Ah, Pregnancy.

I have spent a great deal of my pregnancy complaining... about my pregnancy. Of course, it hasn't ALL been bad, and I suppose (in retrospect) some of it has even been humorous. With only a few weeks left till Baby Roger finally becomes his own entity, I decided I'd write a post to reflect on the good, the bad, and the ugly of my pregnancy. I'm told once the baby's born, I'll experience a bout of pregnesia in which I'll completely forget all the reasons I did not like being pregnant, and while that sounds promising, admittedly, I haven't hated everything about pregnancy.


The First Trimester. Of the three, I have to say the first trimester was the worst (excluding the first 6 weeks or so since I didn't know I was pregnant for the first 4 weeks and the following 2 weeks were just generally full of excitement). There's something so nerve-wracking about the first trimester, and not just because you're bombarded with the thought that you're going to have a baby (in fact, I'd have to say the reality of what the END of the pregnancy would bring was difficult to grasp at that time). Pregnancy is such a fragile thing in the first trimester. Spotting and cramping in the 8th week or so had us scared that perhaps getting pregnant hadn't been that easy. As it turns out there are a LOT of scary moments in the first trimester that are entirely normal and our "little dude" fared just fine.

My One and Only Craving. Greasy biscuits and gravy from a nearby casino coffee shop were all I wanted to eat for the first few weeks before I plateaued into a nearly permanent state of nausea and decided I didn't want to eat anything but crackers and Ginger Ale. I tried really hard to make an effort to maintain normalcy, but it wasn't easy. The exhaustion that accompanied the first trimester was surreal. What to Expect When You're Expecting explains that the exhaustion is due to the fact that your body is working over time to create a life. Creating a life really takes the life out of you. I averaged about 12 - 13 hours of sleep a day.


The Second Trimester. The arrival of the second trimester was an absolute God send. I quite literally woke up that morning and felt, well, human again. Adios exhaustion and nausea! My little bump started to become more prominent (the above photo was taken around 20 weeks). Finding out we were having a boy was exciting; I spent a minimal amount of time watching the screen during the ultrasound (since I couldn't see it), but watching the drop-jawed astonishment on my husband's face was just as good.

Gas. One of the "ugly" aspects of my pregnancy. In the words of my pregnancy bible (What to Expect When You're Expecting), "Nobody does gas like a pregnant woman." I think that's putting it lightly. Gas was one of those I-wish-someone-had-warned-me side effects of pregnancy, but of course, what could prior knowledge have done to make it any better or less embarrassing? It was the worst during the second trimester and even, on occasion, had the power to send my husband to the couch at night.

Maternity Clothes. I hung onto my regular wardrobe for as long as I possibly could. For the first 19 weeks of my pregnancy I managed to pull off my regular jeans with the help of a shoelace and the Be-Band, but once I started locking myself in my closet to get dressed (so my husband couldn't see the dancing, squirming, and general awkwardness of movements it required to get into my pre-pregnancy jeans), I finally accepted that it was time to bid adieu to my beloved jeans. The shoelace digging into my skin made me feel fat, not pregnant, and the Be-Band does NOT "hold up" pants as it claims to do. The first pair of maternity pants I tried on in the dressing room at Motherhood Maternity was like heaven. I couldn't help but utter an "Oh, thank GOD" which I'm sure probably elicited a few strange glances from the sales lady on the other side of the dressing room door. My SHIRTS, however, I've been able to hang onto for a little while longer. Even now, approaching 38 weeks of pregnancy, I have a couple "regular" shirts that still fit thanks to their general cut and design.

Starting the Nursery. Eliminating an entire room of our house turned out to be a task of epic proportions. The room that became the nursery was, once upon a time, our office otherwise referred to as our "clutter room" because it was exactly that - all the clutter from the rest of the house always managed to find its way into this room. Finding a way to relocate an entire room full of clutter is not an easy task, but we somehow managed to pull it off. Assembling the nursery furniture made the reality of the baby that much more REAL. Perhaps one day when he's older (like in his 20s...) we'll tell Roger the story of how we raised chicks in brooder in his room 4 months before he was born (subsequently, the carpets in his room are really clean now). I have to admit that no longer having a "clutter room" makes our house feel more like a home; it's like having a huge weight lifted off my shoulders not having that dirty little secret lurking behind a closed door.

Flying Pregnant. Here's the cool thing about flying pregnant (assuming you're flying Southwest with its open seating policy): if you're on a pretty full flight, no one wants to sit next to the pregnant woman. At the beginning of June just before (or was it just after?) the onset of the third trimester we flew out to Wisconsin for my niece's baptism. I, of course, had to sit in an aisle seat in order to make frequent bathroom trips easier. As the plane started filling up, Matt whispered to me, "Stick your stomach out. Make yourself look more pregnant." Sure enough, on a nearly full flight we were able to claim a row to ourselves. Apparently being pregnant gives you a built in repellent in crowded situations - I could almost see the wheels turning in peoples' heads as they passed us: Well, that open seat is a window seat, but that lady looks pretty pregnant. If I sit there and she goes into labor am I obligated to help?


The Third Trimester. When I first found out I was pregnant, I remember standing in front of the mirror trying to predict how big I would get. I explained to Matt about how all women carry differently and even showed him the illustrated picture in (yep, you guessed it) What to Expect When You're Expecting. I am, without a doubt, about 20 times bigger than I predicted. I thought because I was small to begin with that I wouldn't get that big. Ha. As it turns out, the size you are before pregnancy is not a good indicator of how big you'll be when you're in the third trimester. I quite literally BLEW UP over night. I smile amiably when people exclaim about how big I am, but honestly, I can't say that it thrills me to hear multiple people exclaim on multiple occasions, "Oh, my God you're HUGE" or "I can't believe how BIG you are." I feel like I should be joining the Ringling Brothers. The clerk at 7-11 seems unconvinced that I'm not having twins. Every time I go into the store and she's the one working, she shakes her head in disbelief at me and informs me that I'm that much bigger than the last time she saw me.


Bladder, Pelvis, Rib Cage and Lungs. These are the four things that will most appreciate it when they no longer have to share a space with my evidently very large baby. The feeling of Roger's head grinding into my bladder is awful, an almost tingly feeling that sends me to the bathroom about 800 billion times a day (only 3 or 4 of which I actually have to pee). My rib cage and lungs have been properly abused by the little man's flailing feet, and my pelvis... Oh, my poor, poor pelvis. Only someone who's had the weight of a baby resting on their pelvis can fully appreciate what a strange sensation it is to have a sore pelvis. I don't have the words to describe it.

Peeing in a Cup. Peeing in a cup is a frequent thing when you're pregnant. I guess you could say the "peeing with a purpose" starts when you first pee on that pregnancy test stick. The bigger I get, the harder it gets to pee in that damn cup and in a sick twist of irony, the bigger I get, the MORE I have to pee in a cup (due to more frequent trips to the doctor). I'll spare you the gory details...

The Childbirth Class. Makes you go from "We're having a baby!" to "OH MY GOD WE'RE HAVING A BABY!" Reality hits. We had fun in our childbirth class though and learned a LOT. As it turns out, giving birth is not at all like how it's portrayed in the movies. Who knew?

Maternity Clothes Revisited. I bought the cutest maternity capri pants from Burlington Coat Factory back in the second trimester. The other day I watched in horror as buttons were literally popping off of them. Thanks to my size, yoga pants are officially the only thing that currently fit. Thank God for yoga pants.

The Amazing Mobile Stomach. When Roger rotates around and sticks his little butt out, one side of my stomach is larger than the other. Watching my stomach move and change shape is interesting, to say the least. When he gets really active, I always wonder if people notice. Maybe they're waiting for a little alien to jump out and start singing "Hello My Baby" a la Spaceballs.

Summer Pregnancy. At first I was disheartened at the idea of being pregnant during the summer. In the desert, no less. Toting around a large belly in 100+ degree weather? No thanks. As it turns out, summer is a great month to be in the third trimester. Sure, shaving my legs is a little challenging, but easily enough accomplished by sitting on the edge of the tub. Painting my toenails is out of the question, but gives me a great excuse to get a pedi (as if a girl needs an excuse...). And oh, I could write an ode to flip flops. Seriously, I feel bad for girls who are pregnant in the winter and have to tie their shoes. Of all the things I've tried to accomplish with my appendages below my waist (putting lotion on my upper thighs is harder than I would have thought), tying shoes has definitely been one of the hardest. I guess the winter mommies always have Uggs, but nothing is as easy and convenient as the flip flop. Also, on a side note, I have to say that the whole not being able to see my feet thing isn't as annoying as others have lead me to believe - I never spent much time staring at my feet before I was pregnant, and it hasn't at all effected my ability to walk or avoid running into things.

And finally...

My Built in Shelf. One of my favorite things to do is sit back in the recliner with a good book and small bowl of Jelly Beans resting on the top of my belly. There is no denying that a pregnant belly makes for an excellent table; I've even been so daring as to put a glass of milk on it, but sometimes Roger starts kicking and then things tend to go a muck. Regardless, I have to say that of all the ups of pregnancy, one of the things I'll miss the most is the convenience of having my food right in front of my face.

Surprise! Ultrasound!

Yesterday I had my 37 week check up with my obstetrician. Hooray for now being full term! As far as I knew I was just getting the usual check up (weigh in, pee in a cup, check my blood pressure, listen to the little one's heart beat, ask any questions, see you next week) with the new addition of checking my cervix for dilation. I was, therefore, extremely surprised when the nurse who called my name lead me back to the ultrasound room - I haven't been there since I was about 10 weeks pregnant and our darling was nothing more than a teeny tiny squirmy thing that bore no resemblance whatsoever to anything human (the second ultrasound was done by the hospital). After making note of my blood pressure in my file, the nurse asked me, "Did the doctor mention why you were having an ultrasound?" I could see the neon pink post-it affixed to my folder with the word "ultrasound" scrawled on it, but "No," I told her. "I didn't even know I was having an ultrasound."

The doctor took long enough to come to my room to give me plenty of time to work myself into a good worry. Why was I having an ultrasound? If the doctor had felt something was wrong last week she would have mentioned it last week, right? She had mentioned that he was BIG, so maybe that had something to do with it... maybe she just wanted to be sure I didn't have a small giant preparing to destroy my uterus. I didn't know and though I wanted to be excited that I was going to get to see my baby (whom I haven't seen for about 18 weeks), there's something nerve-wracking about an unscheduled ultrasound.

When the doctor finally entered the room, her first question was, "So do you remember why I said you needed an ultrasound today? Was I worried he might be breech? Too big?" "Well, you did say he was big, but we never talked about an ultrasound," was my reply. Huh. We're both baffled. She palpates my stomach and confirms that Roger is in the head-down position. Not breech. All I can think of is that it must have been a clerical error, another patient who had an appointment around the same time as myself, a post-it note that ended up on my folder instead of hers. Whatever the situation, now that I know nothing is egregiously wrong, I really want the ultrasound even though it's obviously not meant for me. I always knew that (pending a healthy pregnancy) I would only be getting two ultrasounds, so no need to get my hopes up for an unscheduled third. Then she says, "Well, since we're already in here and all set up, let's do it just for fun. We won't charge you for it." Score! I was beyond thrilled.

So that is how it came to be that I got an ultrasound yesterday (and confirmed that Roger is, in fact, still a boy, which is fantastic since his nursery is totally unsuitable for a girl). Obviously the first ultrasound wasn't much to ooh and aah over since he looked more like a baby chicken than a baby at that point, and our evidently very bored ultrasound tech who did the second ultrasound sent us home with a picture of a foot and another picture which had us questioning whether I had, by chance, been inseminated by a creature from another planet, so I was really excited at not only the opportunity to HAVE a third ultrasound, but that the pictures actually turned out really well. His little face filled up the whole screen (as he's obviously grown a lot in the last 18 weeks since my last sonogram), but short of a 4D ultrasound, I'm elated at how well you can see his face.

He has his daddy's hairline:


I have started to dilate just a most negligible amount - not even at a centimeter yet - so the doctor predicts it'll probably be another couple weeks before I go into labor. I'm off to the hospital today to finish up my pre-registration and just in general ready to get through the next few weeks...

Life's Transitions

I remember when Matt and I first got married how exciting it was to call him my husband and to be referred to as his wife. In life we go through these transitions and take on different titles as we go along; at the time, gaining the title of someone's wife seemed like an enormous thing to me. Now, as D-Day (sometimes rapidly and sometimes slowly) approaches, we're preparing ourselves for our newest titles of "Mom" and "Dad." Granted, we've always called ourselves the "mother" and "father" of our pets, but regardless of this (and despite some crazy vivid dreams that would have me believe otherwise), I am not giving birth to a litter of puppies and I've never literally been my dog's "mom."

I've never been very good with kids - not that I don't try, but they just seem in general to not like me or to otherwise be entirely indifferent toward me. I guess mostly it stems from a complete lack of experience. I try to recall memories of my teenage days when I used to babysit, I try to remind myself that once-upon-a-time I did know how to change a diaper on an actual squirming infant rather than just on a creepy blank-eyed plastic baby supplied by the Infant Care class, but it all seems impossibly distant because I never really absorbed what I was doing as important - I guess at 14 - 15 years old it's difficult to register the importance of retaining diaper changing as a life skill, and understandably so since the role of "Mom" is a far-fetched one for the vast majority of 14-year olds. Can it really have been 13 years since I changed a diaper on a living being?? Yikes.

Matt, on the other hand, seems to have a natural knack for it. He always manages to say the right things or supply the proper entertainment while I'm left at a complete loss. In our old neighborhood, the kids used to just stop by to say hello him. I'm convinced I didn't even properly hand out Halloween candy (if there's a way to incorrectly give candy to children on Halloween, I can do it). So what am I supposed to do when the kid is MINE? Perhaps it's reasons such as these that nature made most humans incapable of remembering anything of importance prior to 3 years old. Especially first children. I imagine it's for the best that they don't remember their parents struggling to master the roll of being "parents," and I've always heard that one can never fully appreciate all that their parents did for them until they themselves are in the same shoes.

All this, of course, does not mean I'm not excited. Quite the contrary. As the due date gets closer, it's become easier to picture myself with a little baby in my arms. Since I'm adopted, the idea that I'll finally have and know someone who shares my DNA makes the prospect that much more exhilarating, but nothing - nothing - can shake the fear of the unknown. I haven't spent as much time fretting over the labor and delivery part of having a baby as I have over the part where I actually HAVE A BABY. The instructor at our childbirth class asked each woman individually what their biggest fear was currently and while everyone else said the pain of labor and delivery, I immediately jumped that minor thing and headed straight into "parenthood." Because honestly, what a small part labor and delivery plays compared to the irreparable damage that can be done by bad parenting. Last I checked they don't offer an epidural for THAT.

Ultimately I'm sure it will all turn out okay - most things usually do, and I'm told that good people generally don't make for bad parents. However, I wish I felt more ready than I do. I wish I knew what to really expect. I keep getting the feeling that everything I've read in all these books and magazines I've stocked up on is just going to go out the window once the baby's actually here. It'd be nice if after delivering the baby and the placenta there came a little booklet with exact instructions on how to care for THAT particular baby, but I guess where's the fun in that?

Unsolicited Advice

Unsolicited advice is one of the many inclusive elements of pregnancy (or I should say apparent pregnancy since I was mostly left alone during my "inbetween" phase - Is she pregnant or does she just have a belly?). For the most part, I honestly don't mind it; I thank my lucky stars no stranger has yet been bold enough to approach me and start rubbing my belly. Admittedly it WAS a bit much when our waitress at a Mexican restaurant took it upon herself to spend a half hour telling me how unnecessary an epidural is (with no prior knowledge of what my stance on the topic was), but I recognize everyone's entitled to their own opinion and though I probably won't take it to heart (unless it strikes me as really good advice), I have no problem engaging in polite listening.

The exception to the rule is people who approach me and are actually oozing disdain for their children (seriously. Oozing). Nothing rubs me the wrong way more than a sneering stranger approaching me in a grocery store or some similar outlet telling me to "enjoy it while I can" (I haven't found all that much "enjoyment" in pregnancy, but from what I've been told, it's nothing compared to actually having the kid running around wreaking havoc). People like the aforementioned are definitely the minority, but having no previous knowledge of ME and apparently absolutely hating their children makes me wish they had just kept their mouths shut. My husband and I didn't start this journey off thinking that raising a child would be a cinch, and I could certainly do without having those who evidently regret having children treat me like I've made an enormous mistake.

It's incredibly difficult for me to smile politely at the person who's cornered me and is bombarding me with the woes of their much abhorred children. Some time ago, a couple with three very out of control children stopped me while I was registering for my baby shower to inform me that registering for all that stuff was the only enjoyable part of having kids for them. They then sarcastically insisted that I "have fun." Our microwave kicked the bucket last night, so I ventured out to purchase a new one today and a woman with a couple kids and an armful of baby gave me the standard facetious: "Enjoy it while you can." Of course these are just examples of numerous similar incidents (coincidentally, both of these took place at the same Target...), but I simply don't understand why someone would assume that I want their "warnings" of how horrible it is to be a parent. Though I like to pretend that my little boy will be a perfectly behaved cherub, I realize there will be those hair-yanking moments. I wonder at the couple who approached me while I was registering, at why they went on to have two more children if registering for the baby shower was literally the only enjoyable moment of it all; I wonder at the woman with her entourage of kids and her smart remark in the store today. Come to think of it, in all the incidents that come to mind, not a single person had only one child with them - they all had three or more they were impatiently toting along.

These people do irritate me. They make a tremendous amount of assumptions in approaching me and pointing their shaking finger of doom in my direction. The majority of unsolicited advice seems to be in agreement that no, it's not easy, but it's definitely worth it, and this consensus makes sense. I'd be amiss if I ever said I thought it would be "easy," but the parents who are so beaten down as to leer at my pregnant belly as though I'm carrying the anti-Christ are extremely disheartening. What in the world would make them think that I want to hear how much they hate parenthood and moreover, what gives them the right to assume that subsequently, I will end up hating parenthood just as much? I've started to simply walk away - to pretend I didn't hear them or that I didn't know their comments were directed at me. I'm so close to the end of the road, to discovering all these things for myself.

Honestly, I am not prepared. At all. What new mother can truly ever say she is? I have my subscription to "FitPregnancy" (their "new mom guide" in this month's issue says not to use diaper wipes on newborns... well, what the heck am I supposed to use?!?). I've poured over every word of What to Expect When You're Expecting and What to Expect The First Years. I've taken an Infant Care Class and a Breastfeeding Class (and obviously the Childbirth Class) offered by the hospital where I'll be delivering. All these steps have undoubtedly armed me with knowledge I did not previously possess, but none of it makes me feel more prepared. The unknown does terrify me and the child-hating parents of the world are not making it any easier by offering up their condemnation. One of these days in the very near future, the hospital's going to send my husband and I home with our little bundle of joy and the rest is up to us... The thought of that is nothing short of horrifying, but we learn as we go. I know we'll do the best we can and things will shape themselves as we go.

Well, ALMOST New Mom

I don't quite fall into the category of "new mom" just yet, though I did get my first Mother's Day card this year (along with a Sephora gift card - awesome!). I guess you could say that I'm well on my way. Today marks 36 weeks and 1 day of my pregnancy. Our first child (a boy to be named Roger after my husband's father) is due to arrive in, oh, 4 weeks or so. Specifically August 18, BUT I'm told that first children rarely arrive on time (regardless, I've still chosen August 18 as the arrival date in the pool we've started... I just can't shake the feeling that our little man is going to be right on time).

So I got this urge to become one of the millions of Mom Bloggers. I have this romanticized image of me in my rocking chair nursing my new baby boy as I blog away on my Droid, but alas, I can't admit to being entirely delusional (which is why I say "romanticized image"). I imagine the real image will be a lot more like chaos and a minimal amount of blog posting, but we'll see. It's at least worth a shot.

Pregnancy has not been all that fun for me. It happened like rapid fire. After 7 years on the pill I was quite convinced that conception would take some time - at least that was my understanding. I stopped taking the pill in October and on December 12 two EPTs happily displayed the word "Pregnant" on their itty bitty screens. I didn't really think it would happen like that... I was diligently reading up on monitoring my BMT, thinking for some reason that this was going to take some time, that I'd probably done a number on my ovaries with all those years of hormones. Then BAM. "Pregnant" says the EPT. Yep, "Pregnant" confirms the second one. Of course we were thrilled - this was a planned pregnancy. You just don't expect to go from sitting on the patio with your husband saying, "Let's do it! Let's have a baby" to being pregnant - snap of the fingers - just like that. Well, you roll with the punches.

The first six weeks of pregnancy were great. Hey! You don't even feel like you're pregnant. Then came the exhaustion and the "morning" sickness and subsequently a very messy house as I perfected my body dent in the couch. I would not, could not, did not want to get up and do anything (except make the occasional fast paced trip to my good friend the toilet). Ginger Ale was my savior, but now I could go the rest of my life without taking another sip of the stuff and be perfectly content. Now, 30 weeks later, I look like I have cantaloupes shoved in my bra and a basketball up my shirt and the best word to describe my current state is: "uncomfortable." Very, very, very uncomfortable. My husband thinks it's funny when I sit on the floor to do stretches and then can't get back up. I, however, am not likewise amused.

Yesterday kicked off my weekly trips to the obstetrician. After the birth class we took, I was feeling pretty confident about my abilities as a woman to labor and deliver a baby (as in, "Yeah, I can do this without an epidural!"), but it's somewhat disheartening when your OB states as she's manipulating your ENORMOUS belly, "Wow! You're growing a BIG BOY in there." My husband was something like 9 and a half pounds when he was born. My doctor estimates our little one to already be almost 7 pounds. I have about 4 weeks left of pregnancy! How much bigger can he GET?? I guess it explains my tremendous size (the clerk at 7-11 is not entirely convinced I'm not having twins), and it accounts for 7 of the (ugh, I hate to admit this) 44 pounds I've gained. But seriously, am I going to be delivering a gigantic baby? On second thought, how about we keep that anesthesiologist close by...

I am really excited though (well, "excited" is one of many emotions I'm feeling. "Terrified" would be another one). The nursery is really starting to come together. I still have to wash the sheets I put on the crib just for show and a few outfits so the little dude has something to come home in (something tells me he's going to completely bypass all those newborn sizes we got). Apparently the crib bumper has to go to; I'm a little disappointed since it's so cute with all it's little footballs and baseballs, BUT the birth class instructor insists they don't need it when they can't even roll and one of my many resources (books, magazines, etc) says that anything in the crib - bumpers included - can increase the risk of SIDS. We got the nursery curtains yesterday which I was overly thrilled about (that is, until I opened them and saw that the picture in the catalog didn't exactly do a great job of portraying the color... they are LIME GREEN, as in, one step below neon green). They're blackout curtains which was a necessity since the window in the room we picked for the nursery faces east and the sun tends to rise from that general direction. I'm eager to see how well they "black out" the light since they are a) not actually black; and b) come with a little booklet explaining that no curtain can block out light 100% but these curtains block out 99% of light. That sounds like a cop out to me.

Today's plans include washing my car. I plan on installing the baby seat in it this weekend (and feel I need to wash my car for this...). Yeah, I truly do plan on driving around for 4 weeks (give or take) with an empty infant seat in my car. I figure it's never too early to start getting the dog adjusted to sharing the back seat, though admittedly it's no indicator of how she'll do when there is actually a little being in that seat. Let the countdown to new motherhood begin!