Once and awhile, I come across something on the internets that is certainly not a necessity but which you simply cannot live without. This happened a few weeks ago, when I came across the Pretty Pushers . I've received them, but I'm bad and I've neglected to even open the box yet, let alone take photos and post them like I promised. But I WILL. This week, promise, nnnkay. Sometimes a girl just gets overwhelmed by Christmas and nasal mucus and can't focus on any more things....and let me just say, you know I'm fa-rigging exhausted when a package can arrive at my door and survive my mad tearing for more than 30 seconds, let alone days.
Anyway, I think the sheer amount of grandma's butter tarts I've consumed in the last 7 days is starting to melt my brain. I again started by digressing.....why do I do that?
My point TODAY is I found something ELSE we simply cannot live without. Ok, well maybe if you have only male children, and no nieces or other small females around, you could resist but, you know what? I doubt it. You know why? Cause there is boys stuff on here TOO.
But back to all things for little girls....what did I find? Oh I don't know, just a freaking TUTU! For babies and little girls. Did you hear me? A frilly, fancy, beautiful TUTU for your child. And I'm not talking about that Tinkerbell knockoff they gouge you for at Toys R US, with the shoddy elastic and sparkles that barf all over your house and choke your dog. No ladies, I'm talking about a beautifully hand crafted, colourful little tutu...FOR YOUR BABY......
To be EXACT, it's a Cutie PaTutu. And not A tutu, but several, in many sizes and colours, for every occasion. And you know what else? They are affordable.
I know you're not listening anymore...you're off on the site, daydreaming about your daughter rockin her birthday party in this sassy little number - The Meghan or your sister's baby showing up to the next family soiree decked out in her very own Princess Courtney.
The bottom line is this - these Tutus are the cutest thing this side of a newborns butt, and if I don't get one now I think I'll freak out. The Hubs will be beyond mortified (as will the brother in law, because let's face it, I've got to get one for my 15 month old niece too), but who cares. If this child was a boy, we'd be covering him in robots and lego.
When I get them, I'll snap a photo of my niece in hers (and eventually my in utero babe but, let's face it, it could be awhile before I manage to get her in her tutu). But until then, stock this site, fall in love with them...and then love me for finding such awesomeness for you. Because honestly, where would you find the time?
As IF you could live without one of these for very much longer...for serious!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
I tried to hide my stupidity, but the bleeding gave it away....
Monday, December 28, 2009
I did something stupid earlier today, and tried to hide it. Unfortunately my bleeding foot later gave it away.
You see, I, like many women, are sure that I am 100% competent at accomplishing every task, whether I've done it before or not. I also refuse to believe that just because I am pregnant I should avoid doing certain things. Finally, I believe that I am right and the Hubs is wrong, in almost any situation where our opinions differ - which is about 98% of the time.
So this morning, while he slept, I got the bright idea to show him how talented and capable I truly am. You know, so I could rub it in his face be an awesome wife and revel in his shame excitement when he woke up.
We bought a lamp shade at IKEA yesterday (back to me being a glutton for punishment, we went to IKEA the day after Boxing Day) for Baby Girls room. Just a simple, red lamp shade. I got the BRILLIANT idea to hang this upside down, from the ceiling, in lieu of the circa 1985 wanna be WalMart special light fixture that currently hangs in that room. The hubs wasn't sure my plan would work but, uh ya, of COURSE it would. I'd only seen it 500 times and I'm now pregnant which makes me both handy AND crafty, no?
So instead of even beginning to give him the option to sort it out (in my defense, handy he is not) I thought "I'll just pop up there, change the shade, flick the light on and nananabooboo I'm right VOILA, it works." Of COURSE it'll work, why wouldn't it? It's my plan after all.
So at 9am, after being rudely awaken the SECOND time on my last day of vacay, I decided since I couldn't sleep, I'd accomplish something. I grabbed the computer room chair, put it under said light (I'm very tall, so it's not too much of a stretch) and went to work. Now let's forget the fact that at 6 months pregnant, 13 lbs. heavier and not an OUNCE more graceful than before, I was up on a chair, trying to change a light over my head. I see no problem with that, and I refuse to acknowledge if there is one.
Step 1, remove the old fixture, hanging by what appears to be the same chain my grandmother uses to ensure she doesn't lose the pesky plug in her tub. That was a no brainer. Step 2, remove old lightbulb. Pfft, this is easy peasy. I was eating a little dust, but it was all in the name of decor so who cares. Step 3, hold new lamp shade over existing electrical light bulb holding thingamajig, and line it up.No problem! Step 4, screw new energy efficient light bulb in to the hole and glorious step 5? Flick the swich and revel in my astounding accomplishment.
This is where the plan fails. No light. Switch it on but no light is coming out. What the eff? Hmmm in my infinite electrician and handygal abilities, I am able to quickly deduce it's because the bulb isn't screwed in far enough for the metal part to touch the other metal part and make bright shiny light come out. No problem, this is easily solved by screwing the bulb in farther. Back up on the chair I go, a few more turns and, it's TOTALLY going to work, right? Right?
Clearly not. What the deuce? I must not have screwed it in enough. Back up on the chair I go. Holding the bulb I give it one final twist and.....
The fancy ass twisty energy efficient bulb breaks off and shatters, in my hand. Raining down on me (and the Hubs computer chair) a shower of fine glass mist. Clearly I do not know my own strength.
Fuk fuk fuk. I hop down. I MUST quickly hide all evidence of said misadventure and pretend such things never occurred. I simply cannot let Hubs know I failed, and give him that ammo. Lightening fast, I run the chair into the bathroom, and tip the glass bits into the tub. Once I've cleaned it (effectively with a wad of toilet paper) I return to the room to hide the evidence of the broken bulb. Lucky for me, these new energy efficient ones have quite a base, and I was able to twist it out WITHOUT using a potato, a la my 8th grade shop teacher.
Cleaned up, evidence hidden, new bulb in place I pretend none of this mornings events take place. I tell the Hubs I tried, but it doesn't work, and we need a new solution. But it WILL work. He rolls his eyes in the "I told you so way", I envision stabbing him in the eye socket with my spoon, and all is well. We hit Home Depot for like, the 5789th time since moving into this house, and try to sort it out.
After 18 minutes and at least 5 "let's buy and try this, and if it doesn't work, return it" moments (side note: I have a cupboard of things that did not work, which should have been returned, but will now die a dusty, half utilized death in my house, only to be resurrected during some cleaning spree, where I file it under "find something to do with this". It will never ever get used. Unless I open an odds and ends store, where we just carry 1 of everything for a myriad of problems). Finally, I asked the geriatric HD associate I'd been following around the store which solution would work best:
"So I've got this like, lampshade thingy, and I'm trying to hang it from a thing sort of like this, but without that part, and I don't want to use a cord thingy or rewire anything, so I'm hoping either this will work? Or this? The problem is, the light bulb thing, the metal part, doesn't screw in all the way in, it's just a bit too shallow, and I've already asked in light bulbs, and there aren't any with longer metal connector parts. Anyway, which of these thingy's works better for hanging a $6 lamp shade from my ceiling in a way it was never intended to be used, but which I saw once in a magazine full of talented people with brains and tools? I just need like, this much more space (showing him with my finger nails).
Oh, and while you're at it, can you please make sure to mention to the Hubs here that I'm the smartest girl ever for coming up with this idea (not to mention a VERY sexy pregnant lady, even if this hoodie hasn't seen the washer in 6 weeks), and that it will work no problem and will not require any Googling on his part? K thanks!"
I don't envy those HD guys. Their ability to decipher my thingy from my whatchamacallit has been quite impressive over the years, and they've barely steered me wrong. His response?
"Well dear, it's just a connectivity issue, and I'd say your old light has just pushed down the copper part here (demonstrates on 1 of the 15 things I'm holding). You could probably just use a screw driver to bend this prong out ever so slightly, and use your existiing fixture...but make sure YOU TURN THE POWER OFF before you put a screw driver in there".
Check. Right. Thanks. Got it. No need to invest in heavy artillery, just fix what you've got. At least the Hubs never thought of this either.
So home we go. We haven't tried it since it's dark and I've rendered the only light in there completely useless (if not insanely cute), but that's what tomorrow is for.
So how did I get caught?
Welllllll, remember my glass shower? Right so, as it turns out, I didn't do such a great job on my clean up and wound up with a shard of glass in the pad of my foot. I didn't notice all day, wearing my Uggs is like wearing pillows on my feets, But then we came home, and it hurt like HELL. I was limping around, whining about my sore foot. I went to look and wouldn't ya know it? Glass, in MA FOOT!
Sigh. So up on the counter goes said foot, and I attempt to reach for the tweezers to remove it (bending back in a way I could only have accomplished at age 6), while the Hubs stands curiously in the bathroom door. I push it, it HURTS, I bleed, I need toilet paper (and balance) STAT. So the Hubs assists...and then of course asks the question "so how did you get GLASS in your foot anyway".
Busted.
I am also no good at lying or keeping secrets from the Hubs, so as soon as he asked me, the verbal diarrhea kicked in and it was all out on the table. My other trick is to try to dazzle him with my Gilmour Girlease and speak so quickly and with so many cute quips, he gets confused and walks away without addressing the real issue...that being me, up on a chair, with electricity, at 9am and 6 months pregnant, while he sleeps a floor away.
But I survived....and tomorrow we shall make that lamp work. I just need to remember to turn off the electricity first.
You see, I, like many women, are sure that I am 100% competent at accomplishing every task, whether I've done it before or not. I also refuse to believe that just because I am pregnant I should avoid doing certain things. Finally, I believe that I am right and the Hubs is wrong, in almost any situation where our opinions differ - which is about 98% of the time.
So this morning, while he slept, I got the bright idea to show him how talented and capable I truly am. You know, so I could rub it in his face be an awesome wife and revel in his shame excitement when he woke up.
We bought a lamp shade at IKEA yesterday (back to me being a glutton for punishment, we went to IKEA the day after Boxing Day) for Baby Girls room. Just a simple, red lamp shade. I got the BRILLIANT idea to hang this upside down, from the ceiling, in lieu of the circa 1985 wanna be WalMart special light fixture that currently hangs in that room. The hubs wasn't sure my plan would work but, uh ya, of COURSE it would. I'd only seen it 500 times and I'm now pregnant which makes me both handy AND crafty, no?
So instead of even beginning to give him the option to sort it out (in my defense, handy he is not) I thought "I'll just pop up there, change the shade, flick the light on and nananabooboo I'm right VOILA, it works." Of COURSE it'll work, why wouldn't it? It's my plan after all.
So at 9am, after being rudely awaken the SECOND time on my last day of vacay, I decided since I couldn't sleep, I'd accomplish something. I grabbed the computer room chair, put it under said light (I'm very tall, so it's not too much of a stretch) and went to work. Now let's forget the fact that at 6 months pregnant, 13 lbs. heavier and not an OUNCE more graceful than before, I was up on a chair, trying to change a light over my head. I see no problem with that, and I refuse to acknowledge if there is one.
Step 1, remove the old fixture, hanging by what appears to be the same chain my grandmother uses to ensure she doesn't lose the pesky plug in her tub. That was a no brainer. Step 2, remove old lightbulb. Pfft, this is easy peasy. I was eating a little dust, but it was all in the name of decor so who cares. Step 3, hold new lamp shade over existing electrical light bulb holding thingamajig, and line it up.No problem! Step 4, screw new energy efficient light bulb in to the hole and glorious step 5? Flick the swich and revel in my astounding accomplishment.
This is where the plan fails. No light. Switch it on but no light is coming out. What the eff? Hmmm in my infinite electrician and handygal abilities, I am able to quickly deduce it's because the bulb isn't screwed in far enough for the metal part to touch the other metal part and make bright shiny light come out. No problem, this is easily solved by screwing the bulb in farther. Back up on the chair I go, a few more turns and, it's TOTALLY going to work, right? Right?
Clearly not. What the deuce? I must not have screwed it in enough. Back up on the chair I go. Holding the bulb I give it one final twist and.....
The fancy ass twisty energy efficient bulb breaks off and shatters, in my hand. Raining down on me (and the Hubs computer chair) a shower of fine glass mist. Clearly I do not know my own strength.
Fuk fuk fuk. I hop down. I MUST quickly hide all evidence of said misadventure and pretend such things never occurred. I simply cannot let Hubs know I failed, and give him that ammo. Lightening fast, I run the chair into the bathroom, and tip the glass bits into the tub. Once I've cleaned it (effectively with a wad of toilet paper) I return to the room to hide the evidence of the broken bulb. Lucky for me, these new energy efficient ones have quite a base, and I was able to twist it out WITHOUT using a potato, a la my 8th grade shop teacher.
Cleaned up, evidence hidden, new bulb in place I pretend none of this mornings events take place. I tell the Hubs I tried, but it doesn't work, and we need a new solution. But it WILL work. He rolls his eyes in the "I told you so way", I envision stabbing him in the eye socket with my spoon, and all is well. We hit Home Depot for like, the 5789th time since moving into this house, and try to sort it out.
After 18 minutes and at least 5 "let's buy and try this, and if it doesn't work, return it" moments (side note: I have a cupboard of things that did not work, which should have been returned, but will now die a dusty, half utilized death in my house, only to be resurrected during some cleaning spree, where I file it under "find something to do with this". It will never ever get used. Unless I open an odds and ends store, where we just carry 1 of everything for a myriad of problems). Finally, I asked the geriatric HD associate I'd been following around the store which solution would work best:
"So I've got this like, lampshade thingy, and I'm trying to hang it from a thing sort of like this, but without that part, and I don't want to use a cord thingy or rewire anything, so I'm hoping either this will work? Or this? The problem is, the light bulb thing, the metal part, doesn't screw in all the way in, it's just a bit too shallow, and I've already asked in light bulbs, and there aren't any with longer metal connector parts. Anyway, which of these thingy's works better for hanging a $6 lamp shade from my ceiling in a way it was never intended to be used, but which I saw once in a magazine full of talented people with brains and tools? I just need like, this much more space (showing him with my finger nails).
Oh, and while you're at it, can you please make sure to mention to the Hubs here that I'm the smartest girl ever for coming up with this idea (not to mention a VERY sexy pregnant lady, even if this hoodie hasn't seen the washer in 6 weeks), and that it will work no problem and will not require any Googling on his part? K thanks!"
I don't envy those HD guys. Their ability to decipher my thingy from my whatchamacallit has been quite impressive over the years, and they've barely steered me wrong. His response?
"Well dear, it's just a connectivity issue, and I'd say your old light has just pushed down the copper part here (demonstrates on 1 of the 15 things I'm holding). You could probably just use a screw driver to bend this prong out ever so slightly, and use your existiing fixture...but make sure YOU TURN THE POWER OFF before you put a screw driver in there".
Check. Right. Thanks. Got it. No need to invest in heavy artillery, just fix what you've got. At least the Hubs never thought of this either.
So home we go. We haven't tried it since it's dark and I've rendered the only light in there completely useless (if not insanely cute), but that's what tomorrow is for.
So how did I get caught?
Welllllll, remember my glass shower? Right so, as it turns out, I didn't do such a great job on my clean up and wound up with a shard of glass in the pad of my foot. I didn't notice all day, wearing my Uggs is like wearing pillows on my feets, But then we came home, and it hurt like HELL. I was limping around, whining about my sore foot. I went to look and wouldn't ya know it? Glass, in MA FOOT!
Sigh. So up on the counter goes said foot, and I attempt to reach for the tweezers to remove it (bending back in a way I could only have accomplished at age 6), while the Hubs stands curiously in the bathroom door. I push it, it HURTS, I bleed, I need toilet paper (and balance) STAT. So the Hubs assists...and then of course asks the question "so how did you get GLASS in your foot anyway".
Busted.
I am also no good at lying or keeping secrets from the Hubs, so as soon as he asked me, the verbal diarrhea kicked in and it was all out on the table. My other trick is to try to dazzle him with my Gilmour Girlease and speak so quickly and with so many cute quips, he gets confused and walks away without addressing the real issue...that being me, up on a chair, with electricity, at 9am and 6 months pregnant, while he sleeps a floor away.
But I survived....and tomorrow we shall make that lamp work. I just need to remember to turn off the electricity first.
Vagina hiccups, who knew?
So I put Google Analytics on my blog the other day, because I am the curious type and wanted to know what things brought people to my blog, and how much. I'm into myself, I'll admit it, and all I want is for someone to read my little blog and enjoy it. I also liked stats in school and so, seeing things in numbers makes me happy.
I've pretty much learned that I am not that highly read. Which is honestly no surprise. I mean, I'm new and I'm not even that good at promoting myself. I don't know what else I need to do, but I'm working on it. I read and comment on other blogs, I tweet and follow peeps and I have joined SITS, which is where a majority of my traffic comes from.
I also got to see where some of my search traffic comes from. Mind you, it's practically nil. There were a few pregnancy blog related searches that have delivered me a reader or two. Well, I don't know if you can call them a reader when the bounce rate is that high, but I'll take it. Whatever gets me out there.
The most interesting search that has drawn someone to my site (someone who hung out for over 1:57 minutes!!!) was "Vagina Hiccups".
Now, this in and of itself is neither surprising nor strange. I did write an entire post about my vagina having the hiccups. But what IS strange is that somewhere, someone out there, is Googling "Vagina Hiccups". Someone other than me, is experiencing vaginal hiccups, and there is no way to know if said person is even pregnant.
Clearly, we can assume it was a woman (or let me assume this, the prospect of it being a MALE is far to creeparrific to allow myself to consider this an option), because of the word vagina. But the hiccups, Really? Someone else is experiencing this? And not only are they having the experience, it appears that it's not gestationally related. Honestly, while it FEELS like my vagina is experiencing the rhythmic 'up up up' that are in utero hiccups, I am WELL aware that it's simply the position of my daughter in the womb, and nothing more. It never would have promoted me to Google such things, or to be unsure about it. The whole "my vagina has the hiccups" was more a clever title designed to get you people reading me! I've known full well what's going on the entire time.
The fact that someone Googled it means, they are unsure as to what is happening in their body. It means that they, in fact, are concerned that their vag actually HAS the hiccups, and that this is abnormal. It means that something is happening to this searcher, that replicates a hiccuping vagina, and is not related to a baby.
I'm worried for this person. Honestly, what could that be? How could this happen to anyone else? I'm tempted to log into my AdWords account from work and see what stats I can find out about vaginal hiccups. I mean, is this a widely experiences phenomenon that no one is discussing but many are experiencing? Can this actually HAPPEN to people? I somehow doubt it.
I suspect this is some rogue search from a confused pre-teen experiencing something strange after a hot and heavy petting session with the boy from the coffee shop. Or perhaps it's some college girl with a throbbing sensation she doesn't want to admit she "caught" somewhere. Or maybe, it's another one of those "I didn't know I was Pregnant" women, whose vagina actually feels like it's hiccuping.
Either way, I can't help but find this strange. But I'll take it. Whatever gets me a reader ;)
I've pretty much learned that I am not that highly read. Which is honestly no surprise. I mean, I'm new and I'm not even that good at promoting myself. I don't know what else I need to do, but I'm working on it. I read and comment on other blogs, I tweet and follow peeps and I have joined SITS, which is where a majority of my traffic comes from.
I also got to see where some of my search traffic comes from. Mind you, it's practically nil. There were a few pregnancy blog related searches that have delivered me a reader or two. Well, I don't know if you can call them a reader when the bounce rate is that high, but I'll take it. Whatever gets me out there.
The most interesting search that has drawn someone to my site (someone who hung out for over 1:57 minutes!!!) was "Vagina Hiccups".
Now, this in and of itself is neither surprising nor strange. I did write an entire post about my vagina having the hiccups. But what IS strange is that somewhere, someone out there, is Googling "Vagina Hiccups". Someone other than me, is experiencing vaginal hiccups, and there is no way to know if said person is even pregnant.
Clearly, we can assume it was a woman (or let me assume this, the prospect of it being a MALE is far to creeparrific to allow myself to consider this an option), because of the word vagina. But the hiccups, Really? Someone else is experiencing this? And not only are they having the experience, it appears that it's not gestationally related. Honestly, while it FEELS like my vagina is experiencing the rhythmic 'up up up' that are in utero hiccups, I am WELL aware that it's simply the position of my daughter in the womb, and nothing more. It never would have promoted me to Google such things, or to be unsure about it. The whole "my vagina has the hiccups" was more a clever title designed to get you people reading me! I've known full well what's going on the entire time.
The fact that someone Googled it means, they are unsure as to what is happening in their body. It means that they, in fact, are concerned that their vag actually HAS the hiccups, and that this is abnormal. It means that something is happening to this searcher, that replicates a hiccuping vagina, and is not related to a baby.
I'm worried for this person. Honestly, what could that be? How could this happen to anyone else? I'm tempted to log into my AdWords account from work and see what stats I can find out about vaginal hiccups. I mean, is this a widely experiences phenomenon that no one is discussing but many are experiencing? Can this actually HAPPEN to people? I somehow doubt it.
I suspect this is some rogue search from a confused pre-teen experiencing something strange after a hot and heavy petting session with the boy from the coffee shop. Or perhaps it's some college girl with a throbbing sensation she doesn't want to admit she "caught" somewhere. Or maybe, it's another one of those "I didn't know I was Pregnant" women, whose vagina actually feels like it's hiccuping.
Either way, I can't help but find this strange. But I'll take it. Whatever gets me a reader ;)
Oh blog, how I've neglected you!
The fact of the matter is, I'm exhausted. The problem with being the hostess with the mostess, while also being 6 months pregnant and suffering a recurrence of exhaustion induced pregnancy rhinitis is, you get run the hell down at the site of overwhelming, and stay there for days. Buried under a pile of down comforter and tissue with lotion, only to emerge at the tail end of your blissful holidays, slightly less exhausted but still full of snot.
So here I am today. I've got a lot of blogness to catch up on. I've got feeds to read and comment on, a WHOLE list on the SITS site to peruse, and a few new bloggy commenters to stock read up on. It's a tall order, ESPECIALLY when the hubs is still on holidays and I'm required to participate in daily outings and entertain him. Not that I mind, I'm just not used to this. Lucky for me, he likes to sleep much later than I do (and I go to bed much earlier than he does so, it's a fair trade) so I can sit here this AM and entertain you all (nice of me to assume I'm at all entertaining) with my ramblings and whinings.
I'm a little bummed that the holidays are over, and I feel like I missed them in some stress induced amnesic fugue. We had 20 people, 2 babies and 2 dogs over for Christmas dinner (ok well, one was the resident dog and if you count children in utero, there were 3 babies). Christmas Eve was spent with me cleaning like a mad person, and making 2 types of potatoes, fresh cranberry sauce and 2 other types of vegetables. Then the hubs and I ran out to my mothers for the Christmas Eve festivities, which was AWESOME. Awesome because, I got to lay on the couch the entire time while my mother doted on me, and then went to bed at 10pm. It was fantastic, I so needed it. But then, up at 830am (not that that's EARLY but I'm sick yo!) and it was pandemonium after that. Present opening with my mom, step dad, sister, BIL and niece, brunch with them and my BILs parents then a mad dash home, to get ready for the guests.
And not that I mind but upon home arrival, I found my father and step mom hanging out and manning the turkey. I thought they were dropping it off and coming back later, but no. They were here, ready to get thier Christmas on. So mad dash some more. I threw on some make-up (it wasn't pretty, and I'm generally good at this make up biznas), and spot cleaned the bathrooms (so I left 1 chore for Christmas day, sue me) and then the hubs and I had to open our gifts...since we'd had NO time to do such things yet. Then it was right on into party time. Setting up tables, organizing food, trying to figure out how to get 10 dishes into the oven...the whole shebang.
Before I knew it, there were 20 people here (mom and step dad, sister and BIL, grandparents x 4 aunts, cousins, friends) and the house was PACKED. And it was stressful. Everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves but somehow, I feel like I missed all the fun.Did I mention everyone missed my BYOB memo and since I'm PREGNANT and can't partake in the delicious alcoholic festivities, I'd forgotten to pick up ANYTHING. This quickly became my problem, even though I could in no way solve it. My parentals all came stocked and I had a mishmash of things we could drink, but there was a serious drought on CHRISTMAS DAY! And nothing was open. Hostess MEGA FAIL. And before I knew it, dinner was over, and people were heading home. As happy as I was at the prospect of bed, I was bummed that I was too sick, tired and overwhelmed to enjoy the holiday season.
I am not complaining. I did have a wonderful holiday. I just feel like it was over too fast, and that I didn't take the time I should have to stop and appreciate it. I should have been less concerned about the Hubs random beard hairs around my bathroom sink, and more concerned about the smile on my nieces face when she opened her gifts. I should have focused less on arranging the tables just so, and more on it being Christmas. But I didn't.
The thing is, I'm an overachieving, A-type personality who thinks she is wonder woman. I'm no good at asking for help, or admitting defeat, and I am certainly not going to let someone witness a beard hair gone awry in my sink.I take care of everyone, including the dog and I do it with a smile and a "no, I'm not tired at all". And I am starting to regret it.
I'm not looking to do a retrospective post about the last year, but if there is one thing I've learned, and which I am going to continue to focus on, is that I am only one person. That, and no one else cares about a beard hair. I need to SLOW down, and focus a little more on myself and a little less on the orientation of the towels in the bathroom. I need to take care of me, so that I am able to take care of my daughter. I need to grow up and relax.
I don't know if it's the impending motherhood speaking, or simply the proximity I am sitting to age 30, but I do know that my one and only new years resolution is to learn to say NO, and stick to it.
Step one, keep sitting on this couch...all freaking day!
So here I am today. I've got a lot of blogness to catch up on. I've got feeds to read and comment on, a WHOLE list on the SITS site to peruse, and a few new bloggy commenters to stock read up on. It's a tall order, ESPECIALLY when the hubs is still on holidays and I'm required to participate in daily outings and entertain him. Not that I mind, I'm just not used to this. Lucky for me, he likes to sleep much later than I do (and I go to bed much earlier than he does so, it's a fair trade) so I can sit here this AM and entertain you all (nice of me to assume I'm at all entertaining) with my ramblings and whinings.
I'm a little bummed that the holidays are over, and I feel like I missed them in some stress induced amnesic fugue. We had 20 people, 2 babies and 2 dogs over for Christmas dinner (ok well, one was the resident dog and if you count children in utero, there were 3 babies). Christmas Eve was spent with me cleaning like a mad person, and making 2 types of potatoes, fresh cranberry sauce and 2 other types of vegetables. Then the hubs and I ran out to my mothers for the Christmas Eve festivities, which was AWESOME. Awesome because, I got to lay on the couch the entire time while my mother doted on me, and then went to bed at 10pm. It was fantastic, I so needed it. But then, up at 830am (not that that's EARLY but I'm sick yo!) and it was pandemonium after that. Present opening with my mom, step dad, sister, BIL and niece, brunch with them and my BILs parents then a mad dash home, to get ready for the guests.
And not that I mind but upon home arrival, I found my father and step mom hanging out and manning the turkey. I thought they were dropping it off and coming back later, but no. They were here, ready to get thier Christmas on. So mad dash some more. I threw on some make-up (it wasn't pretty, and I'm generally good at this make up biznas), and spot cleaned the bathrooms (so I left 1 chore for Christmas day, sue me) and then the hubs and I had to open our gifts...since we'd had NO time to do such things yet. Then it was right on into party time. Setting up tables, organizing food, trying to figure out how to get 10 dishes into the oven...the whole shebang.
Before I knew it, there were 20 people here (mom and step dad, sister and BIL, grandparents x 4 aunts, cousins, friends) and the house was PACKED. And it was stressful. Everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves but somehow, I feel like I missed all the fun.Did I mention everyone missed my BYOB memo and since I'm PREGNANT and can't partake in the delicious alcoholic festivities, I'd forgotten to pick up ANYTHING. This quickly became my problem, even though I could in no way solve it. My parentals all came stocked and I had a mishmash of things we could drink, but there was a serious drought on CHRISTMAS DAY! And nothing was open. Hostess MEGA FAIL. And before I knew it, dinner was over, and people were heading home. As happy as I was at the prospect of bed, I was bummed that I was too sick, tired and overwhelmed to enjoy the holiday season.
I am not complaining. I did have a wonderful holiday. I just feel like it was over too fast, and that I didn't take the time I should have to stop and appreciate it. I should have been less concerned about the Hubs random beard hairs around my bathroom sink, and more concerned about the smile on my nieces face when she opened her gifts. I should have focused less on arranging the tables just so, and more on it being Christmas. But I didn't.
The thing is, I'm an overachieving, A-type personality who thinks she is wonder woman. I'm no good at asking for help, or admitting defeat, and I am certainly not going to let someone witness a beard hair gone awry in my sink.I take care of everyone, including the dog and I do it with a smile and a "no, I'm not tired at all". And I am starting to regret it.
I'm not looking to do a retrospective post about the last year, but if there is one thing I've learned, and which I am going to continue to focus on, is that I am only one person. That, and no one else cares about a beard hair. I need to SLOW down, and focus a little more on myself and a little less on the orientation of the towels in the bathroom. I need to take care of me, so that I am able to take care of my daughter. I need to grow up and relax.
I don't know if it's the impending motherhood speaking, or simply the proximity I am sitting to age 30, but I do know that my one and only new years resolution is to learn to say NO, and stick to it.
Step one, keep sitting on this couch...all freaking day!
Sometimes, you come across a blog...
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
...and it's just pee your pants funny. And when this happens, I think it's REALLY important to give props to the hilarity by drawing attention to it.
Being very very new to this whole blogging thing, I've not yet listed out any sort of "top" anything blogs. I feel like that's best reserved for women (I saw women because I am currently following all mommy and baby blogs, and they are all written, at least predominantly, by women) who have put in their time. And who have established more than 13 followers (to my wonderful followers, this is not to say I don't cherish each and every one of you. I do. In fact, you are the reason I keep posting. I just mean to say, someone with 230 followers certainly outranks me in the world of blogging, and thus, has more authority). But I am starting to think I should so more with these blogs I heart, than list them on the side of my blog, so I'm starting here.
Anyway, I digress. Or well, can I call it a digression when I never even really got to my point? Whatever.
The point is, I found a new blog today. I found her because the FIRST ever baby (now a mommy) blog I found (which is still my favourite) blogger Blair, from The Heir to Blair was a guest poster. And anyone who loves Blair enough to get her as a guest poster, is clearly someone I want to "know" on the internet. So I went to peruse the site, and spent the next little while sitting alone, in my living room, laughing my ass off.
Not literally, don't worry, my ass is still in place. But I laughed a lot, and I thought this woman deserves some props. Even if it IS on my brand new, shiny, barely out there blog, it's still props. And all of YOU have lots of followers, who have followers who...well you know how this works, so this could help her permeate more mommy minds. And fill us with laugh out loud moments, at work, or on your iPhone at the doctors office, wherever you do your inappropriate blog stalking.
Her name is Jen, and her blog is "Maybe If You Just Relax".
Take a read, but do it on an empty bladder. Trust me, this site is Depends worthy.
Being very very new to this whole blogging thing, I've not yet listed out any sort of "top" anything blogs. I feel like that's best reserved for women (I saw women because I am currently following all mommy and baby blogs, and they are all written, at least predominantly, by women) who have put in their time. And who have established more than 13 followers (to my wonderful followers, this is not to say I don't cherish each and every one of you. I do. In fact, you are the reason I keep posting. I just mean to say, someone with 230 followers certainly outranks me in the world of blogging, and thus, has more authority). But I am starting to think I should so more with these blogs I heart, than list them on the side of my blog, so I'm starting here.
Anyway, I digress. Or well, can I call it a digression when I never even really got to my point? Whatever.
The point is, I found a new blog today. I found her because the FIRST ever baby (now a mommy) blog I found (which is still my favourite) blogger Blair, from The Heir to Blair was a guest poster. And anyone who loves Blair enough to get her as a guest poster, is clearly someone I want to "know" on the internet. So I went to peruse the site, and spent the next little while sitting alone, in my living room, laughing my ass off.
Not literally, don't worry, my ass is still in place. But I laughed a lot, and I thought this woman deserves some props. Even if it IS on my brand new, shiny, barely out there blog, it's still props. And all of YOU have lots of followers, who have followers who...well you know how this works, so this could help her permeate more mommy minds. And fill us with laugh out loud moments, at work, or on your iPhone at the doctors office, wherever you do your inappropriate blog stalking.
Her name is Jen, and her blog is "Maybe If You Just Relax".
Take a read, but do it on an empty bladder. Trust me, this site is Depends worthy.
"Oh I thought it was a food baby"
So yesterday we moved offices. And this whole office move has been a clusterfuk of epic proportions. It started last week when our ISP turned off our internets and phone service 2 entire DAYS ahead of schedule. Yup, Thursday morning is the same thing as Monday right? Not quite. After hours of phone calls and frustration, we got the service back up and running. We're a consulting business so, lacking access to email and internet is not an option.
We were all set to move on Monday and then, our new office flooded on Friday. It's been empty for a YEAR and 3 days before we move in, it FLOODS. Too bad we had the movers all set and ready to move us, and all of our stuff packed before we knew. Not to mention that we had to get out of the old office, so, we set off to move into the dry portions of the office, and deal with the rest later. Our 10 people office is crammed into a board room and a kitchen. It's been overwhelmingly stressful, and I am glossing over about 100 moments that made me want to cry yesterday but, that's not what is important.
What is important is that the movers thought I just had a spare tire, and not a baby.
A spare tire. AND NOT A BABY. Are you hearing me?
It went something like this:
After hours of chatting mindlessly with the movers, and one of my close friends who also happens to work with me, and making countless mentions that I am in fact, with child, we had this conversation:
G: Oye what a day, we need some beer...or a lot of wine
Me: Well in 13 weeks, I'll take you up on that...often and A LOT
G: Yes, get that baby out of you and we'll get drinking wine!
Me: Sometime before my birthday we will drink again!
G: Ya I only got to know you for like, 5 months before you got knocked up
Me: Soon, I will be carrying around an external human, instead of an internal one, and I can have some drinks
Mover: Wait? You're really pregnant? Huh. I thought it was a food baby, not a real baby
Me: Um no, she's real, been in there 6 months now
Mover: Ha
So ya that's how it went down. And I guess I am not as big as I thought. In fact, I guess I am small enough that instead of looking 6 months pregnant, despite wearing form fitting pants and a cute, bump accentuating t shirt, I just look like I've been doing too many keg stands. Just when I thought I was starting to actually appear preggo to the masses, I am reminded I instead look like all those trips through the Wendy's Drive Thru have finally caught up.
I should however, take solace in the fact that this comment came from a less-than-25 year old, meatheadariffic dude, who makes his living with brute force. Did I mention he didn't appear to be the brightest bulb in the light bright? So perhaps I shouldn't take what he says to heart. I have to assume that the 3 movers, sharing their 25 brain cells and talking like douchebags gone wild may not be the best judge of exactly how pregnant or not pregnant a girl may be. If the fact that I look like a perfect size 4 from the back still didn't give it away. the protruding belly button should have. Or at the very least, the repeated comments about "my baby" and the fact that I kept saying I wasn't going to lift anything heavy, since I was 6 months pregnant.
Apparently, he thought all of this was just in reference to a food baby I'd been carefully and lovingly growing since early summer. A food baby I was worried about harming with the lifting of boxes, and the consuming of alcoholic beverages. A food baby I continued to rub, and call her.
Boys.
Even if he thought it was possible that I carried an extra 10 lbs. in the shape of a half basketball off my front, any smart man would have kept his mouth shut when he learned that, in fact, I was not. A smart man would have giggled silently to himself, and thought "phew dodged that bullet" after realizing he'd save himself the embarrassment (and potential kick in the balls) of accidentally calling a chubby girl pregnant. Or, worse (at least in my opinion) calling a pregnant lady fat. Yes, a smart man would have kept that tidbit to himself, and filed it under "I'm an idiot".
But not my mover. Nope. He called my darling little baby bump a FOOD BABY...and yet, he lived to bring down the general intelligence of the world another day.
Boys.
We were all set to move on Monday and then, our new office flooded on Friday. It's been empty for a YEAR and 3 days before we move in, it FLOODS. Too bad we had the movers all set and ready to move us, and all of our stuff packed before we knew. Not to mention that we had to get out of the old office, so, we set off to move into the dry portions of the office, and deal with the rest later. Our 10 people office is crammed into a board room and a kitchen. It's been overwhelmingly stressful, and I am glossing over about 100 moments that made me want to cry yesterday but, that's not what is important.
What is important is that the movers thought I just had a spare tire, and not a baby.
A spare tire. AND NOT A BABY. Are you hearing me?
It went something like this:
After hours of chatting mindlessly with the movers, and one of my close friends who also happens to work with me, and making countless mentions that I am in fact, with child, we had this conversation:
G: Oye what a day, we need some beer...or a lot of wine
Me: Well in 13 weeks, I'll take you up on that...often and A LOT
G: Yes, get that baby out of you and we'll get drinking wine!
Me: Sometime before my birthday we will drink again!
G: Ya I only got to know you for like, 5 months before you got knocked up
Me: Soon, I will be carrying around an external human, instead of an internal one, and I can have some drinks
Mover: Wait? You're really pregnant? Huh. I thought it was a food baby, not a real baby
Me: Um no, she's real, been in there 6 months now
Mover: Ha
So ya that's how it went down. And I guess I am not as big as I thought. In fact, I guess I am small enough that instead of looking 6 months pregnant, despite wearing form fitting pants and a cute, bump accentuating t shirt, I just look like I've been doing too many keg stands. Just when I thought I was starting to actually appear preggo to the masses, I am reminded I instead look like all those trips through the Wendy's Drive Thru have finally caught up.
I should however, take solace in the fact that this comment came from a less-than-25 year old, meatheadariffic dude, who makes his living with brute force. Did I mention he didn't appear to be the brightest bulb in the light bright? So perhaps I shouldn't take what he says to heart. I have to assume that the 3 movers, sharing their 25 brain cells and talking like douchebags gone wild may not be the best judge of exactly how pregnant or not pregnant a girl may be. If the fact that I look like a perfect size 4 from the back still didn't give it away. the protruding belly button should have. Or at the very least, the repeated comments about "my baby" and the fact that I kept saying I wasn't going to lift anything heavy, since I was 6 months pregnant.
Apparently, he thought all of this was just in reference to a food baby I'd been carefully and lovingly growing since early summer. A food baby I was worried about harming with the lifting of boxes, and the consuming of alcoholic beverages. A food baby I continued to rub, and call her.
Boys.
Even if he thought it was possible that I carried an extra 10 lbs. in the shape of a half basketball off my front, any smart man would have kept his mouth shut when he learned that, in fact, I was not. A smart man would have giggled silently to himself, and thought "phew dodged that bullet" after realizing he'd save himself the embarrassment (and potential kick in the balls) of accidentally calling a chubby girl pregnant. Or, worse (at least in my opinion) calling a pregnant lady fat. Yes, a smart man would have kept that tidbit to himself, and filed it under "I'm an idiot".
But not my mover. Nope. He called my darling little baby bump a FOOD BABY...and yet, he lived to bring down the general intelligence of the world another day.
Boys.
My internal human is growing....
Sunday, December 20, 2009
I looked down this morning and thought to myself "I can't get any bigger than this, can I?".
And the scary thing is, I'm not that big.
The problem is, I am bigger than I've ever been in my entire life. And it's not the size, I realize I'm pregnant and I honestly feel beautiful and am thoroughly enjoying watching my little one grow. It's amazing. I am not however enjoying my inability to bend at the waist or remove my boots on my own. Honestly, I've almost called my girlfriend on 2 seperate occasions - once it took me 20 mins to get my shoes ON, before our Christmas party, and once as I sat, hot and sweaty, trying to remove slippery wet gumboots from my feet, and having a hell of a time (he hubs was not home to assist of course). The only negative to being pregnant in the winter is that flip flops aren't exactly the footwear of choice for the weather. Too bad, because they would be so much easier, especially considering your feet get suspiciously farther from your arms every day.
Doing seemingly easy things (see removing boots above) or bending over to pick up another piece of #&$&ing! tinsel which is plaguing my home (we had a party last weekend, and there was an ugly sweater, complete with tinsel. A friend of ours decided to wear it, and spread tinsel EVERYWHERE, in every crevice of my home. I've vacuumed 5 times, and picked up 100 pieces...it's procreating. I swear), has become increasingly difficult.
First of all, it hurts. I'd assume this is the result of round ligament pain and my internal human pressing into my organs. The ligament pain is a strange thing, because 98% of the time, I do not notice it. But when I do, it's like my muscles are rubber bands and I'm snapping them. It's electric. Electric pain in my uterus.
Second of all, it's hard to breathe when I'm bent over (or walking up the stairs for that matter). This is the result of a few things - my increased blood volume, my lowered iron stores, and, you guessed it, my internal human and her living room creeping into my breathing space.
Last of all, my balance. We've discussed this before, and it's not getting any better (obviously), so bending over or standing on one foot, not a good idea. Every time I bend forward to pick something up, blood rushes to my head and for a split second, I realize how dangerously close said head is to the floor. And the next second consists of me contemplating a head contusion, and hoping this isn't how it ends.
I realize that in the grand scheme of all thing pregnant lady, I'm whining about almost nothing. And I do honestly appreciate how lucky I've been. I barely felt any morning sickness, I didn't get the crippling fatigue I read so much about, and so far, I've escaped any midnight pickle and ice cream sandwich cravings. I'm peeing a little on the frequent side of the spectrum, but that's not all that new for me, and I haven't been starving all night. Mostly, I've just had awesome sex dreams, and that's not much to complain about.
All in all, I'm almost a little bummed by the lack of attention I'm able to garner from the hubs and others, because other than the hand free of a glass of wine, I've been exactly the same these last 6 months. My weight gain has (thank WHOEVER is responsible for these things...I don't believe in god per se, but there is a higher power out there looking out for me) been pretty manageable, I've had no cravings, low fatigue and, other than my balance issues, I've been pretty much the same (and let's face it, I wasn't so good with the balance before either).
However, this isn't to say it's not coming. Everyone I talk to and everything I read tells me that as of Wednesday, I exit the glory trimester and head into the third, final and apparently most difficult trimester there is. And so, as I look at my belly I think, it can't get any bigger than this? I mean, really, if my shoes are this hard to get on and off now, and if staying upright is this much of a challenge, then surely I'm doomed. But I know it's coming. I mean, my darling is growing by the moment in there, I can feel it. And no one has ever had a healthy baby after 3 months of non-growth. So it is inevitable (not only that, but it's anticipated and highly requested that she continue to grow her little heart out in there..I'd never pick fashionable footwear or grace over my baby girl). I will continue to grow, and apparently, more so than before. And I'm sure that I'll have some new and exciting symptoms as a courtesy of my internal human....
But at least it's great blog fodder :D
And the scary thing is, I'm not that big.
The problem is, I am bigger than I've ever been in my entire life. And it's not the size, I realize I'm pregnant and I honestly feel beautiful and am thoroughly enjoying watching my little one grow. It's amazing. I am not however enjoying my inability to bend at the waist or remove my boots on my own. Honestly, I've almost called my girlfriend on 2 seperate occasions - once it took me 20 mins to get my shoes ON, before our Christmas party, and once as I sat, hot and sweaty, trying to remove slippery wet gumboots from my feet, and having a hell of a time (he hubs was not home to assist of course). The only negative to being pregnant in the winter is that flip flops aren't exactly the footwear of choice for the weather. Too bad, because they would be so much easier, especially considering your feet get suspiciously farther from your arms every day.
Doing seemingly easy things (see removing boots above) or bending over to pick up another piece of #&$&ing! tinsel which is plaguing my home (we had a party last weekend, and there was an ugly sweater, complete with tinsel. A friend of ours decided to wear it, and spread tinsel EVERYWHERE, in every crevice of my home. I've vacuumed 5 times, and picked up 100 pieces...it's procreating. I swear), has become increasingly difficult.
First of all, it hurts. I'd assume this is the result of round ligament pain and my internal human pressing into my organs. The ligament pain is a strange thing, because 98% of the time, I do not notice it. But when I do, it's like my muscles are rubber bands and I'm snapping them. It's electric. Electric pain in my uterus.
Second of all, it's hard to breathe when I'm bent over (or walking up the stairs for that matter). This is the result of a few things - my increased blood volume, my lowered iron stores, and, you guessed it, my internal human and her living room creeping into my breathing space.
Last of all, my balance. We've discussed this before, and it's not getting any better (obviously), so bending over or standing on one foot, not a good idea. Every time I bend forward to pick something up, blood rushes to my head and for a split second, I realize how dangerously close said head is to the floor. And the next second consists of me contemplating a head contusion, and hoping this isn't how it ends.
I realize that in the grand scheme of all thing pregnant lady, I'm whining about almost nothing. And I do honestly appreciate how lucky I've been. I barely felt any morning sickness, I didn't get the crippling fatigue I read so much about, and so far, I've escaped any midnight pickle and ice cream sandwich cravings. I'm peeing a little on the frequent side of the spectrum, but that's not all that new for me, and I haven't been starving all night. Mostly, I've just had awesome sex dreams, and that's not much to complain about.
All in all, I'm almost a little bummed by the lack of attention I'm able to garner from the hubs and others, because other than the hand free of a glass of wine, I've been exactly the same these last 6 months. My weight gain has (thank WHOEVER is responsible for these things...I don't believe in god per se, but there is a higher power out there looking out for me) been pretty manageable, I've had no cravings, low fatigue and, other than my balance issues, I've been pretty much the same (and let's face it, I wasn't so good with the balance before either).
However, this isn't to say it's not coming. Everyone I talk to and everything I read tells me that as of Wednesday, I exit the glory trimester and head into the third, final and apparently most difficult trimester there is. And so, as I look at my belly I think, it can't get any bigger than this? I mean, really, if my shoes are this hard to get on and off now, and if staying upright is this much of a challenge, then surely I'm doomed. But I know it's coming. I mean, my darling is growing by the moment in there, I can feel it. And no one has ever had a healthy baby after 3 months of non-growth. So it is inevitable (not only that, but it's anticipated and highly requested that she continue to grow her little heart out in there..I'd never pick fashionable footwear or grace over my baby girl). I will continue to grow, and apparently, more so than before. And I'm sure that I'll have some new and exciting symptoms as a courtesy of my internal human....
But at least it's great blog fodder :D
"I'm never going to be like that"
Saturday, December 19, 2009
I had one of those moments today. The one I'm sure every first time mother to be has, where she is standing in some store, watching a poor mother struggle with her purse, the diaper bag and a stroller, while her child has a magnitude 10 breakdown. And just when it seems like she's almost done and free from the store, she drops her wallet, and cards and money go spiraling everywhere. The one where you think to yourself "OMG, is that what I'm in for?" and that follows.
I went to Toys R Us today, because I am a glutton for punishment and felt the need to punish myself hard. It's 6 days before Christmas and I live downtown, so you can imagine how pleasant it was in there. I think there have been natural disasters that were better organized (and somewhat cleaner) than that place was today. I only went because I needed 1 thing, and I knew what it was. I figured I could be in and out in a few minutes, and blissfully tick SOMETHING off my ever growing to do list. And you know, from my perspective, it wasn't that bad. I didn't have to walk mindlessly up and down the aisle, trying to figure out what a 4 year old would like (why are there not lists for this in the toy stores, honestly?), or if my sister would hate me for buying her child a drum set (side note, the answer to that question is always YES!). I just needed to grab one small thing for my niece, and be on my way.
I must have been in there for 30 mins, because as a 6 month pregnant lady, I can't resist the urge to peruse the baby stuff, and in the time I was in there, I witnessed a few things I wish I hadn't. I guess Toys R Us at Christmas is where you go, when you want to study parenting, and what not to do (as an aside, this part of my story has nothing to do with the aforementioned poor woman above...I'll get back to her later).
First, I was in the infant/toddler toy area, grabbing what I needed, and I saw a cute little girl, daydreaming, walking up the aisle, fingering the shiny pink plastic toys that are all at her level. I smiled at her, and she shyly looked away. I try not to creep other people's kids in the toy store, so I moved away from her a little bit. I didn't see her parents around, but surely they were close by, because she couldn't have been much past the age of 3. She didn't seem overly concerned by the lack of parents either so I didn't think much of it. A few moments later, as I stood trying to decide between 2 seemingly the same toys, a woman comes up, frazzled and sweating, and yells in a shrill and unnecessary voice "Arianna, what the hell are you doing? I told you we were going to the check-out. We're leaving. Stop daydreaming and GET OVER HERE".
I'm one of those people who has a hard time biting my tongue and I really wanted to snap back at her "you expected your 3 year old to know what the check out was? And did you seriously just say HELL to your child? And you want her to stop daydreaming? STOP? That's the best part of being a little girl you troll". But I didn't. I just gave her one of those dirty looks, that indicated I was less than impressed, and watched her drag her poor child away by the arm, walking faster than her daughter possibly could, practically ripping her arm from the socket. At this moment, I took a breath and made a mental note. I filed this under "remember how that looked and felt" and thought to myself, "I'm never going to be like that".
Now I'm not on a high horse. I clearly don't have a child yet, and I don't know what the background was here. I don't know the pressures of shopping with a daydreaming toddler, 6 days before Christmas, with the heat cranked up to scorching, and the noise level at a steady 11. But I do know that asking my 3 year old "what the hell" is never appropriate. Ever. And I have mega potty mouth. There are so many things wrong with the scenario, that I could go on about. But let me just say, that was the first (but not last) time in Toys R Us, I thought "I'm never going to be like that".
There was a series of other events that happened over the next few minutes. I watched a lot of angry parents give their children grief about being distracted and not paying attention. I mean, it's not like you brought them to a giant toy store 6 days before Christmas with 1500 other children, so I can imagine why you'd expect them to be focused. I heard a lot of people use "if you don't smarten up, I'm going to call Santa and tell him not to bring you anything!" in an attempt to negotiate with their kids on a fear based level. And we know this will never happen, because at no point ever in history, has a parent cancelled Christmas for their child because they asked for a package of Pop Rocks 17 times. And I saw a lot of tantrums, but those are unavoidable. And while I watched the pandemonium, I thought to myself several times "I'm never going to be like that". Except, in these instances, I am not so sure I can guarantee this. I know things happen, and again, I've haven't yet been there, so I'm sure I'll be one of these parents at some point, that someone else looks at and says "I'm never going to be like that".
I think the most painful thing I saw was a woman, with her sheepish and clearly doormat like husband, timidly carrying packages while she ran off at the mouth about how bad the food was at the neighbours party last night. She had with her 2 sons, I'd guess around 6 and 9. And one of them yawned, clearly bored of her trash talking story, and of being in the pretty princess section of the store. She stopped, looked right at him, and without missing a beat, said loudly and clearly "I told you to cover your mouth when you yawn. That's DISGUSTING. None of these people want to see your disgusting mouth. Grow up". And then continued on, bashing her neighbours meatballs.
Now, I don't know about any of you, but I guess I missed this part of etiquette school. Are we actually supposed to cover our mouths when we yawn? I mean, sometimes I do, but a lot of times I definitely do not. And other than perhaps not wanting to show the world my fillings, I don't really see the issue. And is it that disgusting? The yawning and his mouth? I mean, really, his yawn did not affect me in any way shape or form. Her bitching did. I was embarrassed for her children, and her husband, and I felt a little sorry for them. Not just for her outburst, but for the simple fact that she was such a hag. And I again thought to myself, and this time I KNEW, I'm never going to be like that. I'm not. I can't imagine talking to my family in that tone, in that manner. I cannot imagine telling my son he's disgusting, and I certainly can't imagine embarrassing my family that much. If it was really that much of an issue for her, she could have quietly said something constructive, and saved us all the awkwardness. Me and another family in the aisle shared a look or pity and anger, and quietly walked away. Again, in my mind I was telling her she should grow up and stop being such a bitch but, I was trying to stay in the Christmas spirit.
Now, for my last poor mother. This was a situation where, I didn't think "I'm never going to be like that". It was a situation where I thought to myself, "I hope that never happens to me". As I mentioned, she was alone and struggling through the store, stroller, diaper bag and purse in hand, carrying a basket full of toys and trying to console her hysterical child. There she stood, in the long long line, probably so close to being done her shopping she could taste is, and just trying to survive the next 10 mins. Overwhelmed and frustrated, she stood, sweating in her coat, trying to figure out how to manage all the stuff she had with her, while getting a bottle of of the diaper bag. And no one was helping. No, in true Christmas spirit, instead of the guy in front of her clearing his 1 item off the counter so should could use it, or the person behind her backing up so she had a bit more space to maneuver, people just stood there. They stood there with asshole face, looking down their nose at her and whispering to each other about the state of her son.
Now I have no idea what prompted the child's outbreak, but I'm sure there was some toy negotiation gone wrong, and he was now just sulking. Well, not sulking, screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. And she was at a loss. Missing that ever needed 3rd arm, she struggled to find a way to soothe him, and hoping the woman at the check out would just STOP pontificating and buy the damn Barbie (why do people do this, ever, but specifically at Christmas? Stand at the check out, contemplating the pros and cons of 2 items? Do that in the aisle people, do it IN THE AISLE), so she could move ahead 1 space and get this over with. The look on her face was one that screamed "I'm sorry" to those around her. She knew her son was causing some headaches, but at some point, what can she do?
I stood there for a moment, wondering what I could do to help. Unfortunately, I was 3 aisles over, suffering my own pregnant lady hot flash and wishing the stinky dirty man behind me would STOP COUGHING in my hair. I shot her a sympathetic look, and watched in pain as she finally reached the counter, only to drop her wallet as she fumbled to get it from her purse, sending the contents flying everywhere. Coins bounced and rolled, cards skidded across the floor and receipts fluttered to the ground. And she looked like she was going to cry. And once again, no one helped her. Her son screamed louder, and I thought for sure she was going to lose it. If anyone deserved to, it was her.
But you know, she surprised me. She actually laughed. She threw up her hands, and laughed. Now, perhaps that was the incident that pushed her over the edge, and she has just completely gone bananas, but, I don't know. She picked up a card from the floor, handed it to the cashier, and let her process the payment as she proceeded to pick up the contents of her life. Her hands free, she handed her son a MumMum, giving him something to focus on that actually turned his screams into hiccupy sobs, and she composed herself. Some kids helped her get the remaining AWOL change, she pushed her flattened, frazzled hair from her shiny red forehead, grabbed her bags, and fairly calmly pushed her son out of the store.
And for the first time that day, I thought to myself "I hope I can be exactly like that".
I went to Toys R Us today, because I am a glutton for punishment and felt the need to punish myself hard. It's 6 days before Christmas and I live downtown, so you can imagine how pleasant it was in there. I think there have been natural disasters that were better organized (and somewhat cleaner) than that place was today. I only went because I needed 1 thing, and I knew what it was. I figured I could be in and out in a few minutes, and blissfully tick SOMETHING off my ever growing to do list. And you know, from my perspective, it wasn't that bad. I didn't have to walk mindlessly up and down the aisle, trying to figure out what a 4 year old would like (why are there not lists for this in the toy stores, honestly?), or if my sister would hate me for buying her child a drum set (side note, the answer to that question is always YES!). I just needed to grab one small thing for my niece, and be on my way.
I must have been in there for 30 mins, because as a 6 month pregnant lady, I can't resist the urge to peruse the baby stuff, and in the time I was in there, I witnessed a few things I wish I hadn't. I guess Toys R Us at Christmas is where you go, when you want to study parenting, and what not to do (as an aside, this part of my story has nothing to do with the aforementioned poor woman above...I'll get back to her later).
First, I was in the infant/toddler toy area, grabbing what I needed, and I saw a cute little girl, daydreaming, walking up the aisle, fingering the shiny pink plastic toys that are all at her level. I smiled at her, and she shyly looked away. I try not to creep other people's kids in the toy store, so I moved away from her a little bit. I didn't see her parents around, but surely they were close by, because she couldn't have been much past the age of 3. She didn't seem overly concerned by the lack of parents either so I didn't think much of it. A few moments later, as I stood trying to decide between 2 seemingly the same toys, a woman comes up, frazzled and sweating, and yells in a shrill and unnecessary voice "Arianna, what the hell are you doing? I told you we were going to the check-out. We're leaving. Stop daydreaming and GET OVER HERE".
I'm one of those people who has a hard time biting my tongue and I really wanted to snap back at her "you expected your 3 year old to know what the check out was? And did you seriously just say HELL to your child? And you want her to stop daydreaming? STOP? That's the best part of being a little girl you troll". But I didn't. I just gave her one of those dirty looks, that indicated I was less than impressed, and watched her drag her poor child away by the arm, walking faster than her daughter possibly could, practically ripping her arm from the socket. At this moment, I took a breath and made a mental note. I filed this under "remember how that looked and felt" and thought to myself, "I'm never going to be like that".
Now I'm not on a high horse. I clearly don't have a child yet, and I don't know what the background was here. I don't know the pressures of shopping with a daydreaming toddler, 6 days before Christmas, with the heat cranked up to scorching, and the noise level at a steady 11. But I do know that asking my 3 year old "what the hell" is never appropriate. Ever. And I have mega potty mouth. There are so many things wrong with the scenario, that I could go on about. But let me just say, that was the first (but not last) time in Toys R Us, I thought "I'm never going to be like that".
There was a series of other events that happened over the next few minutes. I watched a lot of angry parents give their children grief about being distracted and not paying attention. I mean, it's not like you brought them to a giant toy store 6 days before Christmas with 1500 other children, so I can imagine why you'd expect them to be focused. I heard a lot of people use "if you don't smarten up, I'm going to call Santa and tell him not to bring you anything!" in an attempt to negotiate with their kids on a fear based level. And we know this will never happen, because at no point ever in history, has a parent cancelled Christmas for their child because they asked for a package of Pop Rocks 17 times. And I saw a lot of tantrums, but those are unavoidable. And while I watched the pandemonium, I thought to myself several times "I'm never going to be like that". Except, in these instances, I am not so sure I can guarantee this. I know things happen, and again, I've haven't yet been there, so I'm sure I'll be one of these parents at some point, that someone else looks at and says "I'm never going to be like that".
I think the most painful thing I saw was a woman, with her sheepish and clearly doormat like husband, timidly carrying packages while she ran off at the mouth about how bad the food was at the neighbours party last night. She had with her 2 sons, I'd guess around 6 and 9. And one of them yawned, clearly bored of her trash talking story, and of being in the pretty princess section of the store. She stopped, looked right at him, and without missing a beat, said loudly and clearly "I told you to cover your mouth when you yawn. That's DISGUSTING. None of these people want to see your disgusting mouth. Grow up". And then continued on, bashing her neighbours meatballs.
Now, I don't know about any of you, but I guess I missed this part of etiquette school. Are we actually supposed to cover our mouths when we yawn? I mean, sometimes I do, but a lot of times I definitely do not. And other than perhaps not wanting to show the world my fillings, I don't really see the issue. And is it that disgusting? The yawning and his mouth? I mean, really, his yawn did not affect me in any way shape or form. Her bitching did. I was embarrassed for her children, and her husband, and I felt a little sorry for them. Not just for her outburst, but for the simple fact that she was such a hag. And I again thought to myself, and this time I KNEW, I'm never going to be like that. I'm not. I can't imagine talking to my family in that tone, in that manner. I cannot imagine telling my son he's disgusting, and I certainly can't imagine embarrassing my family that much. If it was really that much of an issue for her, she could have quietly said something constructive, and saved us all the awkwardness. Me and another family in the aisle shared a look or pity and anger, and quietly walked away. Again, in my mind I was telling her she should grow up and stop being such a bitch but, I was trying to stay in the Christmas spirit.
Now, for my last poor mother. This was a situation where, I didn't think "I'm never going to be like that". It was a situation where I thought to myself, "I hope that never happens to me". As I mentioned, she was alone and struggling through the store, stroller, diaper bag and purse in hand, carrying a basket full of toys and trying to console her hysterical child. There she stood, in the long long line, probably so close to being done her shopping she could taste is, and just trying to survive the next 10 mins. Overwhelmed and frustrated, she stood, sweating in her coat, trying to figure out how to manage all the stuff she had with her, while getting a bottle of of the diaper bag. And no one was helping. No, in true Christmas spirit, instead of the guy in front of her clearing his 1 item off the counter so should could use it, or the person behind her backing up so she had a bit more space to maneuver, people just stood there. They stood there with asshole face, looking down their nose at her and whispering to each other about the state of her son.
Now I have no idea what prompted the child's outbreak, but I'm sure there was some toy negotiation gone wrong, and he was now just sulking. Well, not sulking, screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. And she was at a loss. Missing that ever needed 3rd arm, she struggled to find a way to soothe him, and hoping the woman at the check out would just STOP pontificating and buy the damn Barbie (why do people do this, ever, but specifically at Christmas? Stand at the check out, contemplating the pros and cons of 2 items? Do that in the aisle people, do it IN THE AISLE), so she could move ahead 1 space and get this over with. The look on her face was one that screamed "I'm sorry" to those around her. She knew her son was causing some headaches, but at some point, what can she do?
I stood there for a moment, wondering what I could do to help. Unfortunately, I was 3 aisles over, suffering my own pregnant lady hot flash and wishing the stinky dirty man behind me would STOP COUGHING in my hair. I shot her a sympathetic look, and watched in pain as she finally reached the counter, only to drop her wallet as she fumbled to get it from her purse, sending the contents flying everywhere. Coins bounced and rolled, cards skidded across the floor and receipts fluttered to the ground. And she looked like she was going to cry. And once again, no one helped her. Her son screamed louder, and I thought for sure she was going to lose it. If anyone deserved to, it was her.
But you know, she surprised me. She actually laughed. She threw up her hands, and laughed. Now, perhaps that was the incident that pushed her over the edge, and she has just completely gone bananas, but, I don't know. She picked up a card from the floor, handed it to the cashier, and let her process the payment as she proceeded to pick up the contents of her life. Her hands free, she handed her son a MumMum, giving him something to focus on that actually turned his screams into hiccupy sobs, and she composed herself. Some kids helped her get the remaining AWOL change, she pushed her flattened, frazzled hair from her shiny red forehead, grabbed her bags, and fairly calmly pushed her son out of the store.
And for the first time that day, I thought to myself "I hope I can be exactly like that".
Dear Gluocodex...I did not know you were akin to magic mushrooms...
Thursday, December 17, 2009
What a strange and unusual thing you are Gluocodex. A sickly sweet and painfully potent cocktail of sugar, water and orange flavoured sugar.....did I mention the sugar?
This morning I drank you. I drank 500 ml's of you, and sat, and waited for the longest hour of my entire life, I waited. I am not sure what I was waiting for, but the nice ladies in the blue scrubs and dangerously comfortable shoes assured me I needed to wait. I had an hour to pass, so I thought to myself, I shall read my book. I should have known better.
My book is close to 600 pages long. In tiny font. I'm reading Wicked for the book club and I've only a month left to get through the remaining 460 pages...with Christmas and New Years peppered in there for distraction. So I thought 1 hour of uninterrupted reading time - PRIME. Even better that it was occurring during the day, when I was supposed to be at work.
But I neglected to realize the psychedelic effect that much sugar would have on my body. I'm not a sugar person by nature. Sure here and there I indulge, and over Christmas there have been many an opportunity to do just that. But overall, I am not a sugar eater. And regardless, that is more sugar than any human has ever ingested willingly, in one sitting. And this includes the time my sister stole a box of Pot of Gold chocolates from under the grandparents Christmas tree, and ate the evidence in an hour, before anyone could find out. Too bad for her, she neglected to also eat the box and wrappers.
As usual, I digress. Whatever is in that cavity inducing beverage (at least they chill it for you, but no vodka) made my head spin. And not in a "I'm feeling a little dizzy" type way, but in such a bad way, I felt the need to reach up and make sure it wasn't literally spinning like a top. It wasn't, but it felt like it. The lights got brighter and dimmer, and I started to see things I'm pretty sure weren't there. Between the sparkly lights of the clinic waiting room, and the medicinal smell, I started to wonder if I'd passed into another realm.
So I sat, pretending to read my book, praying that this would not be the first time in my pregnancy I needed to uncontrollably vomit. Something about that orange syrup mixed with this morning Cheerios, spewed all over the shiny white floors seemed uncivilized.
Lucky for me, I manages to avoid projectile vomit, but that hour was no more tolerable for it. I spun, got dizzy and of course became increasing hungry. I wanted to lie down, or at the very least curl up on the chair, but I couldn't. I couldn't because those chairs are plastic and uncomfortable, and lets face it, a lot of sick people sit in them. The uncomfortable nature of this mornings events were further compounded by my inability to cross my legs. Well I mean it's certainly not that I CAN'T cross them, but I'm trying my hardest not to. These road map spider veins aren't going to get any better on their own, and I'm doing my best not to further anger them. But have you ever tried to not cross your legs? As a woman I find it easier to stop blinking or breathing that to avoid the natural tendency to cross my legs. I hate it, I just want to cross them, but I also want to wear skirts again one day, so I have to suffer a little longer without it. I'm hoping I break the habit all together by then, but so far it's not looking good.
The only one of us who seemed to enjoy this mornings adventure was the little one. She sucked that sugar back like the drug it truly is, and spent the better part of the hour getting her groove on. I'm not sure where she learned her dance moves, but it unfortunately feels like she learned them from Elaine on Seinfeld. Here's to hoping she gets some of her fathers musical aptitude after all. She is now resting, after such a high, and so she should. I'm just jealous I have no where to curl up and sleep. I feel like I'm doing all the work in this relationship, but I suppose in her defense, she IS working on becoming a fully functional whole person, so I'll cut her some slack.
In any event, there I sat, baby girl kicking me fiendishly from the inside, my head swimming, my heart racing. I sat - dizzy, tired, hungry and uncomfortable, watching the seconds tick by. I swear at least twice I saw them stop ticking all together. When it was all said and done, the nice lady took my blood and sent me on my way. And that was it. An hour of time spent, and a 30 second test.
I've got to wait to find out the results, but I'm crossing all my crossables (with the exception of my legs, those are virtually crossed) that I don't have to go back for the dreaded 3 hour test. Because if I have to see spots like that for 3 hours, I'm surely going to puke. And I haven't puked since I was a kid.
This morning I drank you. I drank 500 ml's of you, and sat, and waited for the longest hour of my entire life, I waited. I am not sure what I was waiting for, but the nice ladies in the blue scrubs and dangerously comfortable shoes assured me I needed to wait. I had an hour to pass, so I thought to myself, I shall read my book. I should have known better.
My book is close to 600 pages long. In tiny font. I'm reading Wicked for the book club and I've only a month left to get through the remaining 460 pages...with Christmas and New Years peppered in there for distraction. So I thought 1 hour of uninterrupted reading time - PRIME. Even better that it was occurring during the day, when I was supposed to be at work.
But I neglected to realize the psychedelic effect that much sugar would have on my body. I'm not a sugar person by nature. Sure here and there I indulge, and over Christmas there have been many an opportunity to do just that. But overall, I am not a sugar eater. And regardless, that is more sugar than any human has ever ingested willingly, in one sitting. And this includes the time my sister stole a box of Pot of Gold chocolates from under the grandparents Christmas tree, and ate the evidence in an hour, before anyone could find out. Too bad for her, she neglected to also eat the box and wrappers.
As usual, I digress. Whatever is in that cavity inducing beverage (at least they chill it for you, but no vodka) made my head spin. And not in a "I'm feeling a little dizzy" type way, but in such a bad way, I felt the need to reach up and make sure it wasn't literally spinning like a top. It wasn't, but it felt like it. The lights got brighter and dimmer, and I started to see things I'm pretty sure weren't there. Between the sparkly lights of the clinic waiting room, and the medicinal smell, I started to wonder if I'd passed into another realm.
So I sat, pretending to read my book, praying that this would not be the first time in my pregnancy I needed to uncontrollably vomit. Something about that orange syrup mixed with this morning Cheerios, spewed all over the shiny white floors seemed uncivilized.
Lucky for me, I manages to avoid projectile vomit, but that hour was no more tolerable for it. I spun, got dizzy and of course became increasing hungry. I wanted to lie down, or at the very least curl up on the chair, but I couldn't. I couldn't because those chairs are plastic and uncomfortable, and lets face it, a lot of sick people sit in them. The uncomfortable nature of this mornings events were further compounded by my inability to cross my legs. Well I mean it's certainly not that I CAN'T cross them, but I'm trying my hardest not to. These road map spider veins aren't going to get any better on their own, and I'm doing my best not to further anger them. But have you ever tried to not cross your legs? As a woman I find it easier to stop blinking or breathing that to avoid the natural tendency to cross my legs. I hate it, I just want to cross them, but I also want to wear skirts again one day, so I have to suffer a little longer without it. I'm hoping I break the habit all together by then, but so far it's not looking good.
The only one of us who seemed to enjoy this mornings adventure was the little one. She sucked that sugar back like the drug it truly is, and spent the better part of the hour getting her groove on. I'm not sure where she learned her dance moves, but it unfortunately feels like she learned them from Elaine on Seinfeld. Here's to hoping she gets some of her fathers musical aptitude after all. She is now resting, after such a high, and so she should. I'm just jealous I have no where to curl up and sleep. I feel like I'm doing all the work in this relationship, but I suppose in her defense, she IS working on becoming a fully functional whole person, so I'll cut her some slack.
In any event, there I sat, baby girl kicking me fiendishly from the inside, my head swimming, my heart racing. I sat - dizzy, tired, hungry and uncomfortable, watching the seconds tick by. I swear at least twice I saw them stop ticking all together. When it was all said and done, the nice lady took my blood and sent me on my way. And that was it. An hour of time spent, and a 30 second test.
I've got to wait to find out the results, but I'm crossing all my crossables (with the exception of my legs, those are virtually crossed) that I don't have to go back for the dreaded 3 hour test. Because if I have to see spots like that for 3 hours, I'm surely going to puke. And I haven't puked since I was a kid.
One more WTH?
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
My blog is back to small type and giant spaces?!?!?!? I changed NOTHING!! WTH?
WTH Wednesday - spider veins, fashion and trying to sell my washer and dryer...
Even though it's 6:43pm on Wednesday, I am going to WTH Wednesday anyway...it's before midnight so I get points for that.
We've been trying to sell a brand new washer and dryer on Craigslist for about a week now, and while I've had an obscene amount of emails, I've had no buyers. Lots of people ask me if they are still available, and when I reply with my phone number, that is where the correspondence ends. I had one guy, make a 2.5 hour drive in the snow, to take one look at it and say "it's too small".The thing is, the specs are ALL on the posting. Every one. The width, depth, height, and ALL the manufacturers details about how many pairs of jeans it'll fit, the whole shebang. They are brand new, never even hooked up, and in perfect condition. I talked to his wife not once, not twice but FIVE times on the before she sent her husband all the way out here to look at it, AND the ad clearly states the set it stackable. So WTH? 2.5 hours IN THE SNOW, to look at it for 2 seconds and leave without it. WTH? I had another woman tell me she was very interested and ask me not to sell them without calling her, and then disappear. WTH? I'm not putting shit on layaway over here.
That boring tidbit aside, some of my other WTH moments pertain to this strange body I now carry around and pretend is mine. Since I clearly have no control over it, with a protruding belly button and a hiccuping vagina, I've decided it belongs to my daughter. I am nothing but a host for this being, and this becomes increasingly apparent as I notice strange and unusual things happening.
One of these such things relates to fluids which have been exiting my body. Now, I promised I wouldn't blog about this, because I'm pretty sure no one wants to hear it but, honestly, I don't get it. And so, this WTH moment will start and end with just that. WTH fluids, what....the.....HECK?
The next thing I don't understand is why it looks like I've fallen down a flight of stairs. I've got bruises on my arms, bruises on my hips, bruises on areas of my body I am sure has never touched anything else? My legs are the worst. And I mean, we know I'm a total klutz, so these ones are less of a surprise. But to have one bruise melt into the other in such a way, that there is an area the size of a big mac (ok I've only had one big mac in my life, at 4am, after a lot of drinks, at the age of 27 but, I've seen them on TV) that shows no skin tone, is disconcerting to say the least. I considered making a doctors appointment to look into this, but then I'll just get swine flu in the waiting room and have him look at me in that "is this chick for real" way, so I'm opting out. A simple solution would be to stop falling down and walking into things, but, let's face it, if that was an option I would have exercised it long ago. So, I will just go on looking like I fell down the steps, or like DH is beating me, discretely below the knee, until this baby is born. And then I'll likely go back to my regularly scheduled bruising. Even though I've accepted it, I'm still going to say WTH bruises? WTH?
And while we're on the topic of strangely coloured, blood related things making my body look strange, can we look at my spider veins? What am I 97? Who gets a road map of spider veins on their legs so ugly and convoluted it looks like a never ending tour through some backwoods mountains? I mean, I know these are common in pregnancy, but I've never had one before, and I honestly didn't anticipate them taking over my legs. Especially since they are all roads that lead to bruises? WTH?
I could what the heck my bulging belly and widening arse but, let's face it, that isn't interesting at all. However, I will WTH my skirts, which are all now riding up in front and making it difficult to wear them. I've been trapped between maternity clothes and my regular attire for what seems like an entire lifetime (when in reality it has been about 10 weeks) and I'm not sure when I'll be able to comfortably fit into either end of the spectrum. My regular clothes, while a great way to show off the bump, also do nasty things like flash midriff at the office (gasp, midriff. Not since I was 16 was this acceptable, and even then, it was questionable) or stretch into bizarre shapes which look so much more awkward than flattering. My pants provide the unwelcome combination of being tight around the thighs (that's water retention right, RIGHT?) and the full frontal wedgie...I'll let you think about that one for awhile. My regular wardrobe also does it's best to accentuate my protruding belly button, and the fact that the tights or legging I am wearing are cutting across my belly like a too small rubber band trying to contain a pillow. WTH.
Now my maternity clothes, they are often a better option - comfort wise. Not so much in terms of fashion and appearance. I've complained about this before, but this isn't even about the ugly patterns and cheap scratchy fabric. This is about my body and it's usual issue, nothing fitting it properly. I've always struggled with pants that are too short and gape in the back, or shirts that are either too short or too big. So why I thought this would change, I don't know. So here I am, in maternity pants, trying to put on a belt. Yes, a belt in my maternity jeans. You see, that panel, while comfortable and oh so sexy, does nothing to help keep my pants on. So in an attempt to conceal my ever widening butt crack, I am forever pulling them up. So maternity pants, WTH? What am I supposed to do? Shoving myself into my old pants is like trying to get my sleeping bag back into the bag in which it came, it ain't happening with any ease. WTH? And shirts, well shirts, I'd like to know how my boobs can be too big, and my belly be to small to satisfy your weird shape. Honestly clothes, WTH? The only thing still cooperating with me are my shoes. Which is good, because I love my shoes in a slightly unhealthy way and I don't know what I'd do if they betrayed me.
So that's my WTH for today.
Now my maternity clothes, they are often a better option - comfort wise. Not so much in terms of fashion and appearance. I've complained about this before, but this isn't even about the ugly patterns and cheap scratchy fabric. This is about my body and it's usual issue, nothing fitting it properly. I've always struggled with pants that are too short and gape in the back, or shirts that are either too short or too big. So why I thought this would change, I don't know. So here I am, in maternity pants, trying to put on a belt. Yes, a belt in my maternity jeans. You see, that panel, while comfortable and oh so sexy, does nothing to help keep my pants on. So in an attempt to conceal my ever widening butt crack, I am forever pulling them up. So maternity pants, WTH? What am I supposed to do? Shoving myself into my old pants is like trying to get my sleeping bag back into the bag in which it came, it ain't happening with any ease. WTH? And shirts, well shirts, I'd like to know how my boobs can be too big, and my belly be to small to satisfy your weird shape. Honestly clothes, WTH? The only thing still cooperating with me are my shoes. Which is good, because I love my shoes in a slightly unhealthy way and I don't know what I'd do if they betrayed me.
So that's my WTH for today.
And now for something completely un-pregnancy related...
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
I present to you our TREE! It's the very first one we've ever had together, being that we lived in a 700 sq ft. apartment until this summer. And it's the first Christmas in our house.
Behold the tree in all it's glory!:
Behold the tree in all it's glory!:
My belly button - a beacon for aircraft, a 3rd nipple, a new appendage?
So I'm not sure WHY this happened so early, but somewhere around 22 Weeks my belly button decided it wanted some more attention. I don't know if it was feeling left out, seeing as my belly was suddenly the focal point for all my social encounters, or if it was simply angry at me for removing the navel ring I'd had in since the tender age of 14, but it decided to take a stand. And it's been becoming increasingly demanding of time and attention ever since.
At this point, it's almost downright embarrassing. I'm pretty sure small, personal aircraft pilots could use it as a beacon, to navigate their way to my city and safely land their planes. If I just lift my shirt and lie flat on my back, I think the Russian space centre could pick it up, and use it as a GPS location point (ok I have no idea how GPS works, but I'm guessing some satellite somewhere finds reference points, so I'm going with that for now). And the thing is, I don't see it getting smaller anytime soon. Why would it?
I've read this is a result of my uterus pushing from behind, more so than the size of my daughter to be. So I take comfort in that at least. Enlarged uterus I can handle, it's not like I ever have to look that thing in the eye. But I'd really love to know how much farther out my button wants to protrude. Not that I could control it, I just want to know if I need to make preparations. You know, sending out warnings to the space stations, and ensuring I'm not mistaken for a runway at any point.
My friends seem to find this whole thing completely hilarious, with a side of alarming. The button has been called my "3rd nipple" on a number of occasions, which only has me wondering, what do these people think my nipples look like anyway? And honestly, "Jumbo Button" or "Aircraft Beacon" or "Weird Squishy Protruding Mass" all sound a little better to me than 3rd nipple, but what can you do?
Most times, the "3rd nipple" comment is followed either by "eww it's so weird" or "ick, you think it'll ever go back to normal?". And on particularly lucky occasions, I get both. And honestly, I know it's weird. I touch it all the time and think it's strange, and squishy. I get a little bit freaked out by how it feels, but I'm also morbidly curious and obsessed with touching it. And I also wonder every day whether it will go back to normal or not. But asking me if it will is like asking me if I think I'll avoid getting stretch marks or gaining a lot of weight. The answer's the same "I have no idea, but DEAR GAWD I HOPE SO!!".
Obviously I have no control over these things, and if I DID, clearly I would choose to go back to my EXACT pre-pregnancy body, without 1 inch of skin out of place and not 1 ounce more fat. And I'd choose to go back to that body before I ever left the hospital. But as with so many things pregnancy and labour related, you're severely limited in how much control you have.
You truly are gestating an alien form, that's going to do to you exactly what she wants, no matter the consequences. And the best part is, you tried hard to put her in there. You'll do everything you can to keep her there for the requisite 38-40 weeks, and love every minuscule piece of her, no matter what she puts your body through. It's a special kind of love, the kind that will allow someone to mess with your body and have you not put them on your hit list. It's a love you can only ever have for your child.
But back to my belly button. I have to say, I BARELY got over how offensive I found it sans navel barbell (ok honestly, I never got over how offensive I found it) before it started to stick itself out, beg to be touched and ridiculed, not even pretending to hide under my shirts anymore. But here I am, and she sticks out. And I've had people tell me "you know you can buy thinks to cover that" and, yes I do know. But I feel like that's accepting defeat, like I'm allowing the button to kick my self esteems ass, and I just can't give THAT much control to a part of my body I've never really understood in the first place. And besides, as strange and awkward as it looks to the outside world, it's a badge of honour I wear with pride. It's one of the first things my daughter has ever given me, and I can't deny the importance of that.
Even if it is just a stupid, protruding belly button..............
At this point, it's almost downright embarrassing. I'm pretty sure small, personal aircraft pilots could use it as a beacon, to navigate their way to my city and safely land their planes. If I just lift my shirt and lie flat on my back, I think the Russian space centre could pick it up, and use it as a GPS location point (ok I have no idea how GPS works, but I'm guessing some satellite somewhere finds reference points, so I'm going with that for now). And the thing is, I don't see it getting smaller anytime soon. Why would it?
I've read this is a result of my uterus pushing from behind, more so than the size of my daughter to be. So I take comfort in that at least. Enlarged uterus I can handle, it's not like I ever have to look that thing in the eye. But I'd really love to know how much farther out my button wants to protrude. Not that I could control it, I just want to know if I need to make preparations. You know, sending out warnings to the space stations, and ensuring I'm not mistaken for a runway at any point.
My friends seem to find this whole thing completely hilarious, with a side of alarming. The button has been called my "3rd nipple" on a number of occasions, which only has me wondering, what do these people think my nipples look like anyway? And honestly, "Jumbo Button" or "Aircraft Beacon" or "Weird Squishy Protruding Mass" all sound a little better to me than 3rd nipple, but what can you do?
Most times, the "3rd nipple" comment is followed either by "eww it's so weird" or "ick, you think it'll ever go back to normal?". And on particularly lucky occasions, I get both. And honestly, I know it's weird. I touch it all the time and think it's strange, and squishy. I get a little bit freaked out by how it feels, but I'm also morbidly curious and obsessed with touching it. And I also wonder every day whether it will go back to normal or not. But asking me if it will is like asking me if I think I'll avoid getting stretch marks or gaining a lot of weight. The answer's the same "I have no idea, but DEAR GAWD I HOPE SO!!".
Obviously I have no control over these things, and if I DID, clearly I would choose to go back to my EXACT pre-pregnancy body, without 1 inch of skin out of place and not 1 ounce more fat. And I'd choose to go back to that body before I ever left the hospital. But as with so many things pregnancy and labour related, you're severely limited in how much control you have.
You truly are gestating an alien form, that's going to do to you exactly what she wants, no matter the consequences. And the best part is, you tried hard to put her in there. You'll do everything you can to keep her there for the requisite 38-40 weeks, and love every minuscule piece of her, no matter what she puts your body through. It's a special kind of love, the kind that will allow someone to mess with your body and have you not put them on your hit list. It's a love you can only ever have for your child.
But back to my belly button. I have to say, I BARELY got over how offensive I found it sans navel barbell (ok honestly, I never got over how offensive I found it) before it started to stick itself out, beg to be touched and ridiculed, not even pretending to hide under my shirts anymore. But here I am, and she sticks out. And I've had people tell me "you know you can buy thinks to cover that" and, yes I do know. But I feel like that's accepting defeat, like I'm allowing the button to kick my self esteems ass, and I just can't give THAT much control to a part of my body I've never really understood in the first place. And besides, as strange and awkward as it looks to the outside world, it's a badge of honour I wear with pride. It's one of the first things my daughter has ever given me, and I can't deny the importance of that.
Even if it is just a stupid, protruding belly button..............
My vagina has the hiccups..no seriously...
Friday, December 11, 2009
Ok so I know I know, it's not my vagina, it's my daughter, but for the last few days she's been positioned in such a way that it really feels like my vagina is hiccuping. And it's awkward.
It's awkward because, well, last time I check, vagina's didn't hiccup and so to have yours doing just that, can be distracting to say the least. It took me awhile to figure out what was going on the first time it happened. But as with everything strange going on near my vag these days, I figured it must be pregnancy related. It was only later when she had the hiccups again, in a much more acceptable spot like my mid-abdomen, did I figure out what had been happening earlier in the day. And I was happy to realize that was in fact all it was.Not that a hiccuping vagina couldn't be some sort of circus freak trick that might make me money some day, just that I'm not exactly prepared to share myself with the world in that capacity....talk to me after I've delivered this baby!
It is also awkward because there are people who are DYING to feel said hiccups, and it's not exactly appropriate to let them do this when the hiccups are coming out via my intimate parts. The issue is, I generally have said aloud "the baby is hiccuping" before thinking to myself it could end in an awkward moment. And then, someone always asks "can I feel it from the outside", hopeful, with a hand flat out poised to cop a feel. A normal person would say "No sorry you can't", but me, well I'm getting used to saying vagina a lot these days, so I tend to blurt out something along the lines of "sorry, only my doctor or my husband are allowed to touch my vagina" or something else equally inappropriate. Which, as you can imagine, leads to another awkward moment - the moment in which they can't figure out how we went from talking about cute little in utero hiccups, to my vagina. This inevitably leads to me needing to explain to the person WHY I said that, and by the time I'm done, I'm no longer the cute pregnant lady whose baby has hiccups. No, I'm the strange beach ball on twigs, who has just made them feel dirty for not particular reason.
Regardless, the hiccups are quite fun to experience, and I assume that means she's getting this whole swallowing thing down pat in there. And I have to admit, I enjoy the hiccups far more than her daily game of jump and poke the bladder. They are just more comfortable for me. Even if they are coming out of my vagina......
It's awkward because, well, last time I check, vagina's didn't hiccup and so to have yours doing just that, can be distracting to say the least. It took me awhile to figure out what was going on the first time it happened. But as with everything strange going on near my vag these days, I figured it must be pregnancy related. It was only later when she had the hiccups again, in a much more acceptable spot like my mid-abdomen, did I figure out what had been happening earlier in the day. And I was happy to realize that was in fact all it was.Not that a hiccuping vagina couldn't be some sort of circus freak trick that might make me money some day, just that I'm not exactly prepared to share myself with the world in that capacity....talk to me after I've delivered this baby!
It is also awkward because there are people who are DYING to feel said hiccups, and it's not exactly appropriate to let them do this when the hiccups are coming out via my intimate parts. The issue is, I generally have said aloud "the baby is hiccuping" before thinking to myself it could end in an awkward moment. And then, someone always asks "can I feel it from the outside", hopeful, with a hand flat out poised to cop a feel. A normal person would say "No sorry you can't", but me, well I'm getting used to saying vagina a lot these days, so I tend to blurt out something along the lines of "sorry, only my doctor or my husband are allowed to touch my vagina" or something else equally inappropriate. Which, as you can imagine, leads to another awkward moment - the moment in which they can't figure out how we went from talking about cute little in utero hiccups, to my vagina. This inevitably leads to me needing to explain to the person WHY I said that, and by the time I'm done, I'm no longer the cute pregnant lady whose baby has hiccups. No, I'm the strange beach ball on twigs, who has just made them feel dirty for not particular reason.
Regardless, the hiccups are quite fun to experience, and I assume that means she's getting this whole swallowing thing down pat in there. And I have to admit, I enjoy the hiccups far more than her daily game of jump and poke the bladder. They are just more comfortable for me. Even if they are coming out of my vagina......
What the Heck Wednesday?
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Is it seriously Wednesday again? WTH? Awesome. That's what 4 days out of town will do to a person.
So, as The Mommyologist has started, we're doing another round of WTH Wednesday :D
There is a snow storm coming. Not of course to Vancouver that would be insane, but to other parts of the world. One of those parts happens to be Montreal, where my dad is away on business, and may be TRAPPED until some undetermined later date.Generally, this doesn't matter too much to me. I don't live with him so him being out of town one more day has no effect on my life overall. Except THIS week, we're going to do the 3D Ultrasound, and he was supposed to come with me. And now, he may not be in town. WTH?
I went away for 4 days with the husband to relax and enjoy some time alone in advance of me being as big as a whale, and the baby girls arrival. I came home, and after having missed only 2 work days, noticed that my inbox had swelled to 127 emails - WTH? Nothing like relaxing and coming home to THAT!
There are only 16 days left until Christmas. And I for one believe that that, deserves it's own WTH moment!
My eyebrows, they have been drastically neglected for the last while, I've been too busy to deal with them. I need to get over to my little place and get them threaded, about immediately. But until such time, I say to you eyebrows - WTH are you doing? Really? Where did all these extra brows come from? The usual suspects are one thing, but these are new hairs, and not ones I am happy to see. I'm used to the increased hair growth sprouting up on my body now, but on my face? Come on! WTH?
Actually, my next WTH is hair related as well. Since when does a relatively attractive 29 year old get a treasure trail? Yes. There are hairs growing ON MY BELLY. And not 1 or 2 you might not notice, but a collection. I feel like a teenage boy, but instead of this being some right of passage into manhood, it's just a gross display of exactly how out of whack my hormones are. And on my BELLY? Like cause no one is looking there these days. Hairs, to you, I scream and plead - WTH?
That's probably enough for now, because the next WTH is going to relate to my body fluids and, well, I'm not sure anyone wants to hear about those :D
So, as The Mommyologist has started, we're doing another round of WTH Wednesday :D
There is a snow storm coming. Not of course to Vancouver that would be insane, but to other parts of the world. One of those parts happens to be Montreal, where my dad is away on business, and may be TRAPPED until some undetermined later date.Generally, this doesn't matter too much to me. I don't live with him so him being out of town one more day has no effect on my life overall. Except THIS week, we're going to do the 3D Ultrasound, and he was supposed to come with me. And now, he may not be in town. WTH?
I went away for 4 days with the husband to relax and enjoy some time alone in advance of me being as big as a whale, and the baby girls arrival. I came home, and after having missed only 2 work days, noticed that my inbox had swelled to 127 emails - WTH? Nothing like relaxing and coming home to THAT!
There are only 16 days left until Christmas. And I for one believe that that, deserves it's own WTH moment!
My eyebrows, they have been drastically neglected for the last while, I've been too busy to deal with them. I need to get over to my little place and get them threaded, about immediately. But until such time, I say to you eyebrows - WTH are you doing? Really? Where did all these extra brows come from? The usual suspects are one thing, but these are new hairs, and not ones I am happy to see. I'm used to the increased hair growth sprouting up on my body now, but on my face? Come on! WTH?
Actually, my next WTH is hair related as well. Since when does a relatively attractive 29 year old get a treasure trail? Yes. There are hairs growing ON MY BELLY. And not 1 or 2 you might not notice, but a collection. I feel like a teenage boy, but instead of this being some right of passage into manhood, it's just a gross display of exactly how out of whack my hormones are. And on my BELLY? Like cause no one is looking there these days. Hairs, to you, I scream and plead - WTH?
That's probably enough for now, because the next WTH is going to relate to my body fluids and, well, I'm not sure anyone wants to hear about those :D
We're still playing the name game...
After having spent 4 glorious days with the hubs at a resort akin to heaven (if I believed in such a place), and conversing casually over our daughters name, I am feeling no closer to a finally decision.
We've got 2 we're pretty set on. Which is better than none, but which does pose a problem when I'm only carrying one child. Not that I was hoping for twins, just that having 2 names and one child doesn't an easy decision make.
And many people have said things to the effect of "well just use one for the middle name and one for the first" or "use one and save the other for your next child" but, neither of these things works for me. First of all, we like both the names (the issue being really, that the one I prefer is not the one hubs prefers, and vice versa), and we don't feel either of them work as middle names. Not to mention we both want our choice as the first name. The next issue of course being, that I have NO idea if we'll ever have another child, and if we do, if that child will be a girl. So saving a name for this "maybe baby" isn't an option.
So here we are. We've got somewhere around 15 weeks (or 3.5 months which seems WAY too close) to figure this out. And like I've said, we'll enter the delivery room with both and come out with one. But I worry that one of us is always going to feel that we gave in, and that we didn't get to use the name we wanted most. I don't think it will plague either of us for life, but what if she comes out, looks at us, we look at each other, smile in that endorphine fueled love, and both say a different name. We'll be starting her off with an identity crisis, and what's worse, starting our first disagreement as parents with a freshly birthed child of only 7 minutes old.
Hopefully, it will just come to us. We'll just know. And hopefully we don't come up with any more names before then, to add fuel to this confusion fire. Hopefully.
I am starting this mommy thing off with a lot of hope, and not the dreamy "I hope my daughter will marry her prince charming" kind of hope but, that "holy ass I hope I can figure ANY of this out" kind of hope. The hope you have when your car starts sliding on the ice, barreling towards a busy intersection, and you're frantically searching your brain for the time your dad told you what to do in this event, HOPING you can remember it in time to save your life, or at least your car. So, I hope.
I also hope it doesn't come down to, what I've so often heard called Mommy Rank. Where I use the fact that I've just birthed this child, grown her 9 months, sacrificed my figure, my grace and my shame for the love of her, to get my way. I don't believe women have more say in the name or child bearing, simply because they are the ones designed to carry and birth the children. And it really bothers me when people assume this is fact. I want mutual agreement. I want to feel like WE, as a team, we who created this child, have chosen to give her the name that will suit and carry her to greatness. We. Not me. Not I. Not because I am the mama. We. Because she is not mine, she is ours. She is only 50% me, and the other 50% deserves the opportunity to have her father love her the way he will.
So for now, I hope. We talk, and I hope. And in a few short months. we will know how this all plays out.
We've got 2 we're pretty set on. Which is better than none, but which does pose a problem when I'm only carrying one child. Not that I was hoping for twins, just that having 2 names and one child doesn't an easy decision make.
And many people have said things to the effect of "well just use one for the middle name and one for the first" or "use one and save the other for your next child" but, neither of these things works for me. First of all, we like both the names (the issue being really, that the one I prefer is not the one hubs prefers, and vice versa), and we don't feel either of them work as middle names. Not to mention we both want our choice as the first name. The next issue of course being, that I have NO idea if we'll ever have another child, and if we do, if that child will be a girl. So saving a name for this "maybe baby" isn't an option.
So here we are. We've got somewhere around 15 weeks (or 3.5 months which seems WAY too close) to figure this out. And like I've said, we'll enter the delivery room with both and come out with one. But I worry that one of us is always going to feel that we gave in, and that we didn't get to use the name we wanted most. I don't think it will plague either of us for life, but what if she comes out, looks at us, we look at each other, smile in that endorphine fueled love, and both say a different name. We'll be starting her off with an identity crisis, and what's worse, starting our first disagreement as parents with a freshly birthed child of only 7 minutes old.
Hopefully, it will just come to us. We'll just know. And hopefully we don't come up with any more names before then, to add fuel to this confusion fire. Hopefully.
I am starting this mommy thing off with a lot of hope, and not the dreamy "I hope my daughter will marry her prince charming" kind of hope but, that "holy ass I hope I can figure ANY of this out" kind of hope. The hope you have when your car starts sliding on the ice, barreling towards a busy intersection, and you're frantically searching your brain for the time your dad told you what to do in this event, HOPING you can remember it in time to save your life, or at least your car. So, I hope.
I also hope it doesn't come down to, what I've so often heard called Mommy Rank. Where I use the fact that I've just birthed this child, grown her 9 months, sacrificed my figure, my grace and my shame for the love of her, to get my way. I don't believe women have more say in the name or child bearing, simply because they are the ones designed to carry and birth the children. And it really bothers me when people assume this is fact. I want mutual agreement. I want to feel like WE, as a team, we who created this child, have chosen to give her the name that will suit and carry her to greatness. We. Not me. Not I. Not because I am the mama. We. Because she is not mine, she is ours. She is only 50% me, and the other 50% deserves the opportunity to have her father love her the way he will.
So for now, I hope. We talk, and I hope. And in a few short months. we will know how this all plays out.
I'm pretty sure, I not only want this...
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
But I NEED it.
Does it seriously provide me with a HEADBAND, that will not only help keep these horrible bangs I thought were such a good idea and am now running out of time to grow out, out of my face, but that will also MATCH my outfit? Seriously?
I love that there are people in the world who would think this up. I love it. I'm seriously having a moment over here at the thought of this. Who are these people and can they be my best friends? Pregnancy and labour does not have to equal dressing in moo-moos. I want one. NOW!
And lip gloss? Shut UP!
Pretty Pushers
Does it seriously provide me with a HEADBAND, that will not only help keep these horrible bangs I thought were such a good idea and am now running out of time to grow out, out of my face, but that will also MATCH my outfit? Seriously?
I love that there are people in the world who would think this up. I love it. I'm seriously having a moment over here at the thought of this. Who are these people and can they be my best friends? Pregnancy and labour does not have to equal dressing in moo-moos. I want one. NOW!
And lip gloss? Shut UP!
Pretty Pushers
What goes in, must come out....
It turns out this baby has to come out of my body...likely through a very small opening once reserved solely for those private moments with my husband, and a yearly not so private moment with my doctor. She has to come out of my body, through a hole which is, at best, 1/16th her size, and I'm supposed to just deal with that.
This has occurred to me many times throughout my pregnancy, and long before that. In fact, when I was younger and the biological clock still seemed like a myth, I often anticipated this being the reason I opted out of procreation. The idea of all that pain was simply overwhelming. And at the tender age of somewhere less than 25, I didn't know if it was worth it. But somewhere along the way I lost site of that, and the desire to get the baby in there took over the fears of trying to get it out.
As the clock ticks down (and we've still got a long way to go) this point becomes more and more apparent. And things have changed a little. Every time I leave the midwife, the doula or my prenatal yoga class (as an aside, if I've gone 4 times and then not again for weeks and weeks, due to the ragingly inconvenient time it's at, can I still say I DO prenatal yoga?), I am convinced I can do this without meds. I say things like "how bad an it be?" and "how much pain can one really feel", I think to myself "my sister did it med free" and neglect to remember that my niece was 6 weeks early, 5 lbs. and out in less than 2 hours. And also that my sister didn't have a choice.
And I want to believe myself and try to do that. I want to be that strong powerful type, who flawlessly pushes out a baby, barely sweating, and is up making eggs 4 hours later with a baby on my breast. I want to do this with grace, with love in my heart and without a lot of F bombs. I want a lot of things, but the reality is, I am who I am and I don't know if that kind of labour is in the cards for me.
And people will tell you, if you believe it's going to be hard, it will be.And I believe them. And I don't want this to be hard, and I don't want to lack faith in myself. And this is where I am stuck.
It's funny, I started this post about a week ago, but haven't had time to finish it. But I just spent the weekend away with my hubs at an amazing spot, and spent a lot of quiet time thinking about this, only to come home to read a blog which, after The Heir to Blair, is fast and furious becoming my favourite - Dear Baby. One of her most recent posts - Why I'm choosing a natural child birth, talks specifically about why she's decided to go au naturale, and what it has taken her to get there. And it's once again inspired me to think this through a little harder.
I have a lot of friends who have had babies recently, and who did not have good experiences. Still somewhat cynical about the process, or at the very least, afraid of that experience again, they will tell me not to bother trying. I've heard a lot about how it's not possible from various sources, how you get too tired, how it's just too hard. And I've been asked by people (my dear husband foremost) why I would want to put myself through that unnecessary pain. And the answer to that is, I'm not sure it has to BE unnecessary pain.
First of all, I am a strong believer that the reason labour is so dramatic is simply because it should be. Bringing a child into this world is nothing less than a miracle, and I am not someone who believes in miracles in the traditional sense. But every single part of making this child is so unfathomable. I know the science behind it, and I "get" it. But when I REALLY stop to think that one night of drunken joy, last Canada Day, when the hubs and I created this little girl, could actually result in a human being springing forth from my body, my mind is blown. Our DNA combined, and cell after cell divided, and now, 25 weeks later, we're over half way to meeting our daughter. We're created a human being, a life, an entire person with fingers and toes and complex thought processes and, well, that's pretty insane to think about.
Love, sex and the transfer of some fluids (graphic but true, face it) had led to the creation of another human being. And that is no small feat. Procreation is an amazing journey, and I think it should culminate dramatically, in an unforgettable experience. And this is why birthing a child has never been considered easy, or a small task.
As usual I digress....
My point is, millions upon millions of babies have been born to mothers, without the use of drugs. And only in Western Culture do we put so much emphasis on the fear and pain of child birth that we lose trust and faith in our bodies. Without fear, anxiety and preconceived notions, women all over the world deliver babies, with minimal pain and without fear, and I would venture to guess they have better experiences than those of us who are medicated beyond the point of spousal recognition.
So on my high horse I'm sitting. Thinking, I can do this. I can bring this child into the world, with a clear mind and even clearer veins, and we, as a family can experience the joy and drama of creating and delivering a life.
(I suppose this is the point where, I have to put the caveat about not thinking women who choose medicated births, or those who, for medically pertinent reasons end up or choose to have a c-section are anything but amazing. I just, I'd like to try, for as long as I can, to go without meds. And if I wind up screaming for the epidural or begging my darling to knock me unconscious, then I'll know I was wrong about this whole thing. I just don't think I am. Not this once.)
I have a lot more research to do on the matter, as I am FAR from prepared for any sort of childbirth - be it natural or not.
And with 15 weeks to go, I suppose I should get on it. I think I've started, with the choosing of a great team of midwives, and a great doula with experience in childbirth accupressure and massage. I plan to labour at home for as long as I can, using my bathtub, my stairs, gravity, breathing, jumping and whatever else to get through as much of the labour as I can, without heading to the hospital to be "treated" as though something is wrong with me.
And I've started thinking, and planning and believing that this could be done. So for now, I'm happy with that, and with myself.
Now if I can only get the hubs to believe in me too, we'll be good to go :D
This has occurred to me many times throughout my pregnancy, and long before that. In fact, when I was younger and the biological clock still seemed like a myth, I often anticipated this being the reason I opted out of procreation. The idea of all that pain was simply overwhelming. And at the tender age of somewhere less than 25, I didn't know if it was worth it. But somewhere along the way I lost site of that, and the desire to get the baby in there took over the fears of trying to get it out.
As the clock ticks down (and we've still got a long way to go) this point becomes more and more apparent. And things have changed a little. Every time I leave the midwife, the doula or my prenatal yoga class (as an aside, if I've gone 4 times and then not again for weeks and weeks, due to the ragingly inconvenient time it's at, can I still say I DO prenatal yoga?), I am convinced I can do this without meds. I say things like "how bad an it be?" and "how much pain can one really feel", I think to myself "my sister did it med free" and neglect to remember that my niece was 6 weeks early, 5 lbs. and out in less than 2 hours. And also that my sister didn't have a choice.
And I want to believe myself and try to do that. I want to be that strong powerful type, who flawlessly pushes out a baby, barely sweating, and is up making eggs 4 hours later with a baby on my breast. I want to do this with grace, with love in my heart and without a lot of F bombs. I want a lot of things, but the reality is, I am who I am and I don't know if that kind of labour is in the cards for me.
And people will tell you, if you believe it's going to be hard, it will be.And I believe them. And I don't want this to be hard, and I don't want to lack faith in myself. And this is where I am stuck.
It's funny, I started this post about a week ago, but haven't had time to finish it. But I just spent the weekend away with my hubs at an amazing spot, and spent a lot of quiet time thinking about this, only to come home to read a blog which, after The Heir to Blair, is fast and furious becoming my favourite - Dear Baby. One of her most recent posts - Why I'm choosing a natural child birth, talks specifically about why she's decided to go au naturale, and what it has taken her to get there. And it's once again inspired me to think this through a little harder.
I have a lot of friends who have had babies recently, and who did not have good experiences. Still somewhat cynical about the process, or at the very least, afraid of that experience again, they will tell me not to bother trying. I've heard a lot about how it's not possible from various sources, how you get too tired, how it's just too hard. And I've been asked by people (my dear husband foremost) why I would want to put myself through that unnecessary pain. And the answer to that is, I'm not sure it has to BE unnecessary pain.
First of all, I am a strong believer that the reason labour is so dramatic is simply because it should be. Bringing a child into this world is nothing less than a miracle, and I am not someone who believes in miracles in the traditional sense. But every single part of making this child is so unfathomable. I know the science behind it, and I "get" it. But when I REALLY stop to think that one night of drunken joy, last Canada Day, when the hubs and I created this little girl, could actually result in a human being springing forth from my body, my mind is blown. Our DNA combined, and cell after cell divided, and now, 25 weeks later, we're over half way to meeting our daughter. We're created a human being, a life, an entire person with fingers and toes and complex thought processes and, well, that's pretty insane to think about.
Love, sex and the transfer of some fluids (graphic but true, face it) had led to the creation of another human being. And that is no small feat. Procreation is an amazing journey, and I think it should culminate dramatically, in an unforgettable experience. And this is why birthing a child has never been considered easy, or a small task.
As usual I digress....
My point is, millions upon millions of babies have been born to mothers, without the use of drugs. And only in Western Culture do we put so much emphasis on the fear and pain of child birth that we lose trust and faith in our bodies. Without fear, anxiety and preconceived notions, women all over the world deliver babies, with minimal pain and without fear, and I would venture to guess they have better experiences than those of us who are medicated beyond the point of spousal recognition.
So on my high horse I'm sitting. Thinking, I can do this. I can bring this child into the world, with a clear mind and even clearer veins, and we, as a family can experience the joy and drama of creating and delivering a life.
(I suppose this is the point where, I have to put the caveat about not thinking women who choose medicated births, or those who, for medically pertinent reasons end up or choose to have a c-section are anything but amazing. I just, I'd like to try, for as long as I can, to go without meds. And if I wind up screaming for the epidural or begging my darling to knock me unconscious, then I'll know I was wrong about this whole thing. I just don't think I am. Not this once.)
I have a lot more research to do on the matter, as I am FAR from prepared for any sort of childbirth - be it natural or not.
And with 15 weeks to go, I suppose I should get on it. I think I've started, with the choosing of a great team of midwives, and a great doula with experience in childbirth accupressure and massage. I plan to labour at home for as long as I can, using my bathtub, my stairs, gravity, breathing, jumping and whatever else to get through as much of the labour as I can, without heading to the hospital to be "treated" as though something is wrong with me.
And I've started thinking, and planning and believing that this could be done. So for now, I'm happy with that, and with myself.
Now if I can only get the hubs to believe in me too, we'll be good to go :D
What the Heck Wednesday?
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
The Mommyologist started it...instead of Wordless Wednesday (and phew, cause let's face it, when was the last time I was wordless? Probably in utero), she's started What the Heck Wednesday, and I for one am here to participate....
Let's begin with my sore throat. It started on Sunday night, and has plagued me all week. I wake up with that sticky, hurts in my ears, puffy sore throat that I am sure will soon morph into a full fledged case of tonsillitis, ruining my upcoming relaxing and romantic weekend. I suffer through walking the dog, trying to swallow and not being able to. I come home, gargle with salt water and by the time I'm out of the shower, the throat is feeling better. All day long, it's only a mild scratch, and by bedtime, I barely notice it. Until I wake up the next morning and it happens again....what the heck?
My butt. That's the next what the heck. And not the size of it, nor the cellulite now forming. Not even the way it jiggles when I walk in sweat pants. No, my what the heck butt moment relates to how much my tail bone hurts. I realize I've gained almost 10 lbs. now, which means the weight pushing down on said butt while I sit has increased. But to the point that I'm in physical PAIN from sitting at my desk all day, and in the salon chair? To you I say what the butt...I mean what the heck.
And finally, I want to say what the heck to the people at my local Honda service center. I took my car in for the second time in 2 weeks. I needed to fix a lose bolt in the drivers seat which was, apparently a safety hazard. and replace a piece of rubber around the window, that has my car making this OBNOXIOUS whooshing sound, like the window is a bit open (and which has recently begin letting water in, eww). So I go and pick it up, and it comes to $407! What the heck? For a piece of rubber and a bolt? $407? Seriously? What the heck?!?!?!? The bolt better be made of diamonds and platinum and that rubber piece better exponentially increase the resale value of my 10 year old car or else, I really got screwed. Either way Honday - what the heck?
I have had a lot more of these moments today, but the husband is home and he's serving me supper...so I'm going to go. Because food and husbands rule over blogs.
Let's begin with my sore throat. It started on Sunday night, and has plagued me all week. I wake up with that sticky, hurts in my ears, puffy sore throat that I am sure will soon morph into a full fledged case of tonsillitis, ruining my upcoming relaxing and romantic weekend. I suffer through walking the dog, trying to swallow and not being able to. I come home, gargle with salt water and by the time I'm out of the shower, the throat is feeling better. All day long, it's only a mild scratch, and by bedtime, I barely notice it. Until I wake up the next morning and it happens again....what the heck?
My butt. That's the next what the heck. And not the size of it, nor the cellulite now forming. Not even the way it jiggles when I walk in sweat pants. No, my what the heck butt moment relates to how much my tail bone hurts. I realize I've gained almost 10 lbs. now, which means the weight pushing down on said butt while I sit has increased. But to the point that I'm in physical PAIN from sitting at my desk all day, and in the salon chair? To you I say what the butt...I mean what the heck.
And finally, I want to say what the heck to the people at my local Honda service center. I took my car in for the second time in 2 weeks. I needed to fix a lose bolt in the drivers seat which was, apparently a safety hazard. and replace a piece of rubber around the window, that has my car making this OBNOXIOUS whooshing sound, like the window is a bit open (and which has recently begin letting water in, eww). So I go and pick it up, and it comes to $407! What the heck? For a piece of rubber and a bolt? $407? Seriously? What the heck?!?!?!? The bolt better be made of diamonds and platinum and that rubber piece better exponentially increase the resale value of my 10 year old car or else, I really got screwed. Either way Honday - what the heck?
I have had a lot more of these moments today, but the husband is home and he's serving me supper...so I'm going to go. Because food and husbands rule over blogs.
So, really, what's in a name anyway?
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Oh you know, only everything.
I don't know why I am finding this so challenging, or why I am letting it stress me out...but we just cannot find a name that we both love the same way. My dear husband has his picks, and I have mine, and never the two shall meet. We've settled on 1 name so far, but the fear is that we really are settling on it, so while it remains on this ever growing list, the shine has worn off. It's just not as sparkly as it was last week. Sigh.
I want something beautiful, interesting and fitting of our first child. My names tend to be a little more off the charts. And while I'm not into making names up like Rainshine Moonwalk, or completely massacring the spelling, like Jaxxsoun, just so it's unique, I am also not prepared for my daughter Sarah and her 3 BFF's Sara, Sera and Sarra to be playing in my house. It needs to be as unique as I know this little one is going to be. It needs to speak to me, and to her, and I guess since we're married and all, to my husband.
Husband on the other hand, has a slightly different view. We've discovered that 98% of the names he likes sit comfortably within the Top 50. Not so close to the Top 10 that we know any yet, but close enough to the Top that our daughter surely would have a few friends with the same name. And really, it's not that bad, and it could be worse. He likes popular names, he just does. And so what, I suppose you could say SO WHAT?
And you know, I don't really KNOW what. I just know that's not what I want. And so we're stumped. It's not that we hate every name the other likes, but we just aren't loving or feeling the other person's top picks. And I'm really in love with some, and I'm not truly sure if he feels the same about his. And so, I obsess and he gets hounded with list after list of potential names. And we, we get no closer to picking anything.
What's worse, We're not even trying to pick THE name, we're just trying to pick a FEW names, that we both agree on, that we can take into the delivery room with us, so she doesn't leave the hospital simply named Baby Girl X. Or worse, named something we picked during an oxytocit/exhaustion cocktail high, like Roxanol or Kadian, which are brand names for morphine.
I should probably let it go. But for some reason I feel like this is some huge, overwhelming responsibility on my part. Her name will help define her, and as much as I want to believe that the person makes the name, I just don't think that's true. I strongly feel my life and path would have been markedly different had my name been something else, something less unique, something boring that I didn't have to explain time and time again. If I hadn't spelled my name 1000000 times, and had to endure a number of ongoing jokes about it, I would be someone else. If I was just another Katie or Christine, things would have been different. And so I stress.
And I suppose this is the root of me and husbands issue. He's got a name like everyone else. A Matt or Paul or Joe kind of name. The kind the everyone's heard and no one's ever commented on. And this is where he stands in this name thing. Well not exactly there, but he isn't deviating far.
We'll find some middle ground, but for some reason, right now, at 23 weeks, it's torturing me. And I just need to let it go.
Maybe I'll go and find some ice cream or something.........
I don't know why I am finding this so challenging, or why I am letting it stress me out...but we just cannot find a name that we both love the same way. My dear husband has his picks, and I have mine, and never the two shall meet. We've settled on 1 name so far, but the fear is that we really are settling on it, so while it remains on this ever growing list, the shine has worn off. It's just not as sparkly as it was last week. Sigh.
I want something beautiful, interesting and fitting of our first child. My names tend to be a little more off the charts. And while I'm not into making names up like Rainshine Moonwalk, or completely massacring the spelling, like Jaxxsoun, just so it's unique, I am also not prepared for my daughter Sarah and her 3 BFF's Sara, Sera and Sarra to be playing in my house. It needs to be as unique as I know this little one is going to be. It needs to speak to me, and to her, and I guess since we're married and all, to my husband.
Husband on the other hand, has a slightly different view. We've discovered that 98% of the names he likes sit comfortably within the Top 50. Not so close to the Top 10 that we know any yet, but close enough to the Top that our daughter surely would have a few friends with the same name. And really, it's not that bad, and it could be worse. He likes popular names, he just does. And so what, I suppose you could say SO WHAT?
And you know, I don't really KNOW what. I just know that's not what I want. And so we're stumped. It's not that we hate every name the other likes, but we just aren't loving or feeling the other person's top picks. And I'm really in love with some, and I'm not truly sure if he feels the same about his. And so, I obsess and he gets hounded with list after list of potential names. And we, we get no closer to picking anything.
What's worse, We're not even trying to pick THE name, we're just trying to pick a FEW names, that we both agree on, that we can take into the delivery room with us, so she doesn't leave the hospital simply named Baby Girl X. Or worse, named something we picked during an oxytocit/exhaustion cocktail high, like Roxanol or Kadian, which are brand names for morphine.
I should probably let it go. But for some reason I feel like this is some huge, overwhelming responsibility on my part. Her name will help define her, and as much as I want to believe that the person makes the name, I just don't think that's true. I strongly feel my life and path would have been markedly different had my name been something else, something less unique, something boring that I didn't have to explain time and time again. If I hadn't spelled my name 1000000 times, and had to endure a number of ongoing jokes about it, I would be someone else. If I was just another Katie or Christine, things would have been different. And so I stress.
And I suppose this is the root of me and husbands issue. He's got a name like everyone else. A Matt or Paul or Joe kind of name. The kind the everyone's heard and no one's ever commented on. And this is where he stands in this name thing. Well not exactly there, but he isn't deviating far.
We'll find some middle ground, but for some reason, right now, at 23 weeks, it's torturing me. And I just need to let it go.
Maybe I'll go and find some ice cream or something.........
The only thing I hate more than blowdrying and flossing? Doing my kegels!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
You might be tempted to wonder how I could combine blow drying, flossing and kegel exercises into 1 blog post, but don't. This is the mind of a pregnant lady and there is no rhyme, reason or rational. And in fact, I'm sure that by the end of this post, you'll know why I'm targeting all 3 at once.
Let me start with the least offensive, and most necessary evil on my list - flossing. The thing is, us humans are hardly confused as to why our dentists continue to beat us over the head for not doing this enough. We understand the importance of it, but we hate it so much we'll actually risk losing teeth over it. Teeth people, you need those (unless you're my dog but that's another story) to eat, and not look like a freak. You also need them to ensure you don't whistle and spit while you talk, and to help keep your tongue in your mouth..... or so the vet told me about my dog.
Anyway, it's not that it's hard or painful, and it's not even that it's that time consuming, it just sucks. It adds another step to your daily routine, and frankly you don't see the immediate benefits. The only thing that ever prompts me to floss on a regular basis, is the idea of having to listen to my Hygienist AGAIN detail how and why I should floss. So quite frankly, I'm good at it for approximately 4 months per year - 1 month before each cleaning, and 1 month after when I'm all jacked up on fluoride and free toothbrushes, and I truly believe I have the power to have a positive impact on my smile for my senior years. Then I start to realize I don't even know if I CARE about my seniors smile. Even though I'll be getting cheap McDonald's soft server and eating the $8.99 early bird lobster special at 4pm, so I'll have a lot to smile about, am I really going to care if those smiles are full of teeth? I suspect not.
And really, my grandparent's wear dentures and I've got to say, there are appealing parts of that scenario. Regardless, I hate flossing and I only do it periodically out of bare necessity. And now that I am pregnant, with all this excess blood volume and puffy bleedy gums, I'm even less interested. Why floss when I could use those precious moments for sleeping...or better yet eating? And that's my rant on flossing. If I could pay someone to do it for me, I might consider taking it back up.
This of course brings me to my next problem, the loathsome task of blow drying. Now some of you are saying "oh it's not that bad" while others are thinking "well if you hate it so much, why do it?". And to you I answer this: It IS THAT bad, but I'll get into that in a second. But why do I do it? Because I don't enjoy looking like a poorly washed poodle or an overzealous Q-Tip, and the only way for my head to look any form of put together is for me to engage in excessive heat styling. This requires the blow dryer AND the straight iron, but I heart my straight iron and wouldn't DARE ridicule her publicly. She might retaliate and break, and then I'd have to lose my shit.
My hair is curly, or at least it thinks it might want to be. It's not curly in that "wow that girl has got gorgeous curls" way, nor in that "hot I just came in from surfing" sort of way. No, it's curly in that "it's kind of big on this side, with a front load of frizz and a whole lotta wrong". So I must tame it. At least in part. On ugly stupid Sundays, I can get away with just a crown and bang dry, but on a daily basis, it requires an entire blowout. This process takes me on average 25 mins. 25 hot, sweaty and unbearably obnoxious minutes, where I stand in the humid bathroom, and blow hot air at my head with a gun shaped device. Having just got out of the shower, I generally find the profuse sweating which accompanies the blow drying down right offensive. Add to that the fact that my goddamn bangs will never ever EVER do the same thing twice in a row, and it's a recipe for a pregnant lady meltdown. I've only cried during blow drying once since I got pregnant, but I've thought about it a lot. That, and the irony of the fact that the gun shaped device I'm holding up to my head, is making my want to hold a gun to my head.
And I'm pregnant, so I'm hot. I'm hot, and not so much nimble anymore. Maneuvering around between the shower and the sink, praying for a bit of bounce or shine, and cursing the Pantene Pro-V girls is not a great way to start the day. But prancing around with stringy, limp curls with a side of "was she electrocuted?" is also not a great way to spend the day, so I chalk it up to the lesser of 2 evils. And that is why it is THAT bad.
Which brings me to my kegels (if for some reason you don't know what these are, you're probably a man and may want to stop reading). The reason I started thinking about the three of these things together in the first place was, I started trying to do my kegels, while blow drying, after flossing. My theory was, if I am going to be in hell ANYWAY, I might as well get it all out of the way at once. Like a bandaid, rip.
The flossing thing, well I gave that up before I started, but the kegel/blow dry combo I'm still working on. It doesn't make blow drying any less trying, but it kills two squawking birds with one stone. And of all of these evils, I think kegels might top the list in terms of necessity. I can live without teeth, I can live with a poodle-do, but what I can't live with is peeing in my pants with every sneeze or laugh from here on out.
That's right ladies and gents, having a baby spring forth from your body, existing out your vagine doesn't only hurt like hell (ok I ASSUME this one), but it wreaks havoc on your internal workings. One of those workings holds your pee. And I for one am quite happy with the amount of control I've got over my pee, and am not prepared to give that up just yet.
Actually, that's a lie, even at this stage in the pregnancy, sometimes I fear the worst, so it ain't going to get any better. I'd love to sneeze, laugh and even walk to the bathroom on particularly urgent days without leakage, but with a human on my bladder, that's not always the case. And what I don't want is to end up wearing Depends at the tender age of 30. That's right, I'll forgo my teeth but not my big girl panties. So I do my kegels.
I sit, and concentrate, and clench in and out, and do them. I do as many as I can before I have to stop, I take a rest, and do some more. I curse each one, but then silently thank it for keeping the pee on the inside, until I tell it to come out. Holding my pee is no longer something I'm going to take for granted.
And I've talked with enough of my mommy friends to know that the pee issue, is not the only one. Men fart in yoga because they are men and men are gross. Postpartum women fart in yoga and it's not a result of last nights broccoli if you know what I mean (and if you don't, then you're better off not thinking too much about this one).
And so, I kegel. I hate them, they suck. But Imma gonna do em. Every day. Until I once again control my pee.
Let me start with the least offensive, and most necessary evil on my list - flossing. The thing is, us humans are hardly confused as to why our dentists continue to beat us over the head for not doing this enough. We understand the importance of it, but we hate it so much we'll actually risk losing teeth over it. Teeth people, you need those (unless you're my dog but that's another story) to eat, and not look like a freak. You also need them to ensure you don't whistle and spit while you talk, and to help keep your tongue in your mouth..... or so the vet told me about my dog.
Anyway, it's not that it's hard or painful, and it's not even that it's that time consuming, it just sucks. It adds another step to your daily routine, and frankly you don't see the immediate benefits. The only thing that ever prompts me to floss on a regular basis, is the idea of having to listen to my Hygienist AGAIN detail how and why I should floss. So quite frankly, I'm good at it for approximately 4 months per year - 1 month before each cleaning, and 1 month after when I'm all jacked up on fluoride and free toothbrushes, and I truly believe I have the power to have a positive impact on my smile for my senior years. Then I start to realize I don't even know if I CARE about my seniors smile. Even though I'll be getting cheap McDonald's soft server and eating the $8.99 early bird lobster special at 4pm, so I'll have a lot to smile about, am I really going to care if those smiles are full of teeth? I suspect not.
And really, my grandparent's wear dentures and I've got to say, there are appealing parts of that scenario. Regardless, I hate flossing and I only do it periodically out of bare necessity. And now that I am pregnant, with all this excess blood volume and puffy bleedy gums, I'm even less interested. Why floss when I could use those precious moments for sleeping...or better yet eating? And that's my rant on flossing. If I could pay someone to do it for me, I might consider taking it back up.
This of course brings me to my next problem, the loathsome task of blow drying. Now some of you are saying "oh it's not that bad" while others are thinking "well if you hate it so much, why do it?". And to you I answer this: It IS THAT bad, but I'll get into that in a second. But why do I do it? Because I don't enjoy looking like a poorly washed poodle or an overzealous Q-Tip, and the only way for my head to look any form of put together is for me to engage in excessive heat styling. This requires the blow dryer AND the straight iron, but I heart my straight iron and wouldn't DARE ridicule her publicly. She might retaliate and break, and then I'd have to lose my shit.
My hair is curly, or at least it thinks it might want to be. It's not curly in that "wow that girl has got gorgeous curls" way, nor in that "hot I just came in from surfing" sort of way. No, it's curly in that "it's kind of big on this side, with a front load of frizz and a whole lotta wrong". So I must tame it. At least in part. On ugly stupid Sundays, I can get away with just a crown and bang dry, but on a daily basis, it requires an entire blowout. This process takes me on average 25 mins. 25 hot, sweaty and unbearably obnoxious minutes, where I stand in the humid bathroom, and blow hot air at my head with a gun shaped device. Having just got out of the shower, I generally find the profuse sweating which accompanies the blow drying down right offensive. Add to that the fact that my goddamn bangs will never ever EVER do the same thing twice in a row, and it's a recipe for a pregnant lady meltdown. I've only cried during blow drying once since I got pregnant, but I've thought about it a lot. That, and the irony of the fact that the gun shaped device I'm holding up to my head, is making my want to hold a gun to my head.
And I'm pregnant, so I'm hot. I'm hot, and not so much nimble anymore. Maneuvering around between the shower and the sink, praying for a bit of bounce or shine, and cursing the Pantene Pro-V girls is not a great way to start the day. But prancing around with stringy, limp curls with a side of "was she electrocuted?" is also not a great way to spend the day, so I chalk it up to the lesser of 2 evils. And that is why it is THAT bad.
Which brings me to my kegels (if for some reason you don't know what these are, you're probably a man and may want to stop reading). The reason I started thinking about the three of these things together in the first place was, I started trying to do my kegels, while blow drying, after flossing. My theory was, if I am going to be in hell ANYWAY, I might as well get it all out of the way at once. Like a bandaid, rip.
The flossing thing, well I gave that up before I started, but the kegel/blow dry combo I'm still working on. It doesn't make blow drying any less trying, but it kills two squawking birds with one stone. And of all of these evils, I think kegels might top the list in terms of necessity. I can live without teeth, I can live with a poodle-do, but what I can't live with is peeing in my pants with every sneeze or laugh from here on out.
That's right ladies and gents, having a baby spring forth from your body, existing out your vagine doesn't only hurt like hell (ok I ASSUME this one), but it wreaks havoc on your internal workings. One of those workings holds your pee. And I for one am quite happy with the amount of control I've got over my pee, and am not prepared to give that up just yet.
Actually, that's a lie, even at this stage in the pregnancy, sometimes I fear the worst, so it ain't going to get any better. I'd love to sneeze, laugh and even walk to the bathroom on particularly urgent days without leakage, but with a human on my bladder, that's not always the case. And what I don't want is to end up wearing Depends at the tender age of 30. That's right, I'll forgo my teeth but not my big girl panties. So I do my kegels.
I sit, and concentrate, and clench in and out, and do them. I do as many as I can before I have to stop, I take a rest, and do some more. I curse each one, but then silently thank it for keeping the pee on the inside, until I tell it to come out. Holding my pee is no longer something I'm going to take for granted.
And I've talked with enough of my mommy friends to know that the pee issue, is not the only one. Men fart in yoga because they are men and men are gross. Postpartum women fart in yoga and it's not a result of last nights broccoli if you know what I mean (and if you don't, then you're better off not thinking too much about this one).
And so, I kegel. I hate them, they suck. But Imma gonna do em. Every day. Until I once again control my pee.
Blogging about falling down wins me an award!
Finally, my equilibrium does something for me OTHER than cause me bruises. The Mommyologist sent me an award today, this cute little lemonade stand!! And honoured me with a link on her blog page. Awesome! So fun!
I heart lemonade, and presents, and drinks at the end of the day. So to all the other mommy's and mommy's to be out there, I share with you my fun gift!
Thanks Mommyologist!
I heart lemonade, and presents, and drinks at the end of the day. So to all the other mommy's and mommy's to be out there, I share with you my fun gift!
Thanks Mommyologist!
Dear equilibrium...you, me and gravity need to have a serious talk....
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Alright, I was not deluded enough to believe that adding an additional 20odd pounds to the front of my body over the course of 40 short weeks wouldn't have side effects. In fact I was quite sure that at some point, the whole balance thing would become a problem. Balance and I have never been friends, so I didn't think we were about to start having slumber parties. However I did believe it would take longer for balance to mess with my baby.
Of course, my first experience with this issue happened at only around 17 weeks, when I fell from grace with the loudest thud yet, and sprained my ankle. But that is old news, and something I got over. I've never been graceful, so what did I expect? Well I expected to be able to put my shoes on, I'll tell you that.
Throughout my entire life, I've been prone to fall down. When I was younger, I fell so many times that I permanently killed the pigment in my knee, and still have a scar. My legs moved so much faster than my feet or body, that I knocked not one but BOTH of my two front teeth out, on separate occasions. Once was a bloody mess at the ferry terminal where I ran to meet my dad and fell flat on my face. A normal kid puts her hands out and at least TRIES not to mangle her face. I did not. People say "well at least you didn't break your wrists". Sure I didn't, just my tooth.
The second time was a slow and simple walk on the pier with my grandparents, where I tripped on my own feet and flew forward, landing again flat on my face. Only this time, I added a new level, and sunk my tooth into the wood of the pier (I should say teeth, I'm pretty sure I didn't yet have a replacement tooth for the one lost at the ferry). I stood up and left my tooth behind. It's a wonder I'm not hideously scarred on my face.
But I digress.
The point is, I've spent my entire life falling down. And to be honest, I come by it honestly because my mother and sister aren't a whole lot better at staying upright.
I've often blamed the fact that I stand 5' 11" with only size 7.5 feet, but I'm not sure that's the issue. When I was a teenager, all tall and thin, with knobby knees and gangly limbs, I simply assumed the falling was just another part of the torture which is your teens, but then I never grew out of it. At the end of the day, I think me and my equilibrium have just had issues my entire life, which we've never managed to settled. I'm the girl who trips on the sidewalk when there is nothing there, the one who has rolled her right ankle not 1 but 4 major times in her life, and the person who can be knocked over with the slightest of nudges. Did I mention I've had crutches only once in my life, and the first thing I did was fall flat on my face in the hospital parking lot and need further medical attention?
Fast forward to my Relaxin hormone filled pregnant body, and cleary we have a problem.
So back to my point. At 22 weeks along, I've started noticing an alarming new trend in my daily routine - I fall down. I fall down doing the simple things even I'd learned to take for granted. From crouching down to pick something off the floor, to leaning over in an attempt to pull my shoe on without bending at the waist, I fall over.
The good news is, these aren't the loud, painful, disastrous falls of my past, but little gentle thumps to the ground. The bad news is, I fear this is only the beginning. I did not realize the getting pregnant meant losing your ability to perform the most basic tasks - and so early. I can't image convincing my husband that he is now responsible for the on's and off's of my shoes. Not to mention we're not always together. Additionally, there are sometimes just things on the floor which I need to pick up. Socks, dog toys, my sanity, and if I can't bend down to get them without joining them on the floor, what's the point? I'm going to need to get one of those things people use to pick up garbage so I can stay upright.
All I can say is that I hope I regain my sense of balance, and even gain a little extra after Baby Girl get's here. Because honestly, my arms are not safe for a small, fragile and dependent person. I'm sure I've dropped the dog on a number of occasions, but at least he's built like 12 lbs. of bricks.
What I REALLY hope, is that this Baby Girl gets my nose and ears, but her fathers ability to walk and stand up. Unfortunately, this klutzy thing seems a pretty dominant trait for the women in my family, so it's already not looking good.
Not to mention hat her most prominent in utero memory is going to be a strange falling sensation, culminating with a loud thud and her mama yelling FAWK!
Of course, my first experience with this issue happened at only around 17 weeks, when I fell from grace with the loudest thud yet, and sprained my ankle. But that is old news, and something I got over. I've never been graceful, so what did I expect? Well I expected to be able to put my shoes on, I'll tell you that.
Throughout my entire life, I've been prone to fall down. When I was younger, I fell so many times that I permanently killed the pigment in my knee, and still have a scar. My legs moved so much faster than my feet or body, that I knocked not one but BOTH of my two front teeth out, on separate occasions. Once was a bloody mess at the ferry terminal where I ran to meet my dad and fell flat on my face. A normal kid puts her hands out and at least TRIES not to mangle her face. I did not. People say "well at least you didn't break your wrists". Sure I didn't, just my tooth.
The second time was a slow and simple walk on the pier with my grandparents, where I tripped on my own feet and flew forward, landing again flat on my face. Only this time, I added a new level, and sunk my tooth into the wood of the pier (I should say teeth, I'm pretty sure I didn't yet have a replacement tooth for the one lost at the ferry). I stood up and left my tooth behind. It's a wonder I'm not hideously scarred on my face.
But I digress.
The point is, I've spent my entire life falling down. And to be honest, I come by it honestly because my mother and sister aren't a whole lot better at staying upright.
I've often blamed the fact that I stand 5' 11" with only size 7.5 feet, but I'm not sure that's the issue. When I was a teenager, all tall and thin, with knobby knees and gangly limbs, I simply assumed the falling was just another part of the torture which is your teens, but then I never grew out of it. At the end of the day, I think me and my equilibrium have just had issues my entire life, which we've never managed to settled. I'm the girl who trips on the sidewalk when there is nothing there, the one who has rolled her right ankle not 1 but 4 major times in her life, and the person who can be knocked over with the slightest of nudges. Did I mention I've had crutches only once in my life, and the first thing I did was fall flat on my face in the hospital parking lot and need further medical attention?
Fast forward to my Relaxin hormone filled pregnant body, and cleary we have a problem.
So back to my point. At 22 weeks along, I've started noticing an alarming new trend in my daily routine - I fall down. I fall down doing the simple things even I'd learned to take for granted. From crouching down to pick something off the floor, to leaning over in an attempt to pull my shoe on without bending at the waist, I fall over.
The good news is, these aren't the loud, painful, disastrous falls of my past, but little gentle thumps to the ground. The bad news is, I fear this is only the beginning. I did not realize the getting pregnant meant losing your ability to perform the most basic tasks - and so early. I can't image convincing my husband that he is now responsible for the on's and off's of my shoes. Not to mention we're not always together. Additionally, there are sometimes just things on the floor which I need to pick up. Socks, dog toys, my sanity, and if I can't bend down to get them without joining them on the floor, what's the point? I'm going to need to get one of those things people use to pick up garbage so I can stay upright.
All I can say is that I hope I regain my sense of balance, and even gain a little extra after Baby Girl get's here. Because honestly, my arms are not safe for a small, fragile and dependent person. I'm sure I've dropped the dog on a number of occasions, but at least he's built like 12 lbs. of bricks.
What I REALLY hope, is that this Baby Girl gets my nose and ears, but her fathers ability to walk and stand up. Unfortunately, this klutzy thing seems a pretty dominant trait for the women in my family, so it's already not looking good.
Not to mention hat her most prominent in utero memory is going to be a strange falling sensation, culminating with a loud thud and her mama yelling FAWK!
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