Little kids go through it. They are big enough to use the big kid potty. But, they still aren't big enough ride a tricycle to the park by themselves.
That's where I am. At 11 weeks, I am fluffy enough to feel a bit snug in my own pants. But, I'm not big enough to necessitate maternity clothes.
How can you tell that your pants are a little too tight? Other than the obvious pinchy feeling, here are a few clues:
1. Your pockets have more flare than usual. This goes for the men, too. If you are getting a little thick 'round the middle, your pockets strain to supply a little more material. Then, your hips seem to be trying to take flight with their newly found pocket wings.
2. Certain parts of your pants start to rise to the occasion. I was disturbed, too. Trust me. I am a firm believer that no one should sport "toes" above the knees. Seriously.
So, where does this leave me?
Oh, THIS. Definitely THIS.
As long as you can get past feeling that you didn't buckle your pants (which you didn't!) you can use this band with success.
So far, I have used the band primarily with work pants. They are the most unforgiving - other than jeans. As long as I wear it with a slightly longer shirt, noone even knows it's there. And, as long as I tuck that pesky little button behind some material, I forget it's there.
REVIEW: Fluffy? Use a Band. Maintain pre-pregnancy clothing use for longer. Deny the ever-growing waistline for another day.
Monday, June 25, 2012
TIPS FOR YOUR PUBLIC
No. This is still not the post about the Chernobyl level of angry that is currently rushing through my veins. Patience. It's coming.
Latley, I have been torturing myself by reading pregnancy bulletin boards. Primarily, I just want to see what everyone else is going through. What I have found are hundreds of pregnant women who are surrounding themselves with people who don't support them and their pregnancies with their words. Quite the contrary! Most of these women seem to be surrounded by negative and caustic assholes.
Assuming that these women are not just big balls of raging hormones. . . I have written this post as a cheatsheet to help those people in your life acclimate to your pregnancy. Because everything in this world revolves around them.
1. It is none of your business. Why, when, how, if. . . none of it. You get the information that the future parents decide to give you. You are not entitled to every bit of information available. When our forefathers mentioned "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," they were not giving you auto-entitlement. Read #3 for more on that.
2. It is none of your business. If you have been trusted with details regarding someone's pregnancy, you can rest assured it is for two reasons. Either you are an important part of the couple's life or you are a perceived threat to their peace of mind. If you are the former, make sure to keep confidences and keep your mouth shut. If the couple wants everyone to know about their pregnancy, they will tell them. If you are the latter, this post is not for you. You are a lost cause. Die in a fire. (More with the burning?!$@)(*&#@)()
3. It is none of your business. To elaborate on #1. . So, the girl who sits across the aisle from you at work is clearly pregnant. Guess what. She never has to confirm that for you. You can bet that if she hasn't already said something to you, you don't rank high enough in her life to warrant tidings of the good news. If you are at all intelligent, you should be able to surmise that if you weren't privvy to her pending baby, you certainly are not entitled to know if she will have the epidural, if she intends to breastfeed, if she will cosleep, how long it took her to get pregnant, if she has had miscarriages in the past. Nothing. YOU. GET. NOTHING.
4. It is none of your business.
5. It is none of your business.
. . . Need I say more?
P.S. Eventually, I'll give you a list of snarky responses to help whip these offenders back to their own lives. For now, stand-up and let them know that you are displeased. We cannot correct behavior by assuming that the offenders know their offenses.
Latley, I have been torturing myself by reading pregnancy bulletin boards. Primarily, I just want to see what everyone else is going through. What I have found are hundreds of pregnant women who are surrounding themselves with people who don't support them and their pregnancies with their words. Quite the contrary! Most of these women seem to be surrounded by negative and caustic assholes.
Assuming that these women are not just big balls of raging hormones. . . I have written this post as a cheatsheet to help those people in your life acclimate to your pregnancy. Because everything in this world revolves around them.
1. It is none of your business. Why, when, how, if. . . none of it. You get the information that the future parents decide to give you. You are not entitled to every bit of information available. When our forefathers mentioned "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," they were not giving you auto-entitlement. Read #3 for more on that.
2. It is none of your business. If you have been trusted with details regarding someone's pregnancy, you can rest assured it is for two reasons. Either you are an important part of the couple's life or you are a perceived threat to their peace of mind. If you are the former, make sure to keep confidences and keep your mouth shut. If the couple wants everyone to know about their pregnancy, they will tell them. If you are the latter, this post is not for you. You are a lost cause. Die in a fire. (More with the burning?!$@)(*&#@)()
3. It is none of your business. To elaborate on #1. . So, the girl who sits across the aisle from you at work is clearly pregnant. Guess what. She never has to confirm that for you. You can bet that if she hasn't already said something to you, you don't rank high enough in her life to warrant tidings of the good news. If you are at all intelligent, you should be able to surmise that if you weren't privvy to her pending baby, you certainly are not entitled to know if she will have the epidural, if she intends to breastfeed, if she will cosleep, how long it took her to get pregnant, if she has had miscarriages in the past. Nothing. YOU. GET. NOTHING.
4. It is none of your business.
5. It is none of your business.
. . . Need I say more?
P.S. Eventually, I'll give you a list of snarky responses to help whip these offenders back to their own lives. For now, stand-up and let them know that you are displeased. We cannot correct behavior by assuming that the offenders know their offenses.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
DRAWING LINES
We all have people in our lives who are nosey as fuck and regularly cross into what normal folk would recognize as dangerous territory. Most of these people are in our lives still because for one reason or another, we cannot get rid of them. Read: Family.
Navigating the tips of their olfactory units can be tricky - especially when they seem to poke, swing and careen in and out of view while trying to get information (ironically, these are the same people who can't keep their mouths closed to begin with.)
Don't let this seemingly uphill battle discourage you from nipping the problem in the bud, however. This is practice for your future parenting - learning to shut down the outside noise.
Here are some of the rules I am slowly developing to help my Hub and I soar through this pregnancy without crashing and burning (some one's house down). . .
1. You reign in your people and your partner reign in theirs. In our house, the rule goes on to state that "there is always a choice. You can handle it, or I will." This rule goes back to two days before our wedding. It is a good story.
2. Be a united front. If the front cracks, the enemy infiltrates and the town burns. (There's a lot of burning in this post, eh?)
3. Set expectations. This goes for your partner, yourself and the people with whom you surround yourself. People are not mind readers. (We have now reached the relationship speech part of the post.) You cannot hold a person accountable for being unable to reach your expectations if they cannot even see the bar that you have set. I try to remind myself of this every day when my hormones make me crazy. (REMINDER: I must dedicate an entire post to the Pregnancy Angries.)
I think these three rules are integral to pregnancy and the future child rearing years. I'm sure there are other fine jewels in the crowns of husbandry and parenting. And that brings me to the newest rule:
4. If you aren't ready for or open to advice, make sure to politely forewarn the know-it-alls so that you have a foothold when you have to melt their faces off. (NOTE: that was "melt" and not really "burn")
When all else fails, I know that I am the pregnant one. I need to retain composure and I need to remain relaxed for my health. That is a good gauge for decision making right now.
Navigating the tips of their olfactory units can be tricky - especially when they seem to poke, swing and careen in and out of view while trying to get information (ironically, these are the same people who can't keep their mouths closed to begin with.)
Don't let this seemingly uphill battle discourage you from nipping the problem in the bud, however. This is practice for your future parenting - learning to shut down the outside noise.
Here are some of the rules I am slowly developing to help my Hub and I soar through this pregnancy without crashing and burning (some one's house down). . .
1. You reign in your people and your partner reign in theirs. In our house, the rule goes on to state that "there is always a choice. You can handle it, or I will." This rule goes back to two days before our wedding. It is a good story.
2. Be a united front. If the front cracks, the enemy infiltrates and the town burns. (There's a lot of burning in this post, eh?)
3. Set expectations. This goes for your partner, yourself and the people with whom you surround yourself. People are not mind readers. (We have now reached the relationship speech part of the post.) You cannot hold a person accountable for being unable to reach your expectations if they cannot even see the bar that you have set. I try to remind myself of this every day when my hormones make me crazy. (REMINDER: I must dedicate an entire post to the Pregnancy Angries.)
I think these three rules are integral to pregnancy and the future child rearing years. I'm sure there are other fine jewels in the crowns of husbandry and parenting. And that brings me to the newest rule:
4. If you aren't ready for or open to advice, make sure to politely forewarn the know-it-alls so that you have a foothold when you have to melt their faces off. (NOTE: that was "melt" and not really "burn")
When all else fails, I know that I am the pregnant one. I need to retain composure and I need to remain relaxed for my health. That is a good gauge for decision making right now.
Monday, June 18, 2012
WEEK TEN UPDATE
The Hub and I had another visit with the professional today.
As it turns out, I will be peeing in a cup every visit. Oh goody! I am pretty good at hitting my targets but I have to tell you that when the target is tiny, there is a really good chance that I'm going to piss on my hands. This time, however, I managed to keep my digits clean. Hooray.
For about a week, I have been miserable believing that I had gained 16 pounds in the last three weeks. Despite the fact that my pants are *just* a bit tight, I was sure that I was in the early throes of gestational diabetes or some strange thyroid problem. Or, some new gestational disease that no one had ever experienced before.
Sure, I would have had to taken in 56,000 extra calories in three weeks. But, I'm knocked-up and it's impairing my logic. A lot.
I was delighted to find that I had gained 4 pounds since the start of this madness. And dismayed that I believed the rickety scale that lives in the back of the bathroom closet. Idiot.
The two cysts in my breasts and the one that has forever called my right ovary "home" are all fine. In fact, the ovarian cyst is smaller than it has ever been. Thank goodness for the (stratospheric) spike in progesterone. Really. NOT the acne. NOT the dangerous level of angry. NOT the constant sick. This is the only good thing about this overload of hormones. ONLY. THING.
I have bad veins. Before my gallbladder surgery, five different professionals tried multiple times to stick me. It was torture. Today, it took only two nurses with three sticks to hit red liquid gold. I'm thanking the powers that be that I don't need to donate again for several months. Today, the attempts made the room very hot and very dizzy. Boo.
Those of you who know me are aware that I am seldom insecure. But, these last three weeks, I have been growing concerned. This early in the game, there is no telling if all is well until you hear or see the goodness. Today, I got a little relief.
I watched as the Hub's eyes beam when he heard the heartbeat. I felt a thrill when I saw the legs and arms kicking out. Reassurance.
As it turns out, I will be peeing in a cup every visit. Oh goody! I am pretty good at hitting my targets but I have to tell you that when the target is tiny, there is a really good chance that I'm going to piss on my hands. This time, however, I managed to keep my digits clean. Hooray.
For about a week, I have been miserable believing that I had gained 16 pounds in the last three weeks. Despite the fact that my pants are *just* a bit tight, I was sure that I was in the early throes of gestational diabetes or some strange thyroid problem. Or, some new gestational disease that no one had ever experienced before.
Sure, I would have had to taken in 56,000 extra calories in three weeks. But, I'm knocked-up and it's impairing my logic. A lot.
I was delighted to find that I had gained 4 pounds since the start of this madness. And dismayed that I believed the rickety scale that lives in the back of the bathroom closet. Idiot.
The two cysts in my breasts and the one that has forever called my right ovary "home" are all fine. In fact, the ovarian cyst is smaller than it has ever been. Thank goodness for the (stratospheric) spike in progesterone. Really. NOT the acne. NOT the dangerous level of angry. NOT the constant sick. This is the only good thing about this overload of hormones. ONLY. THING.
I have bad veins. Before my gallbladder surgery, five different professionals tried multiple times to stick me. It was torture. Today, it took only two nurses with three sticks to hit red liquid gold. I'm thanking the powers that be that I don't need to donate again for several months. Today, the attempts made the room very hot and very dizzy. Boo.
Those of you who know me are aware that I am seldom insecure. But, these last three weeks, I have been growing concerned. This early in the game, there is no telling if all is well until you hear or see the goodness. Today, I got a little relief.
I watched as the Hub's eyes beam when he heard the heartbeat. I felt a thrill when I saw the legs and arms kicking out. Reassurance.
Despite being a few weeks further along, the baby still feels as though it is growing in my back. It has yet to fill up enough to flip forwards like a normal uterus. The Doc estimates another four or five weeks will rectify this.
It was really nice to see the heart pumping like mad and how active the Spitfire is. The head still makes it look a little alien like, but less like it's going to claw its way out of my stomach.
REVIEW: Peeing in cups. Good appointment. Proof of life.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
LET'S GET TO THE POINT
So, there have been more changes. The most prolific has to do with my nipples.
(Laugh. You know you want to.)
Lately, they have turned into monstrous, rigid sentinels that bring forth pain. For you, dear readers, I journeyed for answers so that not another one of us would stand helpless at the top of a staircase and tearfully wish there was an elevator available.
Let me explain the issue: More turbidity = More friction.
Here are some of cures I discovered:
1. Most maternity shops sell little plastic hats for your nipples. These "nipple shields" are designed to protect you between feedings. To me, they looked like little plastic Dog Igloos. No thank you.
2. One of my close friends suggested lubricating lotion and nursing pads. This is a more acceptable plan of action. But, it leaves me thinking: "Aren't I going to be using enough nursing pads in the future? Should I really have to sport them NOW?? Aren't these going to make me even BIGGER?"
3. Duct Tape and gauze. Seriously. Don't forget the gauze.
4. Pasties. They come in assorted colors, sizes and shapes! As your quarters grow to the size of a personal pan pizza, you will be happy for the assortment.
At this time, I am opting for super soft fabric tucked discreetly inside my bra cup. No fuss, no muss.
(Flannel or super soft fleece seems to work best because it clings to the bra fabric.)
You're welcome.
(Laugh. You know you want to.)
Lately, they have turned into monstrous, rigid sentinels that bring forth pain. For you, dear readers, I journeyed for answers so that not another one of us would stand helpless at the top of a staircase and tearfully wish there was an elevator available.
Let me explain the issue: More turbidity = More friction.
Here are some of cures I discovered:
1. Most maternity shops sell little plastic hats for your nipples. These "nipple shields" are designed to protect you between feedings. To me, they looked like little plastic Dog Igloos. No thank you.
2. One of my close friends suggested lubricating lotion and nursing pads. This is a more acceptable plan of action. But, it leaves me thinking: "Aren't I going to be using enough nursing pads in the future? Should I really have to sport them NOW?? Aren't these going to make me even BIGGER?"
3. Duct Tape and gauze. Seriously. Don't forget the gauze.
4. Pasties. They come in assorted colors, sizes and shapes! As your quarters grow to the size of a personal pan pizza, you will be happy for the assortment.
At this time, I am opting for super soft fabric tucked discreetly inside my bra cup. No fuss, no muss.
(Flannel or super soft fleece seems to work best because it clings to the bra fabric.)
You're welcome.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
SEA COWS AND OTHER WONDEROUS THINGS.
With the sudden halt in certain activities, I have had to find new (or recycled) ways of preventing myself from becoming the shape and size of the chicken heart that ate New York City.
Shooting trap really doesn't work much but my arms and about half of my chest. Curling isn't starting up until September and even that only works one leg and only once a week. What I really need (other than preventing an oddly in shape body) is some good aerobic exercise!
Because of just a few of the really bad choices I made as a youngster, I am missing large pieces of pretty important cartilage. This makes any impact exercise really hurty. Because of this (and the fact that they are boring as Hell), running or walking long distances is OUT.
Instead. . . I have reverted to the days of old. I am swimming laps and treading water. I have been swimming since I was 6 months old. Whether it be recreational, professional (Life Guard) or on a swim team, I spent the majority of my childhood in a large body of water.
Water exercise is one of the most popular ways to work your entire musculo-skeletal systems. If you can get over being slightly misshapen in your swimming suit (with a hot-air balloon-sized suit in your future), you can use swimming as your primary form of exercise.
So, the clingy outfit is a downer, I'll admit. . but there are perks!
1. All of the pressure you feel in your legs and feet is instantly GONE. You are nearly weightless and in some senses, you ARE weightless! Manatees aren't made for the fields and neither am I. If it weren't for the pruney fingers and toes, I'd live in the giant chlorine and bromide bath at the YMCA.
2. All of the days stresses seem to melt away. Your body and your baby will both thank you. Think of it as sync time. Now, both of you are swimming in warm goo. (Ew. Stay out of the shallow end after a kiddie class!)
3. An hour of swimming is stated to be so much better for you than an hour of walking. So just imagine how much better 30 minutes of swimming will be for you than the 4 hours sitting on the couch!
If you can't swim, I suggest walking around the shallow end of the pool. The resistence will still help you work your muscles. If you're feeling ballsy, hold on the side and kick your legs for a while. That will get your heartbeat up!
I find that after swimming, I sleep deeper and all around feel better. Additionally, I am less prone to eviscerate my partner. Now, that is a perk!
Shooting trap really doesn't work much but my arms and about half of my chest. Curling isn't starting up until September and even that only works one leg and only once a week. What I really need (other than preventing an oddly in shape body) is some good aerobic exercise!
Because of just a few of the really bad choices I made as a youngster, I am missing large pieces of pretty important cartilage. This makes any impact exercise really hurty. Because of this (and the fact that they are boring as Hell), running or walking long distances is OUT.
Instead. . . I have reverted to the days of old. I am swimming laps and treading water. I have been swimming since I was 6 months old. Whether it be recreational, professional (Life Guard) or on a swim team, I spent the majority of my childhood in a large body of water.
Water exercise is one of the most popular ways to work your entire musculo-skeletal systems. If you can get over being slightly misshapen in your swimming suit (with a hot-air balloon-sized suit in your future), you can use swimming as your primary form of exercise.
So, the clingy outfit is a downer, I'll admit. . but there are perks!
1. All of the pressure you feel in your legs and feet is instantly GONE. You are nearly weightless and in some senses, you ARE weightless! Manatees aren't made for the fields and neither am I. If it weren't for the pruney fingers and toes, I'd live in the giant chlorine and bromide bath at the YMCA.
2. All of the days stresses seem to melt away. Your body and your baby will both thank you. Think of it as sync time. Now, both of you are swimming in warm goo. (Ew. Stay out of the shallow end after a kiddie class!)
3. An hour of swimming is stated to be so much better for you than an hour of walking. So just imagine how much better 30 minutes of swimming will be for you than the 4 hours sitting on the couch!
If you can't swim, I suggest walking around the shallow end of the pool. The resistence will still help you work your muscles. If you're feeling ballsy, hold on the side and kick your legs for a while. That will get your heartbeat up!
I find that after swimming, I sleep deeper and all around feel better. Additionally, I am less prone to eviscerate my partner. Now, that is a perk!
Monday, June 4, 2012
THIS POST IS NOT FOR YOU.
If you can't stand the honest truth about pregnancy, this post is likely not for you.
If fart and burp jokes are repugnant to you, this post is likely not for you.
If you are really close to me and there are things about me you just don't need to know, this post is likely not for you.
This past weekend was, by far, the worst time. I'm not sure I'm going to live through this pregnancy and if I hear one more person tell me this is going to be worth it, they can carry this hormone-inducing flesh-bag the rest of the way.
Here are a few udpates to how I'm feeling. . .
1. Instead of jacks, my boobs are now filled with cement. And, not the smooth kind. But, the chunky kind that rips jeans and knee-skin when you fall on it.
2. The nausea is so bad, I feel like someone should create a Sesame Street monster for it. It will be cute and pink and run around barfing on everything. All of the other characters on the show will want to shoot it but some helpful, well-meaning jerk will continue to point out that she is "worth it"
3. Holy Crap! Did I just crap for the first time in three days? Yeah. Constipation. It makes everything so much harder. That pun was meant. Indeed.
4. To reduce the nausea, I find myself eating small bits every two hours. 7-Up seems to be helpful, though, I have to say that carbonated drinks make things happen. And, when I say "things" I mean, chunky burps. Yeah. I mean the sharts of burps.
At eight weeks, I look forward to one more month of this deplorable treatment by my leasee. If someone treated my rental property like this, I would kick them out. No. . I would beat the hell out of them and then kick them out. Letting the perpetrators of such injustice get off scott-free would be. . . in the words of Vizzini, "INCONCEIVABLE!"
So. . I will wait and make sure to use this wretched time as the lecture most children hear at least once from their disappointed/irate parent.
If fart and burp jokes are repugnant to you, this post is likely not for you.
If you are really close to me and there are things about me you just don't need to know, this post is likely not for you.
You have been sufficiently warned.
This past weekend was, by far, the worst time. I'm not sure I'm going to live through this pregnancy and if I hear one more person tell me this is going to be worth it, they can carry this hormone-inducing flesh-bag the rest of the way.
Here are a few udpates to how I'm feeling. . .
1. Instead of jacks, my boobs are now filled with cement. And, not the smooth kind. But, the chunky kind that rips jeans and knee-skin when you fall on it.
2. The nausea is so bad, I feel like someone should create a Sesame Street monster for it. It will be cute and pink and run around barfing on everything. All of the other characters on the show will want to shoot it but some helpful, well-meaning jerk will continue to point out that she is "worth it"
3. Holy Crap! Did I just crap for the first time in three days? Yeah. Constipation. It makes everything so much harder. That pun was meant. Indeed.
4. To reduce the nausea, I find myself eating small bits every two hours. 7-Up seems to be helpful, though, I have to say that carbonated drinks make things happen. And, when I say "things" I mean, chunky burps. Yeah. I mean the sharts of burps.
At eight weeks, I look forward to one more month of this deplorable treatment by my leasee. If someone treated my rental property like this, I would kick them out. No. . I would beat the hell out of them and then kick them out. Letting the perpetrators of such injustice get off scott-free would be. . . in the words of Vizzini, "INCONCEIVABLE!"
Friday, June 1, 2012
PIT STOP REVIEW!
RESTROOM LOCATION: Cheesecake Factory at St. Louis Galleria
# of VISITS: 2 (though I wish I would have gone for #3 before I went to Macy's)
RESTROOM STYLE: Several stalls. Standard partial wall and door.
DECOR: Very dark. Modern tiles. LOUD MUSIC. WTFOMGBBQ?!?!
REVIEW: I expected goodness in this restaurant despite some of the sleezy looking clientel. The picture above is my view from the pot. The stall I chose was a baby-changing / handicap stall. It had its own sink. I just had to wonder if the other women in the restroom thought I neglected to wash my hands as I walked past the other sinks. I would definitely use this in case of emergency. If it weren't for the blaring music, I probably would make special trips here when I was out and about. ;)
WILL THE REAL BABY BUMP PLEASE STAND UP?
As most of your baby books will tell you, your uterus and baby will not be large enough to "show through" until late in your first or early in your second trimester. So, when I look down and see that my abdomen has grown exponentially rounder, I feel a little shitty.
Who am I kidding? I feel a lot shitty. Like Crappy McPooperson. Like Tubby McBiggerson.
Then, of course, the crazy sets in and I question everything I've done so far. . . Did I really up my calorie intake inadvertently - already? Am I not being as active as I usually am? Is swimming laps not taking the place of three softball teams? Is my baby really the Starman and it's just growing at an alien speed???
No. No. No.
In reality, that glorious little pooch. . . F.U.P. . . chub. . . gunt. . . bulbous growth is just a little bit o' bloat. In fact, it feels so familiar, that I already know the cure!
If I could just start my period, I would be back to normal and the pooch would disappear.
*blink*
So, I wait. With a mix of fear and excitement, I wait for a real bump to appear.
Who am I kidding? I feel a lot shitty. Like Crappy McPooperson. Like Tubby McBiggerson.
Then, of course, the crazy sets in and I question everything I've done so far. . . Did I really up my calorie intake inadvertently - already? Am I not being as active as I usually am? Is swimming laps not taking the place of three softball teams? Is my baby really the Starman and it's just growing at an alien speed???
No. No. No.
In reality, that glorious little pooch. . . F.U.P. . . chub. . . gunt. . . bulbous growth is just a little bit o' bloat. In fact, it feels so familiar, that I already know the cure!
If I could just start my period, I would be back to normal and the pooch would disappear.
*blink*
So, I wait. With a mix of fear and excitement, I wait for a real bump to appear.
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