According to BabyCenter.com:
The network of nerves in your baby's ears is more sensitive than before — he may now be able to hear your partner's voice as well as yours as you chat with each other.
The last few nights, whenever the Dog comes into the room and starts talking, little Pecker starts to kick. This is usually heightened when the Dog talks directly into the belly. It's a lot of fun! It makes us giggle and get all cutesy with each other.
Are you in the midst of childbirth classes, a room redo, and other preparations now? Just make sure that you also continue to eat well and get plenty of rest...
More on the stress of room reno and deciding when to take childbirth classes another day.
...Her lungs are developing now, too, as she continues to take small breaths of amniotic fluid — good practice for when she's born and takes that first breath of air. If you're having a boy, his testicles are beginning to descend into his scrotum — a trip that will take about two to three days. Um...ew. Balls in my belly...ew.
If your back seems a little achy lately, you can thank pregnancy hormones (which are loosening up your joints and ligaments) and your shifting center of gravity. Walking, standing, or sitting for long periods, bending and lifting can all put a strain on your back. A warm bath — or cool compress — might bring relief. Or you may want to schedule a prenatal massage by a trained therapist. Use a pregnancy wedge when sleeping, to support your back and abdomen. Try to maintain good posture, which will help reduce the strain on your back, and always take care when bending and lifting.
I think we have all heard enough about my achy back and stretching ribs. Have scheduled my second preggy massage and will describe in detail next week.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Friday, September 24, 2004
Beeyatch and the Beast
Or is it Beauty and the Beeyatch? OK - everyone is fawning over how great I look, which is really a great boost and keeps me happy. But I gotta tell ya, there is something happening to me over the past two weeks. Something that I cannot control and makes me feel crazy... MOOD SWINGS.
I have avoided them thus far. I have been generally happy and content. Smiling away. Enjoying "the glow" with the help of a great Stila Illuminating Face Powder in 40 Watt and some Clinique bronzer. My bod looks pretty fab -- lovin' the belly and the boobies. So what gives?
On Monday I had a major meltdown at work and confronted my boss about being overwhelmed by the amount of stuff I have to do, not to mention the face that she's been giving me the impression that I suck. I never cry in front of bosses at work. But suddenly there I was, full waterworks in front of her. Bad scene. Anyway, she was surprisingly nice and supportive and I feel much better after getting it all off my chest.
Home alone on Tuesday or Wednesday night and the phone rang. I have not really been wanting to talk to people, so I answered reluctantly. It was our pal Intensio from Vancouver. The Dog refers to Intensio as his soulmate, but I find him a touch... intense. He leaves long phone messages with detailed accounts of sunsets and orange juice (read: he smokes lots of pot). Anyway, to be fair, I've only met him two or three times over the past 5 years. But although I think he's a cool guy, we never really hit it off the way he and the Dog do.
So the Dog had mentioned in passing that Intensio is coming to stay, but that he would be splitting his time between our place and another friend of his. I think nothing of it, since the Dog's midnight oil editing gig is almost up at this point. I figure the two of them will be hanging steady and I'll get to loaf as usual, which is all I have the energy for these days. But when Intensio got me on the phone, he said that this "other friend" would be out of town all week, so could he stay on our couch all week? Uhhhhhhhhhhhh... I mention that we are actually moving the entire apartment around the weekend he gets here to make room for the baby. So no more futon. Intensio seems fine with the couch. And why not? It's a damn fine couch!
I get off the phone with him and pass out. The Dog calls from work and wakes me up. I tell him Intensio called and he tells me that his contract has been extended and he won't get to spend any time with Intensio. I begin to unravel. I cannot entertain ANYONE these days (OK, I don't mind the company of people I normally spend lots of time with). I just don't have it in me to be my normal bubbly self -- not when there are knives being stuck into my back and my leg is cramping up as though I did 4 step classes in a row!
I expressed that I was afraid that the new, scary, bitchy me would make herself apparent in front of this guest whom I hardly know. Also, when we move the rooms around, I will no longer have a bedroom door. I will also be unable to pass out on the couch every night, since someone else would be on it. The conversation became increasingly tense.
I kept hearing the Dog drop the phone in exasperation, to which I would SHRIEK, "You have no idea how hard this is! My friggin ribs are stratching, I am constantly uncomfortable and in pain! I cannot be nice to people when I am so tired of being in this body by the end of the day!" This was interspersed by bouts of sobbing and crazy laughter. The beast exposed herself to the love of her life -- scary. I don't know how he handled it, but somehow he did. He called later to say that he had called Intensio and told him to cancel his ticket. What a relief! What a great hubby!
But instead I feel bad and worry that the conversation was something like, "Hey dude, sorry to do this to you but it's not a good time for you to come and visit. Yeah... my wife has turned into an evil psycho-bitch and I expect her head to rotate 360 any day now while she spews green sludge and blasphemes." I need to let it go, I know. But I am afraid of myself. I just can't control these irrational outbursts. I snap at everything and feel totally overwhelmed at the littlest thing. There's not enough time in the day, esp when you pass out at 10 each night and sleep until 7 am...ahem, 7:30-ish. And there is SO MUCH TO DO before the baby gets here! And I am just too freakin' tried to do anything. How will I make it through the holidays? Ahhhhhhhh! ZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
I have avoided them thus far. I have been generally happy and content. Smiling away. Enjoying "the glow" with the help of a great Stila Illuminating Face Powder in 40 Watt and some Clinique bronzer. My bod looks pretty fab -- lovin' the belly and the boobies. So what gives?
On Monday I had a major meltdown at work and confronted my boss about being overwhelmed by the amount of stuff I have to do, not to mention the face that she's been giving me the impression that I suck. I never cry in front of bosses at work. But suddenly there I was, full waterworks in front of her. Bad scene. Anyway, she was surprisingly nice and supportive and I feel much better after getting it all off my chest.
Home alone on Tuesday or Wednesday night and the phone rang. I have not really been wanting to talk to people, so I answered reluctantly. It was our pal Intensio from Vancouver. The Dog refers to Intensio as his soulmate, but I find him a touch... intense. He leaves long phone messages with detailed accounts of sunsets and orange juice (read: he smokes lots of pot). Anyway, to be fair, I've only met him two or three times over the past 5 years. But although I think he's a cool guy, we never really hit it off the way he and the Dog do.
So the Dog had mentioned in passing that Intensio is coming to stay, but that he would be splitting his time between our place and another friend of his. I think nothing of it, since the Dog's midnight oil editing gig is almost up at this point. I figure the two of them will be hanging steady and I'll get to loaf as usual, which is all I have the energy for these days. But when Intensio got me on the phone, he said that this "other friend" would be out of town all week, so could he stay on our couch all week? Uhhhhhhhhhhhh... I mention that we are actually moving the entire apartment around the weekend he gets here to make room for the baby. So no more futon. Intensio seems fine with the couch. And why not? It's a damn fine couch!
I get off the phone with him and pass out. The Dog calls from work and wakes me up. I tell him Intensio called and he tells me that his contract has been extended and he won't get to spend any time with Intensio. I begin to unravel. I cannot entertain ANYONE these days (OK, I don't mind the company of people I normally spend lots of time with). I just don't have it in me to be my normal bubbly self -- not when there are knives being stuck into my back and my leg is cramping up as though I did 4 step classes in a row!
I expressed that I was afraid that the new, scary, bitchy me would make herself apparent in front of this guest whom I hardly know. Also, when we move the rooms around, I will no longer have a bedroom door. I will also be unable to pass out on the couch every night, since someone else would be on it. The conversation became increasingly tense.
I kept hearing the Dog drop the phone in exasperation, to which I would SHRIEK, "You have no idea how hard this is! My friggin ribs are stratching, I am constantly uncomfortable and in pain! I cannot be nice to people when I am so tired of being in this body by the end of the day!" This was interspersed by bouts of sobbing and crazy laughter. The beast exposed herself to the love of her life -- scary. I don't know how he handled it, but somehow he did. He called later to say that he had called Intensio and told him to cancel his ticket. What a relief! What a great hubby!
But instead I feel bad and worry that the conversation was something like, "Hey dude, sorry to do this to you but it's not a good time for you to come and visit. Yeah... my wife has turned into an evil psycho-bitch and I expect her head to rotate 360 any day now while she spews green sludge and blasphemes." I need to let it go, I know. But I am afraid of myself. I just can't control these irrational outbursts. I snap at everything and feel totally overwhelmed at the littlest thing. There's not enough time in the day, esp when you pass out at 10 each night and sleep until 7 am...ahem, 7:30-ish. And there is SO MUCH TO DO before the baby gets here! And I am just too freakin' tried to do anything. How will I make it through the holidays? Ahhhhhhhh! ZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
attired
As I sit here in my old size 6 Gap jeans (Long and Lean ankle cut - the ONLY jean for short girls who are too lazy to hem)and feel the pressure of the fancy contraption I've constructed (partially zipped, folded over and supported by a hair elastic that loops through the button hole and around the button), I realize the need for proper maternity clothes. Oh, they still fit my cute ass and slightly chunky thighs, that's not the problem...
We think, oh yeah - I've got clothes that would work. I thought that too. Heaven forbid I have to wear those horrid "kangaroo pants" -- WRONG. The nasty gunt pouch is there for a reason my friends. Eventually anything that sits elasticized on the mid-belly will have to hip or waist for support and start to fall. And you will be pulling up your pants 90 times a day. The gunt pouch fits over your hump - the only thing left for a pant or skirt to hang onto for dear life. I have resigned that tomorrow I will go and buy a pair of kangaroo pants. It is a must I'm afraid.
Well, you say, nuts to that. I have plenty of tops that I can wear into pregnancy. WRONG again. How many tops do you have that are honestly long enough to cover the hideous elasticized waistband or gunt pouch? Especially once your belly sticks out super far and causes any shirt to rise by inches. No, you def need something that will resemble a mini-dress at first, but will be lingering threateningly along your ugly pant waistline soon enough.
Thankfully, there are some options to help prevent you from looking like a giant doily for 9 months. Old Navy now makes mat clothes. If you're travelling internationally, some H&M's carry H&M Mama (not sure if the Toronto flagship will have that line yet). Thyme Maternity is trying to make hipper stuff. And in Toronto, a funky Queen West boutique called Lilith makes a line called Yummy Mummy makes some cute downtown hipster outfits. If you live in a major city, look for cool little boutiques that cater to yummy mummies, though they tend to be geared towards richy riches and can be pricey. But you only need one really kickass pair of jeans, so the price may be worth it. And the Old Navy ones won't really cut it for some of us party girls who still like to hit and night out here and there.
Anyway, I weighed myself this morn and I've gained 16 pounds. Keep in mind that I'm only 5 foot 1. I have to admit, it has started to get painful. My rib cage is starting to stretch and causing some major discomfort. Sunday, the baby was leaning on my spine somewhere and I had shooting pain down my leg each time I took a step. Finally subsided this morn, so I'll be good to hit yoga Thursday this week - sheesh! Of course it doesn't help that as I'm writing this I'm mowing down on party mix. Whatever, I'm grouchy. I'll eat whatever I want to eat dammit! Grrrrrrrr
Next time: BEEYATCH AND THE BEAST...
We think, oh yeah - I've got clothes that would work. I thought that too. Heaven forbid I have to wear those horrid "kangaroo pants" -- WRONG. The nasty gunt pouch is there for a reason my friends. Eventually anything that sits elasticized on the mid-belly will have to hip or waist for support and start to fall. And you will be pulling up your pants 90 times a day. The gunt pouch fits over your hump - the only thing left for a pant or skirt to hang onto for dear life. I have resigned that tomorrow I will go and buy a pair of kangaroo pants. It is a must I'm afraid.
Well, you say, nuts to that. I have plenty of tops that I can wear into pregnancy. WRONG again. How many tops do you have that are honestly long enough to cover the hideous elasticized waistband or gunt pouch? Especially once your belly sticks out super far and causes any shirt to rise by inches. No, you def need something that will resemble a mini-dress at first, but will be lingering threateningly along your ugly pant waistline soon enough.
Thankfully, there are some options to help prevent you from looking like a giant doily for 9 months. Old Navy now makes mat clothes. If you're travelling internationally, some H&M's carry H&M Mama (not sure if the Toronto flagship will have that line yet). Thyme Maternity is trying to make hipper stuff. And in Toronto, a funky Queen West boutique called Lilith makes a line called Yummy Mummy makes some cute downtown hipster outfits. If you live in a major city, look for cool little boutiques that cater to yummy mummies, though they tend to be geared towards richy riches and can be pricey. But you only need one really kickass pair of jeans, so the price may be worth it. And the Old Navy ones won't really cut it for some of us party girls who still like to hit and night out here and there.
Anyway, I weighed myself this morn and I've gained 16 pounds. Keep in mind that I'm only 5 foot 1. I have to admit, it has started to get painful. My rib cage is starting to stretch and causing some major discomfort. Sunday, the baby was leaning on my spine somewhere and I had shooting pain down my leg each time I took a step. Finally subsided this morn, so I'll be good to hit yoga Thursday this week - sheesh! Of course it doesn't help that as I'm writing this I'm mowing down on party mix. Whatever, I'm grouchy. I'll eat whatever I want to eat dammit! Grrrrrrrr
Next time: BEEYATCH AND THE BEAST...
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
photo blog - yay!
I finally figured out how to add photos to the blog -- very exciting indeed. This is Clint/Pecker at 12 weeks.
epi-logue
epi
- \Ep"i-\ [Gr. 'epi` on, upon, to; akin to Skr. api besides, and prob. to L. ob to, before, on account of, and perh. to E. of, off.] A prefix, meaning upon, beside, among, on the outside, above, over. It becomes ep- before a vowel, as in epoch, and eph-before a Greek aspirate, as in ephemeral.
These three little letters are becoming the EPIcenter of my life these days. The numerous EPIsodic synopses that I have to enter for all the new fall shows for the web. The itchiness of my EPIdermis as my skin stretches thinner than bike shorts on a big ass. Let's not even get into EPIlation: the removal of hair from the root. (Can you tell I've got my Oxford open? Had to have it when I found out that "bling" was now in it!)
Now the two biggest EPIs I have on my mind are EPIdural and EPIsiotomy.
I was very happy when the doc told me that Women's College Hospital does not "cut you". When I mentioned this to my pal Capital K, who happens to work on Life's Birth Stories, her response was, "You mean they just let you rip?" Um. Ow. Geez! bu there's nothing grosser on those baby shows than when the doctor is sawing away at some poor woman to get the baby out of there easier and faster. But is ripping on your own worse? So of course, my neurotic self starts to think that perhaps I should be cut.
However, an article left on my desk by a super helpful, but somewhat odd and annoying, officemate whom I rarely talk to (but she insists on leaving mommy stuff on my desk now) from the Globe and Mail said that a huge percentage of episiotomies are unnecessary. Meaning the women don't need them, I'm hoping because some don't rip. Capital K says that many midwives take the time to stretch the perineum (the female equivalent to the Taint: t'aint your balls and t'aint your arsehole -- you do the science) a.k.a. the part that rips. OK, so no midwife in my case, so that's out.
A book that Pipes gave me entitled Your Perfectly Pampered Pregnancy offers tips to start stretching your own perineum, but it sounded too messy and too much like a type of masturbation that would gross me out. So I decided to ask the Dog for help in stretching my perineum. This involves inserting fingers "down there" and then pressing in a U shape toward the rectum. Instead of possibly being a sexually pleasurable experience, this made me feel like I had to poo. So that's out too. If I could get hammered or have a smoke afterwards, then maybe it'd be alright.
Now onto the epidural. Although the thought of sticking a needle into my spine freaks me right out, the thought of pushing a 5-10 lbs baby out my snatch freaks me out more. When we first found out that we were having a baby, the Dog asked me (brace yourselves girls, he's normally harmless) if I would consider doing it all naturally . "What's the difference?" he asked.
Well dear, I replied, without drugs I will feel my snatch rip to my arsehole and with drugs I won't. Does that answer your question?
Capital K asked me if I was going to get the epidural and I told her, "HELL YEAH!" She patted me on the arm and said, "Good girl, don't try to be brave. Remember that I see all the unedited footage of the show. I know things about labour that no one should knwowithout experiencing it themselves first." That closes the book on that one for me man. Drugs it is, and thankfully the hospital has this great handheld gadget where you can boost YOURSELF up with more painkiller as needed. Yum! Crank me up! I take three Advils when I get a hangnail.
So of course, someone has to make you feel like a loser for wanting the drugs and I met her again last night. Remember that hairy armpit, kumbaya lady from an earlier blog? The one who had a child and gave birth in under 5 hours or some shit because she did yoga until she was 37 weeks or something? Well, she was at class last night. And don't get me wrong, I generally like her, but she's a bit off. She was admiring my buddha last night and saying how she missed it and that must mean she's ready for another one. Then after class she said, "Oh, but the best part is yet to come."
I looked at her puzzled. Everything I've heard leads me to believe that I'm in the glory days right now. I look good, I feel good, the baby and me have a raport with each other. What could possibly be better? Aren't I supposed to get heavier and want this thing out of me? She looks at me with this euphoric look on her face and says with no irony, "The birth."
So I say to her, "Really!?! You had the drugs right?" No, she says, she gave birth at home. Of course she did. "Oh you had a midwife," I say. "No, we fired our midwife. It was just me and my husband and it was so beautiful." I wanted to punch her.
Like I said to my in-laws, I'm not Laura Ingalls Wilder. There will be no boiling of the sheets or the water or whatever they did, unless, heaven forbid, I am caught in a snowstorm in Scarborough during Christmas dinner! Drugs! Gimme drugs!
- \Ep"i-\ [Gr. 'epi` on, upon, to; akin to Skr. api besides, and prob. to L. ob to, before, on account of, and perh. to E. of, off.] A prefix, meaning upon, beside, among, on the outside, above, over. It becomes ep- before a vowel, as in epoch, and eph-before a Greek aspirate, as in ephemeral.
These three little letters are becoming the EPIcenter of my life these days. The numerous EPIsodic synopses that I have to enter for all the new fall shows for the web. The itchiness of my EPIdermis as my skin stretches thinner than bike shorts on a big ass. Let's not even get into EPIlation: the removal of hair from the root. (Can you tell I've got my Oxford open? Had to have it when I found out that "bling" was now in it!)
Now the two biggest EPIs I have on my mind are EPIdural and EPIsiotomy.
I was very happy when the doc told me that Women's College Hospital does not "cut you". When I mentioned this to my pal Capital K, who happens to work on Life's Birth Stories, her response was, "You mean they just let you rip?" Um. Ow. Geez! bu there's nothing grosser on those baby shows than when the doctor is sawing away at some poor woman to get the baby out of there easier and faster. But is ripping on your own worse? So of course, my neurotic self starts to think that perhaps I should be cut.
However, an article left on my desk by a super helpful, but somewhat odd and annoying, officemate whom I rarely talk to (but she insists on leaving mommy stuff on my desk now) from the Globe and Mail said that a huge percentage of episiotomies are unnecessary. Meaning the women don't need them, I'm hoping because some don't rip. Capital K says that many midwives take the time to stretch the perineum (the female equivalent to the Taint: t'aint your balls and t'aint your arsehole -- you do the science) a.k.a. the part that rips. OK, so no midwife in my case, so that's out.
A book that Pipes gave me entitled Your Perfectly Pampered Pregnancy offers tips to start stretching your own perineum, but it sounded too messy and too much like a type of masturbation that would gross me out. So I decided to ask the Dog for help in stretching my perineum. This involves inserting fingers "down there" and then pressing in a U shape toward the rectum. Instead of possibly being a sexually pleasurable experience, this made me feel like I had to poo. So that's out too. If I could get hammered or have a smoke afterwards, then maybe it'd be alright.
Now onto the epidural. Although the thought of sticking a needle into my spine freaks me right out, the thought of pushing a 5-10 lbs baby out my snatch freaks me out more. When we first found out that we were having a baby, the Dog asked me (brace yourselves girls, he's normally harmless) if I would consider doing it all naturally . "What's the difference?" he asked.
Well dear, I replied, without drugs I will feel my snatch rip to my arsehole and with drugs I won't. Does that answer your question?
Capital K asked me if I was going to get the epidural and I told her, "HELL YEAH!" She patted me on the arm and said, "Good girl, don't try to be brave. Remember that I see all the unedited footage of the show. I know things about labour that no one should knwowithout experiencing it themselves first." That closes the book on that one for me man. Drugs it is, and thankfully the hospital has this great handheld gadget where you can boost YOURSELF up with more painkiller as needed. Yum! Crank me up! I take three Advils when I get a hangnail.
So of course, someone has to make you feel like a loser for wanting the drugs and I met her again last night. Remember that hairy armpit, kumbaya lady from an earlier blog? The one who had a child and gave birth in under 5 hours or some shit because she did yoga until she was 37 weeks or something? Well, she was at class last night. And don't get me wrong, I generally like her, but she's a bit off. She was admiring my buddha last night and saying how she missed it and that must mean she's ready for another one. Then after class she said, "Oh, but the best part is yet to come."
I looked at her puzzled. Everything I've heard leads me to believe that I'm in the glory days right now. I look good, I feel good, the baby and me have a raport with each other. What could possibly be better? Aren't I supposed to get heavier and want this thing out of me? She looks at me with this euphoric look on her face and says with no irony, "The birth."
So I say to her, "Really!?! You had the drugs right?" No, she says, she gave birth at home. Of course she did. "Oh you had a midwife," I say. "No, we fired our midwife. It was just me and my husband and it was so beautiful." I wanted to punch her.
Like I said to my in-laws, I'm not Laura Ingalls Wilder. There will be no boiling of the sheets or the water or whatever they did, unless, heaven forbid, I am caught in a snowstorm in Scarborough during Christmas dinner! Drugs! Gimme drugs!
belly shot
23 weeks and rising! Me about 1.5 weeks ago. Scanner not working quite right, but looks cool.
V.A. Gina -- Supastah!
So was inevitable that I could work for a major media conglomerate and not be asked to be on one of their shows. Do I get asked to be on one of the cool decorating shows? Dammit, no. To be recognized for my ability to move the people of Canada and offered a talk show where I could shoot my trap off about everything? Sadly, no. Does a show on super-stylish chicks want to ask about my unique mix of vintage and off-the-rack? Perhaps my great taste in shoes? Try again.
I was approached by the nuttiest Production Exec on our floor, God love her, and asked if I would consider letting a camera crew follow me around for a show called Life's Baby Stories. I considered it for about 4 seconds, then was polite and thanked her, but tried to get out of it. I mean, everyone on that show is a bit...off. Then, after much pressure on her part, I admitted to her that I didn't think Canada needed to see my "down there".
"Oh no, they don't spend that much time "down there". Really. You'd just be perfect for the show, a young hip downtown mum."
OK, flattery gets me to think twice. We all know what an attention loving whore I am. But really, do I need to have cameras there at the most personal and miraculous time of my life? I think no. But then I think that my goal in life is to help others through being open about my experiences, and wouldn't that be the purpose of doing the show? Haven't I learned so much from watching these shows? Do I not owe it to mommies across this great land to show them how a normal (am I being presumptious?) gal gets through pregnancy and birth? What do y'all think?
I was approached by the nuttiest Production Exec on our floor, God love her, and asked if I would consider letting a camera crew follow me around for a show called Life's Baby Stories. I considered it for about 4 seconds, then was polite and thanked her, but tried to get out of it. I mean, everyone on that show is a bit...off. Then, after much pressure on her part, I admitted to her that I didn't think Canada needed to see my "down there".
"Oh no, they don't spend that much time "down there". Really. You'd just be perfect for the show, a young hip downtown mum."
OK, flattery gets me to think twice. We all know what an attention loving whore I am. But really, do I need to have cameras there at the most personal and miraculous time of my life? I think no. But then I think that my goal in life is to help others through being open about my experiences, and wouldn't that be the purpose of doing the show? Haven't I learned so much from watching these shows? Do I not owe it to mommies across this great land to show them how a normal (am I being presumptious?) gal gets through pregnancy and birth? What do y'all think?
Monday, September 13, 2004
Gimme de bottle!
Gimme de bottle was a phrase that we picked up in OAC Law class. Sista Sunshine, Queen Nomad and I were all in the same class. There was a question on our midterm exam about a woman, who was developmentally challenged. She went into the liquor store and the clerk thought she was hammered already and refused to sell her alcohol. Now imagine being an insensitive 18 year old and reading this problem. So after class, we discussed it over coffee and Queen Nomad sorta acted it out, saying "Gimme de bottle!" It's horrible I know, but it still makes us giggle. Remember when people used to say things like, "Don't make fun of (pardon me here for a sec, but this is what they would say) retards, or your kids will end up retarded!" Now I am worrying that our teen giggles paired with my problem below could make this phrase true.
I spent the long weekend at a cottage where the partying was pretty intense. For the first time my non-drinkability was super obvious and painful. I got some understanding of what it must be like to be an AA member and to be unable to reach your sponsor! Everyone was WASTED! I felt like a LOSER! It was as bad as high school.
So I must admit that I have been drinking a tiny bit here and there. I'm not sure whether or not I should be worried about it. I would say that I have averaged over this summer approx. 1/3 a glass of wine a week. A girl HAS TO LIVE! So after the Dog pulled my wine glass away from me last night mid-sip, today I have been trying to find SOMETHING that says a bit of booze here and there is OK, but no luck and I'm depressed. Is it possible that I have harmed my baby with a couple sips of wine? What do you think? Our parents did worse didn't they? Well not Mamacita of course, because she can barely have a few sips now without turning red. The woman's a saint.
I have been sober for 5 months now! It's so hard to get my head around the fact that a few sips here and there can do harm, but if something happens then won't I feel horrible for the rest of my life? So what do you think? Am I crazy? Is the risk too great? With little knowledge on what amount is safe, should I just go cold turkey? MAN! It is honestly the hardest part. Post your comments below!
I spent the long weekend at a cottage where the partying was pretty intense. For the first time my non-drinkability was super obvious and painful. I got some understanding of what it must be like to be an AA member and to be unable to reach your sponsor! Everyone was WASTED! I felt like a LOSER! It was as bad as high school.
So I must admit that I have been drinking a tiny bit here and there. I'm not sure whether or not I should be worried about it. I would say that I have averaged over this summer approx. 1/3 a glass of wine a week. A girl HAS TO LIVE! So after the Dog pulled my wine glass away from me last night mid-sip, today I have been trying to find SOMETHING that says a bit of booze here and there is OK, but no luck and I'm depressed. Is it possible that I have harmed my baby with a couple sips of wine? What do you think? Our parents did worse didn't they? Well not Mamacita of course, because she can barely have a few sips now without turning red. The woman's a saint.
I have been sober for 5 months now! It's so hard to get my head around the fact that a few sips here and there can do harm, but if something happens then won't I feel horrible for the rest of my life? So what do you think? Am I crazy? Is the risk too great? With little knowledge on what amount is safe, should I just go cold turkey? MAN! It is honestly the hardest part. Post your comments below!
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Baby Phat
First off, I'm super sorry for my absence. Things have been more nuts than you can imagine. The Dog is in the process of getting an editing job, but in order to get it, they are making him work from 9pm to 9am for peanuts, and that really sucks. So there has been some emotional drama on that front. And being super hormonal doesn't help.
At the end of the day, my home life is what I look forward to and hang on to more than anything. I was just telling the Dog this morning that he steadies the boat for me to get in. Meaning, he makes the world safe and secure, while encouraging me and taking the oars, so I am free to explore myself and the world around me within my comfort zone. What more could anyone ask for in a partner? And now I am crying. F&cking hormones! So that's why this job thing will be hard to get used to. But apparently it's only a few weeks, so I'll deal.
On another note, I had my OB appt and apparently I'm HYPOglycemic. Meaning I get low blood sugar and need to eat more often. But he thinks that the morning spells might be attributed to low blood PRESSURE, which is a problem I had before and can be more noticeable during the second trimester. So my chances of having a giant baby are thankfully decreased. I will still have to do a test that I will explain in detail next month.
According to the online bible of birth, babycenter.com, this week I am 24 weeks preggers (leaving 16 to go!) and the baby is about 12 inches long and just over a pound. If he were born now (oh please no - touch wood) he would have a small chance of survival, but his lungs aren't developped enough yet. For the next 16 weeks, he will increase his lung and kidney function, as well as his brain activity. He'll also be growing and putting on baby fat! Oh man, I never thought I could get excited about those two words, but for the first time since puberty they are lovely! No offense Russell Simmons, but the PH instead of the F doesn't make it any better. Just reminds me of my former eating disorder.
Anyway, I am dreaming of what the Dog calls "sausage-link arms" and imagining how fun it will be to gnaw on them! And Blondie keeps pointing out that incredible baby smell that can't be duplicated. Drool.....
At the end of the day, my home life is what I look forward to and hang on to more than anything. I was just telling the Dog this morning that he steadies the boat for me to get in. Meaning, he makes the world safe and secure, while encouraging me and taking the oars, so I am free to explore myself and the world around me within my comfort zone. What more could anyone ask for in a partner? And now I am crying. F&cking hormones! So that's why this job thing will be hard to get used to. But apparently it's only a few weeks, so I'll deal.
On another note, I had my OB appt and apparently I'm HYPOglycemic. Meaning I get low blood sugar and need to eat more often. But he thinks that the morning spells might be attributed to low blood PRESSURE, which is a problem I had before and can be more noticeable during the second trimester. So my chances of having a giant baby are thankfully decreased. I will still have to do a test that I will explain in detail next month.
According to the online bible of birth, babycenter.com, this week I am 24 weeks preggers (leaving 16 to go!) and the baby is about 12 inches long and just over a pound. If he were born now (oh please no - touch wood) he would have a small chance of survival, but his lungs aren't developped enough yet. For the next 16 weeks, he will increase his lung and kidney function, as well as his brain activity. He'll also be growing and putting on baby fat! Oh man, I never thought I could get excited about those two words, but for the first time since puberty they are lovely! No offense Russell Simmons, but the PH instead of the F doesn't make it any better. Just reminds me of my former eating disorder.
Anyway, I am dreaming of what the Dog calls "sausage-link arms" and imagining how fun it will be to gnaw on them! And Blondie keeps pointing out that incredible baby smell that can't be duplicated. Drool.....
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
One last word on the snip
Click here and scroll down to the subheading: Cutting Words -- not for the faint of heart. I know this is rare, but ew. That settles that.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
4skins 4ever!
Just a quick update on the Foreskin Inquisition.
After an overwhelming response rate (which made me very happy by the way, so thank you to everyone who posted or emailed a comment. Keep em' coming, I LOVE feedback!), the majority of you felt strongly that Pecker should keep the peel on his banana.
Now the reasoning behind this was the only thing that puzzled me. Many people expressed that the boy should look like his father. What're they gonna whip 'em out together and compare? I am in agreement though. The foreskin stays. But that bit about matching dinkies with his Dad, that weirded me out a bit.
At the end of the day, no matter what you do, a dick is a dick. As Blondie and I were discussing today, you can trim it, shampoo it, tie a bow around it, it's still a dick. There's only so good-looking those things can get. That's why it's called bumpin' uglies. So why cause the pain? So I'll have to clean a little schmegma out every now and then, oh well.... kidding.
For those of you who were in the "Off With Their Heads" category, sorry. I guess your eligible daughters (or gay sons) may come across my hair-trigger son in the future. Or they might like what I call "unwrapping a present" each time they do the nasty with Pecker's pecker.
And for the record, I do not judge anyone's decision on this matter, which should really be a non-issue, but made for a fun little Martinis for Milk community activity. I'm going to ask more important questions down the road, to keep y'all involved.
So applaud yourselves people. You voted! Democracy works! You saved a foreskin. You saved an unborn baby some future pain.
After an overwhelming response rate (which made me very happy by the way, so thank you to everyone who posted or emailed a comment. Keep em' coming, I LOVE feedback!), the majority of you felt strongly that Pecker should keep the peel on his banana.
Now the reasoning behind this was the only thing that puzzled me. Many people expressed that the boy should look like his father. What're they gonna whip 'em out together and compare? I am in agreement though. The foreskin stays. But that bit about matching dinkies with his Dad, that weirded me out a bit.
At the end of the day, no matter what you do, a dick is a dick. As Blondie and I were discussing today, you can trim it, shampoo it, tie a bow around it, it's still a dick. There's only so good-looking those things can get. That's why it's called bumpin' uglies. So why cause the pain? So I'll have to clean a little schmegma out every now and then, oh well.... kidding.
For those of you who were in the "Off With Their Heads" category, sorry. I guess your eligible daughters (or gay sons) may come across my hair-trigger son in the future. Or they might like what I call "unwrapping a present" each time they do the nasty with Pecker's pecker.
And for the record, I do not judge anyone's decision on this matter, which should really be a non-issue, but made for a fun little Martinis for Milk community activity. I'm going to ask more important questions down the road, to keep y'all involved.
So applaud yourselves people. You voted! Democracy works! You saved a foreskin. You saved an unborn baby some future pain.
Dizzy up the girl
OK - I realize that I am pushing it here -- using a Goo Goo Dolls album title as a title, but it’s hard coming up with cool titles every time I post. I must admit that at one moment in time I did sorta like that one Goo Goo song from the City of Angels soundtrack, but only because that was one of my first dates with the Dog (the time he made me pay for my $5 matinee ticket - I'm sure you've all heard that one).
I know Big J is cracking up at the mere mention of City of Angels because the best thing about that shite flick was the Nicholas Cage impersonation I garnished from it. We had a good nightclub act going on that one back in the day. The act consisted of the following:
* Big J would be hammered and drag some random guy off the dance floor after telling him, "You GOTTA hear my friend's Nicholas Cage impression!"
* I would be embarrassed and hesitate, while the random guy would stare at Big J's jugs, humouring her in order to hopefully get in her bra.
* Big J would badger me until I could no longer protest and would start in a low monotone voice,
"What does a pear taste like?"
Still me, but in a high pitch ditsy Meg Ryan voice, " You don't know what a pear tastes like?"
Back to the monotone Nick Cage voice, eyes looking wounded and sensitive, "I don't know what a pear tastes like to you."
Yeah, you probably forgot about this film and the tortuous delivery of these lines, because there was nothing memorable about the film whatsoever (except my failed attempts to get the Dogger to make out with me). But this schtick would leave Big J in hysterics and leave her suitors looking puzzled as to whether this cracker jack with the nice rack was worth another 10 minutes and a fake phone number. But we never cared, because the best part of the night was making fun of all the losers on the ride back to the 'burbs. Ahhhh.... those were the days!
Anyway, this is a really long intro to tell you that lately I've been very dizzy. It started out in the mornings; I would get light-headed in the shower and have to sit down to shave my legs or to blow-dry after. But then it hit an all time scary point on Monday when I had to sit down on an escalator (talk about desperate) to avoid fainting.
Thank heaven Blondie was with me to pick me up and carry me to the juice man to get a fruit smoothie. She looked a bit worried at my condition, and I couldn’t stop sweating or shaking for a bit. I think she was equally (if not more so) mortified that I had planted my butt down on the dirty escalator where thousands have people have stood with their dirty shoes.
After much research online, I learned that dizziness during pregnancy is somewhat common. The light-headed feeling can be attributed to a few causes.
1. You have a pint of extra blood flowing through your teeny veins. This can cause your body to work overtime pumping that through.
2. Baby is getting huger and if he presses on any vessel, he could cause some constriction, slowing the travel of blood to your brain.
3. All that blood pumping and baby growing requires a lot more fuel to keep you going. So it is important to eat 6 smaller meals as opposed to 3 big ones.
And that is where I think I screwed up. I lost track of time as we were killing some before our yoga class, and totally forgot that I hadn’t eaten anything but a Coffee Crisp for the last 5 hours. And as a result, I had a bout of hypoglycemia as my blood sugar could not cope with the energy demands my body was making. In other words, I was running on fumes.
So I missed my yoga class – which sucks, because I love the yoga soooo much. It’s the time when I can really stretch out my body, breathe, and let my mind go. And at the end we get quiet time or shivassina , which I use to spend talking to my baby telepathically and crying. Sounds weird, but if you’ve ever been to a class (videos don’t count) you know what I’m talking about. And I get to cheat a bit because I can’t do any of the hard abdominal stuff, because my muscles are stretched to the hilt and could snap (YAY!) at any moment. A shout out here to my instructor -- the coolest yoga chick on Earth and I’m not just saying this because she pops in here every now and then for a good read.
I also had to go for a blood test this morning. Two actually. My glucose levels were high in early pregnancy because I had that bloody Coke before my last appointment to get the baby moving for the ultrasound! So I had to starve, give blood, eat and then come back two hours later to give more blood so they could compare the difference. I am so afraid of getting gestational diabetes. This is a scary condition that can happen to pregnant women where they get diabetes for the duration of their pregnancy. You have to take insulin and that’s the part that freaks me out. Giving myself a needle everyday. No way.
Women who get this condition have VERY LARGE BABIES, which is the other scary part. Those of you who know me know I am only 5 ft 1 and a giant baby would destroy a part of my body that I love very much. I am sure the Dog would concur. My next OB appt is Thursday the 9th, so I will fill y’all in then on the results. Pray for me Paul Henderson.
I know Big J is cracking up at the mere mention of City of Angels because the best thing about that shite flick was the Nicholas Cage impersonation I garnished from it. We had a good nightclub act going on that one back in the day. The act consisted of the following:
* Big J would be hammered and drag some random guy off the dance floor after telling him, "You GOTTA hear my friend's Nicholas Cage impression!"
* I would be embarrassed and hesitate, while the random guy would stare at Big J's jugs, humouring her in order to hopefully get in her bra.
* Big J would badger me until I could no longer protest and would start in a low monotone voice,
"What does a pear taste like?"
Still me, but in a high pitch ditsy Meg Ryan voice, " You don't know what a pear tastes like?"
Back to the monotone Nick Cage voice, eyes looking wounded and sensitive, "I don't know what a pear tastes like to you."
Yeah, you probably forgot about this film and the tortuous delivery of these lines, because there was nothing memorable about the film whatsoever (except my failed attempts to get the Dogger to make out with me). But this schtick would leave Big J in hysterics and leave her suitors looking puzzled as to whether this cracker jack with the nice rack was worth another 10 minutes and a fake phone number. But we never cared, because the best part of the night was making fun of all the losers on the ride back to the 'burbs. Ahhhh.... those were the days!
Anyway, this is a really long intro to tell you that lately I've been very dizzy. It started out in the mornings; I would get light-headed in the shower and have to sit down to shave my legs or to blow-dry after. But then it hit an all time scary point on Monday when I had to sit down on an escalator (talk about desperate) to avoid fainting.
Thank heaven Blondie was with me to pick me up and carry me to the juice man to get a fruit smoothie. She looked a bit worried at my condition, and I couldn’t stop sweating or shaking for a bit. I think she was equally (if not more so) mortified that I had planted my butt down on the dirty escalator where thousands have people have stood with their dirty shoes.
After much research online, I learned that dizziness during pregnancy is somewhat common. The light-headed feeling can be attributed to a few causes.
1. You have a pint of extra blood flowing through your teeny veins. This can cause your body to work overtime pumping that through.
2. Baby is getting huger and if he presses on any vessel, he could cause some constriction, slowing the travel of blood to your brain.
3. All that blood pumping and baby growing requires a lot more fuel to keep you going. So it is important to eat 6 smaller meals as opposed to 3 big ones.
And that is where I think I screwed up. I lost track of time as we were killing some before our yoga class, and totally forgot that I hadn’t eaten anything but a Coffee Crisp for the last 5 hours. And as a result, I had a bout of hypoglycemia as my blood sugar could not cope with the energy demands my body was making. In other words, I was running on fumes.
So I missed my yoga class – which sucks, because I love the yoga soooo much. It’s the time when I can really stretch out my body, breathe, and let my mind go. And at the end we get quiet time or shivassina , which I use to spend talking to my baby telepathically and crying. Sounds weird, but if you’ve ever been to a class (videos don’t count) you know what I’m talking about. And I get to cheat a bit because I can’t do any of the hard abdominal stuff, because my muscles are stretched to the hilt and could snap (YAY!) at any moment. A shout out here to my instructor -- the coolest yoga chick on Earth and I’m not just saying this because she pops in here every now and then for a good read.
I also had to go for a blood test this morning. Two actually. My glucose levels were high in early pregnancy because I had that bloody Coke before my last appointment to get the baby moving for the ultrasound! So I had to starve, give blood, eat and then come back two hours later to give more blood so they could compare the difference. I am so afraid of getting gestational diabetes. This is a scary condition that can happen to pregnant women where they get diabetes for the duration of their pregnancy. You have to take insulin and that’s the part that freaks me out. Giving myself a needle everyday. No way.
Women who get this condition have VERY LARGE BABIES, which is the other scary part. Those of you who know me know I am only 5 ft 1 and a giant baby would destroy a part of my body that I love very much. I am sure the Dog would concur. My next OB appt is Thursday the 9th, so I will fill y’all in then on the results. Pray for me Paul Henderson.
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