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.