For my entire life, I've struggled with my weight - the excess of it and the self-image issues that go along with it. Now, I don't want to hear any exclamations of "Oh, stop, you're just fine!" I don't say this as some sort of "Poor, fat ME! Tell me I'm skinny, PLEASE!" I'm simply stating a fact. No matter how lovely a woman I may be, it is absolutely true that am overweight.
But this is not the point. The point is item #483 on the list of Things Nobody Really Tells You About Getting Pregnant: For those of us who have struggled through a lifetime of trying to lose weight, giving up, gaining more weight, not fitting into clothes, failing time and time again... when you get pregnant, you suddenly have to become best friends with your worst enemy.
When I got pregnant in December, I was probably a good 20-30 pounds over my ideal weight. I'm not obese, but losing that amount of weight would put me in a healthy range. Growing a baby human inside puts the brakes on any and all attempts toward, thoughts of, wishes and hopes for weight loss. Nope. Now you have the task of GAINING weight over the next 40 weeks. Oh, god, where do I begin with how contrary this is to everything - and I mean everything - I have considered to be the norm?
Given this perception of "trying to lose weight is what life is all about," it should be no surprise that gaining a huge amount of weight while pregnant is a concern for me. Granted, it's nothing compared to my concern for having a healthy baby - whatever it takes. If I were told to gain 100 pounds for the benefit of my child, you better believe I'd do it. But by most accounts, having a healthy baby in this regard takes a gain of only 25-35 pounds - a bit less if you were overweight when you got pregnant. Which I was.
Aside from all the medical reasons for keeping weight gain within that particular range is the fact that hey, guess what! One day I won't be pregnant anymore. But I'll still have the majority of the weight I gained to lose. And since losing weight has been difficult for me for, oh, say, FOREVER, yeah, I worry about it.
The thing is, I DO need to gain weight. And that is what is so incredibly difficult for me to reconcile. I know that at some point I'm going to have to just let go and let it happen. Not that I haven't already started packing on the pounds; I have (almost 10 at this point). But actually giving in to it is like hanging out with your worst enemy and telling him he smells great even though he really smells like skunk. All I know is that for the next 20 weeks, I'm going to be able to say to myself nearly every time I step on a scale, "This is the most I've ever weighed." Let's see how long it takes me to just get OVER it.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Poke: Hello!
Once I hit the 18th week, I started waiting for that special feeling. That feeling that you can only get from a baby making its presence known by kicking the hell out of you from the inside (or from really bad gas). By all accounts, early kicking - which is typically felt somewhere between weeks 16 and 22 - is pretty light. It's not quite up to ninja standards at this point. A lot of women say it feels like popcorn popping, a fish swimming around, bubbles, fluttering, and being flicked - among other sensations.
Well, this is what I've been longing for. Really it's the one sign I've been missing so far. I've seen the baby (at week 13), I've grown out of most of my clothes and am starting to show, and, as previously discussed, my belly button is making a break for it. But feeling the Weeble has really been the missing piece of me really believing I'm pregnant.
By lunchtime today I was starting to feel pretty discouraged. I have no good reason for getting impatient. After all, some women don't feel the "quickening" until week 20 or even later. But waiting during pregnancy for a sign that doesn't appear right away leads to paranoia. Maybe he/she isn't moving because something is wrong.
Friday night was the first time I thought I felt something. It was brief, and over so fast I couldn't even be sure it had happened. It didn't feel like popcorn or being flicked. It felt like an arm, ending in an elbow, brushing up against me (only inside). But then it was gone, no matter how much I concentrated and willed it to come back.
Then today, the Weeble returned.
Poke: Hello!
Poke, poke: Where's daddy?
Poke: When do we eat again?
Poke, poke, poke: Where's the stinky dog?
Weeble's been pretty quiet since then, but it's clear now that he/she is in there. Most likely doing the mambo or something. Just over a week from now, we'll have the big ultrasound. With any luck, we'll be able to figure out just what part of him/her is poking me.
Well, this is what I've been longing for. Really it's the one sign I've been missing so far. I've seen the baby (at week 13), I've grown out of most of my clothes and am starting to show, and, as previously discussed, my belly button is making a break for it. But feeling the Weeble has really been the missing piece of me really believing I'm pregnant.
By lunchtime today I was starting to feel pretty discouraged. I have no good reason for getting impatient. After all, some women don't feel the "quickening" until week 20 or even later. But waiting during pregnancy for a sign that doesn't appear right away leads to paranoia. Maybe he/she isn't moving because something is wrong.
Friday night was the first time I thought I felt something. It was brief, and over so fast I couldn't even be sure it had happened. It didn't feel like popcorn or being flicked. It felt like an arm, ending in an elbow, brushing up against me (only inside). But then it was gone, no matter how much I concentrated and willed it to come back.
Then today, the Weeble returned.
Poke: Hello!
Poke, poke: Where's daddy?
Poke: When do we eat again?
Poke, poke, poke: Where's the stinky dog?
Weeble's been pretty quiet since then, but it's clear now that he/she is in there. Most likely doing the mambo or something. Just over a week from now, we'll have the big ultrasound. With any luck, we'll be able to figure out just what part of him/her is poking me.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Milking it by accident
One of the fun things about pregnancy is that the minute anyone finds out you're growing a baby human they start treating you with kid gloves. People suddenly demand that they carry things for you - like your grocery bag or a heavy box. Or your bottle of soda. Phew! Wouldn't want to put any stress on my arm!
Friends who are normally crazy drivers suddenly drive the speed limit and take corners with extreme caution; tailgating? God, no. Friends who smoke suddenly refuse to do it in front of me - even outdoors. On a windy day. People who never blinked when I swore like a sailor ask, "Are you going to still talk like that when your kid is born?" (the answer to that question is, "Probably - but not so much on purpose.") The other day at work I walked into a meeting where all the seats were taken, and without missing a beat, a co-worker stood up and said, "You can sit." I said that wasn't necessary - after all, I'm not so pregnant that standing has become a chore. But she insisted, so I accepted. I swear, I'm not milking this pregnancy thing on purpose. Even when you're not trying to milk it, people will do it FOR YOU.
Oddly enough, M is not one of these people. He will still allow me to pick up relatively weighty objects, won't think twice about handing me two (or five) grocery bags to carry, and I don't see him relinquishing his seat for me. This is not because he is thoughtless. It's just that he knows I don't need that kind of thing from him. And if I did, he'd have made up for it by getting more protective of me in ways that most people probably would never notice. He wonders aloud if I should use household cleaning products, and whether I should walk Ollie along dark streets. He never grumbled (much) when I kicked him repeatedly (and then just kicked him OUT of bed) in the first trimester for snoring too loudly and preventing me from sleeping. And he has never once made even the slightest bit of noise about how utterly lazy I have become. He takes Ollie out more than he should have to because he knows I will get unnaturally cold by going outside.
So at home, I still make plan and make all the dinners, and I still carry the heavy vacuum up from the basement, and I still do stuff that perhaps some pregnant women might milk their way out of. But I'm really lucky that, on the days when I do nothing but sit on the couch watching reruns of Friends that I've already seen 15 times, he doesn't bother me about it.
Friends who are normally crazy drivers suddenly drive the speed limit and take corners with extreme caution; tailgating? God, no. Friends who smoke suddenly refuse to do it in front of me - even outdoors. On a windy day. People who never blinked when I swore like a sailor ask, "Are you going to still talk like that when your kid is born?" (the answer to that question is, "Probably - but not so much on purpose.") The other day at work I walked into a meeting where all the seats were taken, and without missing a beat, a co-worker stood up and said, "You can sit." I said that wasn't necessary - after all, I'm not so pregnant that standing has become a chore. But she insisted, so I accepted. I swear, I'm not milking this pregnancy thing on purpose. Even when you're not trying to milk it, people will do it FOR YOU.
Oddly enough, M is not one of these people. He will still allow me to pick up relatively weighty objects, won't think twice about handing me two (or five) grocery bags to carry, and I don't see him relinquishing his seat for me. This is not because he is thoughtless. It's just that he knows I don't need that kind of thing from him. And if I did, he'd have made up for it by getting more protective of me in ways that most people probably would never notice. He wonders aloud if I should use household cleaning products, and whether I should walk Ollie along dark streets. He never grumbled (much) when I kicked him repeatedly (and then just kicked him OUT of bed) in the first trimester for snoring too loudly and preventing me from sleeping. And he has never once made even the slightest bit of noise about how utterly lazy I have become. He takes Ollie out more than he should have to because he knows I will get unnaturally cold by going outside.
So at home, I still make plan and make all the dinners, and I still carry the heavy vacuum up from the basement, and I still do stuff that perhaps some pregnant women might milk their way out of. But I'm really lucky that, on the days when I do nothing but sit on the couch watching reruns of Friends that I've already seen 15 times, he doesn't bother me about it.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Baby's First Big Mac
I wasn't kidding yesterday when I said I had plans to go to McDonald's for lunch today. And so, Weeble enjoyed the first and only Big Mac he or she will ever have for as long as I can help it.
Sure, I feel guilty about the fat and sodium intake - and how McDonald's is NOT meant to be a balanced part of the pregnant lady's diet. And I feel bad about supporting the megalomaniac that is McDonald's in any way. But I tell you what: right now, as I continue to ride on the high of delicious fatty, salty goodness that comprises a Big Mac and fries... I am very happy.
Talk to me in about 20 minutes when the high starts to wane and I descend into a pit of despair over what I have put into my body and into the body of my poor defenseless child. Until then, live it up, Baby! Because I'm lovin' it.
Sure, I feel guilty about the fat and sodium intake - and how McDonald's is NOT meant to be a balanced part of the pregnant lady's diet. And I feel bad about supporting the megalomaniac that is McDonald's in any way. But I tell you what: right now, as I continue to ride on the high of delicious fatty, salty goodness that comprises a Big Mac and fries... I am very happy.
Talk to me in about 20 minutes when the high starts to wane and I descend into a pit of despair over what I have put into my body and into the body of my poor defenseless child. Until then, live it up, Baby! Because I'm lovin' it.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Red, Red Wine
So far during the pregnancy, I haven't had any major or unusual cravings. Unless, of course, you count the need to place food into my mouth no fewer than every 3 hours a craving. Once, at around 12 weeks, I had a longing for green olives, and so when M brought them home, I finished off nearly half the jar in one sitting (note: I am not terribly interested in green olives anymore).
Otherwise, however, overall "cravings" have been limited to "see picture of food, want food" or "smell food, want food". This includes stuff I normally wouldn't eat - such as McDonald's. Today I caught an imaginary whiff of McDonald's (I say "imaginary" because there wasn't actually any around me) and I have since arranged to have lunch there tomorrow.
I haven't even missed beer all that much, in spite of the fact that it is a beloved beverage of choice for me. What I have truly missed, however, is red wine. OH! How I miss it! I would bathe in the stuff at this point.
A lot of people, upon hearing of this particular issue, remind me that it's probably OK for me to imbibe a little - especially now that I'm in second-trimester-land. And being of the sort who hasn't been denying herself much (yeah, that's right, I've had tuna... and I'll be damned if I'm leaving feta off my giant Russo's salad), I'm not totally opposed to the idea of having a small glass every now and again just to take the red wine edge off. But somehow I haven't done it yet. I've had opportunity. And I don't look so pregnant as to be in fear of being judged by others seeing me drink a glass (all the average onlooker would probably think is, "hey, chubby lady drinking wine"). So I'm not sure what's holding me back. Because it certainly isn't lack of wanting it. Because, yeah, I want it. I want it bad.
Otherwise, however, overall "cravings" have been limited to "see picture of food, want food" or "smell food, want food". This includes stuff I normally wouldn't eat - such as McDonald's. Today I caught an imaginary whiff of McDonald's (I say "imaginary" because there wasn't actually any around me) and I have since arranged to have lunch there tomorrow.
I haven't even missed beer all that much, in spite of the fact that it is a beloved beverage of choice for me. What I have truly missed, however, is red wine. OH! How I miss it! I would bathe in the stuff at this point.
A lot of people, upon hearing of this particular issue, remind me that it's probably OK for me to imbibe a little - especially now that I'm in second-trimester-land. And being of the sort who hasn't been denying herself much (yeah, that's right, I've had tuna... and I'll be damned if I'm leaving feta off my giant Russo's salad), I'm not totally opposed to the idea of having a small glass every now and again just to take the red wine edge off. But somehow I haven't done it yet. I've had opportunity. And I don't look so pregnant as to be in fear of being judged by others seeing me drink a glass (all the average onlooker would probably think is, "hey, chubby lady drinking wine"). So I'm not sure what's holding me back. Because it certainly isn't lack of wanting it. Because, yeah, I want it. I want it bad.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Shallow belly button
Yesterday was a rough day for me. M took Ollie to the dog park and I ventured out to try and find some maternity bras and other clothing. This would be because my pants are tighter every day, and, let's be frank here, my boobs are out of control. I was starting to feel BIG, and that was freaking me out a little bit.
Then I made the mistake of going to JC Penney, which I knew from their website has maternity clothes. BIG MISTAKE. They're apparently remodeling the store near us, and all their maternity clothes were jammed into this one area, very small, everything very close together. Were I any more pregnant and any bigger, I probably would have gone completely ballistic and actually maimed someone.
As it was, I managed to keep most of my seething rage inside - even as I'd find something semi-cute (out of the heaps of ugly, insulting crap) and then OF COURSE it wouldn't be in my size. Along with that was the seasonal issue. I know summer's coming (let me call out, here: WE LIVE IN NEW ENGLAND! Summer - hell, spring! - could still be months away), but how about they lay off the capri pants a bit? I'm pregnant and need new pants NOW, not 2 months from now when the weather will actually allow me to wear capris! Don't pregnant women need to continue working their real corporate jobs??? According to JC Penney, it's all capris and other such bullshit once you're gestating!
Just thinking about it makes me angry. And of COURSE they didn't have any maternity lingerie - not that I could find anyway. And that's really what I need at this point. I think my current bras actually quiver with fear when I pick them up to put them on - as do my poor beleaguered boobs, which are getting all their circulation cut off by the too-small underwired cups I'm currently stuck with.
I went home utterly deflated, feeling ugly and fat, and depressed as hell at what is clearly to be my lot in life for the next several (never-ending) months. Then M kindly suggested I try Target, since they have a maternity section. I thought that seemed like a great idea - I've walked through there before and seen some cute stuff. As expected, they did have some agreeable options, but, again, I'd find a cute pair of pants and they'd be either way too big or way too small - never in my size. The 2 pairs I did try on (one a size up, another a size down - seriously, they did NOT have my size!) didn't fit. Duh.
Then I tried on a few dresses because we're going to a wedding next weekend and I'm already at a loss as to what I should wear. That's when the depression fairy actually flew UP MY BUTT and made me want to run screaming into the hills of Not-Pregnant. I'm something like 17+ weeks along - I shouldn't already look like I'm ready to pop a kid out! Granted, I can somewhat improve this appearance by standing up straighter and sucking in a bit. But goddammit, I have a GIANT GUT on me! And my ass is making every effort to catch up - and fast. And of course, pregnancy wear is ALL about the jersey knit - which looks like shit on me even when I'm NOT pregnant. Add another layer of lovely fat, aforementioned Giant Gut, bigger-than-ever ass, and you've got a recipe for disaster. I'm jiggly, I'm big, and I'm hormonal. Who thinks that jersey knit is a good idea? I would like to get my hands on any designer who uses this vile material on anything but tee shirts and wring their stupid, skinny, CLEARLY never-been-fat-and-pregnant necks!!! AAAACKCCCKCKCCCKKK!!!!!!
Anyway, another fun discovery this weekend is that I now have access to way more of my belly button than ever before. This is because it's already pooching out and on its way to being an outie. Yep. Where I used to be able to store chapstick in there due to its impressive depth, now I am busy creating the Mount Vesuvius of navels. Just one more example of how my body is changing - rapidly and beyond my control.
It's the no-control thing that has me utterly freaked out, I think. I feel like I'm on a roller coaster that's constantly going over very steep drops, and I keep shrieking to get off, but the operator (aka: the Weeble) is clearly NOT LISTENING! So over these precipitous drops I will continue to go until I give birth - and then I suppose I'm getting on an altogether different roller coaster where the operator (aka: currently unnamed progeny) will continue to ignore my pleas to stop and get off.
Oof.
OK, so it's not all as bad as I make it sound. What I need is to just vent like crazy and be told that everything is normal, everything is OK, and I will not be a fat lard-o forever. I have the very VERY good fortune of having a husband who finds my pregnant body beautiful. Every time he touches my belly, he goes a little fuzzy with delight. It never fails to make me feel a little better about myself.
Then I made the mistake of going to JC Penney, which I knew from their website has maternity clothes. BIG MISTAKE. They're apparently remodeling the store near us, and all their maternity clothes were jammed into this one area, very small, everything very close together. Were I any more pregnant and any bigger, I probably would have gone completely ballistic and actually maimed someone.
As it was, I managed to keep most of my seething rage inside - even as I'd find something semi-cute (out of the heaps of ugly, insulting crap) and then OF COURSE it wouldn't be in my size. Along with that was the seasonal issue. I know summer's coming (let me call out, here: WE LIVE IN NEW ENGLAND! Summer - hell, spring! - could still be months away), but how about they lay off the capri pants a bit? I'm pregnant and need new pants NOW, not 2 months from now when the weather will actually allow me to wear capris! Don't pregnant women need to continue working their real corporate jobs??? According to JC Penney, it's all capris and other such bullshit once you're gestating!
Just thinking about it makes me angry. And of COURSE they didn't have any maternity lingerie - not that I could find anyway. And that's really what I need at this point. I think my current bras actually quiver with fear when I pick them up to put them on - as do my poor beleaguered boobs, which are getting all their circulation cut off by the too-small underwired cups I'm currently stuck with.
I went home utterly deflated, feeling ugly and fat, and depressed as hell at what is clearly to be my lot in life for the next several (never-ending) months. Then M kindly suggested I try Target, since they have a maternity section. I thought that seemed like a great idea - I've walked through there before and seen some cute stuff. As expected, they did have some agreeable options, but, again, I'd find a cute pair of pants and they'd be either way too big or way too small - never in my size. The 2 pairs I did try on (one a size up, another a size down - seriously, they did NOT have my size!) didn't fit. Duh.
Then I tried on a few dresses because we're going to a wedding next weekend and I'm already at a loss as to what I should wear. That's when the depression fairy actually flew UP MY BUTT and made me want to run screaming into the hills of Not-Pregnant. I'm something like 17+ weeks along - I shouldn't already look like I'm ready to pop a kid out! Granted, I can somewhat improve this appearance by standing up straighter and sucking in a bit. But goddammit, I have a GIANT GUT on me! And my ass is making every effort to catch up - and fast. And of course, pregnancy wear is ALL about the jersey knit - which looks like shit on me even when I'm NOT pregnant. Add another layer of lovely fat, aforementioned Giant Gut, bigger-than-ever ass, and you've got a recipe for disaster. I'm jiggly, I'm big, and I'm hormonal. Who thinks that jersey knit is a good idea? I would like to get my hands on any designer who uses this vile material on anything but tee shirts and wring their stupid, skinny, CLEARLY never-been-fat-and-pregnant necks!!! AAAACKCCCKCKCCCKKK!!!!!!
Anyway, another fun discovery this weekend is that I now have access to way more of my belly button than ever before. This is because it's already pooching out and on its way to being an outie. Yep. Where I used to be able to store chapstick in there due to its impressive depth, now I am busy creating the Mount Vesuvius of navels. Just one more example of how my body is changing - rapidly and beyond my control.
It's the no-control thing that has me utterly freaked out, I think. I feel like I'm on a roller coaster that's constantly going over very steep drops, and I keep shrieking to get off, but the operator (aka: the Weeble) is clearly NOT LISTENING! So over these precipitous drops I will continue to go until I give birth - and then I suppose I'm getting on an altogether different roller coaster where the operator (aka: currently unnamed progeny) will continue to ignore my pleas to stop and get off.
Oof.
OK, so it's not all as bad as I make it sound. What I need is to just vent like crazy and be told that everything is normal, everything is OK, and I will not be a fat lard-o forever. I have the very VERY good fortune of having a husband who finds my pregnant body beautiful. Every time he touches my belly, he goes a little fuzzy with delight. It never fails to make me feel a little better about myself.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Skunk
Our dog was skunked at midnight a few nights ago. This is conceivably one of the worst things that has ever happened to me, my husband, or my dog. I do not doubt the two cats were also quite miserable. The Weeble, well-protected in its stench-blocking placenta, most likely noticed nothing. Lucky little bastard.
If you've never been through the particular delights of a skunk spraying, let me assure you, it is NOT like driving by a roadkill skunk. Not one little bit. Fresh skunk stink is something altogether more heinous than anything you could ever imagine. Why we're not using this stuff as a means to get terrorists to talk is beyond me, because I'd do just about anything to get away from the smell.
Thanks to a thorough rinsing, a (cold and useless) tomato juice rinse, a regular shampoo bath, and then a hydrogen/dish detergent/baking soda bath and another thorough rinsing (all this in the hour following the spraying - there have been countless baths since then), Ollie-pup is tolerable. The house is livable. This is about as much as I care to discuss, however.
Should you, few, rare readers, ever find yourself in this predicament, a few words of advice (TAKE IT and your life will be happier for it):
1. If it can be helped, do NOT bring the dog indoors to be cleaned. This would be very bad.
2. If it cannot be helped, do NOT allow him to walk on carpet, rugs, or anything that is not readily washed. This would be very bad.
3. Under no circumstances should you touch (or even look in the direction of) the dog without nuclear-grade protective gloves. If you ignore this advice, and you touch your dog, you WILL stink like skunk for weeks - maybe longer. This would be very bad.
4. Don't bother with tomato juice. It does nothing but make your dog smell like tomatoes, but only as long as it's actually on the dog. Then he just smells like faintly tomato-y skunk misery. This is very bad.
5. Use a mixture of baking soda, dish detergent, and hydrogen peroxide. If you are smart, you will have these items already available so you don't have to run out to the convenience store at 12:45 a.m. in order to acquire them.
And god help you.
If you've never been through the particular delights of a skunk spraying, let me assure you, it is NOT like driving by a roadkill skunk. Not one little bit. Fresh skunk stink is something altogether more heinous than anything you could ever imagine. Why we're not using this stuff as a means to get terrorists to talk is beyond me, because I'd do just about anything to get away from the smell.
Thanks to a thorough rinsing, a (cold and useless) tomato juice rinse, a regular shampoo bath, and then a hydrogen/dish detergent/baking soda bath and another thorough rinsing (all this in the hour following the spraying - there have been countless baths since then), Ollie-pup is tolerable. The house is livable. This is about as much as I care to discuss, however.
Should you, few, rare readers, ever find yourself in this predicament, a few words of advice (TAKE IT and your life will be happier for it):
1. If it can be helped, do NOT bring the dog indoors to be cleaned. This would be very bad.
2. If it cannot be helped, do NOT allow him to walk on carpet, rugs, or anything that is not readily washed. This would be very bad.
3. Under no circumstances should you touch (or even look in the direction of) the dog without nuclear-grade protective gloves. If you ignore this advice, and you touch your dog, you WILL stink like skunk for weeks - maybe longer. This would be very bad.
4. Don't bother with tomato juice. It does nothing but make your dog smell like tomatoes, but only as long as it's actually on the dog. Then he just smells like faintly tomato-y skunk misery. This is very bad.
5. Use a mixture of baking soda, dish detergent, and hydrogen peroxide. If you are smart, you will have these items already available so you don't have to run out to the convenience store at 12:45 a.m. in order to acquire them.
And god help you.
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