Thursday, October 28, 2004

Clarification

I am not opposed to natural childbirth. Nor do I harbour any resentment to women who can make it through without the drugs.

I was also having a bad day, (am entitled I think). At home sick with really painful sore throat does not put you in the best mood. And truth be told, I am terrified of giving birth. I have really low tolerance for pain. And maybe I'm a little disappointed that I don't have what it takes to do it drug-free. So those comments irk me somewhat. I am proud of women everywhere, no matter what their choices are. I'm not judging the woman at all. I was merely commenting on the attitudes of men towards natural childbirth. That is all.

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

YAY! Double Momma has twins!

Double Momma gave birth to twins in Edmonton. Hooray for Double Momma! In true twin fashion they came two months early. They are both girls and are named Maggie Jasper and Daisy Bee (quite hippy-ish, but if you knew Double Momma and Dangerous D you'd be ok with it). For some reason the name Isabel came to mind when the Dog read me the email, but didn't get to them in time. "She did the whole thing naturally, didn't even have drugs!" Grrrrrrrr. Oh, so she's perfect now? I really hate that school of thought, usually perpetuated by husbands and male partners. The Dog's Norwegian cousin told us in Norway that his wife had both their children with no pain relief and "it really wasnt that bad." Grrrrrrr. It's so easy to say when you're not the one that has to do it buddy.

She did it all natural and I'm proud of Double Momma. I'm glad she got through it with relative ease and that the babies are healthy and I can't wait to meet them. But people shouldn't use that subtle wording that makes other moms-to-be feel bad for wanting drugs. There is no perfect labour and I'm not out to be a champ. There's a reason they created these fab drugs. And though I'm not a huge proponent of all things modern science, I will take the docs up on this medical discovery, thank you very much. And it won't make me any less of a mom.

I had a doctor's appointment last week and I don't have gestational diabetes! YAY! No giant baby! But I do have slightly high cholesterol apparently. I asked her if that was a normal pregnancy thing and she said nothing. I really hate this clinic. The nurses and receptionist are awesome, but the residents suck ass. Is it so hard to be friendly and nice to the likes of me. They are always in such a hurry. Next time, I am definitely getting one doctor/midwife. Too annoying to help these residents train for their medical careers. I pray to the Big Guy in the Sky that I give birth over the holidays, so I don't have a strange intern in the delivery room (they will be on holidays too, so I am guaranteed a doctor).

She was also puzzled with my consistently high glucose showing up in my urine. I told her that it had been this way since I was a child. She asked if I'd ever been sent to a kidney specialist. Um *gulp* NO! So scary. She was very non-chalant about it and said we don't have to worry until after I give birth. Yeah thanks, I'm freaking out now.

Anyway, I gotta lay off the burgers and the fish n' chips (mmmm...fish n' chips!). I bought tons of green veggies and hopefully that will help. I have been too tired to cook, so I end up eating out all the time. Not good. Will be eating Bok Choy and Broccoli tonight. There's a word I can never spell -- broccoli. Never seems right. But Brocolli doesn't seem right either. Whatever.

Am home again today. Recovering from a cold. It's amazing how much more work you can get done at home! I wonder why bosses are so opposed to it. Gotta finish up. Chat with y'all later when I got something more to say.

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

WMD: Weapons of Mass Dairy

So what has been going down? I have officially passed Week 30, which means only 10 weeks to go to Week 40, aka D-Day, or should I say B-Day? Less that 8 weeks of work to go, which is a blessing.

My gazongas are now big enough that they can be referred to as such. The books are saying that I may start leaking Colostrum (that's what they call the pre-milk)and I should consider buying some nursing pads - just in case. Well I'm just one leaky mess soon, aren't I?

I remember watching something on banned substances during the Olympics, and one of the the things that it is not illegal to take that happens to be performance enhancing is Colostrum. Whaddya know? If I had the timing right, I could've flown down to Athens and breastfed some athletes for some extra cash. Maybe gotten a tan in the process. But alas, my timing has always...well...sucked. Heh.

I also think I need to get a nursing bra. But I just find them so ugly. I'm gonna have to get over it. These jugs are going to need above average support soon and I guess the baby will need easy access for feeding. The Dog is having a hard time adjusting to the fact that a) he has to share soon, and b)he cannot "practice" breastfeeding.

I vaguely remember that it was either in Farenheit 911 or Michael Moore mentioned it at the screening that night... but I recall this story that airport security in the States made this woman drink her own breastmilk (she had probably pre-pumped it for the ride) because they didn't believe her when she told them what was in the bottle. I hope whomever that evil airport worker is realizes what a stupid ass thing that was to do. The poor woman was so humiliated.

I also read a posting from some guy who works in the film industry and was flying with his pregnant wife to his friend's wedding in Vegas. He told the story of how he was pulled aside and his bags were searched and when he finally made it to his wife, she was crying. The airport security peeps had made her lift up her top in plain view. She was humiliated also. The guy caused a scene ("What did you do to my wife?"), as would be the common reaction of any man defending his pregnant wife's honour, and was subsequently arrested and they missed their friend's wedding. Apparently, breasts are dangerous to American freedom, especially ones with milk! Fear these new means of terror people! They don't call them torpedoes for nothing!

Needless to say that I won't be going anywhere for a while. Don't need that hassle. And what scares me even more is that my son could be born under the regime of that fearmonger. I pray the elections go well next Tuesday. And if you don't vote, well then why even bother to fight for freedom? You're not exercising your free rights anyway. Might as well call yourself a slave and move on. Apathy is the worst disease of our generation. Every voice counts. Let's hear what Americans have to say next week. The world awaits you to do the right thing. I pray that the Good will prevail.

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Yummy Mummy TV Appearance

PHDiva is forgiven for not blogging. Got a postcard from her hubby the Brain today and apparently they're in Hawaii. He's a geologist or geo physicist or something and is in Hawaii looking for old bomb shells, prolly left from Pearl Harbor (that movie really sucked --- see Team America for reference - funniest movie of the year!). Don't quote me on this job thing, but that is how I understood it the last time he was in town explaining it.

Anyway, after being asked several times if I would appear on various shows for one of our networks, I finally caved and agreed to be on Life Network's Yummy Mummy (should start airing in January I think). So on Monday we had the taping. I agreed to be in a segment where they teach mom's to be how to cook for kids. The cooking expert, Trish Magwood, is a new host on Food Network Canada and I have to admit, I wanted to get to know her a bit better. She runs this awesome upscale cooking school and catering business called Dish Cooking Studio. Her show is called party dish and is really well done by Canuck standards. They put some cash behind this one I think.

So I go to Trish's house for 12 noon. It is on this gogeous dead end street in Cabbagetown. Cabbagetown is this neat little area in Toronto. Originally settled by Irish immigrants who grew cabbages on their front lawns (hence the name), the houses are seriously old Victorians on the prettiest streets in town. The downside is that the surround areas of Cabbagetown are horrible.

In the late 1960s, the city of Toronto changed the population density bylaw for some parts of that neighbourhood. So these nasty developers bought up a bunch of the homes in the area, rented them out to the worst tenants so that other families would want to sell and get out. Then they demolished a bunch of these homes and neighbourhoods and put up this scary concrete complex now known as St. James Town, originally designed for "upwardly mobile young professionals", now one of the worst housing areas in the city.

The south end of Cabbagetown is bordered by Regent Park, an equally interesting housing project/experiment that the government developped sometime in the middle of the last century. Supposedly low-income housing, it ghetto-ized lower income families. The fact that there are no roads that run through the development makes it a perfect haven for drug dealers (who usually don't live in the neighbourhood) to get in and out easily on foot, avoiding the cop cars. Horrible living conditions for the large population of New Canadians who are forced to live there for affordability. And horrible for this amazing little yuppy neighbourhood nestled in between.

Anyways, a little T-Dot history for y'all. When I got to the house there was a camera guy, a sound guy, the producer, and two other preggie moms there. Oh yeah, and the requisite Filipino caregiver and gorgeous Aryan-looking toddler. One of the preggie moms I recognized from that prenatal yoga class I tried last week. She was one of the nice ones that I actually had a conversation with after class, thankfully. The other was this hillarious, loud Jewish woman, whom I instantly adored.

Trish came home and she was totally thin and naturally beautful and super nice. She was also great on camera. We started shooting and it was fun, but I was a little awkward. We made quesadillas, smoothie pops and homemade granola. We asked Trish lots of questions on camera, like how do you deal with making two meals - one for adults and one for baby. She laughed and said, "You don't!" Apparently you can just cook a milder version of what you're eating for the little tike, provided you're eating healthy. Before that stage, you can puree veggies and freeze them in ice cube trays for perfect sized servings. And before that it's all breastmilk, then formula, then pablum/cereal. OK, I can do this!

We then took our creations to a kindergarten class/daycare and each had 5 kids that we had to try and convince to eat this food. I had some great personalities at my table (Maya, Mary Ellen, Jenneka, Henry and Sophie) and by the time the camera got to us, I had them all convinced that they would love the granola they were about to try. They were funny. They dug the granola, but ended up picking out all of the dried fruit in the granola. It just goes to show you what kids are like.

I forgot that Pipes' sister Kraftina (another super crafty one) works at that school and she was very surprised to bump into me after the bell rang. I was equally surprised to see her, but I couldn't explain why I was there since we had to shoot the closing segment right away. After that, I raced home while they did some shooting at yoga girl's place. I quickly tidied up before they came over to shoot me in my kitchen. That part was really funny as I had totally loosened up and was in my element. I even made the cameraman laugh while he was shooting. The Dog stood by and watched and seemed very proud of me. He loves it when I'm "on" and other people can capture it.

The next day, the producer reported to the Life Network Production Exec that I was "delightful" - yay! I will let you all know when the episode is going to air so you can set your VCRs and see my ridiculous self.

Next time: WMD (Weapons of Mass Dairy)

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

When it rains it pours

Oh man -- I have so much to tell you guys! So much happened over the past three days that I can't even keep up.

First up: Where the heck are my Canadian blogger friends? No one is keeping up their sites anymore. I thought I was bad, but Sugar and PHDiva hold the new title for longest sans blog.

Second: A BIG shout out to my U.S. blogettes! Cookie and Kelli, you ladies make me smile. I am so glad I started this blog. I have made some awesome friends via this blog.

Sunday was my first baby shower! So exciting! So overwhelming! So hard to get through sober!

My mom and sister organized quite the shindig. My crazy aunt invited all of her friends because she said that since she didn't have daughters, and only one of her two sons had provided grandchildren, then her friends owed her some respect and honour. This is hard to describe, but a predominant way of thinking in my culture. You must honour and respect your elders, that's easy. But you must also honour friends that you've known for many years. In other words, if your old friend invites you to her neice's baby shower, you better show up with a decent cheque. The consequence of not showing up, or worse -- not showing up and not sending a check -- are that my aunt will write you off and trash talk you behind your back to all your mutual "friends." The power of my aunt's catty tongue instills fear in many of the community women in that generation. Heck, even I'm scared of her and she's 4 foot 8!

Anyway, I don;t subscribe to this thinking. I know it's cruel but I think that my generation of Armenian women will all be happier when that old skool crowd becomes extinct. All the "shoulds" and "musts", not my style. I am pleasantly surprised at the generosity of friends. To me, when someone shows up to my party I am honoured. Just by their presence. That they would give up a precious Sunday afternoon and get to my folks house in the burbs just for me -- well that's gift enough!

That being said, I'm not above accepting gifts. I just don't think friendship is determined by the size of a cheque. I think everyone does what they can, within their means. What impresses me are greeting cards. I love a good card, one that's carefully picked out and thoughfully written. That to me separates my friends from my acquaintances. Acquaintances tend to sign cards with sparse, yearbook-style comments. "Best of luck, Joanna." That sort of thing. Boring. No personality, nothing about how long I've known you or what we've meant to each other. SuzyQ from work - I've barely known her for a year, and we've only become closer recently. She wrote the rockinest card about how she sits next to me and baby every day and feels like she and he are friends already. It's enough to make my heart smile.

There are a few cards worthy of standing up on my dresser and they all say something about the person who gave it to me. Blondie's (the prettiest and most heartfelt of course), Big J's (the funniest of course), Pipes' (a fab mix of funny and touching and cool), SuzyQ (surprisingly winning me over with each new look), Lady of Leisure's (empathetically funny, going through the same things herself), Crafty's (genuine, honest and caring) and Texas Martha Stewart's (really nice to look at because she cares enough to send the very best - heehee).

I also got a card from Formerly Known as Dings, who recently moved to Vancouver with her new hubby. It's on the dresser too because it reminds me how nice it is to be thought of and what a reflection that is of who I am. To have such wonderful friends... well I am truly blessed.

But these Armenian women - boy! They are so ready to stab each other in the back for a dollar store candle, it's crazy! We had separated into three rooms. My aunt's "friends" were in the living room, my mom's generation took the kitchen, and we young girls gathered in the family room. Sista Sunshine got us to play two fun games. The first one involved unmarked jars of baby food. You had to guess the flavours by scent alone. the second one was the one everyone enjoyed most. She had little diapers and inside each one she shmooshed up a different chocolate bar. It looked like poo. So you had all these girls sniffing diapers to figure out the choco bar inside. Funny! Great pictures I am sure.

For the last game we involved the older ladies too. You had to look at me and then cut a piece of yarn that you thought would fit around my belly. The crazy Armos were cheating all over the place, measuring from my ass to my belly button. Gimme a break. I'm still thinner than half of those meanie fat-asses. They were giving Sista Sunny and me a hard time. I wanted to kill them.

One of them, whose community nickname translates to Fat Seta, kept pulling me over to give me advice. "Don't wear those shoes honey, you'll tip and twist your ankle." Two seconds later I trip on her friggin purse. Jinx! She also told me I shouldn't be driving alone. When she finally left 2 hours after EVERYONE else, I asked my parents how her husband could have been married to her for so long. Grumps howled at that question. I think I actually called her a "fucking cunt" in front of my folks.

But all in all, it was a blast! I got lots of cash for baby's things, plus some great bonus gifts. Blondie got him his first teddy bear. I put that gorgeous bear in the crib already. This lady from New York, who looked straight out of the Sopranos, and whom my mother hadn't seen in 30 years but felt compelled to invite because she was in town visiting, brought me the most exquisite hand-knit sweater that she made herself. She apparently has a store in the Hamptons. She didn't take her giant shades off the whole time, which made for some good speculation amongst the young girls. My sister-in-law and Vibber got me a kit to imprint baby's footprints and hang on the wall. I always wanted one of those. Loula did that with Maya Papaya and I adore it. Crafty made up some cards that you put next to baby that say "Today I am 2 months old!" and take a photo. She also hand embroidered a fleece blanket with our family name on it. Texas Martha Stewart was in Vegas celebrating her b-day and couldn't come, but sent an elaborate basket of shoes and socks. DIY Diva knit a bib and gave a set of vintage kids books. Oh my, so much. Seems cheese to list it all here.

So I'll stop and just say thanks to everyone who came to celebrate with us. You made my day and knowing I have women like you around for support means more than anything else. A special thanks to my mom, aunt and sis for throwing me that shower-- a lot of work, but they did it with a smile.

Next time: My Yummy Mummy TV appearance

Thursday, October 14, 2004

A Salute to the Goddess Kali

I want to clarify that my intention in being so honest about what my body is going through, is not to deter you from having children. My goals are a) to make you laugh through my experience, and b) to tell it like it is so that when it happens to you, you don't feel like you are alone. You can say, "Hey, I think this happened to Nadine too. And if I recall correctly, it was pretty funny too." If I can teach people to laugh through painful experiences, that nothing is too embarrassing to share, that there are no need for secrets amongst sisters and friends when we can all learn from one another, then my job on earth is done. Well almost. I still have to teach a young boy how to be a man.

Thanksgiving weekend rocked, as we weren't with family, so we actually had ZERO stress. We just hung out with our pals, played cards, read the paper, went for a hike to check out the colours and then made the awesomest turkey dinner from scratch imaginable. Baby chillaxed all weekend, he hardly moved, I'm guessing because he was so happy. As soon as I was back to work he started partying again. Crazy fool. Man do I love this kid!

Since I missed yoga last week, and then realized that I would be missing my usual yoga this week again, I decided to check out a prenatal yoga class at a new studio by my house. I'm feeling pretty crunched and in pain, so I thought that a class would give me the stretch I need to get through the weekend.

The yoga class that Blondie and I normally do is pretty chill (meaning: no super intense yogis), and we are all friends after two years and so there's a lot of laughter, which makes it fun. The class I hit last night... well the chicks were all business.

The instructor was actually very nice. She had the requisite hairy armpits (Shantih is not a hairy armpit gal, but is still very bendy and a super yogi, which is why we worship her), and was super thin and cut. So thin, fact, that you couldn't tell how pregnant she was (had a tiny bump).

Many of the other women in the class were yuppy blondes, but the downtown art gallery type (read: stuck up, intellectual snob attitude), reading papers before class and not making eye contact. There were a few sweeties who exchanged knowing "yes, my ribs hurt too" glances with me. You can tell who is nice by whether or not they smile. I think all mommies-to-be should give a smile of acknowlegement to each other.

Anyway, this class was cool because there was so much baby talk. "This position is great to coax a breech baby into turning around." "This position is fun for baby." And so on. Also there was a lot of relaxing time and they had lavender eye-pillows for shivassina (that's the part in practice where you get to lie there and chill). They even had big bolsters for those of us who can no longer lie on our backs because baby is cutting off the supply of oxygen to our brains. Tons of hip openers too. Made me realize that my regular yoga class is perfect, since Shantih caters to my needs.

But there were strange, hippy dippy things too. We had to salute the Goddess Kali (the Hindu Goddess of Divine Motherhood)by doing this crazy repetitive pose over and over, faster and faster, simulating labour. So friggin weird. But I got in the spirit the best I could without laughing.

Namaste (the light within me, salutes the light within you)

Saturday, October 09, 2004

Tearing at the Seams

***WARNING: THIS IS GOING TO BE REALLY GROSS, SO IF IT MAKES YOUR STOMACH TURN WHEN I'M GROSS, INSTEAD OF MAKING YOU LAUGH, SCROLL DOWN TO THE NEXT POST.

So after I posted last night, I had to do a number two. And in a nutshell, I tore my asshole.

Now I have been eating fruit and high fibre cereal every day and have never been more "regular" in my life. The constipation of early pregnancy is totally gone. Which is good, because it's easy to get hemerrhoids from "straining" apparently, because your blood vessels are so full of extra blood. So this dump I took yesterday was rather large and not very flexible I guess, because when I pushed it out, I felt something rip or burst. Majorly. And there was an extreme burning sensation. When I got up after having finished my business, I saw that whatever vessel had exploded had splotched all over the back of the bowl (inside). When I wiped it was as serious as having my period back there! So nasty!!!!

So I shoved some toilet paper back there and went to meet the Dog for a date. As I've said before, there is nothing that knocks you down to size more that pregnancy. By the end, you're just a shell of your former, glamorous self. From the barfing, bloating, super farting, embarrassing constipation ("I'll be out in an hour honey"), to the peeing of the pants and now the tearing of my anus. What more? How much more can a woman take? Well considering I've still got several episodes where strangers will peer up my punani, stick their arms in there and then a giant baby will squeeze his shoulders and body out, tearing everything in his path -- oh and let's not forget that my boobs will begin to leak every time a baby cries... well this experience will definitely have this princess off her high horse, that's for sure. Having your husband put polysporin on your asshole also brings a new level of intimacy to the relationship.

Who will we be at the end of this? I have no idea.

Friday, October 08, 2004

Sugar and Turkey and Pie -- Oh My!

P.S. I also really hate it when people think they can rouse Baby into kicking by poking him or shouting at him. the Dog does this and it makes me bite his head off. Baby is an entity unto himself. He does what he wants to. There will be plenty of time to try to control this child in the future. Leave him alone. He will kick at his convenience, thank you.

Went for my Glucose screening test yesterday. This is when they make you drink this orange pop that is a slightly fizzier and sweeter version of the "orange drink" at McDicks. Then you are sent off to wreak havoc on your sugar high for an hour. Then you go back and they take your blood to see if you have Gestational Diabetes and will have a giant baby. If you fail this test, the next test is like 3 hours long. Crazy!

The Chief Resident changed. I really liked the last guy too - he rocked. Yesterday I got Dr. Alkharri (the new Chief Res) and she was pretty nice, but she wasn't as nice as I would've liked. Anyway, we heard Baby's heartbeat again - never get tired of that. And I only put on 1 kilo since last month. Not bad at all.

Now I have to start going every two weeks. And then come December, once a week.

Going up north tomorrow. Baby's first experience with an outhouse (should be interesting with the amount I have to pee!) - should be a good time. Will tell y'all about it next week. Have a Happy ThanksGivin'er as my pals CrowN and Blondie would say! Bring on the tryptophan!

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Top 10 Surefire Ways to Piss off a Pregnant Lady

When I first started writing for online publications almost 4 years ago, I did a lot of Top 10 lists. At this office, I became known as the Top 10 Queen. Now that I am the Queen of Excel Sheets and boring meetings, I thought I'd use this forum to flex a little Top 10 muscle.

10. "You don't look pregnant from behind!"
This is a back-handed compliment. When I first heard it I was excited, but then I realized -- no one carries a baby in their ass, every woman carries up front. Which means if you look anything from behind, it's fat honey. And I just don't think women should make each other insecure about their fat behinds -- at least, not to one's face -- heh.

9. "Have you got the room set up yet?"
Ok, I'm in the process of this now, so it's lower on the list than it woulda been a week ago. But let me tell you, every pregnant woman is agonizing over this. It's a big deal. Kinda like your own wedding, but you have no energy to do a good job. (Unless you're Crafty and somehow find the energy to paint a gorgeous mural on your baby's wall. But she also made her own wedding dress and every other damn thing at her beautiful wedding. She's the inspiration man!) Plus you don't want to go overboard, because the baby will grow out of it or you'll move... avoid this question unless your pal brings it up herself.

8. "You're totally carrying up high/down low like a boy/girl baby."
Same thing for you look good so you must be having a boy/girl. Unless someone has told you what their ultrasound said (assuming they even want to find out)this old wives tale bullshit is not science. So you're only playing with the mind of the parents. Even ultrasounds aren't 100% accurate, so when people disagree with my ultrasound and tell me I'm having a girl, I get nervous. Just shut up about it people, you don't know XY from YY from just looking at me.

7. "You're HUGE! Are you sure you're not having twins?"
It's 2004. Every woman in the western world that has healthcare is getting an ultrasound. She's fucking damn sure she's not having twins. Don't put images of a baby on each tit in her head. If she's having twins, she woulda told you already.

6. "You look ready to pop!"
Similar to number 7. You are basically just commenting on the size of the preggy chick. Us preggy chicks already have to look in the mirror at our sad pants and non-existant waistlines every day. You try walking by a belt rack at 6 months! It's depressing. I don't care how cool it is to be pregnant (and yes, it rocks), but you still have to come to terms with your changing body and the fact that it may never be the same again.

5. "Are you doing Lamaze?"
OK, we all must've watched the same Cosby Show episode or something. Somehow this freakin' Lamaze got into everyone's brain. Do you honestly think that a little breathing and visualization is going to alleviate the pain of someone's shoulders coming out of your snatch? No I'm not doing Lamaze, I'M DOING DRUGS!!

4. "I've heard it's good to __insert useless advice here___"
People will tell you all kinds of things every two seconds. Your job as a pregnant lady is to ignore them. Some things people will tell you could even be harmful to the baby, so just nod and say, "Wow, yeah, I'll try that." Then just delete. If it's not in your preggy guidebook or advocated by your doctor, erase. The only other advice you should take is from other preggy ladies who are recommending something to make your pregnancy go smoother, or get you a discount. Even then you need to remember that every pregnancy is different and what's right for one person may not be right for you.

3. "Have you picked out any names yet?"
If the parent(s) has/have picked out names that she/he/they want to share, they will tell you. Otherwise, don't ask. You will only say something or make a face and hurt the expectant parent's feelings and start the whole painful process all over again. It's normal to react. We all have an opinion. But picking names is hard. It's even harder when you do pick one or two only to have people trash them. Even if you, the parent, think you have the coolest name in the world picked out, someone will hate it. Don't pick at this scab please. It's not because I don't love and trust you all, it's because I can't deal with my crusty aunts' faces when I tell them a name that sounds effed up in Armenian.

2. "Should you be eating that?"
I'm not an idiot. I know that a Big Mac isn't good for my baby. I've seen Supersize Me (and if you haven't, go rent it NOW!) but Big Macs taste so damn freakin' good! I get cut-eye for drinking a Coke, or a glass of wine. People, 9 months is a long time (it's actually more like 10 months, but they lie to you) to cut yourself off from junky goodness. Moderation is key. If you see me with a Coffee Crisp in my hand, you prolly just caught me at a weak moment. One cannot live on carrot sticks alone.

1. You betta recognize!
Being pregnant is a lot like being a celebrity. People stare at you on the street and smile, strangers talk to you like you're old chums, and everywhere you go, the spotlight is on you. (This is probably why women lose it after birth when it's all about baby.) So you start to get demanding and feel like the whole world revolves around you. (oughtta be fun when Big J gets knocked up)

So when I'm trying to get on the bus and you cut in front of me, or I'm on the crowded subway and you don't recognize ME, Yummy Mummy, and get up off your ass -- I get pissed. Do you not know who I am mofo? Show some respect! I am heavy and my legs feel like logs and someone is kicking my ribs - GET UP!

You, young girl with your walkman on, pretending like you don't see me -- I will wish terrible things on you, like severe pain during childbirth. You, tired middle-aged fatty man waiting to go home to your boring life, I loathe you. You, gray-haired woman with the walker...well, you trump me. Here, take my seat.

These are only guidelines. Every pregnant woman will be pissed about her own issues, but I think I've covered them off.

Tuesday, October 05, 2004

Belly Achin'

I feel like ass. Overdoing it on the weekend has had several repercussions, and one of them is this horrible sore throat that I've been fighting. I also missed yoga last night again, because of feeling so terrible. So my back freakin hurts and I'm grumpy.

But I did call in sick today. And apparently I missed some good crazy talk by Hippy Dippy mom at yogs last night. Last week she was on about something crazy that I forget. Something like she moved out of her parents' house at 16 and was signing her own notes for school. She also did some crazy baby talk, but I tend to block it out now, since I wish to be nothing like her. Blondie and I are scared of her. Oh yeah, she was talking about the "energy" of the actual birth and how I was making her want to be preggers again. Then she was telling us how she scalded her nipple over a steamer full of vegetables. Like were ya topless? Even Shantih was like -- OK, that's too much info -- and she's a freakin' yogi!

So last night Hippy Dippy tells Blondie how she froze her placenta and buried it in the backyard! Can you freakin' believe it? You can't make this shite up. Just as I was Messengering back in shock that I was surprised she didn't make her husband eat the placenta in an omelette (a quick Google search will provide many placenta recipes to make your partner feel like part of the birth process -- I think it's new age canibalism), Blondie writes that apparently in the "home birth community" eating the placenta is the norm. Barfous. Hippy Dippy told Blondie she was "gauche" for asking why she didn't just throw it out. Funny stuff. Who's the friggin' "gauche" one, you placenta-burying, nipple scalding freak?

I have to admit that I am secretly glad she comes to class and freaks us out. It takes all kinds and in order to figure out where you fall on that line between sanity and insanity, or even just your place in this world -- well, it's good to see extremes.

I finally booked the pre-natal classes, including one that teaches you about bathing and changing diapers. I think it's important for the Dog since his infant experiences have been close to nil. So the room is coming together, the classes are booked...the H&M Toronto Flagship opened last week and we got to go to the private party with L'il Louis Vega spinning his house classics... the point Scarbie? Oh yeah, so I bought the last of the maternity clothes and also some cute things for Baby, including a snowsuit. The Dog keeps placing the snowsuit around the apartment, like in a chair, or in the bed -- propped up so it looks like a little kid. Funny.

I also bought him his first quasi-gay Clinton from What Not To Wear outfit -- an argyle vest and the matching socks. I'll have to snap a pick and add it in. But it's just too freakin' cute! It's all coming together slowly. Now all I have to do is get my Christmas shopping done by mid-November and then just sit and wait. 90 days or so until the due date! Yowza!

Sunday, October 03, 2004

forget-me-not

Of all the things that I could possibly forget with this pregnant brain (my keys, the pass to get into my office building, my lunch...) last night I actually forgot one of the most important people in my life -- my sister!

I have to admit that I am forgetful and not 100% reliable at the best of times, but I have been very bad as of late. I need to write everything down 3 times and set reminders in Outlook for the simplest of tasks (read: eat lunch) these days. But yesterday, I was a total bonehead. And part of it seems to be passing on to my equally absent-minded husband.

It all started in the morning. After months of arguing and planning, yesterday was the day that we finally were going to re-arrange this small downtown apartment to make room for Baby. In the morning we overslept, then rushed out to get the rental van. All fine, went over without a hitch, except they made us panic that we weren't covered under our insurance and we spent $25 buying their extra bullcrap insurance. Whatever, I got over that. Ignorance can often cost you money -- which might be why we're so broke all the time.

The plan was for the Dog and Blondie's boyfie, CrowN, to load up the van with our old double bed and my bike and take them up to my parents ' place for storage. The Dog was anxious and loaded the van himself before CrowN and Blondie even got here. He forgot to get my bike. I wasn't fully awake yet and so I wasn't dilligent as the "project manager". If I were on The Apprentice , I woulda been "FIRED".

Even though I had the route planned out for all the van drop offs and pick ups, and had spoken to him and emailed him about "the plan" several times over the past weeks, I did not go over the plan the morning of. The crib and the new queen bed we finally bought were to be picked up at warehouses which were in close proximity to one another. The Dog picked up the crib and forgot the bed. He headed straight to my parent's place -- a significant distance away before realizing he forgot the bed. This probably put him an hour to an hour and half off the time the whole thing shoulda taken. He also forgot to pick up the rocking chair from my folks' place.

Anyway, during that time, Blondie and I got the apartment ready for the new stuff. Sista Sunshine had slept over the night before and was getting ready for a long night of work at the store. She was planning to meet me back at the house around midnight so I could let her in. I am an idiot and have never cut her a set of keys, if you can believe it. The boys finally make it back, Gievious and his boyfie come over too to help and we manage to get everything in and assembled. I am exhausted at this point. My tiny bedrom is now an office, the Dog's office is now our bedroom (we should have done this sooner - it's awesome!) and what used to be my Paris-themed walk-in-closet is now a nursery. What an overhaul!

So of course, we have plans to see a baseball game at 4 pm the same day. Like that was gonna happen. What were we thinking? We break plans with C-Dig as a result. Boo. I also have dinner plans this same night with former co-workers at 7 pm. This I make it to. I love this crowd and have a blast as a result. At 11:20 pm I call the Dog, who is at another party for a friend moving back to Panama. The Dog tells me to cab it to the party. I get to the party at midnight, only to see Sista Sunshine show up with a mega-pissed look on her face. I totally f*cking forgot she was coming over!

To make it worse, the Dog had spoken to her around 11 and forgot to tell me about it when I called him. Bad bad bad. Apparently he remembered after he talked to me (he was drunk) and called SS to meet us in Parkdale (a kinda of sketch, but cool part of Toronto) . So she caused a scene and left in a waiting cab. The next morning we had a huge blowout, full tears and all. I am an ass. I felt horrible the whole day. I haven't been making her a priority in my life at all. And she is a priority. She's in my top 5, my tier A fave people. But not making plans with someone close to you is one thing. Forgetting about them and leaving them stranded is quite another. I'm an ass.

A long talk with Queen Nomad reminds me what a shitty friend I can be. If the Top 5 are my priority, why am I neglecting them for Tier B and C friends and acquaintances? And what am I trying to prove by making so many plans all the time? I'm not 21 anymore! As Queen Nomad said, "Most people, when they move.... they rent a movie and order a pizza afterwards -- that's it." I was so exhausted that my brain wasn't functioning. But in a way, I'm glad it happened, because it taught me a lesson I have to learn: SLOW DOWN.

I am finding it difficult, as the due date comes closer, to close the book on Party Girl somewhat. I want to get all the parties in before I won't be able to or want to go to them anymore. I'm am afraid of growing up, of losing my cool. But I am making it hard on myself and the people I love the most as a result. Time is ticking. And I'm slowly learning to be OK with that.

If any of you are going through a similar thing in your own lives, leave me a comment below.