Right of Passage

Grandmothers and mothers alike everywhere have been doing it since the technology has allowed. You and I both have been bored beyond reason looking, mindlessly, as these women do this with glee. And all the while, I swore to never fall into this category. I like to call it the photo-op. At the flash a "How's your baby?" or "What's new?" these women are whipping out their wallet inserts, phones, or any other device carrying pictures of their children. "Yes," I've found myself agreeing for the sake of speeding up the moment, "They ARE the cutest in the world."

Just yesterday, I've realized that this moment of picture sharing is a right of passage. After not seeing classmates since my son was born, they asked the precursor questions. "How is he? How big was he when he was born?" And without thought or hesitation, the words simply slipped through my lips, "I HAVE PICTURES!!" And there I was showing off my little boy, proclaiming his beauty to anyone willing (or close enough to be trapped). 

A Softer Side

At 2 months old, Jaden has already offered me new perspective on not only my life, but those surrounding me. Holding a baby, strangers present a softness that otherwise goes unnoticed. People are more likely to exchange a smile, share a story, and relate to personal experiences. Just the other day, while leaving a doctor's office in the city, I found myself unprepared, carrying my son through the city streets into a rainstorm. A perfect stranger handed me her umbrella explaining that my son and I needed it more than she did. That very same day, a tattooed metal-head-of-a-man stuck somewhere between 1985 and 1992 offered a sympathetic smile as my baby began to cry. He also offered his thoughts on how lucky I was to be holding such a beautiful baby. Babies soften even the toughest and strongest of characters as they offer an innocence that sometimes seems lost. 

 

Welcome Jaden Reese Klausner

Flashback - June 17, 2009:

At my 36 week check-up, my OB said I was hardly even a half of a centimeter dilated. As I was asking my many questions about labor and delivery, she assured me that I had plenty of time. No worries, I had a month to plan and organize my life and house in preparation for a life-altering event. 

Fast forward six hours later....

My husband had been working his butt off doing labored yard work for three straight days, only after working twenty-five hours of overtime. Feeling bad that my husband was literally hauling stone, I decided to make a nice dinner. Dinner was ready, so we sat down to eat. Leaning forward to take that first bite, it happened. I peed myself!! (Or, so I thought.) Here I was, eight months pregnant, taking pride in the fact that I had not lost my bladder control even once and it happened. Between a few good laughs from my husband, I made my way to the bathroom and cleaned myself off. But in the process, it happened again...and again. Two pairs of underware later, I realized that this was not what it seemed. Could it be? My water broke! Now over the past several months, I've encountered numerous people offering warranted and unwarranted advice. One piece of information stuck in my head. Once you get to the hospital, they don't let you eat or drink, so make sure you stuff yourself silly once labor begins, that way you will be prepared for the 24 hour marathon that lays ahead. So there I was, leaking amniotic fluid, stuffing my face, giggling in oblivion. In all of the advice given, everyone failed to mention that water-breakage does not constitute a binge (or any other labor practices for that matter). Two hours later, only after setting up animal daycare, we were en route to the hospital. There I was sitting atop a garbage bag with two towels shoved between my legs, nibbling away on whatever I could get my hands on; a banana, granola bar, pretzels, and about three full water bottles. I was prepared for my marathon. And right next to me, was my shocked, sleep-deprived husband. 

As we arrived at the hospital, I managed to completely let loose my remaining water in front of a family of six, only before my husband decided to crash my wheelchair into a door. Only two minutes later, he let go of my wheelchair in motion, sending me into a wall. Not knowing where we were going, we went to the wrong wing. Off to a great start! And once we finally arrived to labor and delivery, my sleep deprived husband passed out cold right next to me in a twin-sized bed. To add to that, while I was up from the bed for a bathroom break, the nurses decided to play a trick on my passed out husband. They decided to transfer the bed to a private delivery room while he was still in the bed (only after asking if my police officer husband would shoot them upon waking up). Apparently I was just feeling way too well for anything to be taken seriously. This stuff cannot be made up!

After several hours, I was still not yet dilated. The pitocin was ordered, and the epidural was demanded. (They go hand in hand in my mind - yah drugs!) Sixteen hours later, drugs were administered, but still there was no dilation. So, I sent the family to go to eat lunch. I figured at least some of us should be allowed to listen to our growling stomachs. Of course, Murphy's Law always comes into affect in the most important moments. I was alone, so of course things started to roll. Only a half hour after being dilated 3 centimeters, I quickly rose to 7. Luckily my husband strolled in prior to an organized manhunt. 

(For those of you that had a difficult labor, future reading may lead you to anger.) 

My initial reaction to the epidural was much less than pleasant, but six hours, 5 vomits, and several hotflashes later, the kinks were worked out and I was pain free. As a matter of fact, the epidural was so incredible, that I had to ask when I was having contractions. The most intense ones were more of a pester that I blew away rather than a painful lamaze workout. My doctor opted for a natural decent, allowing the baby to enter the birth canal on his own so the process was slow, steady, and relaxing. Ten centimeters dilated, it was time to push. Ten minutes later, Little Baby Jaden was crying for the world to hear. I saw my angle, smiled at my husband, and said, "That wasn't so bad. I could do that again!"

 

Jaden Reese Klausner was born June 18, 2009 at 5:11 p.m. 

At four weeks early, he already weighed 6 pounds 1 ounce and was 19 1/2 inches long.  My little man is steadily growing, having gained almost three pounds since birth. I guess all of my concerns about the size of the little monster inside of me were right. In fact, at my four week postpartum appointment, my OB said, "If he was full term, he would have torn you to pieces!" Heartwarming to hear, isn't it? I guess the moral of the story is - trust your instincts (and your loins). 

After a brief period in the NICU (giving us quite a scare!!), he is now home with us and we are more than in love with his every little move and every little whim. I'm amazed at myself how easily I fell into the mommy groove. And I am amazed at my husband for his constant need to clean and make things perfect for his little guy. I am even amazed at how quickly the dog took to the baby. Jaden is our perfect little guy in every single way. So perfect, in fact, that my husband is already talking about number two!!! 

Nesting = ADD + OCD

Measurement to date (35 weeks):

Mom up 20 pounds

Baby Boy Klausner 5 pounds 11 ounces

Baby Boy Klausner's head size measuring in at 36 weeks and 2 days

Dad surprisingly slimming down after trying to keep up with Mom

As the measurements were tallied off, the sonogram technician made a point to let me know that this is a nice sized baby. As a matter of fact, he's within the 42nd percentile. Then I had to stop and think, "But am I?" (Not even close!)

This far into the pregnancy, I am still feeling surprisingly well. I keep waiting to wet my pants when I sneeze, or walk with my legs spread wide, or watch  my ankles become cankles. Luckily, these treasures seem to be leaving me alone. However, when asked if I have any food cravings, the only thing I could think of was TUMS! Pop 'em in the morning, pop 'em in the night, keep 'em bedside, and I'll feel all right. 

In addition to my Tums addiction, I'm finding a new meaning to nesting. I never knew that people were so incredibly nice when diagnosing nesting. Nesting should be relabeled Pregnant Insanity. How else do you describe waking at four in the morning begging the sun to come up just so it would be acceptable to start dusting? The true meaning of nesting this far along in pregnancy combines the ideas of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with Attention Deficit Disorder. Having so many thoughts go through my mind is somewhat of a joke as I walk back and forth from room to room having no idea what I was just thinking. Even my dog, who has been known to follow me room to room, now plops down in the center of the hall just waiting for my final destination point. Placenta Brain has taken over my nesting. Just yesterday, I observed three incomplete projects meshed into an area. There sat the paint can, the bare bed with a pile of clean sheets sitting atop it, and half-cleaned hand-me-down baby toys. All tasks were from the day before. Even this morning as I awoke, I made a mental list of at least five things that I'd like done today. Right now I can remember two. 

So as my baby boy continues to grow, it's obvious that he needs more blood and nutrients. Perhaps Placenta Brain occurs as your body pulls the blood from your brain and pools it towards your belly. And, the bigger the baby is, the higher the occurrence of Placenta Brain. So come on 8 pounder - my forgetfulness is finally excusable!! 

Sleepytime Events

It's 4:30 a.m.  I went to sleep less than 5 hours ago. My mind says sleep. But, my body says get up, sweep the floor, and eat a plum. My first arousal from sleep was my normal 2 a.m. bathroom stop followed by a quick cuddle from the dog. Being 35 weeks along, my bladder has taken control of my life. Whether sleeping or driving, I'm never more than an hour away from a pit-stop. Luckily, while sleeping, my body will bribe itself for one extra hour.  That adds up to a two hour break from the restroom. Then, back to sleep.

Two-and-a-half hours later, it's 4:30 a.m. Time for another bathroom break. This time as I settle back into bed, my mind starts to wander off. Little Baby Klausner is kicking away, promoting the idea that going back to sleep will be no easy task. And then the mind wonders... Have I cleaned the floors? Is there  a plum left in the fridge? Have I called my brother this week? Do I think the plum is ripe? Is it too soon to have the baby furniture delivered? MUST EAT PLUM NOW!! After twenty minutes of fighting, here I am, plum in one hand, busily typing away with the other. 

Headed Downtown

Good news! At our 33 week sonogram, Little Boy Klausner has turned around. He's now headed downtown which assures a vaginal delivery.

REWRITE:

Bad news! At our 33 week sonogram, Little Boy Klausner has turned around. He's now headed downtown which assures a vaginal delivery. 

Having gone through several major surgeries in my past, adding yet another under my belt seems of little concern. I've gone through the healing and recovery process. And yes, I am even aware that it is totally different when there is a baby depending on you. Still, I just can't seem to get passed the idea of how naturally UNnatural it is to pass something that large from between your legs. Yes, women continue to do it time and again which should make me at ease. But, as pretty much every man out there will agree with me, women are crazy! I mean certifiable, push-yourself-to-the-brink-of-no-return crazy.

I guess this panic stricken thought pattern means only one thing. Reality has finally started to settle in. For the last eight months I've been carrying myself, and a little person within me, all around without processing the idea that after nine months, life continues and expands beyond basic comprehension. So I must congratulate myself for although it may have taken a while, I think with reality comes the "I'm ready" part.

Sonogram Resemblance

As unlucky as I am to have a tricky medical history, my past has allowed me to have numerous sonograms. As I watch the little guy on the screen I can't help but try to look for similarities in features. This is nearly impossible, unless you are open to my vivid imagination. I've tried to match his profile and his nose, but I think I'd be going out on a limb if I actually said the picture was clear enough and my son looked more human than he actually does via sonogram. 

Still, there are certain points of entertainment in each one of these viewings. Just yesterday, the technician pointed out that Little Boy Klausner already has hair on his head. Once zoomed in, you could actually see fuzzies atop his head. I had an immediate flashback of my baby picture. At birth, I already had a full head of black, spiky hair. One resemblance point for Mom!

Next up, the technician said, "Well, it's certainly a boy!" And there he was, posed for the room to see all of his man parts in all of their glory. One point for Dad. 

At the end of the sonogram, the weight came in as four pounds and five ounces. I quickly calculated in my head. They say at this point in pregnancy, on average, the baby gains approximately a half of a pound a week. Add eight weeks at a half pound each, and we're talking about another four pounds. This baby can easily be an eight-and-a-half-pounder. Another point for Dad. But more importantly, I think this deducts all of Mom's points. After all, the bigger he is, the more I stress about my small frame. And just as these thoughts are bellowing in my head, the doctor says, "Now just remember, as a first time pregnancy, don't think that this kid is going to slide ride out. I just want you to be prepared and realistic." So what she's saying is that television isn't a good factor in determining what labor is like? Oh crap!

32 Week Rant

At 32 weeks, opinions seem to flow right to me. Strangers offer advice, friends offer horror stories, and even sales clerks seem to have an opinion as to my size. Amazingly enough, in one day I was given two extreme examples. While walking my dog, a woman asked if I were carrying twins. Now seriously, I've only gained 18 pounds so far! Only an hour later a stranger asked me how far along I was. After I replied, their eyes bugged out as they proclaimed, "My, you are really small!" Really small?? Then why can't I see my feet?!

So to those opinionated strangers, I say THANK YOU. Thank you for making me question the shape of my body. Thank you for making me neurotic about the growth of my unborn child. Thank you for sharing your unwarranted advice. Oh, and my husband certainly thanks you as well. For he really enjoys me when I'm nervous and stressed. And now I must ask you, why do you think we are not sharing the name we picked? When you meet someone for the first time, would you dare say, "Hello, it's nice to meet you but I don't like your name?" The same courtesy should be applied to babies as well, whether born yet or not.

Turkey's Roasted

There was a point in my life when I contemplated getting my belly button pierced. This week, as I watch it do a disappearing act I can honestly say I am extremely grateful of never having that pierced. I can only imagine what my stomach would look like with a bullring being pushed out for the world to see. It's bad enough that now when I am full, the belly button begins to pop outwards. I have actually become a turkey with a temperature gage that pops when complete(ly full). Or, maybe it's the baby screaming, "Uncle! Please no more food in this little 5'1'' frame!" When he's had enough, he gives a little kick, and out pops the button. 

A Mother's Day Poem

On Mother's Day, I feel it would only be appropriate to write a poem showing my appreciation for the wonders of pregnancy. 

I'm thankful for my belly that's now on the move,

as my little one dances and gets in a groove.

Also, I'm thankful for having a boy 

but either sex I would surely enjoy.

I'm thankful for my pregnancy being so easy,

although there were days that I was certainly queasy.

And I'm thankful for pants that stretch very wide,

especially as I continue to grow side to side. 

And of course I'm thankful for my husband's coddling.

And shouldn't I be thankful for my graceful waddling?

Let's not forget that I'm thankful for Tums,

and also the wipes that I use on my bum.

Pillows, oh pillows, as I tossed and I turned,

and also my breasts, which always I've yearned. 

So on this special day,

remember, Mothers, what was at bay. 

You groaned and pushed your way through

nine months of expanding you.

Now kiss your little one's toes 

and watch how quickly he grows. 

Say YES to Drugs

I've passed my thirty week threshold. This means I have less than ten weeks to go. This can be converted to two months, nine and a half weeks, single digit weeks, sixty-five days, or simply, closer to freak out time. I've been pregnant for over thirty weeks and have daydreamed my way through. I've fought the itchies, constipation and gas, food cravings and aversions, and getting rings off of swollen fingers. I've wrestled with pillows and hormonal outbursts. I've devoured sappy movies, boxes of cookies, and super-sized french fries. I've avoided raw fish and mirrors when naked. 

In all of these changes, I can say there is one thing that I have not done; faced reality. Somehow, as pregnant and swollen as my belly is, I forgot to face the fact that with pregnancy comes labor. In my bedside drawer I have seven different books all about pregnancy. Pulling them out one by one, I've noticed something in common with the bookmarks. Not one of them has made it passed the seven month mark. In my la-la-land, there is no pain, there is no labor, and there is no squeezing elephants out of my lemon! I will simply "have" a baby. And by "have" I mean it will magically appear in my arms. A stork will arrive. My head of lettuce will sprout a child's head. The nurse will place a baby in my arms and say, "Now wasn't that easy."  Is it really so wrong to daydream of a pain-free labor that does not stretch out and ruin my nether region? I'm only human after all. 

I believe that my pain threshold is relatively decent. However, I can only imagine that it is fairly natural to fear the unknown. Unknown as it is, I know there will be pain. I also know that sometimes, it is OK to say YES to drugs. 

NEWS FLASH - I WILL!

It was a beautiful sun-filled day and I was ready to take in the weather. Being that when indoors my wardrobe usually consists of sweatpants and my husband's oversized t-shirt, I felt that I should reward my neighborhood by actually getting dressed. I threw open my closet, grabbed a pair of maternity capri pants and stepped in with my first foot. As I switched feet, I lost balance and fell straight back onto my bed. Just another typical moment in Preggo Land. I stood back up, yanked up my pants past my knees, up my thighs, and BAM!! They got stuck around my hips. These spandex-like waist-banded-pants would not get over my hips, let alone my big butt! So I wiggled and I jiggled, but there was no give. I swear I just wore them last week! 

NEWS FLASH - Arrival of third trimester means new symptoms. Most noticeable includes expansion of ass and thighs. Now I can handle not fitting into those stylish pair of jeans, or even my dress pants. But how can I possibly not fit into maternity pants?! Is that even possible? So back to sweats I go.

Once I stepped outside with the dog we began our journey. To walk around my block, it's a simple ten minute stroll. Or so I thought...

On this particular sun-filled day my less then a mile walk around the block suddenly turned into an army training course. How have I never noticed this wild terrain? There are massive hills extending for miles. There is unsteady pavement. And the length seems to have quadrupled. At one point, I was actually begging my dog to drag me down the street. "Please, Puppy, just pull this big butt all the way home?!" 

Finally making it back from the training course, I walked inside completely winded. Pink cheeks, sweaty forehead, and short, quick breathes. I took a clue from my dog and went to the coolest spot in the house; the bathroom floor. There, we both sat, panted, sat, panted, sat, panted.  Right then and there I vowed that for any future pregnancy, I would be at the gym every day prior. I will be in shape. I will take control. I will climb a hill. I will fit into fat pants! I will! I will! I will!

But in the meantime, I just had to see if there was any ice cream left in the freezer. 

How am I, You Ask?

How am I, you ask?

I am wonderful. I am enjoying this little creature creeping and crawling inside my little belly. Truly, I am. However, for those of you tilting your head and saying with those oh-so-sympathetic eyes, "Really, Jess, now how are you?" I must give you the honest truth. 

FRIKKIN' HORMONES! I have more pimples than an adolescent girl before her period. My body chemistry has not just changed, but has walked away from me. It has resulted in my deodorant ceasing to acknowledge my body and simply walking away. Today, I used my husband's deodorant. Yes, full sport, sweaty man deodorant. And what's worse, it actually worked. The only problem was that my sensitive nose was constantly looking behind me thinking I was being followed by a pack of overly scented adolescent boys new to the deodorant band-wagon. 

Now, let us discuss this beautiful weather. I have always loved this warm weather beyond reason. But today, on my ten minute walk around the block with my dog, I came back not only exhausted, but dripping in sweat, and panting along with my dog. So quickly the heat has gone from something I covet to a near nightmare. I actually fought with my dog for a place on the cool bathroom floor. 

And all the while as the hormones build on to this sexy image that you now hold so dearly of me, remember this. Your mind plays tricks on you while you sleep. I wake up having dreamt about sex, only to realize that it's just too hot out, and I'm just too sweaty. 

So here I sit complaining as something else happens. My little guy kicks. He kicks again, only this time rolling some extremity right across the width of my stomach. Somehow, every complaint, every pimple, every drop of sweat just fades away to nothing and all I'm left with is a smile, and my hand lingering on my ever growing belly. 

Hello Third Trimester

Happy 28 weeks! Looking through various websites and pregnancy books, I've learned that by now, my little embryo is actually a baby. His senses are furnished, he wiggles his fingers, his testicles are intact, and he even plays with his toes. He is a full and complete baby, minus the whole being born thing. So as I enter my third trimester I can take pride in the fact that I actually made a human being. 

In the second trimester, it was easy to forget about my pregnancy. Of course I grabbed at my stomach and watched my body change as often as I could, but still, feeling terrific, an entire afternoon would flash by without a single ache or side effect. Now today, I scream, "HELLO THIRD TRIMESTER!" Within a two week period, my body has morphed into a pregnant lady's side-effected checklist. Lack of sleep? Check! Hips expanding at an unprecedented speed to the point of wobbly legs? Check! Frequent bathroom breaks? Check! Stating, "Oh shit!" when a full bladder hits a pothole while driving? Double check!! I knew it was coming, but am completely shocked at the rapid pace in which I have become a groaner when standing up and a moaner when sitting down.  Still, it seems that all mothers out there seem to have an excuse as to how each side effect helps to prepare your future of babydom. They are all listed in book after book. Amazing enough, as many times as you read them, it doesn't sink in until you actually go through the process. I believe this is why day after day, year after year, women continue to have children. We all have mental blocks. The beauty of life smacks out the aches and bodily leaks until we completely forget. 

And have I mentioned that they say that childbirth hurts? Funny, because I can't seem to get myself to read past the eight month chapter in any of my ten pregnancy books. I too am blocking out the inevitable in exchange for a future coo. 

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It's My Birthday and I'll Cry If I Want To

While discussing the upcoming birth with my friend, I began calculating the due date as well as the impending bris. How convenient that eight days after my due date, when a bris should take place, is my birthday. As a normal response, my friend mentioned how nice it would be to share that event with my son. But then it clicked. There I was ready to put all of myself aside in order to raise a child. But did I have to share my birthday as well? Just one day a year, I wanted to be the princess in the spotlight. Selfish, yes, but doesn't every person deserve their moment? Maybe so...but actually, maybe not.  So I began to panic. Was I really that selfish? Here I am about to alter my entire life in order to raise a child, and sharing a birthday was my big challenge?

Part of becoming a mother means letting go of your selfish ways and indulging in giving to others. There is no longer time for "me" and even "we" becomes less frequent as "she" or "he" begins to fill your sentences and everyday demands as you begin to care for a baby. I am ready with open arms to put aside my needs for this little being that is kicking me from the inside out. Still, I find myself selfishly daydreaming about my future desires of long showers, sleeping in, and finding time to put on make-up. I know I am ready. But at the same time, is anyone completely eager to put aside their entire identity and routine? 

As a way to subside my selfish ways, I have decided that the next three months should be spent pampering myself in the ways I desire. Last week, I indulged in a massage. An hour of relaxation with no one to think about but myself. An hour of pleasure and daydreams. As always, when trying to relax, I used my imagination and tried to send myself to my happy place. I've always traveled to sunshine and beaches so there I was floating in the sea, sun beaming on my face, as a masseuse began to bury away my physical stress. However, my happy place began to alter. There I was in isolation, floating away when I suddenly had company. I was not alone in my sea of comfort. There on my chest, holding tightly to my neck was a little boy accompanying his mother. I had no desire to readjust my daydream, but instead was surprised that I found comfort in the company and love that was being portrayed in my happy-place daydream. My selfishness seemed to have  melted away right there on the massage table. I was no longer thinking in "I" but rather in "We". 

So I had a moment of clarity, but does this really mean I am ready and willing to give up all of who I am? The answer, as any other pregnant woman would say, is "No". It is important to keep a part of oneself in order to pass on your beliefs and values. The challenge is in finding the balance. So although I may have to share my birthday, please be sure to remember that it is my day too, for I will be the one birthing the beautiful little baby boy. 

Take Hold of Your Boobs

I've recently hit the physical landslide and it seems to be setting off my hormonal outbursts. Halfway through my pregnancy, my boobs were fantastic, and when I say fantastic, I mean porn star fantastic! I could hardly believe how full and perky they were. The size was perfect, and I was in heaven. And then I woke up a mere week later to find myself staring at my naked reflection in the mirror in complete disbelief. I've been told that after pregnancy, boobs change. But somehow, the world forgot to mention that this transition slides right in before you can hold and snuggle a little baby to help you escape from your physical reality. 

So first I should explain what drew me to stare at myself in the mirror while wearing my birthday suit. While cleaning the house, I made the mistake of not wearing a bra. That's when I first noticed the difference. My breasts were rubbing against my stomach, causing a sweaty irritation. I found myself holding and lifting my "girls" with one hand while I was dusting with the other. Now I suppose the average person would adhere to their body and put on a bra. But not I, for I wanted an explanation that could only be offered through examination. So to the mirror I went.  My first focus was that the size that I had recently admired so much had taken a drastic shift for with size comes weight. That newfound weight of my new breasts were now being pulled downwards. I have surpassed my size to comfort ratio. 

In addition to the early arrival of the form shape is the arrival of Spiderman. He moved into my breasts, built a home, and sprayed his webs without a signed lease. I am now a blue-veined Spiderwoman ready to nurse the world.

My next mistake was going bra shopping the same day as my new discoveries. Leave it to me to take the dressing room directly next to a group of fresh-faced teenaged girls. As I passed them in the fitting room, I couldn't help but stare at their selections; lace, cotton, no lining, sheer, underwire, fancy, pretty, sexy, beautiful. Then I looked down at my selection; full support, black, white, thick strapped. Can we shout out MOM BRA? And then the thoughts passed through my head and I couldn't resist sharing my input with the girls.

"Ladies, take hold of  your breasts! Wear them up, wear them big, and wear them beautiful. Flaunt them and appreciate them for they are on loan. You will one day lose your beauty and perkiness, so while you can, don't be afraid to share your breasts with the world. Embrace low cut, embrace v-necks, and treat the world to a day of you bra-free. For never again will your nipples stand so beautifully and your breasts so perky. Stand tall, dear girls, and share your breasts!"

Placenta Brain

I can't find my jeans. I know my husband wouldn't take them. Yes, they seem to have walked away. I have placenta brain. 

I lost my slippers. I looked everywhere possible but they were nowhere to be found. I went out and bought new ones, and to my surprise, found the same comfortable pair on sale. Two weeks later I found two pairs of the same slippers in the shoe rack. I have placenta brain. 

A stranger greeted me at the food store. But she wasn't a stranger for she knew my name. She even knew I was having a boy and am due in this summer. I pretended I just couldn't remember her name, but recognized her. But when she told me, no bell was rang. I drew a blank. I have placenta brain. 

While speaking to a friend, I called my husband by the wrong name. No idea why, as I didn't even know anyone with that name. I have placenta brain.

While watching a sad movie, I started crying to the point of hysteria. My husband wasn't sure if I was crying or laughing, as it didn't stop for twenty minutes. The next two days I was in a fog and couldn't focus on anything. I have placenta brain. 

Having a little spare time on my hands, I decided to do something creative. I took out my paint, pencils and sketchbook. I sat down to create a masterpiece. Nothing came out. Thirty minutes later, I decided to do a brainless sudoku puzzle instead. I have placenta brain. 

I took my dog for a walk so she could take some enjoyment in her bowel movement. There she went, and I had nothing with me to scoop the poop. I had to walk all the way home, get a bag, and go for walk number two. I have placenta brain. 

J.K. Definitions:

Placenta Brain - During pregnancy, blood is pulled to the stomach to supplement the fetus with nutrients and blood supply. As this occurs, the blood supply to the brain is diminished. This results in absentminded hapless behavior and confusion for pregnant women. 

My Nemesis

Dear Blue Nemesis,

I have been expecting you. I truly hoped to pass on your experience, but in heart I knew that you would find me. I've tried to hide from you. But how silly of  me to not realize that you would be the one to be hiding from me! I've followed the advice of others in trying to achieve this. However, you found me. For this I will not be gracious or thankful. For you have scarred me for the rest of my life. 

But, I do thank you for trying to be conspicuous. How kind of you to hide in such a private place. So private, that I did not even know you were there. And of course, I must thank my loving husband for showing me the light as my curves have gotten the best of my vision. 

There you hide, literally below my eyes, yet away form the public world. 

Little blue vein, little blue stretch mark, hidden oh-so-wonderfully under my breast, you have marked your territory. Are you satisfied? 

Truly and Most Sincerely,

A Pregnant Woman Trying to Maintain Beauty

Fading Comfort

The past three months were filled with physical comfort, and a slow and steady expansion that was easily adaptable and welcomed. But suddenly, the last two weeks have brought changes that have begun to happen at a much more rapid pace. This can only mean that the third trimester is quickly approaching. 

The Physical Changes:

#1 - After a full day of teaching in my heels, I found myself barefoot behind the wheel before I even left the parking lot. My feet seemed to have lost their youth overnight while I started to dream of foot-rubs and Naturalizers. That night, as there was little time before heading out with my husband, I had a very important choice to make. I had to choose between sex or a massage. My aching feet took over control and I did what I never thought I would; I wanted the massage. No hesitation. That’s what a chose. A new error had begun.

#2 - While trying to make breakfast the other morning, I reached to the top shelf of the cabinet to grab a bowl for my cereal. But, to my surprise, there was something in the way. My stomach smacked against the cabinet, so I twisted to the side, reached up on my toes, and once again, played Bumper Belly with the counter. I eventually had to succumb to using the plastic bowl that was on a lower shelf. Only thirty minutes later, I was again playing Bumper Belly while reaching for my toothpaste in the medicine cabinet. Needless to say, cabinets have since been rearranged. 

#3 - Going back to the first time I felt movement, I was shocked by the strength of the kicks. There were no flutters, but rather one hard, strong blow to my stomach. Since then, I’ve been enjoying the movement and laughing to myself over the routines and “personality” that comes along with the movement. For example, so far I’ve found that sugar and music get the baby moving. When feeling alone, all I need is a bowl of ice cream or a session of Guitar Hero to know that I have company. Of course, there are still many random moments of movement. Just yesterday morning, I awoke at 6 a.m. to steady and forceful blows to my belly. In less than ten minutes, I was able to count forty (yes, FORTY) kicks, punches, and slides.  Is this baby ready to get moving or what? 

The Ice Cream Incident

My husband has always had a sweet tooth, but this sweet tooth has somehow wondered into my bloodstream while carrying his child. I knew that carrying a child carried certain risks. However, no one mentioned the risk of inheriting traits of your husband. Part of his blood is now technically a part of me, after all. 

Marc has always been known to have severe cravings that control his daily routines. In the middle of even the busiest schedule, time must be cleared for that bowl of chocolate ice cream. Or after a four course meal, there was always time for Thomas's Sweets (best NJ ice cream spot!) chocolate blended ice cream. No matter the circumstance, his belly ruled. 

 

Throughout this pregnancy I have constantly been waiting and wanting for food cravings. In a bizarre way, pickles and ice cream or midnight food store runs sounded entertaining. I thought I'd get a kick out of these new flavor inventions.  And until yesterday, I would hold fast to the notion that I did not have any cravings. But then I ran into the Ice Cream Incident. Coming home from a busy day of professional babysitting (i.e. subbing), I could think of nothing more relaxing that sitting on the couch with my feet up and a big bowl of ice cream spooned down my throat. To the freezer I went only to be disappointed by my lack of treats available. I even succumbed to the last dairy free tofutti treat. No, this replacement ice cream did not taste like my chocolate haven, but when in need accommodations to the taste buds must be met. 

Later that evening, while talking to my husband, the evidence became apparent - on his face. There on his lower chin was a massive glob of chocolate ice cream mixed in with his facial hair. I ran to the freezer, but there was no ice cream to be found. In a frenzy I ran back to my husband demanding, "I see it on your face - where is the ice cream?!?!" He knew he was busted. But why? He had it hidden in the back of the freezer! When I asked why, his only explanation was, "I didn't want you to eat all of it."  

That's when it clicked. Did I really inherit his disorder of sweet consumption? I immediately looked back over the several few weeks and saw myself scooping spoonfuls of ice cream between meals and even before breakfast! I then remembered the bags of cookies I devoured on an almost routine basis. Perhaps the cravings have come after all. 

Time Warp

Over the past week, I seem to have fallen into a time warp. Things have progressed at a tremendous speed and I can only assume it will continue this way until the end of my pregnancy. My stomach has once again popped, drawing attention to strangers. I now get the "Aren't you cute?" look as I waddle my way through parking lots.  And waddle away is what I seem to have achieved this week. Suddenly, my legs don't move nearly as fast and a thirty minute stroll through the mall leaves me seeking solitude with a couch. Then at the end of my day, I have my favorite moment. I sit back, kick up my feet, and place both hands down my pants, on my stomach Al Bundy style, waiting for the kicking to begin. By now there are patterns. He gets  moving in the morning, again after a big sugary treat, and again at night. Feeling his little kicks and punches helps me make a connection to the real world. For as much as my stomach and boobs continue to grow, the entire thing is still surreal. Having the alien-like pulsating coming from within helps me to check back in to my reality. 

A day shy of twenty-three weeks, it was time for another sonogram. Today, it seemed that I was not the only one putting my body through a time warp. My little guy seems to have doubled in size and flipped his head downtown, leaving his feet to kick my ribs, and his head to poke my pelvis. In comparison to four weeks ago, his swimming pool has become smaller and his fists and feet now seem to attack himself as he strives for movement and space. As I was watching this, I couldn't help but wonder how on Earth he would continue to fit over the next four months. But then I realized, I can still breath, I don't have stretch marks (yet), and I can still get off the ground by myself. It's not until these lovely trademarks set in that you truly appreciate and understand pregnancy.

Going back to size, those of you who know my husband know he is no small man. Growing up, the size of his head was always a concern of self-consciousness. Being of good humor, he now readily accepts his nickname "Head". Since I'm carrying his child, his lifetime of concern suddenly seems minute compared to the thoughts accompanying the idea of vaginal delivery. At every sonogram, the first question asked every time remains the same; "How's his head?" This week's reply will only feed my fear. The technician said with a laugh,"It looks great. It's on the larger side of average." Now to the normal person, upper average is great. That's like being 9 out of 10 or getting a B+ on a test. However, to my ears I heard only this,"RRRiiiiiiippppppppp, teearrrrrrr" says the vagina. 

A Day at the Mall

With a wedding quickly approaching at one month away, the what-to-wear panic has already set in. Although it's not my wedding and I'm not even in the wedding party, it's no lie that a pregnant woman attracts attention. AS I let my egotistical mind wander here, I can only imagine myself going if I look better than OK. That being said, it was imperative to find a dress to model a cute pregnant woman. But what size will I be on one month? And what about a dress for that other wedding three weeks before my due date? Will I be bold enough to wear heels or will I have already succumbed to "quiters" as I've been told sweatpants should be called? So a trip to the mall was set. 

While trying on maternity dresses it occurred to me that maternity dress design must be an industry predominately run by men. Here I am with a brand new rack, perky and ready to see the world, never having been exposed before, yet not one dress was daring enough to dip below the neckline.  I found and fought with the ruffles. And, I tied and retied bows. Who in their right mind would think of putting large space-filling bows on the butts and backsides of already growing butts and backsides? Only those who have never had their butts and backsides constantly expanding - a man.

After finally finding a dress, I meandered over to the next problematic section...the bras. Yes, I have already come to terms with the fact that they grow and change. But as the sales woman gave me the statistics as to the extent of growth during pregnancy, I was once again befuddled. Then came the question of whether or not an underwire was necessary. I've never not had one so why not? That's when the next realization came. As your stomach grows upward, your breasts grow downward. Now picture this happening for several months and the two are bound to meet. I can only think about the dirt and grime left to linger in the fat roles on Fat Bastard in Austin Powers. No dirt in this crevice! However, a wire jammed between two mounds suddenly seems much less appealing. So not only have I given up my entire wardrobe, my bras are now too packed away for a thinner and less "moundier" day.

I am an Animal

Ode to a Pregnant Woman:

Today I am an animal.

I am a sloth, walking down the street.

I am a penguin, waddling the day away.

I am a whale, beached on the floor, waiting for help to get up.

I am a frog, legs spread wide.

I am a pig, devouring my slop.

I am a cow, ready to  milk the world.

I am a snail, slowly moving along the way.

I am a goldfish, forgetful in my thought.

I am an animal, pregnant and beast-like in my motion. 

I am a pregnant animal.

A Bedtime Conversation

A conversation between a pregnant woman and her husband:

"Hun? Are you awake? Marc? Something weird just happened."

"What's wrong?"

"My body is doing weird things again..."

"What happened?"

"Well, my nipple was itchy..."

"Yeah, and?"

"I scratched it....and it kinda juiced..."

"You have milk?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"...so I guess those aren't mine anymore...(giggle)...Can I squeeze them to see how far it squirts? I heard they shoot pretty far...(giggle)..."

"...Good night, Marc!"

Overcome By Pillows

After yet another restless night filled with vivid dreams, I reached out to find my husband as a comfort. But what I found instead was a bit alarming. To my left a fat pillow, to my right two flatter pillows, between my legs a snake-like Snoogle pillow, behind my head, yet another fluffy damn pillow. As I tallied up the feathers, I was surrounded by six pillows. And there next to the heap of feathers lay my husband curled on the end of the king-size bed with one small decorative pillow clutched between his fists. 

I always wondered why so many people felt king-sized beds were necessities. Although children and dogs sometimes sneak into bed, the master bedroom is predominately kept for Mom and Dad. So why is such a large amount of space necessary? For pregnant women! We squirm, we twist, we ache, and we accumulate massive amounts of pillows pushing our husbands to the far end of space. We are told to sleep on our side, supported with pillows, pillows, and more pillows. So as I look over and see my husband falling off of our king-size bed I can only say, "I am carrying your child, and I require space, so deal with it!"

A Broken Eagle Spreading Wide

Today I became a bird, a broken eagle spreading wide, flailing my wings.

The alarm clock rang and I quickly rolled over to slam it off. Having to go to the bathroom (as always), I tried to quickly jet out of bed. I pushed myself up and found myself stuck mid-push. I couldn't get up. I flailed my arms like a bird's broken wings, I kicked my feet in a frenzy, and a good thirty seconds later I was sitting upright. That's when I looked up to see my husband's expression. His half-grin confusion only hinted to how ridiculous I looked. His clumsy wife just got one step worse. Another symptom of pregnancy was discovered. The inability to move from a laying position to an upright position without the support of another human being yanking your weight forward.

Later that day, as we were sitting through a Devil's hockey game, I realized that my knee kept banging into my husband's. I couldn't understand why he kept playing bumper knees with me. When I looked over for an explanation, he again had that half-grin confusion. Twice in one day? This can only mean one thing; There was yet another change happening to my body. I looked down only to discover that I was sitting like a man, spread eagle. I tried to quickly and daintily close my legs. Although I was successful, I suddenly felt like my stomach was being jammed up to my lungs while my belly button was being forced outwards. I let me legs relax and watched as they once again curled themselves outwards to bump either person aside of me. Good-bye lady like sitting, hello comfort stretch!

Today I became a bird, a broken eagle spreading wide, flailing my wings. 

The Shaving Incident

I'm constantly amazed at the speed and progression that your body immediately takes on once pregnant. As soon as you get used to your bra size, some other item of clothing is sneaking into your butt crack, cutting into your cleavage, or increasing in pant size. Yet another surprise came today. While showering I decided today was Shaving Day. I quickly and easily shaved my underarms and legs without thought or change in routine. Next up was the bikini line (as I try to maintain my femininity despite my ever-growing image). After lathering up, I reached down for the cut, but was momentarily forced to pause as I realized that my view was slightly altered. There was a bump in the way. I tried to suck in but my stomach didn't budge. I twisted but there was nowhere to twist. No matter which way I moved, I could not get full view.  For some reason, this obstacle never crossed my mind. I can now only laugh as I now make the connection of how the waxing industry stays so strong despite the torturous pain.  

To Suck or Not to Suck

As a woman, half of your life is spent sucking in your stomach. By the age of 13, kids are cruel enough for even adolescence to learn this lesson. And I am no different than the average woman. Every dress that I have ever tried on has always had two looks. The first look was sucked in, and the second was the what-if-I-let-it-all-hang-out look. Depending on the time of the month, how many cookies I ate for breakfast, and how long the dress had to be worn were the final determinations. This has led me to a recent predicament. 

As my stomach has finally popped, I want nothing more than to bear a belly and let the world see my pregnancy. But while substitute teaching for kindergartners (who are known to blurt the truth), as I was letting it all hang out not one child or adult mentioned or asked if I was pregnant. This could only mean one thing. I did not look pregnant, but instead was in that awkward stage. I like to call this stage the Questionably Fat Stage. Strangers don't know you well enough, but you know they are asking themselves the inevitable questions; Is she fat or is she pregnant? Even acquaintances are thinking it, but are just too embarrassed to ask. 

My entire life I have been training my stomach muscles to pull in. They were worked out daily, whether the gym was involved or not. The worse I ate, the more exercise they got. But finally, it is socially acceptable to let it all hang out. And, boy, am I glad! However, my stomach seems to be in denial. It's a moment of discomfort as the pull gets pushed and the suck gets crossed over. My stomach is actually going through a bi-polar complex. In the end, I know there is no choice. Nature will take its course and take over my body. I am ready to give in and push, push, push my belly out for the world to see. 

Kick Your Way In

If you ask any mom about the first time she felt movement, it is generally explained as butterflies or pitter-patters from within. For the last four weeks I've sat, I've waited, I've concentrated, and I've even tried meditating. Now for a girl who just can't sit still, this took quite a bit of focus and determination. Still, I felt nothing other than digestion and my heartbeat pounding in my head. All the while, to remind me of this disappointment, I was being told by numerous mothers that they were so connected to their babies that they felt it right away. Here we go again, being set up to question motherhood before it has even begun. Nevertheless, I pushed it all aside and waited.

Although pregnancy shows to the physical eye, it is easy to forget in your daily activities. I feel great, so it easily becomes a passing thought. So while out to dinner, the indigestion to come from a curry-based dinner was hardly even a passing thought. After dinner, as I was sitting through a movie, it hit. Out of nowhere without any warning, there it was. But this indigestion was nothing like I've ever felt. This was a full on attack of not my bowels, but further in than I have ever felt. It actually came in such force that I actually jumped from my seat with a gasp, and then a smile. This was not indigestion. This was my son saying,"Hey Mom! Back off the curry! And by the way, nice to meet you."

Being that I often daydream about my future son's personality, I can only assume that this kick is a direct link to his personality. Normal or not, my husband and I have always played the What-If Game. What if he has my husband's huge head and my tiny body? What if he was both of our stubbornness and my husband's childhood defiance? What if he has my little wrists on Marc's big arms? Or worse, my size 5 1/2 feet on Marc's giant calves? This game entertains us for hours. And with this first huge kick as the first movement I felt, I can only go back to this game. What if this kick is a direct correlation?"Hello world, here I am! Look at me! Hey Mom, move on over cause I'm here to kick and scream my way into your life!" 

Finding a Purpose/Size Means Everything

I truly believe that everyone has that one thing in which they find their hidden talent. I've been searching for mine for quite some time. The first, and only, time I went skiing, I spent more time on my butt than on the skis and left with multiple foot-long bruises and welts. As a matter of fact, I had children whizzing by me offering help.  I vowed to never ski again. That definitely was not my thing. My hand-eye coordination is about as good as someone who is missing hands or eyes, so I'm obviously horrible at sports. I was even known to cry when forced to play second base in softball as a child. There went that idea. Being that I'm a clutz, I became no shining star while dancing. One more niche down the drain! Still, there has to be something. 

Earlier this week, at my nineteen week sonogram, as I was making out the difference between aliens and my son-to-be, it came to me. I may not be athletic, and I may not be the best artist or singer, but maybe my purpose has more to do with what comes from within, literally. I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming urge to care for and love this little being that was growing before my eyes. Maybe my purpose is to be a mom and love with all of my heart. 

Now if only learning to appreciate my purpose from "within" will help to erase the knowledge and fear that "within" will soon enough rip it's way out... which brings me to the topic of delivery. 

Those who know my husband know he is no small man at 6'1'' and 225 pounds. Being under 5'2'', I can only stress knowing that my fetus is carrying his DNA. Based on my track history, I can only imagine that my delivery will involve more than simplicity, but rather a story to remember and a story of a doctor saying, "Well, this is rare!" as they so often do say to me. Just so you know just how much of a stressor this has become in my life, I actually brought this topic to my obstetrician's attention. As we discussed vaginal delivery verses cesarean, only one neurotic focus was on my mind and there was no way to explain this delicately. "HAVE YOU SEEN THE SIZE OF MY HUSBAND'S HEAD!?"  But good news to me, my doctor agreed to do a sonogram at week 37 to determine the babies size and the practicality of vaginal delivery. Obvious to me, my doctor DID take note of the size of Marc's head. 

Swimming to the Winner's Circle

A flashback to how it all started. Well, not how, because you should all know how that happens...

I shrieked, I actually shrieked when I knew I was pregnant. But Marc was at work and I had to wait to tell him until he was home. I couldn't exactly call my mom as she'd be a nervous mess only 4 week in. And as tempted as I was, I wouldn't dare tell my best friend without telling my husband first. But I had to tell someone. I had to tell anyone. I just had to say it aloud, "I'M PREGNANT". So I called the first person I could think of; My doctor. Once the receptionist answered the phone, I blurted it out, "I'm pregnant!" She asked how far along, and that's when I had to laugh. "Oh, maybe five minutes?" After a quick chuckle, she realized my excitement and agreed to set up an appointment to put my anxious mind at ease. 

And the next two hours were spent pacing the house and squeezing my dog as I waited for my husband to come home from work. It only took six "Where the hell are you!" phone calls for him to wonder what my problem was.  

When he finally got home, I told him in the most creative way I knew how. In the bathroom was where I peed on the stick, so why would I tell him anywhere else? As a matter of fact, this is where I peed on the stick twice, just to be completely sure and just to shake my body out of shock. Knowing he'd be home soon,  I shoved the sticks in the medicine cabinet because apparently I felt that I needed more proof than nine months would bring. Then I quickly made a card. On the front was a sperm entering an egg with the caption "X + Y = " and the inside read "We cracked the code!" Marc came home and I did all that I could to not jump on him, but instead just screamed to open the medicine cabinet. He pulled out the card, read it, and drum roll...nothing. Nothing! Just a "What do you mean?" (Enter thirty second pause here.) And then it hit!  He started to cry, tears streaming down his face. And that's when he said those romantic loving words that I longed to hear... "I'm just so glad that my guys can swim!" 

My Interpretation of Pregnancy Myths

MYTH:  Sleep becomes nearly impossible during pregnancy in order to prepare you for your future of sleepless nights.

MY INTERPRETATION: I can't stop eating. When you are pregnant every food is game at all hours of the day and night. A full sandwich followed by an entire package of cookies at 11 p.m.? Perfect!  A bag of popcorn followed by a bowl of pasta right before bed? Why not!! You can't sleep on an overstuffed belly. 

MYTH: Your breasts get larger in order to prepare for breast feeding.

MY INTERPRETATION: Since the rest of your body becomes alarmingly huge, you need larger breasts to counter balance your butt. This also happens in order to keep your partner attracted to you. 

MYTH: You become hornier and more easily aroused because of the increased blood flow "down below".

MY INTERPRETATION: God has a cruel sense of humor. Your butt keeps growing, your fat keeps jiggling, and all you can think about is having sex, but only with the lights off of course. 

MYTH: Avoid soft cheeses and fish in order to maintain your pregnancy health.

MY INTERPRETATION: Have you ever actually taken the time to smell fish or soft cheese? Ugh. It's nearly as bad as a man's gym socks! This is a horror to a pregnant nose!

MYTH: Your nose becomes stuffed during pregnancy because of the increased blood flow.

MY INTERPRETATION: Your nose is very sensitive to smell during pregnancy. When was the last time you rolled over and smelled your husband's breath in the middle of the night?! Plus, have you ever noticed the smell that men give off when they sleep? It's not always that clean and fresh scent that we women love. Our nighttime stuffiness is our savior during pregnancy!

MYTH: Hormones in pregnancy can cause mood swings.

MY INTERPRETATION: When women live together, they eventually get on the same menstrual cycle. Their hormones align. Since women are so easily affected by each other, it is only natural that men react too. Men think they have us figured out, but things change once we become pregnant. New hormones are soaring and men start to react to this increase in hormones and estrogen by becoming more feminine.  They become more womenly and overly sensitive to basic situations. Naturally, this causes a woman to become irritated, which men try to pass off as a mood swing.  So I believe that all pregnant mood swings are at fault of men. (Plus, they got us in this position anyway!)

 

MYTH: Your nails and hair grow extremely fast and look healthier than ever due to pre-natal vitamins.

MY INTERPRETATION: This happens in order to give pregnant women something else to obsess over instead of their ever-expanding stomachs. 

The Ever Growing Woman

Just yesterday I saw a woman, maybe five feet tall and at nine months pregnant no more than 110 pounds. She was all belly, and absolutely adorable. That's when I realized I wanted to throw my shoe at her.  Not just any shoe, but a spiky stiletto (since I won't be wearing them again any time soon). Women like that set a bad example for the rest of us. Pregnancy does not just mean larger bras and larger bellies! There are also larger ankles, larger thighs, larger butts, larger arms, and larger chins. 

So after this wonderful realization, today I spent over 3 hours trying to close buttons on not just waistlines, but bustlines, as I exchanged my wardrobe with maternity options. Anyone who knows me well knows I am more than happy to upgrade my bra size. A wish come true in filling a cup! But then I realized something rather alarming. Only four months in, I've already gone up in size and gave up the idea of ever going braless again. I've even resigned to wearing bras while at home, which was always my number one no-no. Still, I have 5 months to go plus nursing. And when my own husband actually questions when and if they will ever stop growing, I can only think, "Oh crap! When does the growing stop?" And that's when I remembered reading; Your chest will never again be the same. Goodbye perky boobs, hello pencil eraser nipples! Now don't get me wrong, I am more than willing to give up certain things in exchange for a baby. But I guess I just never realized just how much of your physical shape would be given up not just for nine months, but forever.  So in the meantime if you see me over the next few months and my neckline plunges, please know I am embracing my curves the only way I can - by making YOU embrace them as well!

To begin with (my pregnancy).

I've had several friends and family members frequently ask about the silly little nuances that come along with pregnancy. While giggling over life's "side effects" a friend recommended blogging. For those of you who are interested, whether it's to compare your own stories, or to wonder, with horror, where your future may take you, or for the man who simply has no idea, I'll be writing about my nine months of pregnancy. Family and friends beware - I won't be censoring my words. Pregnancy comes with gas, with pains, and with hormonal mood swings that will send any man hiding and I'm here to share and laugh at my own expense. Please feel free to join me in this journey.  

Being 17 weeks in, I'll have to recapture the first trimester in memory.  

After peeing the fourth time within a two hour period, I found myself wondering if I had developed a bladder infection or if pregnancy side effects really happen that fast. Upon telling Marc that I was either "knocked up or suffering from the fastest explosion of a UTI ever" he laughed at me and claimed that no one knows that quickly. Lo and behold ladies - YES I DID! As a matter of fact, 6 days after having sex I secretly took a pregnancy test. Of course it said "Not Pregnant" but I knew the truth. The day before my period was due, I tried again.  Even though I already knew the diagnoses, I still screamed like a little girl and had to immediately take a second test just to be sure. 

Within the next week, the scale never changed, but my pants yanked at my waist and my stomach bloated like a balloon. The gases trapped inside of me were intolerable. I think it was at this point that Marc actually turned his head completely around on his shoulders when he realized that his wife was replaced by a farting and burping machine. No way to hide it. It's either love me in whole, or leave the room. F.Y.I - things have settled down in the second trimester. But, learning from the first trimester, I can now laugh and appreciate anyone else's gas. Having to hide it can be excruciating. And I hear that it just gets worse in  the 3rd trimester!

Trying to keep this short, the other most notable thing to mention was the sonograms. Due to my medical history, our first sonogram was at barely 6 weeks. And there was my little dot. In disbelief, staring at a poppy seed doesn't actually help to fill the maternal instinct. Flash forward two weeks and the dot has a pulsating heart beat. I didn't see it, Marc did. Have you seen that episode of Friends where Rachel couldn't make out her baby in the sonogram and thought she was already a bad mom? Who knew I could relate. Marc saw it. The doctor saw it. The assistant saw it. I didn't... This was still just a dot. 

December 17 - 10 weeks: The baby is an alien tadpole. More than doubling in size, it was becoming more real, but still inhuman. There were arms and legs that belonged to a tadpole, and there was a head that had protruding eyes like an alien. But it was mine. It was my alien frog and I knew I'd love it no matter what. 

January 9 - 13 weeks (and beginning 2nd trimester): It has a heartbeat, it has a spine, it has a brain. And according to my mother-in-law, it has my profile. I then began laying on my back at least 20 minutes a day waiting to feel something. All I felt was my elevated heartbeat.

January 22 - 15 weeks: An assistant did this sonogram. Once the head technician walked in and took a look she asked if we wanted to know the sex. Yes!! "It's a boy" - and there it was. Although still a bit early to find out, our little boy was wide-legged and ready to show the world (or Mom and Dad) his goods. My eyes swelled with tears and the only thing I could think of was, "Why am I staring at the back of Marc's head? Why won't he look at me?" After a moment of hormonal rage accusing my husband of not caring, it turns out he was having a "masculine" moment. Not wanting to be seen with tears in his eyes by strangers, it finally was real to Marc too. This was our little boy, but this was his little football player. 

And so now we are caught up. Next blog- more exciting news. My boobs are bigger!!