I'm so ready to call this little bastard Beckham, because he's freakin' kicking up a storm now. On Friday, the Dog finally got to feel it from the outside. It was really nice, since it had been a secret between me and Pecker for some time. It sorta feels like gas, or butterflies, or like someone is tickling you with a feather from inside. At first.
Now it feels like a World Cup match is going on in my belly. It's a weird discomfort, like when you get that pit feeling in the bottom of your stomach, or like being on a roller coaster and you feel like your insides could drop out. Sorta like that. I can feel him flipping over and taking a swim. But the discomfort isn't really bad, because everytime he does it, I laugh. I think he's funny. He does it a lot when I stop talking for a while, like he's saying "Mommy, talk more, I want to hear your voice." He sorta has a pattern going, but I'm still trying to work out if my theories in his schedule of kicking are true.
Anyway, when the Dog felt it, it was awesome. I was just reading my book (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon -- you'd be a fool to pass this book up -- it's the most original story in a long time and the main character is a loveable, scarily realistic 15-year-old autistic boy -- but it's funny and insightful and not making fun like Rain Man.) So I was reading and I felt the kicks, several of them, and I could tell he was close to the front. So I called the Dog over, and he put his hand on my belly. Thump. "Is that it?" he asked incredulously, eyes filling with tears. THUMP. I jumped a bit at that one and the Dog giggled at the force of it. These are the moments that I treasure in pregnancy. I'm just being human and the Dog thinks I have super powers.
So far only the Dog, Mamacita and Sista Sunshine have felt the kicks. I offered my thumping belly to Grumps, but he said "No, no. I'll just take your word for it," and giggled that high pitched giggle. "He'll get freaked out," Mamacita exclaimed. But she was beaming, totally in love with someone she'd never met before. And aren't we all a bit like that now?
Monday, August 30, 2004
Foreskin and seven years ago...
Last week, I spent one night with my pal Loula and her 3-month-old baby boy, Luca (the rare time I will use a real name). She let me change him/undress him and I watched her give him a bath to learn the ropes. I also got to feed him, which was the best. I fell in love with the boy and he wasn't even my own. This could work out super.
Loula makes me laugh because she is one of those blunt people who tells it like it is always -- kinda like me I guess. Anyway, while we were changing him, she pointed to his balls and said, "Those lift up by the way, and you have to clean underneath them. Mommy didn't know that for the first few days."
"How did you get pregnant if you didn't know that?" I laughed.
"That's what my mom said. I don't know. I don't spend a lot of time down there. I just do what I have to do and get out!"
Somewhere amidst this changing conversation, she asked me if I was considering circumscision. Mind you, she wasn't the first, and I was surprised at how many people had come out and asked about this. Was my baby's foreskin that important? I told her that we weren't going to, because it seemed like a cruel thing to do to a baby unnecessarily.
It came up again the other day at work. Arguments FOR include: "it's just cleaner" and "he'll wonder why he's not like everyone else." Now the truth of the matter at the end of the day, the thing that no body wants to admit is this: Women like it better. There, I said it. So I started thinking about it in detail, as I am clearly swayed by peer pressure. But how do you convince the un-snipped father of your baby to let you chop off a bit of his son, so he can have a better love life in the future?
Now you never know what can happen. Grumps had to have his foreskin removed when he was about 40. For MEDICAL reasons. All I remember about it was that he was home on a weeknight -- he worked nights, so we never saw him; that people were coming over with chocolates; that Grumps was sitting in a chair in his robe (only wears it when he's sick) and we were not allowed to sit on his lap. Oh, and he did that embarassed giggle a lot (this is my fave of Grumps' high pitched laughs).
The Dog is strongly opposed to this as he has never had a problem with his "hoodie". And as his wife, I must stick by him -- though I am usually very honest in this blog about my opinions on things... do I really want to go there? Those of you who have tried one of each know the drill. It's not a huge difference, but there is a difference that most girls/gay men will overlook for love.
So how does one convince The Dog? Is this even a battle I want to pick? Place your votes now, snip or no snip? Give me a good argument for either. And maybe some suggestions or clever articles that will defend or sway either side. Get your men inolved. Just click on "comments" below and then click on "post a comment" and then click "post your comment anonymously" so you won't have to join blogger. If you want me to know who you are though, be sure to add your name at the end of your comment.
Loula makes me laugh because she is one of those blunt people who tells it like it is always -- kinda like me I guess. Anyway, while we were changing him, she pointed to his balls and said, "Those lift up by the way, and you have to clean underneath them. Mommy didn't know that for the first few days."
"How did you get pregnant if you didn't know that?" I laughed.
"That's what my mom said. I don't know. I don't spend a lot of time down there. I just do what I have to do and get out!"
Somewhere amidst this changing conversation, she asked me if I was considering circumscision. Mind you, she wasn't the first, and I was surprised at how many people had come out and asked about this. Was my baby's foreskin that important? I told her that we weren't going to, because it seemed like a cruel thing to do to a baby unnecessarily.
It came up again the other day at work. Arguments FOR include: "it's just cleaner" and "he'll wonder why he's not like everyone else." Now the truth of the matter at the end of the day, the thing that no body wants to admit is this: Women like it better. There, I said it. So I started thinking about it in detail, as I am clearly swayed by peer pressure. But how do you convince the un-snipped father of your baby to let you chop off a bit of his son, so he can have a better love life in the future?
Now you never know what can happen. Grumps had to have his foreskin removed when he was about 40. For MEDICAL reasons. All I remember about it was that he was home on a weeknight -- he worked nights, so we never saw him; that people were coming over with chocolates; that Grumps was sitting in a chair in his robe (only wears it when he's sick) and we were not allowed to sit on his lap. Oh, and he did that embarassed giggle a lot (this is my fave of Grumps' high pitched laughs).
The Dog is strongly opposed to this as he has never had a problem with his "hoodie". And as his wife, I must stick by him -- though I am usually very honest in this blog about my opinions on things... do I really want to go there? Those of you who have tried one of each know the drill. It's not a huge difference, but there is a difference that most girls/gay men will overlook for love.
So how does one convince The Dog? Is this even a battle I want to pick? Place your votes now, snip or no snip? Give me a good argument for either. And maybe some suggestions or clever articles that will defend or sway either side. Get your men inolved. Just click on "comments" below and then click on "post a comment" and then click "post your comment anonymously" so you won't have to join blogger. If you want me to know who you are though, be sure to add your name at the end of your comment.
Monday, August 23, 2004
Gayby?
OK, so on the whole boy thing, I am all over it now as predicted. Blondie, upon seeing my slight disappointment after the ultrasound, was quick to point out (we are very good at showing each other the sunny side in times of need -- God love her for that) that boys love their mothers forever. They don't go through that whole "I think my mom's full of sh*t" stuff in high school, or at least not to the extent that girls do.
The opposite side of this coin is that boys can become Mama's Boys and then no woman will ever be good enough or live up to his mommy. This can result in two scenarios: a) an Everybody Loves Raymond type living arrangement, or b) no woman will ever be good enough and therefore, only a man will suffice. Now I am a grown person who has totally embraced the gay community and consider myself a hag, so I have no problem if my son grows up to be gay. I believe that your sexuality is determined in the womb, or more likely, at conception. But even though I am intelligent enough to know this, lately I have been wondering how much influence my "hag-ness" will have over the end result.
So when we found out it was a boy, I told the Dog that we would give him a hipster mullet, make him wear arm bands, cool kicks and cammo shorts... sorta like a mini version of my friend Double D. Or like a mini version of those guys in Sum 41. The Dog looked at me, shaking his head and said, "You're making the baby into a metrosexual before he's even born!"
OK, fair enough, maybe I am. But if Angelina Jolie can give her kid a faux-hawk, then why the heck can't I? As far as I'm concerned, anything is fair game until the kid starts school. It's not like I'm cross-dressing him the way my Aghavni ya-ya used to make Grumps wear girls' clothes and bows in his hair! Anyway, my dear husband keeps insisting that our son will have the same boring boy hair that every kid has.
OK, this is totally ridiculous, so bear with me. Big J's husband turned to the Dog on Saturday at Pipes' wedding and said, "Alright! It takes a man to make a man!" Then I started to think, "Hmm... I have been reading a lot of gay-themed books lately... and I did watch The Sound of Music the other day... and I have been listening to a lot of Cher/Whitney Houston/ Deborah Cox remixes... does it take a hag to make a fag?" Totally absurd, I know, I am intelligent enough to be aware of this. But I'm just letting you know that the thought has crossed my mind.
On the name front, Clint is not sticking. Blondie has named our boy Pecker (which went over well at work), while the Dog insists on calling him Gary. I give up and think that you can call him whatever you want until I have to fill out the birth certificate.
The opposite side of this coin is that boys can become Mama's Boys and then no woman will ever be good enough or live up to his mommy. This can result in two scenarios: a) an Everybody Loves Raymond type living arrangement, or b) no woman will ever be good enough and therefore, only a man will suffice. Now I am a grown person who has totally embraced the gay community and consider myself a hag, so I have no problem if my son grows up to be gay. I believe that your sexuality is determined in the womb, or more likely, at conception. But even though I am intelligent enough to know this, lately I have been wondering how much influence my "hag-ness" will have over the end result.
So when we found out it was a boy, I told the Dog that we would give him a hipster mullet, make him wear arm bands, cool kicks and cammo shorts... sorta like a mini version of my friend Double D. Or like a mini version of those guys in Sum 41. The Dog looked at me, shaking his head and said, "You're making the baby into a metrosexual before he's even born!"
OK, fair enough, maybe I am. But if Angelina Jolie can give her kid a faux-hawk, then why the heck can't I? As far as I'm concerned, anything is fair game until the kid starts school. It's not like I'm cross-dressing him the way my Aghavni ya-ya used to make Grumps wear girls' clothes and bows in his hair! Anyway, my dear husband keeps insisting that our son will have the same boring boy hair that every kid has.
OK, this is totally ridiculous, so bear with me. Big J's husband turned to the Dog on Saturday at Pipes' wedding and said, "Alright! It takes a man to make a man!" Then I started to think, "Hmm... I have been reading a lot of gay-themed books lately... and I did watch The Sound of Music the other day... and I have been listening to a lot of Cher/Whitney Houston/ Deborah Cox remixes... does it take a hag to make a fag?" Totally absurd, I know, I am intelligent enough to be aware of this. But I'm just letting you know that the thought has crossed my mind.
On the name front, Clint is not sticking. Blondie has named our boy Pecker (which went over well at work), while the Dog insists on calling him Gary. I give up and think that you can call him whatever you want until I have to fill out the birth certificate.
Monday, August 16, 2004
Boy oh Boy!
08.23.04 Sorry, the site was down for me last week and though I had tried to post this, it didn't work and I was of course, disheartened. Original Blog below.
Well, if you didn't see this coming, it's probably because you hadn't given it too much thought. Both Grumps and the Dog are chuffed, over the moon, and think I am a goddess because I am carrying a boy.
Grumps actually came up to me and gave me HUGE kiss on the cheek yesterday. He never gives unsolicited kisses. In fact, under normal conditions, I have to hold him down and force him to kiss me. He then proceeded to call his uncle in Turkey and excitedly explain how he had just seen his grandson's takim (literally translated means 'set').
Then I went to pick up the Dog from my in-laws (after spending the weekend with them a few weeks ago, I felt it was too soon to be spending a whole day with them and opted out). The Dog gave me the most romantic card, thanking me for "carrying the load" and telling me how excited he was about our "impending doom."
Anyway, it looks like no matter what we think about the Chinese, or Middle Easterns or any other culture that worships the XY Chromosome, we westerners are actually no better. And being a quasi-feminist, this kinda pisses me off.
Went to look at cribs with Mamacita and Sista Sunshine. That was fun. They have these awesome ones now that turn into beds when you're dun cribbin'. I'm talking a double bed! Pretty cool, huh? We also looked at baby clothes, and when Sista Sunshine pulled out a cute pink something or other, we had a moment and I told her there was a moratorium on girl's clothes. I am still not over that whole not having a girl thing - I gotta tell ya. And everyone looks at me like I'm a bad mommy for saying that, but girls are just more fun to dress! couple that with the gloating of the males in my family and the fact that I know NOTHING about boys, and you'll know why I'm feeling this way.
I did, however, buy a beautiful photo album from Indigo with blue gingham and off-white buttons on the cover to keep my son's ultrasound photos in, as well as photos of my growing belly. I am slowly warming up to the idea. Who am I kidding? You all know that I am going to be obsessed with this boy. Look at how much I love my first boy, the Dog. If this Puppy is a mini version of his Dad, then I will be smitten... the thought leaves me speechless.
Well, if you didn't see this coming, it's probably because you hadn't given it too much thought. Both Grumps and the Dog are chuffed, over the moon, and think I am a goddess because I am carrying a boy.
Grumps actually came up to me and gave me HUGE kiss on the cheek yesterday. He never gives unsolicited kisses. In fact, under normal conditions, I have to hold him down and force him to kiss me. He then proceeded to call his uncle in Turkey and excitedly explain how he had just seen his grandson's takim (literally translated means 'set').
Then I went to pick up the Dog from my in-laws (after spending the weekend with them a few weeks ago, I felt it was too soon to be spending a whole day with them and opted out). The Dog gave me the most romantic card, thanking me for "carrying the load" and telling me how excited he was about our "impending doom."
Anyway, it looks like no matter what we think about the Chinese, or Middle Easterns or any other culture that worships the XY Chromosome, we westerners are actually no better. And being a quasi-feminist, this kinda pisses me off.
Went to look at cribs with Mamacita and Sista Sunshine. That was fun. They have these awesome ones now that turn into beds when you're dun cribbin'. I'm talking a double bed! Pretty cool, huh? We also looked at baby clothes, and when Sista Sunshine pulled out a cute pink something or other, we had a moment and I told her there was a moratorium on girl's clothes. I am still not over that whole not having a girl thing - I gotta tell ya. And everyone looks at me like I'm a bad mommy for saying that, but girls are just more fun to dress! couple that with the gloating of the males in my family and the fact that I know NOTHING about boys, and you'll know why I'm feeling this way.
I did, however, buy a beautiful photo album from Indigo with blue gingham and off-white buttons on the cover to keep my son's ultrasound photos in, as well as photos of my growing belly. I am slowly warming up to the idea. Who am I kidding? You all know that I am going to be obsessed with this boy. Look at how much I love my first boy, the Dog. If this Puppy is a mini version of his Dad, then I will be smitten... the thought leaves me speechless.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
A Womb with a View
Well, an outstanding number of your emails said Girl. And I can see why, given that I'm such a girly girl. Who couldn't see me with a cute little girl, dressing her up pretty...
Those few of you who said Boy, I can understand that too. After all, The Dog is as manly as they come. Big and strapping, with an unparalleled athleticism, who couldn't see him tossing the ball around with his son while I call them in for dinner?
We had the Russian ultrasound technician again. I love her. We saw the four chambers of the heart beating away. We saw the spine, the hands and the cute little feet. The suspense is killing you guys right now, I know it. Then she asked in her gorgeous Russian accent, "Vood you like to know the sex of the baby?" I paused, and said nonchalantly, "Sure, why not?"
Russian: "Eet eez bwoy."
Dog: "It is?! Are you sure!?!"
Russian: "Ninety-nine point nine perssent shuwer it's a boy. A healthy baby boy -- see?" She points to a "thing" on the screen.
Me: "Wow, it's a boy!" Laughing and crying at the same time, which made the ultrasound images shake.
Russian: "Pleez stopp."
Dog: "Um, can we get a photo of the, um, penis please?"
Then he ran out of the office in a stupor, taking the image of his son's manhood with him.
I got to hear the heartbeat during my checkup, and this time it was loud and clear. KPOWKPOWKPOWKPOW! But I have to admit I drank a Coke before my U/S so that the baby would be hyper and moving around more and we would get a clearer view. So my glucose/sugar was high in my pee test and now I have to go for extra blood work to make sure I don't have gestational diabetes.
As T-bobs in Ireland said, "I can't stomach the thought of you growing balls and a willy." I have to admit I also thought it would be a girl, but I am not disappointed either way. In fact, I am in shock because it makes this all the more real. I have a person inside me now! I know who he is! We are calling him Clint until he is born (watching a lot of Westerns lately), so don't bug us about names. You'll find out when he's born.
Nothing worse than telling people a name only to get their crappy reactions. "*wince* Oh James, I knew a James in grade school and he was a real a**hole!" We don't need any outside influence, our parents and siblings will torment us enough.
Anyway, thanks for all your kind wishes! I am sure that you will all get to meet Clint someday and that he'll like you. I know I do :)
Those few of you who said Boy, I can understand that too. After all, The Dog is as manly as they come. Big and strapping, with an unparalleled athleticism, who couldn't see him tossing the ball around with his son while I call them in for dinner?
We had the Russian ultrasound technician again. I love her. We saw the four chambers of the heart beating away. We saw the spine, the hands and the cute little feet. The suspense is killing you guys right now, I know it. Then she asked in her gorgeous Russian accent, "Vood you like to know the sex of the baby?" I paused, and said nonchalantly, "Sure, why not?"
Russian: "Eet eez bwoy."
Dog: "It is?! Are you sure!?!"
Russian: "Ninety-nine point nine perssent shuwer it's a boy. A healthy baby boy -- see?" She points to a "thing" on the screen.
Me: "Wow, it's a boy!" Laughing and crying at the same time, which made the ultrasound images shake.
Russian: "Pleez stopp."
Dog: "Um, can we get a photo of the, um, penis please?"
Then he ran out of the office in a stupor, taking the image of his son's manhood with him.
I got to hear the heartbeat during my checkup, and this time it was loud and clear. KPOWKPOWKPOWKPOW! But I have to admit I drank a Coke before my U/S so that the baby would be hyper and moving around more and we would get a clearer view. So my glucose/sugar was high in my pee test and now I have to go for extra blood work to make sure I don't have gestational diabetes.
As T-bobs in Ireland said, "I can't stomach the thought of you growing balls and a willy." I have to admit I also thought it would be a girl, but I am not disappointed either way. In fact, I am in shock because it makes this all the more real. I have a person inside me now! I know who he is! We are calling him Clint until he is born (watching a lot of Westerns lately), so don't bug us about names. You'll find out when he's born.
Nothing worse than telling people a name only to get their crappy reactions. "*wince* Oh James, I knew a James in grade school and he was a real a**hole!" We don't need any outside influence, our parents and siblings will torment us enough.
Anyway, thanks for all your kind wishes! I am sure that you will all get to meet Clint someday and that he'll like you. I know I do :)
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Flirting with Disaster
So I take back what I said yesterday about preggy chicks being hot. Not all guys seem to think so.
This morning I got on the Ossington bus as usual, sat down with my book (I highly recommend it: David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day ) when who should take a seat beside me but this gorgeous Ron Livingston look-alike with his pretty dog. This guy was sooo my type, so of course, the whoremones kicked in. When his lab/border collie mix came sniffing around my leg, I thought it would only be polite to strike up a conversation.
"Hiya," I said to the dog, my voice in a high pitch, then looked up at the hot owner. What is it about dogs and babies that makes people alter their voices into a cutsey wootsey shrill?
"Boy or Girl?" I asked stupidly. Clearly this dog had no balls. Blondie says this is not a dumb question though as many dogs don't have balls after getting snipped. She always makes me feel better.
"She's a girl," the handsome stranger replied.
"Aww, how old?" I batted my eyelashes.
"She's eight," he mumbled, distracted by the fact that his dog was trying to hump another TTC user. After an awkward pause, I gave up and went back to burying my nose in my book. He clearly wasn't interested in starting a passionate affair with a pregnant lady. Plus, he already had a girlfriend—his dog, who clearly wasn't diggin' me either.
*sigh*
Things have also fizzled out with my "work boyfriend", we'll call him Witty J. Every girl in a long term relationship benefits from having a work boyfriend. Your work boyfriend should be someone who likes to flirt, makes you laugh, and generally makes you feel as though you "still got it". This is what I call a healthy crush. The Dog knows about Witty J and often makes fun of me for my silly crush. He also has a "work girlfriend", a young Asian woman who happens to hold the keys to the film festival he's trying to get his work shown at. Hmmmmm.
Witty J can give me nothing but the occasional tchotchke (sp?) from a film he's promoting, or free movie passes. He did give me a giant box of Rice Krispies once, after we'd had a marathon MSN session about favourite cereals. When we used to run into him on the elevator, my pod-mates would be shocked by how smitten with me Witty J appeared. He has a girlfriend I am sure, yet he never discusses her with me. I think he knew it would ruin any fun we were having.
But when I got pregnant, I felt guilty about Witty J and felt the need to tell him the truth. It seemed like a risky but good idea. The right thing to do. I would no longer have to carry my dirty secret and could get rid of my shame. He was really nice about it. But truth be told, our flirting days are over. I still look at him with the eyes of a giddy schoolgirl and all I get back is an "awww, that's cute" laugh when he looks at my growing belly. Ah well, it's probably for the best.
Tune in tomorrow, late afternoon, for the official posting on Ultrasound #2! If you'd like to place a bet on the gender, you can do so by clicking on "comments" below and clicking Anonymous (you don't have to be a blogspotter contrary to what it may look like - no registry required).
This morning I got on the Ossington bus as usual, sat down with my book (I highly recommend it: David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day ) when who should take a seat beside me but this gorgeous Ron Livingston look-alike with his pretty dog. This guy was sooo my type, so of course, the whoremones kicked in. When his lab/border collie mix came sniffing around my leg, I thought it would only be polite to strike up a conversation.
"Hiya," I said to the dog, my voice in a high pitch, then looked up at the hot owner. What is it about dogs and babies that makes people alter their voices into a cutsey wootsey shrill?
"Boy or Girl?" I asked stupidly. Clearly this dog had no balls. Blondie says this is not a dumb question though as many dogs don't have balls after getting snipped. She always makes me feel better.
"She's a girl," the handsome stranger replied.
"Aww, how old?" I batted my eyelashes.
"She's eight," he mumbled, distracted by the fact that his dog was trying to hump another TTC user. After an awkward pause, I gave up and went back to burying my nose in my book. He clearly wasn't interested in starting a passionate affair with a pregnant lady. Plus, he already had a girlfriend—his dog, who clearly wasn't diggin' me either.
*sigh*
Things have also fizzled out with my "work boyfriend", we'll call him Witty J. Every girl in a long term relationship benefits from having a work boyfriend. Your work boyfriend should be someone who likes to flirt, makes you laugh, and generally makes you feel as though you "still got it". This is what I call a healthy crush. The Dog knows about Witty J and often makes fun of me for my silly crush. He also has a "work girlfriend", a young Asian woman who happens to hold the keys to the film festival he's trying to get his work shown at. Hmmmmm.
Witty J can give me nothing but the occasional tchotchke (sp?) from a film he's promoting, or free movie passes. He did give me a giant box of Rice Krispies once, after we'd had a marathon MSN session about favourite cereals. When we used to run into him on the elevator, my pod-mates would be shocked by how smitten with me Witty J appeared. He has a girlfriend I am sure, yet he never discusses her with me. I think he knew it would ruin any fun we were having.
But when I got pregnant, I felt guilty about Witty J and felt the need to tell him the truth. It seemed like a risky but good idea. The right thing to do. I would no longer have to carry my dirty secret and could get rid of my shame. He was really nice about it. But truth be told, our flirting days are over. I still look at him with the eyes of a giddy schoolgirl and all I get back is an "awww, that's cute" laugh when he looks at my growing belly. Ah well, it's probably for the best.
Tune in tomorrow, late afternoon, for the official posting on Ultrasound #2! If you'd like to place a bet on the gender, you can do so by clicking on "comments" below and clicking Anonymous (you don't have to be a blogspotter contrary to what it may look like - no registry required).
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Whoremones
So a lot of people are asking me if it's true that pregnant women turn into nymphos during pregnancy. I can't speak for every preggy out there, but I have noticed some increased libido action. Now I don't know if it's because I was so turned off sex in the first trimester that I am just back to normal or what. But I have been noticing tons of hot guys everywhere suddenly. Maybe it's because I can never be with any of them again. Seeing them inevitably gets my mind on sex, so in that case, I am hornier than usual.
But I'm feeling like a super hottie these days. Boobs are looking grand (bought my first C cup!) and the belly is rockin'. I have put on about 7 pounds and most of that seems to be in my belly, so I am happy about my figure. I am glowy and the hair's looking fab thanks to my pal Sings with Scissors. I think the confidence comes across in everything I do and I am generally feeling sexier than usual. So that part is true.
As for the Dog, he is looking pretty good to me these days. When I do get desirous for him, it is stronger than ever before. But truthfully, I wish it was more often than it actually is. Maybe this is because sex is still super painful. Which is the scariest thing. If it hurts to get your average you know what in there, how the hell am I going to deal with the fact that a giant baby has to come out? I think sex may be hurting because of the 2lbs of increased blood I have in my system (hence the puffy Angelina Jolie look down there), causing some swelling and less "room". I don't know how to describe the whole thing without getting too graphic. (yes, even more graphic than I'm being right now)
If you LOVE attention, getting preggers is the way to go. You will suddenly be the centre of attention everywhere you go. People will touch you without asking (which I never mind), though most people reach for the belly and then catch themselves and ask if it's OK. Men will check you out constantly. This is the part I love. I never thought people would think a pregnant woman was sexy, but apparently, if you put it in a nice package, anything can be worth looking at I guess.
Speaking of packaging... perhaps maternity clothes are a whole other blog... To be continued...
Two more sleeps until Ultrasound day. Yay! Place your bets on Boy or Girl now.
But I'm feeling like a super hottie these days. Boobs are looking grand (bought my first C cup!) and the belly is rockin'. I have put on about 7 pounds and most of that seems to be in my belly, so I am happy about my figure. I am glowy and the hair's looking fab thanks to my pal Sings with Scissors. I think the confidence comes across in everything I do and I am generally feeling sexier than usual. So that part is true.
As for the Dog, he is looking pretty good to me these days. When I do get desirous for him, it is stronger than ever before. But truthfully, I wish it was more often than it actually is. Maybe this is because sex is still super painful. Which is the scariest thing. If it hurts to get your average you know what in there, how the hell am I going to deal with the fact that a giant baby has to come out? I think sex may be hurting because of the 2lbs of increased blood I have in my system (hence the puffy Angelina Jolie look down there), causing some swelling and less "room". I don't know how to describe the whole thing without getting too graphic. (yes, even more graphic than I'm being right now)
If you LOVE attention, getting preggers is the way to go. You will suddenly be the centre of attention everywhere you go. People will touch you without asking (which I never mind), though most people reach for the belly and then catch themselves and ask if it's OK. Men will check you out constantly. This is the part I love. I never thought people would think a pregnant woman was sexy, but apparently, if you put it in a nice package, anything can be worth looking at I guess.
Speaking of packaging... perhaps maternity clothes are a whole other blog... To be continued...
Two more sleeps until Ultrasound day. Yay! Place your bets on Boy or Girl now.
Monday, August 09, 2004
A Tale of Two Uteruses (or is it uteri?)
Hey all, hope you had a fab weekend. My good pal Crafty and hubby sure did! They welcomed 6 pound 10 ounce baby girl Samantha into the world Friday. For those of you who were at my b-day BBQ, Crafty was the one who was the size of a house. Also, the trailblazer that she is, she was the only one who had a stroller there with one kid already in it! Congrats to them and best wishes.
I must tell the tale of Crafty for those who don't know, because it MUST be told. As I just told you, Crafty has a child already. He's just over a year old. I know, you're thinking, WHAT? Is she crazy? Having two kids so close together?
Well I will tell you, this was not planned. In fact it was the total opposite.
Crafty has a beautiful son named Dylan, whom I met sometime last fall/winter. She made me laugh with her tales of new motherhood. "I'm not really...maternal" she quipped honestly. I love that about her, she never sugar-coats anything, which was the inspiration for my honesty in this blog. She regaled with stories of Mommy and Baby matinees at the local theatre, and meeting other mommies for coffees to get each other out of the house. Though she was blunt about the challenges, she made it sound rather fun.
In Canada, in order to get government assistance financially for a full year of maternity leave, you must be working somewhere for at least 13 weeks. Crafty was in no rush to get pregnant again and had an IUD installed (hehe) t0 prevent any "accidents". So imagine her shock when she started waking up queesy and feeling super tired while she was still on mat leave!
She visited the doctor and asked if her IUD was working properly. "Your IUD is working fine," he told her, "in THIS uterus." SAY WHAT? That's right ladies and germs, she was told that apparently she had TWO, count 'em, TWO uteruses! (not sure about the pluralization of uterus, so please excuse me) The double uterus often goes undetected until something like this happens, as the second uterus lies dormant, or flattened out against the vaginal wall and doesn't show up in ultrasounds. This condition is rare, but affects more women than you would think.
So needless to say, this baby Samantha was "meant-to-be". Anyway, this is such a unique story that I had to share with you. Unfortunately, Crafty can't take a proper mat leave now, but instead is taking a 6 month leave of absence, after which her husband will take a 6 month leave, so it will all work out. Can wait to meet little Sammie and experience a day in the life of a couple with two babies. Will tell you how it goes.
Countdown to Thursday's life-altering ultrasound is on! Stay tuned MFM fans.
I must tell the tale of Crafty for those who don't know, because it MUST be told. As I just told you, Crafty has a child already. He's just over a year old. I know, you're thinking, WHAT? Is she crazy? Having two kids so close together?
Well I will tell you, this was not planned. In fact it was the total opposite.
Crafty has a beautiful son named Dylan, whom I met sometime last fall/winter. She made me laugh with her tales of new motherhood. "I'm not really...maternal" she quipped honestly. I love that about her, she never sugar-coats anything, which was the inspiration for my honesty in this blog. She regaled with stories of Mommy and Baby matinees at the local theatre, and meeting other mommies for coffees to get each other out of the house. Though she was blunt about the challenges, she made it sound rather fun.
In Canada, in order to get government assistance financially for a full year of maternity leave, you must be working somewhere for at least 13 weeks. Crafty was in no rush to get pregnant again and had an IUD installed (hehe) t0 prevent any "accidents". So imagine her shock when she started waking up queesy and feeling super tired while she was still on mat leave!
She visited the doctor and asked if her IUD was working properly. "Your IUD is working fine," he told her, "in THIS uterus." SAY WHAT? That's right ladies and germs, she was told that apparently she had TWO, count 'em, TWO uteruses! (not sure about the pluralization of uterus, so please excuse me) The double uterus often goes undetected until something like this happens, as the second uterus lies dormant, or flattened out against the vaginal wall and doesn't show up in ultrasounds. This condition is rare, but affects more women than you would think.
So needless to say, this baby Samantha was "meant-to-be". Anyway, this is such a unique story that I had to share with you. Unfortunately, Crafty can't take a proper mat leave now, but instead is taking a 6 month leave of absence, after which her husband will take a 6 month leave, so it will all work out. Can wait to meet little Sammie and experience a day in the life of a couple with two babies. Will tell you how it goes.
Countdown to Thursday's life-altering ultrasound is on! Stay tuned MFM fans.
Friday, August 06, 2004
Knock knock. Who's there?
Baby, that's who!
I have been getting down because everyone keeps asking me if I've felt the baby move yet. It can happen anytime between 16 and 22 weeks (I'm sittin' near week 20 now). The science term for this movement is called the Quickening—sounds like a horror film, doesn't it? Anyway, unless I mistook any previous movements for the feelings of gas and bloating, I hadn't felt bubkus.
Last night as I was falling asleep on my left side (getting used to it slowly), I felt a clear rap-tap-tapping on the inside of my belly. As if Baby was sliding left too and was kicking its feet to get back up and not be squished into a fetal ball on the left. It was so cool! I put my hand on my belly, but the feeling wasn't strong enough to be felt outside.
I woke the Dogger up and told him. His reaction was sweet, "Wow, that's awesome...ga-ga-goo-goo...those guys, when they look up at the skies, they can touch clouds and have super powers...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....." OK Love, I'm glad you're as excited as me.
After being mezmerized a while longer, I fell asleep on Doggy's chest, to the internal drumming of left right left right. Of course I had to announce it to the Dog all over again this morning (he had no recollection). He rubbed Banana Soy cream on my belly and giggled and all was right in the world. *sigh* These are good times my friends. Don't let the other stuff I say get you down. It's all worth it.
I have been getting down because everyone keeps asking me if I've felt the baby move yet. It can happen anytime between 16 and 22 weeks (I'm sittin' near week 20 now). The science term for this movement is called the Quickening—sounds like a horror film, doesn't it? Anyway, unless I mistook any previous movements for the feelings of gas and bloating, I hadn't felt bubkus.
Last night as I was falling asleep on my left side (getting used to it slowly), I felt a clear rap-tap-tapping on the inside of my belly. As if Baby was sliding left too and was kicking its feet to get back up and not be squished into a fetal ball on the left. It was so cool! I put my hand on my belly, but the feeling wasn't strong enough to be felt outside.
I woke the Dogger up and told him. His reaction was sweet, "Wow, that's awesome...ga-ga-goo-goo...those guys, when they look up at the skies, they can touch clouds and have super powers...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....." OK Love, I'm glad you're as excited as me.
After being mezmerized a while longer, I fell asleep on Doggy's chest, to the internal drumming of left right left right. Of course I had to announce it to the Dog all over again this morning (he had no recollection). He rubbed Banana Soy cream on my belly and giggled and all was right in the world. *sigh* These are good times my friends. Don't let the other stuff I say get you down. It's all worth it.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Zit Remedy
Is it that I'm too tired to follow my totalitarian rigorous skin-cleansing regime? Or is it those pesky hormones? Is it the half litre of Rolo ice cream I devoured last night? I don't know.
I used to watch those Pro-Activ infomercials with Vanessa Williams. We've all seen 'em. Yes, even you there, you tuned in for a few minutes on a Sunday hangover morning. How could you not? The transformations are miraculous!
You know how they always show those poor pregnant women and new moms holding their babies and their faces look like a Risk board? Well, I feel like I am headed that way. OK I may be exagerrating. But I am covered this week in painful zits.
I admit that I have popped them and made them worse and redder. I have also done the "try to cover with concealer" trick that never works for the average human because the makeup wears off the head of the zit, causing a creamy circle to form around the reddest part. So I consult "the books", which recommend a useless homemade oat solution that you blend in the food processor and then spread on your face, turning your skin into somebody's lost breakfast. Who will clean these oats out of the sink, I ask you?
I used to watch those Pro-Activ infomercials with Vanessa Williams. We've all seen 'em. Yes, even you there, you tuned in for a few minutes on a Sunday hangover morning. How could you not? The transformations are miraculous!
You know how they always show those poor pregnant women and new moms holding their babies and their faces look like a Risk board? Well, I feel like I am headed that way. OK I may be exagerrating. But I am covered this week in painful zits.
I admit that I have popped them and made them worse and redder. I have also done the "try to cover with concealer" trick that never works for the average human because the makeup wears off the head of the zit, causing a creamy circle to form around the reddest part. So I consult "the books", which recommend a useless homemade oat solution that you blend in the food processor and then spread on your face, turning your skin into somebody's lost breakfast. Who will clean these oats out of the sink, I ask you?
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Pre-Partum Depression?
I am totally down today. I don't know if it's this horrible grey weather we've had all summer, or the fact that I'm finding my job a bit challenging, or a combination of both. I am thinking so much of my career and I always come to the same fork in the road. It's the one major regret of my 20s—not getting my degree.
OK, admittedly I have some post-secondary education. I have a Radio and Television Diploma from Seneca College and I did meet the love of my life there. And you may be thinking to yourselves—Hey, she has a great job in the field of her choice, so what the heck is she worried about?
The problem is that whenever I think about leaving AA to go and write somewhere else, I look at the available options and almost all of them require a University Degree. I am a rarity in my peers. EVERYONE has their degree. How am I a writer when I haven't even written any essays on (much less read) the classics? Self-doubt clouds my head.
Simple you say, go back to school and do it! Aha! Brilliant idea, except for two things:
1. The cost of going to school is astronomical nowadays
2. Baby is coming.
Really, every argument against going to school comes down to Baby. Shouldn't I be saving for Baby's education? Will I have time, money, energy to study and complete assignments with Baby around? Shouldn't I spend the money on a house for Baby to grow up in, instead of living like a Bedouin and shlepping my belongings from one rented apartment to another?
I am cooler way than this, and yet every step closer to Mommydom is taking me that much further away from "cool". Shouldn't I be in Manhattan writing jokes for Letterman or something? Shouldn't I be in Paris celebrating the translation of my fabulous first book to French by now? Shouldn't I be in Milan covering the runway shows for Vogue? Shouldn't I be in LA.... The list of cool writer-y things is long my pals.
Should I even care? Should I just chop off all my hair, buy my Walmart mom jeans and haul ass to the 'burbs? No! I cannot do that! That is just not me. But who is the new me? I hate transition phases. Change is good, but not slow, agonizing, long, drawn out change. I should be careful what I wish for.
OK, admittedly I have some post-secondary education. I have a Radio and Television Diploma from Seneca College and I did meet the love of my life there. And you may be thinking to yourselves—Hey, she has a great job in the field of her choice, so what the heck is she worried about?
The problem is that whenever I think about leaving AA to go and write somewhere else, I look at the available options and almost all of them require a University Degree. I am a rarity in my peers. EVERYONE has their degree. How am I a writer when I haven't even written any essays on (much less read) the classics? Self-doubt clouds my head.
Simple you say, go back to school and do it! Aha! Brilliant idea, except for two things:
1. The cost of going to school is astronomical nowadays
2. Baby is coming.
Really, every argument against going to school comes down to Baby. Shouldn't I be saving for Baby's education? Will I have time, money, energy to study and complete assignments with Baby around? Shouldn't I spend the money on a house for Baby to grow up in, instead of living like a Bedouin and shlepping my belongings from one rented apartment to another?
I am cooler way than this, and yet every step closer to Mommydom is taking me that much further away from "cool". Shouldn't I be in Manhattan writing jokes for Letterman or something? Shouldn't I be in Paris celebrating the translation of my fabulous first book to French by now? Shouldn't I be in Milan covering the runway shows for Vogue? Shouldn't I be in LA.... The list of cool writer-y things is long my pals.
Should I even care? Should I just chop off all my hair, buy my Walmart mom jeans and haul ass to the 'burbs? No! I cannot do that! That is just not me. But who is the new me? I hate transition phases. Change is good, but not slow, agonizing, long, drawn out change. I should be careful what I wish for.
The AMAZING Race: Armenians
In my moments of dark, I do find time to appreciate some good ol' guilty pleasures. Like last night, for instance, when I was fully engrossed in Episode 5 of Season 5 of The Amazing Race. Fellow Race Fans, how awesome is this show? Is it not the most exciting thing on television? I am in a pool this year, which makes things even more exciting as I have a whole $10 at stake!
For those of you who live under a rock, are too cool for TV or live in another country, The Race as we like to call it, takes 11 teams of two Americans on a 'round the world race. First team to cross the finish line gets a mil. So far this year, they have been from the US to Uruguay to Argentina, then from Argentina to Russia, and from Russia to Cairo, Egypt! Now come on, even a snob would admit that's somewhat cool and exciting.
An interesting bit of casting for this season of The Race, is that there are no gay male couples and no best friend teams. There are too many southern model/dating couples for my taste. However, they struck TV gold with a little (and I mean little) gem called Charla.
Charla has a rare form of dwarfism. She and her cousin Mirna (average sized) are Armenian and therefore, completely competitive and annoying to all other teams. The other teams cannot even see Charla's cuteness, nor do they show any caring for her tiny condition -- they just plain hate her. But Charla don't need them! She is a miniature powerhouse, carrying 50 lbs worth of beef on her back, riding horses, climbing down 140 ft shafts, stopping pucks, and eating a kilo of caviar, while the models cried over the same task.
Her cousin Mirna, however, seems to be the biggest and bitchiest wimp on the face of the planet. At every Road Block or Detour (whichever is the one that only one team member can do), Mirna pussies out and tells Charla to do it. Thanks to her crabby, wimpy "I'll throw up Charla!" or "I'm claustrophobic Charla!" we are seeing some of the best TV has to offer.
Charla is super cute and I love her. And the enthusiasm of these two, from their shouts of "Bellisimo" and "Habibi" (they speak 5 languages, mind you two of them, Armenian and Turkish, are about as useful as Vulcan), to their weekly hugging of the host, Phil.... I just cannot express how much fun they are to watch. And knowing that they are Armenian, makes their neurosies all the more funny to me. Dunno if they will make it to number 1, but they have been second place now 2 weeks in a row, which goes to show you that size doesn't matter after all.
For those of you who live under a rock, are too cool for TV or live in another country, The Race as we like to call it, takes 11 teams of two Americans on a 'round the world race. First team to cross the finish line gets a mil. So far this year, they have been from the US to Uruguay to Argentina, then from Argentina to Russia, and from Russia to Cairo, Egypt! Now come on, even a snob would admit that's somewhat cool and exciting.
An interesting bit of casting for this season of The Race, is that there are no gay male couples and no best friend teams. There are too many southern model/dating couples for my taste. However, they struck TV gold with a little (and I mean little) gem called Charla.
Charla has a rare form of dwarfism. She and her cousin Mirna (average sized) are Armenian and therefore, completely competitive and annoying to all other teams. The other teams cannot even see Charla's cuteness, nor do they show any caring for her tiny condition -- they just plain hate her. But Charla don't need them! She is a miniature powerhouse, carrying 50 lbs worth of beef on her back, riding horses, climbing down 140 ft shafts, stopping pucks, and eating a kilo of caviar, while the models cried over the same task.
Her cousin Mirna, however, seems to be the biggest and bitchiest wimp on the face of the planet. At every Road Block or Detour (whichever is the one that only one team member can do), Mirna pussies out and tells Charla to do it. Thanks to her crabby, wimpy "I'll throw up Charla!" or "I'm claustrophobic Charla!" we are seeing some of the best TV has to offer.
Charla is super cute and I love her. And the enthusiasm of these two, from their shouts of "Bellisimo" and "Habibi" (they speak 5 languages, mind you two of them, Armenian and Turkish, are about as useful as Vulcan), to their weekly hugging of the host, Phil.... I just cannot express how much fun they are to watch. And knowing that they are Armenian, makes their neurosies all the more funny to me. Dunno if they will make it to number 1, but they have been second place now 2 weeks in a row, which goes to show you that size doesn't matter after all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)