcoholic that for me to not drink would be HUGE and everyone would notice and think something was horrifically wrong.
I think very highly of myself in other words.
But no one seemed to notice when I opted for the sparkling cider instead.
They probably all see through me by now anyway.
They all know.
They all know, and I'm the one who doesn't know that they know.
But ha!
I am on to THEM.
I know, they know.
And now THEY are the ones that DON'T know, that I know, that they know.
Heh.
It's about time.
I'm certainly excited about finally being able to share the exciting news, but I think it's the secret keeping that's driving me the most nuts.
A person can only come up with so many excuses as to why they're not drinking.
Especially when said person is usually found with a glass of wine in her hand at parties.
I would like to take this moment to point out my Blogger picture on the right.
Point made.
So, my friends are all either suspicious I'm pregnant, or in AA.
This last weekend nearly did me in when I went to lunch with one friend at this great Tapas place.
Tapas.
You know...Spanish for: Must eat with Sangria.
Fortunately I was able to quickly feign fatigue and claim that a nice caffeine pick-me-up was what I needed. So 2 Diet Cokes with lime were ordered and the Sangria was quietly avoided.
Sadly my alcohol avoiding was not coming to an end anytime soon though.
Off to a baby shower was next on the agenda for the two of us.
And upon arriving I was immediately offered a glass of red wine.
Fortunately the gracious hostess realized almost immediately upon offering me the red wine that most red wines give me raging headaches.
Only, I was not to get off that easy...
"Oh! But we DO have champagne if you would like that!"
(Damn, damn, THINK, damn, THINK FAST...)
"You know, in this heat I think wine will just make me sleepy. I think I'll start off with some water instead."
And thankfully my lunch companion decided to opt for water as well.
So at least I was looking no more pregnant at that moment than she was.
And then came the champagne toast later.
By this point I was convinced that if I didn't take the champagne, I would be nailed for sure.
Apparently I have this opinion of myself that I am SUCH an alcoholic that for me to not drink would be HUGE and everyone would notice and think something was horrifically wrong.
I think very highly of myself in other words.
But no one seemed to notice when I opted for the sparkling cider instead.
They probably all see through me by now anyway.
They all know.
They all know, and I'm the one who doesn't know that they know.
But ha!
I am on to THEM.
I know, they know.
And now THEY are the ones that DON'T know, that I know, that they know.
Heh.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Whatever happened to a good old fashioned book burning?
If I had to give just one piece of advice to a woman who just found out she's pregnant, it would be: Don't read and avoid the internet
As mentioned in a previous post I am currently in possession of roughly eleventy-two hundred books on the topics of pregnancy, babies, or motherhood.
All of which seem to be written by the most paranoid chicken-little types I have ever had the luxury of reading.
Now, of course there is some USEFUL information in these books - real good serious details about what you really should or should not be eating, or what sorts of OTC drugs are safe, etc.
But I'd say that's only about 17.3% of the subject matter.
The rest of the information goes something like:
Q: Is nail polish safe to use while pregnant?
A: For the most part nail polish MAY be safe. However, recent scientific studies have shown that when lab rats have been submerged in bowls of nail polish for an excess of 3 days their fetuses develop abnormalities and/or death that may be, but not necessarily, attributed to the nail polish exposure.
Or even better:
Q: Is it safe to use insect spray containing DEET?
A: Pregnant women may want to limit their exposure to insect spray containing DEET due to the fact that it may, or may NOT, harm an unborn fetus. Infrequent, poorly executed studies performed by high-school level biology students at under-performing disadvantaged schools have shown that exposure to DEET may, or may NOT, have directly resulted in the birth defects of a small, teensy weensy, percentage of participating expectant mothers who may, or may NOT, have also been simultaneously drinking alcohol or partaking in intravenous drug use.
But regardless of the ambiguous information within, I stuck to my books, and waded through all this annoying "may or may not" crap up until about a few days ago when I had a visit with my doctor.
About 3 weeks prior to that appointment I had just read that Nitrites, a common chemical used to preserve meats such as bacon or sausage, is not recommended for consumption by pregnant women.
I like sausage.
I HEART bacon.
I was HORRIFIED when I read this.
I consulted 3 of my other books. All had the SAME opinion.
In inconsolable denial I Googled it.
Google concurred.
So, being the good health conscience woman who doesn't want to burden her child with something HORRENDOUS like neural tube defects, I decided to ban Nitrites from my diet until I could talk to my doctor in a few weeks.
I, reasoning that I was an adult, decided that I could handle it.
It's JUST bacon. It's JUST sausage.
Let me just interject here to point out that in a world where you love bacon, it seems like there's never enough bacon out there. Never enough menu items have bacon on them. It seems like whenever you order a sandwich at the deli - you're asking for them to ADD bacon.
But in a world where you're not allowed to have bacon?
IT'S EVERYWHERE.
Chop salads?
Bacon
BLT?
BACON
But I refrained.
I uttered the words I never thought I would say when ordering food, choking on half the words in disbelief that I was doing this:
"Could I have that without the bacon?"
And then I went to the doctor.
"So how are you feeling?"
"Good"
"No nausea or vomiting?"
"No, I'm fine. So what's the deal with Nitrites?"
"Oh, they're fine. Just in moderation."
"So I can have bacon or sausage every once in a while? Like once or twice a week?"
"Oh yea, don't worry about it."
"What a relief! I was reading that I shouldn't eat them."
"Yea, I would recommend you stop reading pregnancy books - they'll only drive you insane."
So there we have it - my DOCTOR told me to stop reading my books.
I think I'm going to go home, lather up on the DEET, grill up some big juicy hamburgers with BACON, and paint my toes when done.
Take that chicken little.
As mentioned in a previous post I am currently in possession of roughly eleventy-two hundred books on the topics of pregnancy, babies, or motherhood.
All of which seem to be written by the most paranoid chicken-little types I have ever had the luxury of reading.
Now, of course there is some USEFUL information in these books - real good serious details about what you really should or should not be eating, or what sorts of OTC drugs are safe, etc.
But I'd say that's only about 17.3% of the subject matter.
The rest of the information goes something like:
Q: Is nail polish safe to use while pregnant?
A: For the most part nail polish MAY be safe. However, recent scientific studies have shown that when lab rats have been submerged in bowls of nail polish for an excess of 3 days their fetuses develop abnormalities and/or death that may be, but not necessarily, attributed to the nail polish exposure.
Or even better:
Q: Is it safe to use insect spray containing DEET?
A: Pregnant women may want to limit their exposure to insect spray containing DEET due to the fact that it may, or may NOT, harm an unborn fetus. Infrequent, poorly executed studies performed by high-school level biology students at under-performing disadvantaged schools have shown that exposure to DEET may, or may NOT, have directly resulted in the birth defects of a small, teensy weensy, percentage of participating expectant mothers who may, or may NOT, have also been simultaneously drinking alcohol or partaking in intravenous drug use.
But regardless of the ambiguous information within, I stuck to my books, and waded through all this annoying "may or may not" crap up until about a few days ago when I had a visit with my doctor.
About 3 weeks prior to that appointment I had just read that Nitrites, a common chemical used to preserve meats such as bacon or sausage, is not recommended for consumption by pregnant women.
I like sausage.
I HEART bacon.
I was HORRIFIED when I read this.
I consulted 3 of my other books. All had the SAME opinion.
In inconsolable denial I Googled it.
Google concurred.
So, being the good health conscience woman who doesn't want to burden her child with something HORRENDOUS like neural tube defects, I decided to ban Nitrites from my diet until I could talk to my doctor in a few weeks.
I, reasoning that I was an adult, decided that I could handle it.
It's JUST bacon. It's JUST sausage.
Let me just interject here to point out that in a world where you love bacon, it seems like there's never enough bacon out there. Never enough menu items have bacon on them. It seems like whenever you order a sandwich at the deli - you're asking for them to ADD bacon.
But in a world where you're not allowed to have bacon?
IT'S EVERYWHERE.
Chop salads?
Bacon
BLT?
BACON
But I refrained.
I uttered the words I never thought I would say when ordering food, choking on half the words in disbelief that I was doing this:
"Could I have that without the bacon?"
And then I went to the doctor.
"So how are you feeling?"
"Good"
"No nausea or vomiting?"
"No, I'm fine. So what's the deal with Nitrites?"
"Oh, they're fine. Just in moderation."
"So I can have bacon or sausage every once in a while? Like once or twice a week?"
"Oh yea, don't worry about it."
"What a relief! I was reading that I shouldn't eat them."
"Yea, I would recommend you stop reading pregnancy books - they'll only drive you insane."
So there we have it - my DOCTOR told me to stop reading my books.
I think I'm going to go home, lather up on the DEET, grill up some big juicy hamburgers with BACON, and paint my toes when done.
Take that chicken little.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Break out the bikinis!
I'm 9 weeks tomorrow and already am starting to show.
Hmpf.
This is SO lame.
The idea of showing during pregnancy is one of the more exciting things - don't get me wrong.
It's the part where you feel really productive, like you're really ARE pregnant.
And less like the fact that your boobs are sore ALL THE TIME for no reason at all.
But part of what makes "showing" exciting is that people know you are pregnant just by looking at you.
A fact that I would like to avoid until I've actually TOLD people.
So, for the time being, I'm digging up all my looser fitting clothes, and hoping that people will think that I'm just fattening up for bikini season or something.
Hmpf.
This is SO lame.
The idea of showing during pregnancy is one of the more exciting things - don't get me wrong.
It's the part where you feel really productive, like you're really ARE pregnant.
And less like the fact that your boobs are sore ALL THE TIME for no reason at all.
But part of what makes "showing" exciting is that people know you are pregnant just by looking at you.
A fact that I would like to avoid until I've actually TOLD people.
So, for the time being, I'm digging up all my looser fitting clothes, and hoping that people will think that I'm just fattening up for bikini season or something.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Ultrasound #1
I don't think much prepares you for the moment you see your baby for the first time on an ultrasound.
And to hear their quick little heartbeat pounding so steadily?
No. No matter how much you might think you're ready, that moment is truly unique and beyond description.
WARNING: This is where I start talking a lot about pee. If pee or talking about pee bothers you, then please don't complain to me about it.
Our first ultrasound appointment started out innocent enough. We got to the appointment on time. I dutifully drank the 14 gallons of water I was asked to drink in advance. Something about having a full bladder makes for a better ultrasound.
I think they make you do it just so they can crack cruel jokes at your expense while checking you in.
"Ok, I'm just going to need your insurance cards...would you like some water while you wait? No? You sure?"
Ha ha. Funny funny.
So we got checked in and were seated and waiting to be called in by 10am.
By 10:25 we still hadn't been called in and while Trevor was sitting, I was doing more of a constant shifting in my seat.
At 10:30 the nurse came out to tell us that there was an emergency patient and they would be another 30 minutes. To her credit, she DID say I could go pee if I needed to. I would just need to drink more water.
I opted to stay put and try to not think about my aching bladder. I had already had one close encounter with nausea after glass of water #6 and did not really feel like drinking any more. It was either hold it, or pee but drink more and risk vomiting it all up - and being forced to drink MORE after that.
11am rolled around and we still weren't called in - so I checked in at the front desk only to find out it would be another 20 minutes.
I informed the admin that I found this information very unfortunate given the fact that they made me drink 8 glasses of water this morning, made me live with a full bladder for 2 hours, and are now telling me that it's going be be another 20 minutes. Supposedly.
She was so kind to tell me that if I wanted to relieve some of the pressure I could pee 1 cup if I like.
1 cup?
I'm thinking to myself - how's she going to know how much I pee?
And as though she knew what I was thinking - she reached under her desk and pulled out a giant paper cup. On the cup she drew a line, handed it to me, and told me to pee to the line.
People. If you have ever been in a position where you have to pee REALLY badly, has the idea of being able to STOP the flood gates ever seemed feasible to you?
Well, I suppose when you are desperate, AND don't want to fuck up your ultrasound after already suffering for 2 hours...you will close the flood gates with every ounce of your being.
So I "relieved" some pressure and miraculously they called me in after the 20 minutes.
By this point I was so tortured from holding my pee that my kidneys started aching.
You have never known such weird discomfort in your lower back as having your kidneys ache.
Fortunately they only needed a full (ha) bladder for the first few minutes - and then they let me run to the ladies room.
And my god I have never known such pain coupled with relief.
When I came back to finish the procedure I was feeling pretty irked at the whole experience, having been made to wait for over an hour and a half with a painfully full bladder.
That is, until the tech got started and I looked at the monitor and saw what was quite clearly and remarkably my baby.
And then, as if that wasn't crazy enough, out of no where I started hearing this quick and steady heartbeat - something I wasn't even sure we'd be able to hear so early in the development.
161 beats per minute - absolutely perfect.
2 centimeters long - just 8 weeks old.
Suddenly your world turns around and all you can think is that this has got to be one of the most miraculous things in life.
What bladder?
And to hear their quick little heartbeat pounding so steadily?
No. No matter how much you might think you're ready, that moment is truly unique and beyond description.
WARNING: This is where I start talking a lot about pee. If pee or talking about pee bothers you, then please don't complain to me about it.
Our first ultrasound appointment started out innocent enough. We got to the appointment on time. I dutifully drank the 14 gallons of water I was asked to drink in advance. Something about having a full bladder makes for a better ultrasound.
I think they make you do it just so they can crack cruel jokes at your expense while checking you in.
"Ok, I'm just going to need your insurance cards...would you like some water while you wait? No? You sure?"
Ha ha. Funny funny.
So we got checked in and were seated and waiting to be called in by 10am.
By 10:25 we still hadn't been called in and while Trevor was sitting, I was doing more of a constant shifting in my seat.
At 10:30 the nurse came out to tell us that there was an emergency patient and they would be another 30 minutes. To her credit, she DID say I could go pee if I needed to. I would just need to drink more water.
I opted to stay put and try to not think about my aching bladder. I had already had one close encounter with nausea after glass of water #6 and did not really feel like drinking any more. It was either hold it, or pee but drink more and risk vomiting it all up - and being forced to drink MORE after that.
11am rolled around and we still weren't called in - so I checked in at the front desk only to find out it would be another 20 minutes.
I informed the admin that I found this information very unfortunate given the fact that they made me drink 8 glasses of water this morning, made me live with a full bladder for 2 hours, and are now telling me that it's going be be another 20 minutes. Supposedly.
She was so kind to tell me that if I wanted to relieve some of the pressure I could pee 1 cup if I like.
1 cup?
I'm thinking to myself - how's she going to know how much I pee?
And as though she knew what I was thinking - she reached under her desk and pulled out a giant paper cup. On the cup she drew a line, handed it to me, and told me to pee to the line.
People. If you have ever been in a position where you have to pee REALLY badly, has the idea of being able to STOP the flood gates ever seemed feasible to you?
Well, I suppose when you are desperate, AND don't want to fuck up your ultrasound after already suffering for 2 hours...you will close the flood gates with every ounce of your being.
So I "relieved" some pressure and miraculously they called me in after the 20 minutes.
By this point I was so tortured from holding my pee that my kidneys started aching.
You have never known such weird discomfort in your lower back as having your kidneys ache.
Fortunately they only needed a full (ha) bladder for the first few minutes - and then they let me run to the ladies room.
And my god I have never known such pain coupled with relief.
When I came back to finish the procedure I was feeling pretty irked at the whole experience, having been made to wait for over an hour and a half with a painfully full bladder.
That is, until the tech got started and I looked at the monitor and saw what was quite clearly and remarkably my baby.
And then, as if that wasn't crazy enough, out of no where I started hearing this quick and steady heartbeat - something I wasn't even sure we'd be able to hear so early in the development.
161 beats per minute - absolutely perfect.
2 centimeters long - just 8 weeks old.
Suddenly your world turns around and all you can think is that this has got to be one of the most miraculous things in life.
What bladder?
Monday, June 18, 2007
Subtlety is key
For the time being it's just the little subtle changes that I'm noticing.
My appetite was the first thing - going from not being interested in eating a single bite of food to ALL OF A SUDDEN having the hunger of 15 year old boy in, oh, about 10 seconds. I still haven't learned to keep snacks in the car for when the sudden hunger occurs. Saturday I was THIS close to pulling over at an In 'n Out Burger and ordering 2 cheeseburgers animal style with a side of fries when I wasn't sure I could make the 20 minute drive home.
The next thing I noticed was the increased body temperature and heart rate. I'm like a walking furnace most of the time - which is kind of a nice change from the walking Polar Ice Cap I'm used to being.
The heart rate thing is a bit of a nuisance though since I already have to watch my pulse when exercising given that I'm pregnant. Which means that since I've already got a slightly increased heart rate and I can only let it get so high - I can only go so fast on the machines at the gym.
Which means I basically look like I'm running in slow motion through Jello.
And for the last little neato-bandito side effect of baby making that I've been enjoying lately is the mental spaciness.
The fact that I was actually able to make it through this blog entry without either getting side-tracked, derailed, or forget what the hell I was doing altogether is pretty miraculous.
In fact, pre-pregnancy, I was pretty guilty of committing all 3 offenses on a regular basis.
Perhaps this is having a counter-effect on my blogging?
In any case, it's pretty annoying.
The other night I almost stopped at the grocery store to pick up some avocados to have with our dinner - when I knew we already had 2 at home because Trevor picked some up for me the day before. And I totally would have gone and bought them if it wasn't for Trevor REMINDING me that we already had some.
The other day after I went to the gym at lunch, like I have for YEARS, I was getting ready for my shower and discovered that I hadn't packed a towel.
I can't even begin to chip the iceberg on all the brain farts I've had at work.
And what's worse is that no one knows I'm pregnant yet so they must just think I've turned into this flaky space cadet.
I feel sorry for my coworkers.
My appetite was the first thing - going from not being interested in eating a single bite of food to ALL OF A SUDDEN having the hunger of 15 year old boy in, oh, about 10 seconds. I still haven't learned to keep snacks in the car for when the sudden hunger occurs. Saturday I was THIS close to pulling over at an In 'n Out Burger and ordering 2 cheeseburgers animal style with a side of fries when I wasn't sure I could make the 20 minute drive home.
The next thing I noticed was the increased body temperature and heart rate. I'm like a walking furnace most of the time - which is kind of a nice change from the walking Polar Ice Cap I'm used to being.
The heart rate thing is a bit of a nuisance though since I already have to watch my pulse when exercising given that I'm pregnant. Which means that since I've already got a slightly increased heart rate and I can only let it get so high - I can only go so fast on the machines at the gym.
Which means I basically look like I'm running in slow motion through Jello.
And for the last little neato-bandito side effect of baby making that I've been enjoying lately is the mental spaciness.
The fact that I was actually able to make it through this blog entry without either getting side-tracked, derailed, or forget what the hell I was doing altogether is pretty miraculous.
In fact, pre-pregnancy, I was pretty guilty of committing all 3 offenses on a regular basis.
Perhaps this is having a counter-effect on my blogging?
In any case, it's pretty annoying.
The other night I almost stopped at the grocery store to pick up some avocados to have with our dinner - when I knew we already had 2 at home because Trevor picked some up for me the day before. And I totally would have gone and bought them if it wasn't for Trevor REMINDING me that we already had some.
The other day after I went to the gym at lunch, like I have for YEARS, I was getting ready for my shower and discovered that I hadn't packed a towel.
I can't even begin to chip the iceberg on all the brain farts I've had at work.
And what's worse is that no one knows I'm pregnant yet so they must just think I've turned into this flaky space cadet.
I feel sorry for my coworkers.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Listeria Hysteria
Here's a little interesting piece of information that I imagine NO ONE KNOWS: When pregnant you should abstain from eating deli meats.
Stop this pregnancy train - I want OFF.
When I read that in one of my 241 pregnancy books I had to reread it.
3 times.
In fact, I read it 3 times - put the book down, went about my business for a couple days and then had to reread it AGAIN.
Deli meat??
Apparently since most deli meats are not in fact COOKED - but SMOKED - they can harbor Listeria. A little nuisance of a bacteria that we pregnant ladies like to avoid as it does things like make us unpregnant.
And if that wasn't bad enough, Trevor was so kind as to point out this would also include Salami and Prosciutto - 2 of my favorite sandwich fixings.
I was relieved to hear that I can at least eat these items as long as they are cooked thoroughly until piping hot. So I can still have Pepperoni on my pizza, and Prosciutto in some of my favorite Prosciutto-laden recipes.
But no turkey sandwiches? No Ham and cheese paninis?
Why was I not WARNED?
I want legal recourse!
And damn it - this is making me HUNGRY.
Stop this pregnancy train - I want OFF.
When I read that in one of my 241 pregnancy books I had to reread it.
3 times.
In fact, I read it 3 times - put the book down, went about my business for a couple days and then had to reread it AGAIN.
Deli meat??
Apparently since most deli meats are not in fact COOKED - but SMOKED - they can harbor Listeria. A little nuisance of a bacteria that we pregnant ladies like to avoid as it does things like make us unpregnant.
And if that wasn't bad enough, Trevor was so kind as to point out this would also include Salami and Prosciutto - 2 of my favorite sandwich fixings.
I was relieved to hear that I can at least eat these items as long as they are cooked thoroughly until piping hot. So I can still have Pepperoni on my pizza, and Prosciutto in some of my favorite Prosciutto-laden recipes.
But no turkey sandwiches? No Ham and cheese paninis?
Why was I not WARNED?
I want legal recourse!
And damn it - this is making me HUNGRY.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Could be worse
Pickles and string cheese isn't really all that bad of a food craving.
I can't really complain.
For a first food craving, I'd say that's pretty simple and benign.
Other than the fact that pickles are just SO CLICHE.
That and I'm at work where there are neither pickles, or string cheese.
Son of a BITCH.
I can't really complain.
For a first food craving, I'd say that's pretty simple and benign.
Other than the fact that pickles are just SO CLICHE.
That and I'm at work where there are neither pickles, or string cheese.
Son of a BITCH.
I need to eat. All the time.
One of the first things I’ve read about a proper pregnancy diet is that the whole idea of eating for 2 is bull shit.
Yes ladies – for those of you who thought that getting pregnant meant that you could throw all caution to the treadmill gods and toss back a pint of Cherry Garcia with a side of Thin Mints – I’m here to tell you to do a little research first.
In the first trimester you only need to tag on an extra 300 calories per day to your normal daily requirements. This means that by most standards you should only consume around 2300 calories a day.
And graduating to your 2nd and 3rd trimesters doesn’t mean you get to add many more calories either.
Before I got pregnant and I read about this I thought – ok, no problem. I’ve been watching my diet for years. I can certainly keep things under 2300 calories.
What I didn’t expect was that I would have the opposite problem; that it’s harder for me to actually make sure I eat THAT many calories.
Yes, you read that right.
I am having trouble getting enough calories each day.
I will try to explain.
But I must warn you – this could be lengthy.
When you get pregnant all of a sudden your body becomes this science experiment. And if you’re like me, you start reading.
All the time.
There will be (at minimum):
- 3 books sitting on your toilet tank in case, as you are jumping out of the shower, you need to read up on when you should feel the first kick
- 4 books on your nightstand as a quick reference for when you wake up in the middle of the night wondering when is the best time to start shopping for a stroller
- 1 book on your kitchen table to read while eating cereal
- 2 books on your coffee table to flip through while your husband has chosen something annoying to watch
And one of the most common topics in all the aforementioned literature is what not to do while pregnant.
Or, more specifically, what not to eat.
Basically over processed food is the devil.
Chips, crackers, breakfast bars, just about anything in the snack isle at the supermarket – are all the devil’s sidekicks. Does it have more than 10 ingredients? Then it’s probably full of ingredients that are questionable on the pregnancy food list.
So this means that I, someone who is used to CUTTING her calories, is now having to consume more calories than usual – and do so by eating healthy low-calorie foods.
And?
I’m still exercising because what is one of the other popular topics in all my pregnancy books?
How important it is to exercise while preggers.
Which only increases my daily calorie needs even more.
As a result I am walking around feeling FULL all the time.
Speaking of which...I should probably eat something.
And then there were 3
I'm starting this blog under odd circumstances - with the intention to not show anyone for a while.
I'm writing for no one I suppose.
Just myself.
And as something for those of you who do eventually start reading this blog to look back on. To retroactively read about all boring things I thought were interesting enough to blog about.
Yea for you!
And why am I keeping this blog all to myself for the time being?
You just don't broadcast your pregnancy the minute it happens.
You wait.
And wait.
You wait until science tells you that the odds are in your favor that you will carry to term.
And when you're in the same boat as I am right now, 6 weeks pregnant and trying to do the thing that is easiest to live with, you will read a litany of advise on when and how to tell everyone.
But out of all the different theories, timelines, and advice I've read, there is one that makes the most sense to me.
Only tell those you would be willing to tell you had a miscarriage.
If you loose the baby you will have to relive the cruelty of the miscarriage over and over again with each and every person you told you were pregnant. Because you have to untell them.
They say it's a personal choice. When and how you tell your friends, family, and co-workers is up to you and depends on your own personal circumstances.
And Trevor and I have decided that given our tendency to be a very private couple, we are waiting until our odds of miscarriage have dropped dramatically.
And there you go.
So now I am forced to blog to myself.
So I have SOMEONE to talk to about all this.
I'm writing for no one I suppose.
Just myself.
And as something for those of you who do eventually start reading this blog to look back on. To retroactively read about all boring things I thought were interesting enough to blog about.
Yea for you!
And why am I keeping this blog all to myself for the time being?
You just don't broadcast your pregnancy the minute it happens.
You wait.
And wait.
You wait until science tells you that the odds are in your favor that you will carry to term.
And when you're in the same boat as I am right now, 6 weeks pregnant and trying to do the thing that is easiest to live with, you will read a litany of advise on when and how to tell everyone.
But out of all the different theories, timelines, and advice I've read, there is one that makes the most sense to me.
Only tell those you would be willing to tell you had a miscarriage.
If you loose the baby you will have to relive the cruelty of the miscarriage over and over again with each and every person you told you were pregnant. Because you have to untell them.
They say it's a personal choice. When and how you tell your friends, family, and co-workers is up to you and depends on your own personal circumstances.
And Trevor and I have decided that given our tendency to be a very private couple, we are waiting until our odds of miscarriage have dropped dramatically.
And there you go.
So now I am forced to blog to myself.
So I have SOMEONE to talk to about all this.
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