Monthly Archives: March 2012

I totally had this idea…

I work out as often as I can.

Okay, I work out when time allows. And when other things don’t sound better. Like sleeping. Or eating Oreo Cookie ice cream.

But when I do workout, I jam out. What do I jam out to? My LMFAO “Sorry for Party Rocking” album.

My favorite song? “I’m sexy and I know it”

You know the jam. I get it stuck in my head and it doesn’t go away.

Today I stumbled across this video.

PREGNANT and I know it…

I totally had this idea, people. Every time I hear this song, I think to myself, “I’m pregnant and I know it.” And I thought to myself, if I had time, I could write a sick rap parody of this and make a music video.

But I didn’t.

Somebody else did.

And it is so much better than what I could have done.

Revel in its glory.

But know that I thought of it first.

I pee when I sneeze!!!

Oh I’m laughing still.

Waddle waddle waddle waddle waddle… yea.

Guffaw.

New favorite

A wealth of baby-mommy-pregger-blogs exist, people. You simply must discover them.

I have discovered my new favorite.

When you aren’t reading the Meet Baby Dub blog, you should read Pregnant Chicken.

If you don’t have time for full-time follow-age, at least read this post.

This one.

Pregnant friends, take note. Friends and family of my own, maybe take a few notes too.

Hilarity and practicality rolled into one. What a delight.

Babies in wagons

Radio Flyer Wagon

sheer, red-painted delight

You know those Radio Flyer wagons?

They look like sheer delight, right? I see one, and I want to be a small child again, letting somebody older, bigger and stronger haul me around in it.

Today, while driving home from work, I saw a Radio Flyer wagon from afar. In it was a delighted, curly haired toddler. Pulling it was a pissed-off looking mom.

One of these things just doesn’t belong.

The kid seemed oblivious to his mom’s foul mood. Thankfully. He was blissfully flying a toy airplane while his bedraggled mom drug him and the whimsical wagon across the busy street.

It made me ponder.

One of the things I am really looking forward to is experiencing the daily delight of my own tiny human. My little life form will be brought into the world without any baggage – no squashed dreams, no missed opportunities, no what-ifs, no “I-can’ts.”

I want to foster that world view for as long as humanly possible. Not that I think I can protect Baby Dub from any disappointment or failure.

I’m awesome, but not that awesome.

But I want her to be empowered and confident and fearless and bold and sure of herself and ready to try anything and believing the best of everybody.

What does this mean for me?

No sour puss while pulling my kid in a wagon.

Or if I’m going to have a sour puss I better keep it directed at oncoming traffic so that Baby Dub can fly her toy airplane and believe the best of the world in the blissful reality that is the bed of the Radio Flyer wagon.

 

Sugar sugar…

Today was the infamous blood glucose screening. I had to drink this.

Blood Glucose Test

This gross stuff... is gross.

Let me tell you a little story about this crap.

Blood Glucose Face

...not so sure...

It’s nasty crap. You chug this sugary sweet stuff, kinda tastes like a Fanta. It actually gave me a headache. It was so sweet, it burned. I took video. I will share it. After I upgrade this blog so that I can actually upload videos to it. Whatevs.

So you chug the crap. Then you wait an hour, and you go get your blood drawn.

I swear they are stockpiling my blood just in case of complications, because every time they draw my blood they take like, 20 vials.

This was the first baby doctor appointment where I didn’t have the accompaniment of the Hubs. He had to work late, so I was flying solo for the big blood draw. I show up the requisite 10 minutes early, only to be informed that my regular doctor, Dr. M, is in emergency surgery.

“But Dr. W has agreed to see you, would that be okay?”

So I’m flying solo, I’m about to be down gallons of blood, and a stranger is going to prod me and ask questions about my baby.

Bring it on.

The blood draw didn’t suck so bad. The girl who did the draw complimented my bump-emphasizing ensemble. You compliment my outfit, you can take my blood.

Then I went in to meet with New Doc.

This was possibly the nicest doctor ever. A bit more of a talker than my regular Doc. He answered lots of questions about the blood glucose test, and why they draw so much blood. He encouraged me about my weight gain (I’m gaining about a pound a week, and as he put it “We’ll let you know if you’re getting out of control. You shouldn’t worry about it.”). When he measured my fundal height, he commented that I was really “growing good”.

“Tell me about it.”

Is “growing good” a good thing? I’m going to assume it is. I have no outside party to bounce that one off of. The lack of Hubby’s presence leaves much room for misinterpretation of Doctor Speak.

He asked about baby’s movements, and I informed him with some pride that Baby Dub is quite an active little fetus. Sometimes it baffles me trying to comprehend the kick-punch combos she’s throwing in there. What kind of invisible ninja army is she single-handedly defeating?

Dr. W felt around and informed me that he “couldn’t quite tell” the baby’s positioning… if she’s head down or not. I am still trying to wrap my mind around how he could possibly expect to tell the baby’s positioning from the perfunctory belly prodding he gave me. Man, doctors are smart.

And when we listened to Baby Dub’s heartbeat, I smiled to myself and stared at the ceiling as Baby Dub repeatedly kicked at the ultrasound wand thingy. She heard me brag about her activity level.

Show off.

After all the business was done, I asked questions about travel, and exercise, and DHA supplements. Dr. W informed me that I can (as long as no complications arise between now and then) fly up to 36 weeks, and that I should aim for a heart rate under 140 on my runs, and spouted off a slight rant on the marketing campaigns behind many popular supplements.

All in all, an information-packed and rather relaxed appointment, considering the amount of blood lost.

Starting now, I go to the doctor once every two weeks instead of every month. That’s a lot of time at the doctor. And while I hope that the Hubs doesn’t have to miss many more, and I also hope that I don’t have to endure many more blood draws (I’m known to faint at needles and shots and blood draws), its not so scary to fly solo.

Now we wait and see if I have gestational diabetes. Which I really hope I don’t. I don’t want to go back for a three hour test.

No offense to the wonderfully friendly and talkative staff at our doctor’s office.

The Pregnant Card

I have stated with some vehemence that I don’t intend to treat this pregnancy as a handicap. But there are… hem, lets say circumstances, that a gestating female should not be subjected to.

Cleaning up dog poop.

Long hours of yard work.

Going to bed after 11.

Extended hours without food.

It is for these circumstances that we reserve the “pregnant card.”

So far, it is an unspoken thing. I don’t have to say “I’m not cleaning up that dog poop, I’m carrying a new human being.”

There are also things that a gestating female might not normally do, that she is entitled to whilst brewing up a baby.

Eating ice cream daily.

Sleeping with 6 pillows.

Stocking the fridge with fruit and frosting.

Watching whatever kind of movie she wants, from rom coms to the latest silent film that won Best Picture, with or without the company of her husband.

Whether you’re making baby parts or not, ladies, you should play your own “pregnant card” from time to time. Sometimes you deserve to be nice to yourself. Go see “The Artist” by yourself, and buy popcorn. Get a pedicure with your girlfriends. Stock the fridge with the 100th Anniversary Oreo Cookie ice cream. Eat it out of the carton.

I am fortunate to have The Hubs, who has never made me play the pregnant card. He just knows I want to have a well-stocked freezer full of ice cream flavors. He fluffs the pillows for me on my side of the bed. He rubs my back with lotion since I can’t reach the itchy parts.

Today he voluntarily sat in a theater crammed full of pre-teens and endured all 2 hours and 37 minutes of “The Hunger Games.”

I am a lucky lady.

I still have a few months to go, and I haven’t had to make any overt plays of the pregnant card. I am not sure I’ll need to, if The Hubs keeps this up. But if I do have to play it, I’m sure it will be in a well-warranted circumstance, or for a particularly un-awesome task.

Too bad I can’t play the pregnant card when it comes time to change that first diaper.

Extend the honeymoon

Okay I have way too many sources of information to go off of with this whole pregnancy.

Baby apps are telling me one thing, books are telling me another.

Third trimester evidently starts somewhere between week 25 and week 28.

Give me a couple more weeks of honeymoon, people!

The honeymoon is over

Today marks the last day of the second trimester.

The “honeymoon” is over.

It seems like just the other day we were halfway done… Now it’s 2/3rds? Baby Dub is going to be here any day!

I gotta get my life together.

Six Months pregnant is a whole lot pregnant

Let me tell you a little story. I realized last week that I am six months pregnant.

That is really pregnant.

That’s legit.

Technically, we are 24 weeks, 6 days pregnant.

But when you talk in weeks to people who haven’t done this pregnancy thing before, it is baffling. Don’t talk in weeks to people who don’t have kids. Nobody likes to do the conversions in their head. They aren’t looking at your baby apps. They don’t know that at six months, your baby is the size of an ear of corn and weighs a bit over a pound.

Here’s a conversation that’s never happened.

“Hey, Erica, how far along are you?”

“Oh, I’m 23 weeks!”

“Oh my, so the fetus is covered in lanugo and can start to recognize the sound of your voice!”

That has never happened. Likely will never happen. People don’t think in weeks.

This is how that conversation goes.

“Hey, Erica, how far along are you?”

“Oh, I’m 23 weeks!”

Long pause while the other person in the conversation does the math in their head and tries to figure out how far that is.

“So… do you know what you’re having yet?”

While I still operate in terms of weeks, I’ve moved to months in talking with anybody who is not my husband or my doctor.

And here’s how that conversation goes now.

“Hey, Erica, how far along are you?”

“Oh, I’m six months pregnant.”

“Wow! You look fantastic!”

That’s more like it.

Since I moved to speaking in months, I have gotten so many compliments on how I look. I will never go back to weeks.

Momma Dub needs the affirmation.

 

Like Mother, like daughter

It appears that Baby Dub is already taking after her mother.

See, our Baby can tell when she is being talked about. And she likes it.

One of the delights I experience every day is the feeling of Baby Dub wriggling around in my tummy. She’s a particularly active fetus. And I think the reason people say that feeling their baby move is like butterflies is because it actually GIVES you butterflies. At least, it gives me butterflies. Every time I feel her punch or kick, I get a jolt of excitement – this is happening, we are having a baby, and she is making sure we don’t forget it.

But yesterday, Baby Dub must have been working on other important matters, because I went the whole day without noticing much movement.

I was working on important matters myself. Laundry. Grocery shopping. Bachelorette party planning with my gorgeous sister. These are the matters that occupied my Sunday.

But as I was getting ready for bed, rubbing my belly with coconut lotion that Zeb hates the smell of, I realized that I hadn’t had butterflies all day.

The quickening had slowed.

I am not one to jump to panic or worst case scenarios, but I felt compelled to mention Baby Dub’s sedentary day to the Hubs.

“Baby Dub hasn’t been moving around very much today – she must be sleepy,” I said, as I crawled into bed

Offended, Baby Dub picked that moment to kick real hard… like, a can’t-mistake-that-for-gas kick.

As if to say “Hello! I spent today working on getting super tall and gorgeous and awesome, and thus had no time to entertain you. But don’t you worry. I’m still here.”

Her timing was impeccable.

I was delighted.

She’s always ready to put on a show when required.

I expect nothing less from our progeny.

We’re going to have our hands full.

Baby Dub does Business

This week I had to be in California for an important business trip. Thus the prolonged silence on the ol’ Baby Dub blog.

I was wary about the travel. As mentioned in previous blog posts, Baby Dub has made it evident she, like her mother, doesn’t like to fly.

But the trip went splendidly and the travel was much easier on me than the last time I had to fly.

I spent the majority of Friday talking. I had a 2 hour presentation followed by two one-hour breakout sessions that I led. To put it lightly, I did a lot of talking.

People who know me are well aware that I tend to talk with more than my mouth. My whole body gets involved. As I looked at a room full of folks sitting at chairs around a conference table, I couldn’t help it. I had to get up for my presentation. I needed to be up and moving, talking with my hands.

This revealed in much more solid light the “bump”. I am six months pregnant, people. It isn’t hide-able any longer. And once I stood up in front of all these folks, I couldn’t help but notice the questioning glances at my mid-section. While I am obviously carrying extra heat in the belly region, nobody wants to ASSUME that I’m pregnant.

As Brian Regan puts it, “I believe the rule is: don’t guess at that, ever, ever ever ever ever EVER ever.”

But I could tell people were wondering.

After the first session, one of the women at the presentation came up and congratulated me – she’d checked with my boss to confirm that I was indeed with child before saying anything.

So I’m obviously not quite to the stage where people who don’t know me can openly “worship” me. If people are too scared to guess that I’m pregnant then I probably won’t be getting much adoration from the unknowing public.

Which is quite alright, because my family is doing a pretty good job of that already.