In the beginning, there was so much hair. Beautiful, luxurious hair with a fine chestnut sheen. And then it started falling out. Slowly at first, but then with a vengeance. All that lovely hair, disappearing.
Sadly, I am not talking about the hair on Fiona's head. While it is true that many babies lose the thick locks with which they are born (and Fiona has lost some of hers), I am referring, regrettably, to my own hair. It is falling out at an alarming rate. I expected this, of course. I was warned by a dear friend sometime in the middle of my pregnancy. Granted, I'd never heard of such a thing before actually getting pregnant (add it to the list of "Things no one ever tells you about pregnancy and childbirth before you take the plunge and go get knocked up" - a list that seems to get longer all the time), but a couple people had mentioned it may happen.
And happen it has. Whenever I shower (every other day, since I fear if I showered every day I would go completely bald) I think to myself, "Damn, I could knit another me with all the hair I'm leaving in the drain!" I could definitely not get away with any crimes these days since I leave no fewer than 482 hairs behind everywhere I go.
Sigh. I've always had rather thin hair. But when I was pregnant, I suddenly had gorgeous, shiny, lustrous hair. All the words you hear in shampoo ads actually applied to the mop on my head, and it was good. A friend who has not seen me since shortly before Halloween (and before I started losing my locks) suggested I change nothing about my lovely hair - no color, no cut. "It's so pretty like it is!" I'll be interested to see what her reaction is when she sees me tomorrow. Not only am I scraggly-haired, but the color also appears to be changing from its previous chestnutty brown to a dull ash. Clairol Nice 'n Easy, here I come! If I weren't awash in the glow of motherhood, I'd be disgusted with myself! (just kidding)
Showing posts with label body. Show all posts
Showing posts with label body. Show all posts
Friday, December 28, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Stats - 32 Weeks
I had my final 4-week appointment the other day. From here on out, I'll go in every two weeks. My doctor wasn't there (nor was she when I went in after the accident). But I did get to meet another doctor in the practice, and since there's a chance someone other than my usual doctor will deliver me when the time comes, I'm happy to meet the extra players.
Good news all around. I'd gained only three pounds since my previous appointment. My belly, while seemingly huge to everyone else (to the point that comments have begun to make me a little paranoid about my size), measures completely normally in terms of size.
We also had a bonus ultrasound to size Weeble up and make sure she was on track. Oh, she's on track alright. She's so on track she's passed the station and is cruising on up the mountain. What I mean by this complete nonsense is that, while my belly is measuring "normal," Weeble is a big girl as of right now. The ultrasound puts her at five pounds and some odd ounces. More than a pound plus a few ounces over what a 32-week baby would "normally" be. But my favorite nurse said that puts her in the 65th percentile for size, which sounds a lot less scary. Still, if she keeps on this particular track, she's going be out of newborn size clothing before she's even born.
All around, she looks good and healthy. Fluids - check; placenta - check; 2 arms, 2 legs, check. We got a lovely view of her face, too (second picture).
It's fairly clear from this that she's already taking after me, what with the lips. Of course, the first thing that came to my mind was "Baby fish mouth!" No offense to her whatsoever, but those are some big lips she's got.
Looking at these ultrasound pictures compared to the previous two sets (at around 14 weeks and again at about 21 weeks) is unreal. She was scarcely a blip before. Then the "baby" in there became apparent. And now she's too big to fit on the screen. If there was ever a kick in the pants I needed to convince me that, oh, yeah, this is happening and she is real, this is it.
My stretch marks, as predicted, have in no way abated. They've all but taken over. I look at them as a hedge across my lower belly, since they do look very tree-like with all their spidery branches. People try to console me with the usual, "They'll go away eventually," clearly forgetting that stretch marks don't go away if you're not a celebrity with endless funds to get laser treatments or whatever it is the beautiful people do. They simply fade to become silvery branches instead of the angry red-purple ones they are today. But I suppose I'll embrace them eventually. I'm sure it's worth it. That's what they keep telling me anyway.
Good news all around. I'd gained only three pounds since my previous appointment. My belly, while seemingly huge to everyone else (to the point that comments have begun to make me a little paranoid about my size), measures completely normally in terms of size.
We also had a bonus ultrasound to size Weeble up and make sure she was on track. Oh, she's on track alright. She's so on track she's passed the station and is cruising on up the mountain. What I mean by this complete nonsense is that, while my belly is measuring "normal," Weeble is a big girl as of right now. The ultrasound puts her at five pounds and some odd ounces. More than a pound plus a few ounces over what a 32-week baby would "normally" be. But my favorite nurse said that puts her in the 65th percentile for size, which sounds a lot less scary. Still, if she keeps on this particular track, she's going be out of newborn size clothing before she's even born.
All around, she looks good and healthy. Fluids - check; placenta - check; 2 arms, 2 legs, check. We got a lovely view of her face, too (second picture).
It's fairly clear from this that she's already taking after me, what with the lips. Of course, the first thing that came to my mind was "Baby fish mouth!" No offense to her whatsoever, but those are some big lips she's got.Looking at these ultrasound pictures compared to the previous two sets (at around 14 weeks and again at about 21 weeks) is unreal. She was scarcely a blip before. Then the "baby" in there became apparent. And now she's too big to fit on the screen. If there was ever a kick in the pants I needed to convince me that, oh, yeah, this is happening and she is real, this is it.
My stretch marks, as predicted, have in no way abated. They've all but taken over. I look at them as a hedge across my lower belly, since they do look very tree-like with all their spidery branches. People try to console me with the usual, "They'll go away eventually," clearly forgetting that stretch marks don't go away if you're not a celebrity with endless funds to get laser treatments or whatever it is the beautiful people do. They simply fade to become silvery branches instead of the angry red-purple ones they are today. But I suppose I'll embrace them eventually. I'm sure it's worth it. That's what they keep telling me anyway.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Stretch
It finally happened. After 30 weeks and 3 days of flawless, gorgeous skin covering my belly, they came. A nice little crop of stretch marks have appeared just above my bikini line. This does not please me. I'm not interested in battle wounds. I'm interested in being exceedingly pretty.
OK, I'm exaggerating a bit (a lot). But still, I really don't like it. I'm already big, cumbersome, awkward, and cranky about 98.7% of the time. Now I get some purple road maps to Crazyville to boot?
I am aware there was little to nothing I could have done to prevent this particular side-effect of pregnancy. The cocoa and shea butter I've been lathering on since the 4th month I was pregnant were nice effort, but ultimately proved futile. Of course they did. Stretch marks laugh at lotions and potions. Stretch marks answer to genetics. My mom had them when she was pregnant with me, so it was pretty likely I'd get them, too. Hell, I got them during puberty when my boobal region grew faster than my poor skin could accommodate.
Still, I had maintained the small hope I'd escape this particular fate - or that I'd at least get farther along. I have the feeling it's all downhill from here. In fact, I'm pretty sure that in the time it's taken me to write this I've gotten at least 472 more stretch marks. Clearly, I need to up the ante: from now on I use TWICE as much shea butter. See if I can stop these suckers from getting any worse. Don't hold your breath, people.
OK, I'm exaggerating a bit (a lot). But still, I really don't like it. I'm already big, cumbersome, awkward, and cranky about 98.7% of the time. Now I get some purple road maps to Crazyville to boot?
I am aware there was little to nothing I could have done to prevent this particular side-effect of pregnancy. The cocoa and shea butter I've been lathering on since the 4th month I was pregnant were nice effort, but ultimately proved futile. Of course they did. Stretch marks laugh at lotions and potions. Stretch marks answer to genetics. My mom had them when she was pregnant with me, so it was pretty likely I'd get them, too. Hell, I got them during puberty when my boobal region grew faster than my poor skin could accommodate.
Still, I had maintained the small hope I'd escape this particular fate - or that I'd at least get farther along. I have the feeling it's all downhill from here. In fact, I'm pretty sure that in the time it's taken me to write this I've gotten at least 472 more stretch marks. Clearly, I need to up the ante: from now on I use TWICE as much shea butter. See if I can stop these suckers from getting any worse. Don't hold your breath, people.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Eyes up, boys
As someone who's been, um, well endowed since the sixth grade, I've gotten pretty used to the up-down-up-I-swear-I'm-not-looking-at-your-boobs reaction out of plenty of people (men). Mostly, it doesn't bother me. Outright leering has been rare, and hardly any of the lookers have resorted to grabbing and playing mammary motor-boat.
Ever since I got pregnant, though, I find the focus has shifted further downward to my ever-burgeoning belly. I almost feel bad for the twins. They're usually the center of attention - not even my hypnotic eyes have ever compared to the power of the bodaciousness of the tatas.
And now, they are mere afterthought as my belly takes over and demands all the attention. It's not really surprising - Weeble's current address gets bigger every day. This belly practically hits people in the face it's so huge. I, however, know that the day of the twins will return, and not so far from now. Until then, the onlookers should enjoy the show. It's ending in less than 12 weeks.
Ever since I got pregnant, though, I find the focus has shifted further downward to my ever-burgeoning belly. I almost feel bad for the twins. They're usually the center of attention - not even my hypnotic eyes have ever compared to the power of the bodaciousness of the tatas.
And now, they are mere afterthought as my belly takes over and demands all the attention. It's not really surprising - Weeble's current address gets bigger every day. This belly practically hits people in the face it's so huge. I, however, know that the day of the twins will return, and not so far from now. Until then, the onlookers should enjoy the show. It's ending in less than 12 weeks.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Hanging out with a lifelong foe
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.
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.
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.
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