I decided I would start a section about pregnancy secrets. Of course there are a million books out there and they tell you about all of them, but when you are experiencing them, it takes on a whole new meaning.
For example, I read that flatulence was a side effect of pregnancy. I wasn't too worried about it since I generally eat a lot of veggies and well, I'm a gas machine. But lord! This baby gas - it could knock you out.
Last night, I was watching TV and a little fart popped out. It stunk. I mean, really stunk. I laughed it off by myself and continued watching TV. Then, I went to bed. Ever hear of a Dutch oven? If not, you don't have an older brother. Basically, I created my own Dutch oven and almost killed myself every time I rolled over. And this lasted all night. I mean, the stench WOKE ME UP. It was brutal. Luckily for Pete, he was in Texas for business.
When Pete and I were dating, I asked him what one of his favorite things was about me. He said, "That you fart."
I was flabbergasted (pun slightly intended). "Out of all of my great traits this is the one you focus on???"
"It means you're not one of those girls who never farts and you're comfortable being you around me."
Romantic? I'm not sure. But since I've been pregnant, I don't think he'd say that's one of my better traits as he sticks his head out the window for a breath of air.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
I just wanted a glass of water...
A 69-year old woman called 911 in Florida when she found an 8 foot alligator in her kitchen. My favorite part is when the dispatcher asks the woman if it might be an iguana or lizard. Yeah, one that could eat me!
Click here to get to the CNN page with the 911 call.
Click here to get to the CNN page with the 911 call.
Monday, April 21, 2008
The First Photos
One of the first pictures of the baby. Don't let the nice, calm demeanor fool you. That baby was moving all over the place. It's about the size of a lemon in this photo. Six more months until we meet...
PS: It has legs but those didn't show up in this photo, and man, those legs were kicking up a storm. Thankfully, I can't feel them yet.
The Selfish Mama
Even though I’ve always wanted to be a mama, sometimes I get completely freaked out. Yesterday, we had lunch with my distant cousin, his wife and their 10 month old son. They live in a nice condo in the Valley, which is why we don’t see them more often (too far away). They say it’s rather small, but they have 3 bedrooms so in my world, it’s a decent size. As with most urban families, they are creative with space and aren’t accumulating tons of toys for the baby. We took notes.
Their son is wonderful, good-natured and smiley – despite that he was sleep deprived and had a cold. I can only imagine him on a “good” day. Since most of my friends don’t have kids in LA, it’s been ages since I’ve hung out with people with kids. When I lived in Boulder, it was part of life (of course these kids are driving and swearing now – okay, maybe not quite, but you get the idea). I’d forgotten how much EVERYTHING centers around the kid. We’d start a conversation about oh, eating gourmet meals, and then the baby would crawl off to something he wasn’t supposed to and the conversation veered back to the baby. This happened over and over and over and over and over again. On one hand it was completely fine. He’s sweet and they are good parents. But my lord, will I never be able to have a full conversation again?
Okay, I know at some point, I will leave the kid with Pete and get a respite with a girlfriend. I’m sure we will talk about mundane girl stuff and dating and food and, oh yeah, the baby. Because, let’s face it, the baby will be my life. Breast milk soaked shirts, throw-up on my shoulder. Yes, this is my future.
Already I fear the loss of me. The loss of my time (snickers from the moms reading this). As one friend already told me, the birth of our child will change me – in good ways. In ways I can’t even imagine. I have no doubt about it. No more 3 hour naps on Saturday for me, no more sex whenever we want (although the first trimester has been a libido killer), no more impromptu dinners or late walks to get tacos (late being 9pm… which might still work with an infant in a front pack).
Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m selfish. I like laying around on the weekend for hours and reading a book. I like sleeping in late or having quiet time in the morning while I make a surprise breakfast for Pete (given, I can do this with a kid… I think). I’m SELFISH! MOMS CAN’T BE SELFISH!
Okay, a breath. I’m better now. I’ll admit, in between hugging and kissing their son, my cousin and his wife told us how they had no idea how much they could love someone else. She said her heart hurt with the amount of love she felt for her son. To say they gushed about their son would be an understatement. They are clearly the poster parents for parenthood. And happy? If you could can happiness and sell it, they’d be the ones to get some from.
I’m sure I’ll miss the sleep. I’m sure I’ll miss my alone time with Pete, but I’m banking on the heart swell, the overwhelming love and of course, the way my kid’s face will light up when s/he sees me. It’s the reason people keep procreating, right? It can’t just be the tax deduction.
Their son is wonderful, good-natured and smiley – despite that he was sleep deprived and had a cold. I can only imagine him on a “good” day. Since most of my friends don’t have kids in LA, it’s been ages since I’ve hung out with people with kids. When I lived in Boulder, it was part of life (of course these kids are driving and swearing now – okay, maybe not quite, but you get the idea). I’d forgotten how much EVERYTHING centers around the kid. We’d start a conversation about oh, eating gourmet meals, and then the baby would crawl off to something he wasn’t supposed to and the conversation veered back to the baby. This happened over and over and over and over and over again. On one hand it was completely fine. He’s sweet and they are good parents. But my lord, will I never be able to have a full conversation again?
Okay, I know at some point, I will leave the kid with Pete and get a respite with a girlfriend. I’m sure we will talk about mundane girl stuff and dating and food and, oh yeah, the baby. Because, let’s face it, the baby will be my life. Breast milk soaked shirts, throw-up on my shoulder. Yes, this is my future.
Already I fear the loss of me. The loss of my time (snickers from the moms reading this). As one friend already told me, the birth of our child will change me – in good ways. In ways I can’t even imagine. I have no doubt about it. No more 3 hour naps on Saturday for me, no more sex whenever we want (although the first trimester has been a libido killer), no more impromptu dinners or late walks to get tacos (late being 9pm… which might still work with an infant in a front pack).
Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m selfish. I like laying around on the weekend for hours and reading a book. I like sleeping in late or having quiet time in the morning while I make a surprise breakfast for Pete (given, I can do this with a kid… I think). I’m SELFISH! MOMS CAN’T BE SELFISH!
Okay, a breath. I’m better now. I’ll admit, in between hugging and kissing their son, my cousin and his wife told us how they had no idea how much they could love someone else. She said her heart hurt with the amount of love she felt for her son. To say they gushed about their son would be an understatement. They are clearly the poster parents for parenthood. And happy? If you could can happiness and sell it, they’d be the ones to get some from.
I’m sure I’ll miss the sleep. I’m sure I’ll miss my alone time with Pete, but I’m banking on the heart swell, the overwhelming love and of course, the way my kid’s face will light up when s/he sees me. It’s the reason people keep procreating, right? It can’t just be the tax deduction.
Friday, April 18, 2008
The First Glimpse
We just spent the past 3 hours at the perinatalogists office. We had a genetic counseling appointment at noon, followed by a nuchal fold ultrasound and blood work. We didn’t quite understand why we had to meet with the genetic counselor, but we did. Basically, they scare the shit out of you by telling you all the ways the chromosomes in your kid could be messed up. They even have pictures of the chromosomes just in case you needed a visual aid. I was feeling pretty confident about the baby being healthy prior to seeing the extra chromosomes, but then I was thinking. “Oh my god. What if we have one of the kids with Klinefelts syndrome with an extra X chromosome?” They told us that the boys are thin and don’t have mental retardation, but they are infertile. Um, okay.
After being barraged by all of this information, but reassured that our chances for a non-Downs baby was 84% (I think), we were left to wait for the ultrasound, which would tell us more – like whether or not there are two babies. Pete was convinced there were, but alas, there is only one baby kicking around in my womb. (Praise Jesus!)
The ultrasound was so cool! I’ve seen the still pictures before of my nieces, but I’d never seen one moving. The baby was squirming all over the place. Kicking his/her legs, reaching arms up, flipping over. I got a good look at the ribs in one shot. But in some, the kid looked purely alien. It’s kind of freaky. Like, are you sure this one is mine? It’s not looking so cute at that angle.
The sonongrapher, who was so nice, said he thought the baby, who I am convinced is a boy, has a high probability of being a girl because of how his/her bits are angled right now. He said if it went straight, it “could” be a girl, but if it went up, it “could” be a boy. It went straight. The doctor told us at this point, it’s too hard to tell so it’s 50/50. We just have to wait either 5 more weeks for the amnio or 6 more for the major ultrasound where they check the organs. So, all ya’ll who want to get pink or blue things, you have to hold off for a little longer.
I’ll work on getting the ultrasound pictures scanned so I can post them and also send them out to all the relatives who want to see the baby. My mom told me I had to send a copy because she has my niece’s so she has to have this one, too. She’s not very excited for another grandkid. Nope, not at all. I think the blanket she and my Nana are working on is almost done. Seriously.
After being barraged by all of this information, but reassured that our chances for a non-Downs baby was 84% (I think), we were left to wait for the ultrasound, which would tell us more – like whether or not there are two babies. Pete was convinced there were, but alas, there is only one baby kicking around in my womb. (Praise Jesus!)
The ultrasound was so cool! I’ve seen the still pictures before of my nieces, but I’d never seen one moving. The baby was squirming all over the place. Kicking his/her legs, reaching arms up, flipping over. I got a good look at the ribs in one shot. But in some, the kid looked purely alien. It’s kind of freaky. Like, are you sure this one is mine? It’s not looking so cute at that angle.
The sonongrapher, who was so nice, said he thought the baby, who I am convinced is a boy, has a high probability of being a girl because of how his/her bits are angled right now. He said if it went straight, it “could” be a girl, but if it went up, it “could” be a boy. It went straight. The doctor told us at this point, it’s too hard to tell so it’s 50/50. We just have to wait either 5 more weeks for the amnio or 6 more for the major ultrasound where they check the organs. So, all ya’ll who want to get pink or blue things, you have to hold off for a little longer.
I’ll work on getting the ultrasound pictures scanned so I can post them and also send them out to all the relatives who want to see the baby. My mom told me I had to send a copy because she has my niece’s so she has to have this one, too. She’s not very excited for another grandkid. Nope, not at all. I think the blanket she and my Nana are working on is almost done. Seriously.
Monday, April 14, 2008
A Taste of Summer
Los Angeles broke heat wave records this past weekend. I was starting to think this is going to be one super long summer if this is what it feels like in 85 degrees (apparently it was 96 in Santa Monica). Saturday, Pete and I packed our beach bag and wandered out to the sand. I decided I couldn’t sit out there without an umbrella, so I procured one on the boardwalk for $30, which I thought was fair since it is MUCH better than the one I bought at Rite-Aid for $12 a few years ago and, most importantly, I didn’t have to get in a car to buy it.
Anyway, we finally set-up camp on the beach. Got the umbrella up. The blanket and towels arranged. The chair positioned just so. But you know what? It is cold in the shade at the beach – even in 95 degrees! So, I stuck my feet in the sun, then put my back in the sun – anything to keep a little warm. After about 2 hours of adjusting body parts to get warm, I decided I’d had enough and went back up to the apartment. When I left Pete sprawled on the beach, I was a comfortable temperature. By the time I reached the cool of our apartment, I felt like I was on fire I was so hot. This was about a 5 minute walk at MOST.
I gratefully opened the door to the apartment only to find it was hot inside. We don’t have AC but the ocean breezes usually keep our place comfortable if you aren’t already a million degrees. I opened every window I could, I ate ice cream. I sat on the couch panting. It took me about 30 minutes before I felt normal again.
Needless to say, I opted out of the beach yesterday. Somehow, I’m going to have to figure this out or it is going to be long, boring summer trapped in my apartment LOOKING at the beach rather than sitting on it.
Anyway, we finally set-up camp on the beach. Got the umbrella up. The blanket and towels arranged. The chair positioned just so. But you know what? It is cold in the shade at the beach – even in 95 degrees! So, I stuck my feet in the sun, then put my back in the sun – anything to keep a little warm. After about 2 hours of adjusting body parts to get warm, I decided I’d had enough and went back up to the apartment. When I left Pete sprawled on the beach, I was a comfortable temperature. By the time I reached the cool of our apartment, I felt like I was on fire I was so hot. This was about a 5 minute walk at MOST.
I gratefully opened the door to the apartment only to find it was hot inside. We don’t have AC but the ocean breezes usually keep our place comfortable if you aren’t already a million degrees. I opened every window I could, I ate ice cream. I sat on the couch panting. It took me about 30 minutes before I felt normal again.
Needless to say, I opted out of the beach yesterday. Somehow, I’m going to have to figure this out or it is going to be long, boring summer trapped in my apartment LOOKING at the beach rather than sitting on it.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Only For the Rich and Crazy
Last year, when I started reading The Complete Organic Pregnancy, I thought that I would be an organic mama. I’d only eat organic. I’d swath the baby in organic blankets. Dress the baby in cute organic clothes from Under the Nile or Kate Quinn. I’d buy a hardwood crib and an organic mattress. I changed my beauty products to chemical-free ones, which has not been an inexpensive endeavor. I was committed. Oh, the foolishness….
I’m still clinging to the idea of an organic mattress and hardwood crib, which will come in just under $1000. We plan on having two kids so the crib will get another round of use with number two. I figure the kid’s face will be smashed against the mattress a lot so that is probably important.
As far as clothes, I’m quickly jumping off the organic bandwagon. One organic onesie costs approximately $11. A pack of onesies from Old Navy? $7. The kid will wear it for a month, maybe three. We aren’t made of money. At that rate, I’ll have to potty train the baby at three months just to save on diapers so I can buy organic clothing. And yes, I’ve thought about cloth, but realistically, I know it won’t work. The washer and dryer are in the garage of our building, and I doubt I’m going to lug the baby and stinky diapers down two flights of stairs every day. Seriously. I’d have to be hard-core to do that, and clearly I’m not.
My normal, healthy, organic eating is on hiatus. Now that I am pregnant and dealing with nausea, I put whatever seems to taste good into my mouth. Today (and yesterday) this included a sausage, egg and processed cheese sandwich from my company cafeteria. I’ve eaten frozen dinners, which I hadn’t done since college (they’re disgusting). The other day, I ordered a side of fries with my chicken quesadilla. What? The 1000 calories quesadilla wasn't enough? In fact, I've renewed my friendship with French fries. Pre-pregnancy, I ate them once a month or so. Pregnant? Minimum once a week. MINIMUM. I keep telling myself my cousin lived on saltines for the first three months of her pregnancy and her daughter is a thriving 4.5 year old. My mom said she ate peanut butter crackers for three months with my brother. He’s intelligent, well-adjusted and not allergic to peanuts. As another friend said, “French fries from McDonald's made my kids, strong like bull!” So, there it is. Definitive evidence I am not screwing up my baby.
I’m doing the best I can for this little one. My roots are grey, my toes are unpolished, my beauty closet is stocked with natural, not-quite-as-good-as-chemicals-but-cost-twice-as-much products and I’m full of French fries. At this rate, my lack of looks combined with my bitchy demeanor, the kid will be lucky I’m still married by the time s/he arrives. But dammit, s/he will be healthy! The kid is thriving in my belly. I know it. It has to be, right?
I’m still clinging to the idea of an organic mattress and hardwood crib, which will come in just under $1000. We plan on having two kids so the crib will get another round of use with number two. I figure the kid’s face will be smashed against the mattress a lot so that is probably important.
As far as clothes, I’m quickly jumping off the organic bandwagon. One organic onesie costs approximately $11. A pack of onesies from Old Navy? $7. The kid will wear it for a month, maybe three. We aren’t made of money. At that rate, I’ll have to potty train the baby at three months just to save on diapers so I can buy organic clothing. And yes, I’ve thought about cloth, but realistically, I know it won’t work. The washer and dryer are in the garage of our building, and I doubt I’m going to lug the baby and stinky diapers down two flights of stairs every day. Seriously. I’d have to be hard-core to do that, and clearly I’m not.
My normal, healthy, organic eating is on hiatus. Now that I am pregnant and dealing with nausea, I put whatever seems to taste good into my mouth. Today (and yesterday) this included a sausage, egg and processed cheese sandwich from my company cafeteria. I’ve eaten frozen dinners, which I hadn’t done since college (they’re disgusting). The other day, I ordered a side of fries with my chicken quesadilla. What? The 1000 calories quesadilla wasn't enough? In fact, I've renewed my friendship with French fries. Pre-pregnancy, I ate them once a month or so. Pregnant? Minimum once a week. MINIMUM. I keep telling myself my cousin lived on saltines for the first three months of her pregnancy and her daughter is a thriving 4.5 year old. My mom said she ate peanut butter crackers for three months with my brother. He’s intelligent, well-adjusted and not allergic to peanuts. As another friend said, “French fries from McDonald's made my kids, strong like bull!” So, there it is. Definitive evidence I am not screwing up my baby.
I’m doing the best I can for this little one. My roots are grey, my toes are unpolished, my beauty closet is stocked with natural, not-quite-as-good-as-chemicals-but-cost-twice-as-much products and I’m full of French fries. At this rate, my lack of looks combined with my bitchy demeanor, the kid will be lucky I’m still married by the time s/he arrives. But dammit, s/he will be healthy! The kid is thriving in my belly. I know it. It has to be, right?
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