There have been I think six Rocky movies and I've never sat through an entire one but I've always loved the theme song. Something about it just seems so triumphant; watching him run up the steep and treacherous steps until he finally makes it to the top.
Now imagine that you are running up those steps but imagine that you are not Rocky Balboa/Sylvester Stallone, but that you are just you, in whatever shape you're in right now. With each step add a little weight until you've added 30 pounds to yourself. Swell up your feet so that they look like bread rolls. Somewhere around the middle of the steps throw in some constant heartburn and lower back pain. Slow Rocky's song down so that it takes nine months to play. Make sure its ninety degrees outside. Get three steps from the top and just stand there looking at the top, knowing its right there, but that you can't take get up there for at least another two weeks. This is called nine months pregnant, or what the doctor's like to call, full term.
What does full term/37 weeks mean exactly? It means that your baby would be absolutely fine if he came out right now but he won't. It means that every pain will make you hope that you are about to go into labor but you're not. It will mean that every time you leave work and say "see you tomorrow" you hope that in all actuality you will be recovering in the hospital but every tomorrow you are back at work again. Most babies are born between 37 and 42 weeks. So what this means is that my little boy could safely come tomorrow or I could be standing there looking at that top step for five more weeks, the thought of which is 100 percent unacceptable. So as of yesterday, I gave the boy his eviction notice. He is to be out within the next two weeks or else.
Starting yesterday I started the process of trying every safe method supposedly known to naturally induce labor. These inlude; capsules of evening primrose oil, red raspberry leaf tea, walking, spicy food, fresh pineapple, and lots of uh- happy time with my husband. I have no idea if any of these things actually work. Either I will be a mommy again sooner, or I will be one pill popping, tea-drinking, indigestion-having chick that gets good cardio work outs and has a smile on her face. If he doesn't move willingly within two weeks, I will be evicting him via that old time favorite- castor oil. Some people say that all castor oil does is give you the runs, but right now I'm willing to risk it. Right now that top step is calling me. I've spent nine long months holding this boy in my belly, now I'm ready to hold him in my arms.
Are you listening in there buddy? Time for you to pack up your placenta and leave....
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Caution! Beware the Pregosaur! (34 weeks, 5 days)
Breaking News! A Pregosaurus Rex has been spotted on the loose in the Woodlawn area. Early reports say this Pregosaur, or P-Rex as they are also called, went on a rampage when an unknown male presented her with a double chocolate cake when she clearly requested a yellow cake with white frosting. Authorities believe that she may be scouring the land in search of food.
The P-Rex is characterized by its close resemblance to an elephant and disproportionately large belly. She may waddle while walking, have swollen fingers, and will likely be breathing like a 500 pound man even though she is walking slowly. The pregosaur is often delusional and may be wearing too small clothes that she has convinced herself are shrinking.
If you spot the Pregosaur, proceed with caution! The P-Rex is volatile and can appear calm but will attack at any given moment. If you encounter her, please refrain from rubbing her belly or using words like "huge" or "twins" as these things are known to incite violence. Try throwing a Krispy Kreme donut in the opposite direction to distract her and then make your get away. If all else fails, lie flat on the ground as the P-Rex cannot reach her toes. The best thing to do is contact authorities on sight. Do not underestimate the power of the P-Rex, as she has the ability to multiply!
The P-Rex is characterized by its close resemblance to an elephant and disproportionately large belly. She may waddle while walking, have swollen fingers, and will likely be breathing like a 500 pound man even though she is walking slowly. The pregosaur is often delusional and may be wearing too small clothes that she has convinced herself are shrinking.
If you spot the Pregosaur, proceed with caution! The P-Rex is volatile and can appear calm but will attack at any given moment. If you encounter her, please refrain from rubbing her belly or using words like "huge" or "twins" as these things are known to incite violence. Try throwing a Krispy Kreme donut in the opposite direction to distract her and then make your get away. If all else fails, lie flat on the ground as the P-Rex cannot reach her toes. The best thing to do is contact authorities on sight. Do not underestimate the power of the P-Rex, as she has the ability to multiply!
Friday, August 8, 2008
The Darndest Things (32 weeks)
There is something about being pregnant that seems to prompt everyone around you to say the most ignorant things that come to their mind. It is amazing that with each passing week my belly seems to be a magic wand that turns a normal, intelligent person into an OB GYN with a degree in Dumb Assedry. Although I have come to realize that most people are well meaning, it doesn’t make the comments any less annoying. I would like to do a brief public service announcement and let everyone know that just because a woman is pregnant does not mean that it is time to turn off your sensitivity switch. If it was rude before, its still rude now- i.e. referring to a woman as huge. Below are some real comments that I’ve received that could get you stabbed, shot, killt (yes with a t), or hurt if you say them to a pregnant woman ( or at least get you a smart response from me)
“Wow are you sure you’re not having twins?”
You know I might need to check on that. I am only eight months pregnant. Maybe during the 20 doctor visits that I’ve had over the last 3o something weeks and in the five ultrasounds, the doctor somehow missed that second baby in there. I have gained some weight in my boobs though. Maybe he’s hiding in one of those.
“Wow are you sure you’re going to make it to October?”
You know although I have an October due date I am soooo over the whole October thing. Something about it is just so 1999. I think a Leo might go a little better with my nursery color scheme so I’m actually thinking of popping this little guy out sometime next week.
“Get your rest now because once that baby comes you won’t be able to get any sleep”
Thanks I’ll remind myself of that as I’m trying to sleep right now with a head in my ribcage. Nothing says sweet dreams like a pelvis full of feet.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Hmm,- now that you mention it-not so much. But I am only 8 months pregnant. I’ve got lots of time to rethink my decision.
“You can’t possibly be that hungry”
I don’t even have a smart comment for this one. The worst thing about this was that a man said it. As a man, “you can’t possibly” should never begin any sentence that is going to end with something related to pregnancy. I will also extend this to pms, menopause, and any other womanly situation that you will never, ever, ever be able to relate to. As a matter of fact, as a man, your only response to a pregnant woman should be “you look beautiful”. The next time you feel like you want to say something regarding your pregnant woman’s weight, food intake, swollen ankles etc., just turn to her and say “you look beautiful”. It will get you good things in life.
And the number one crazy comment….
“After you have the baby you should be strong and in shape from all that weight you’ve been carrying around.”
Huh? Whaaa? Did you just?...I don't even have anything to say. The only thing I can do is keep the identity of the person who said it safe to protect the guilty :)
“Wow are you sure you’re not having twins?”
You know I might need to check on that. I am only eight months pregnant. Maybe during the 20 doctor visits that I’ve had over the last 3o something weeks and in the five ultrasounds, the doctor somehow missed that second baby in there. I have gained some weight in my boobs though. Maybe he’s hiding in one of those.
“Wow are you sure you’re going to make it to October?”
You know although I have an October due date I am soooo over the whole October thing. Something about it is just so 1999. I think a Leo might go a little better with my nursery color scheme so I’m actually thinking of popping this little guy out sometime next week.
“Get your rest now because once that baby comes you won’t be able to get any sleep”
Thanks I’ll remind myself of that as I’m trying to sleep right now with a head in my ribcage. Nothing says sweet dreams like a pelvis full of feet.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Hmm,- now that you mention it-not so much. But I am only 8 months pregnant. I’ve got lots of time to rethink my decision.
“You can’t possibly be that hungry”
I don’t even have a smart comment for this one. The worst thing about this was that a man said it. As a man, “you can’t possibly” should never begin any sentence that is going to end with something related to pregnancy. I will also extend this to pms, menopause, and any other womanly situation that you will never, ever, ever be able to relate to. As a matter of fact, as a man, your only response to a pregnant woman should be “you look beautiful”. The next time you feel like you want to say something regarding your pregnant woman’s weight, food intake, swollen ankles etc., just turn to her and say “you look beautiful”. It will get you good things in life.
And the number one crazy comment….
“After you have the baby you should be strong and in shape from all that weight you’ve been carrying around.”
Huh? Whaaa? Did you just?...I don't even have anything to say. The only thing I can do is keep the identity of the person who said it safe to protect the guilty :)
Friday, June 13, 2008
My daughter, the vegetarian (24 weeks)
I remember the day that I started hating my hair. I was about 6 years old and my grandmother asked me what I thought about it: “Do you think your hair is regular or coarse?” she asked, brushing my hair to the side in the guest bedroom of her house.
At 6, my hair wasn’t something I ever gave much thought ( I do remember thinking that however my grandmother was styling my hair at that moment was really ugly) I didn’t know the meaning of coarse so I responded “Regular.”
“I think its coarse.” She said. Although I didn’t know what coarse meant, I could tell by her tone of voice that coarse=bad, or at least something worse than regular. From that moment I felt like my hair was “bad” for about the next 15 years. Once I realized that there was nothing wrong with my hair I told myself that I would try to avoid making those comments that would scar my child for life.
Fast forward to 2008. Kya is online in the living room, playing a game where she is catching pigs to slaughter them and chop them into sausages. After watching this for about 30 seconds I tell her to turn it off because it seems inappropriate. About 30 minutes later we are sitting at the dining room table, eating the pork chops that I had made for dinner. Just trying to make conversation, I say to Kya:
“As much as you love animals, I’m surprised you would play a game where you kill pigs.”
And the scarring begins.
Kya looks down sadly into her plate. Steve looks at me with his eyebrows raised and a face that asks “why would you say that?” I am bewildered. My daughter cries hysterically at SPCA commercials and includes animals in her prayers every night. I thought it fairly reasonable that I would be surprised at her murdering animals for fun.
“Well at least you were killing pigs and not cats and dogs or something.” I say, trying to make the situation better.
It doesn’t work. Kya starts crying. Steve tells me to shut up loudly under his breath.
“I don’t want to eat animals anymore. I’m going to be a vegetarian.” Kya says. I tell her that she needs to eat her food.
“But its pig!!” She says.
“Its not pig. Its hog.” I say. Trying to minimize the damage.
“Isn’t a hog still an animal.” She asks
“Yes,” I say,” but a hog is a bad animal. Hogs eat little animals. They kill cats.”
Kya looks horrified
“Hogs are bad. The more we eat them the better.” Steve says, finally on my side.
The rest of the dinner is filled with questions: “Do hogs kill dogs? Will it fight a tiger? Will it eat a squirrel?’ She eats what she now thinks is an evil hog but vows that starting the next day she will not eat any meat. I thought that it would be about a day long phase but surprisingly she has stuck to it for a few weeks. So now I wonder, 15 years from now will she remember this moment as the day her mother made her hate meat?
(Oh and I'm having a boy!!!)
At 6, my hair wasn’t something I ever gave much thought ( I do remember thinking that however my grandmother was styling my hair at that moment was really ugly) I didn’t know the meaning of coarse so I responded “Regular.”
“I think its coarse.” She said. Although I didn’t know what coarse meant, I could tell by her tone of voice that coarse=bad, or at least something worse than regular. From that moment I felt like my hair was “bad” for about the next 15 years. Once I realized that there was nothing wrong with my hair I told myself that I would try to avoid making those comments that would scar my child for life.
Fast forward to 2008. Kya is online in the living room, playing a game where she is catching pigs to slaughter them and chop them into sausages. After watching this for about 30 seconds I tell her to turn it off because it seems inappropriate. About 30 minutes later we are sitting at the dining room table, eating the pork chops that I had made for dinner. Just trying to make conversation, I say to Kya:
“As much as you love animals, I’m surprised you would play a game where you kill pigs.”
And the scarring begins.
Kya looks down sadly into her plate. Steve looks at me with his eyebrows raised and a face that asks “why would you say that?” I am bewildered. My daughter cries hysterically at SPCA commercials and includes animals in her prayers every night. I thought it fairly reasonable that I would be surprised at her murdering animals for fun.
“Well at least you were killing pigs and not cats and dogs or something.” I say, trying to make the situation better.
It doesn’t work. Kya starts crying. Steve tells me to shut up loudly under his breath.
“I don’t want to eat animals anymore. I’m going to be a vegetarian.” Kya says. I tell her that she needs to eat her food.
“But its pig!!” She says.
“Its not pig. Its hog.” I say. Trying to minimize the damage.
“Isn’t a hog still an animal.” She asks
“Yes,” I say,” but a hog is a bad animal. Hogs eat little animals. They kill cats.”
Kya looks horrified
“Hogs are bad. The more we eat them the better.” Steve says, finally on my side.
The rest of the dinner is filled with questions: “Do hogs kill dogs? Will it fight a tiger? Will it eat a squirrel?’ She eats what she now thinks is an evil hog but vows that starting the next day she will not eat any meat. I thought that it would be about a day long phase but surprisingly she has stuck to it for a few weeks. So now I wonder, 15 years from now will she remember this moment as the day her mother made her hate meat?
(Oh and I'm having a boy!!!)
Friday, May 9, 2008
Looking Big, Feeling Small
I would like to thank Bonefish Grill for making me feel like the fattest woman in the world.
Since we had never been, Steve and I decided to go the restaurant last Tuesday for dinner.
The hostess led us to the nearly empty dining area and the atmosphere felt surprisingly intimate for a chain restaurant. I’m so used to us hanging out in the bar or at home recently that I expected something a little closer to Red Lobster, but the low track lights and the decorative wall made it feel a little nicer. We both took our seats in the booth. The hostess handed us our menus and looked at me and said:
“Is this booth going to be ok or is it too tight for you?”
I went from feeling pretty good to feeling like the epitome of huge in 0.5 seconds. I’m approaching five months and have gained about ten pounds. Not a small amount of weight, but good enough for me at this point. And now I am being asked whether I can fit inside of a booth at a restaurant. 300 pound people go to restaurants every day and sit in booths. I know because I’ve seen them. Steve said she was just trying to be nice, which probably is true. But in my mind I still called her a skinny biatch and wished that she would eat a fat sandwich of death.
To tell the truth, it kind of hurt my feelings.
Later on I told Steve how I really didn’t feel sexy anymore. His Response:
“So what? You’re pregnant.”
A lot of times my husband knows just the right thing to say to make me feel my best on my worst day. This was not one of those times.
What he said: So what? You’re pregnant.
What I heard: So what, you’re really not a woman anymore anyway, just a carrier of sorts for the baby inside you. You are round, you can’t drink, ride a motorcycle, get in a hot tub or stay up past 9 pm. You struggle to get out of a chair, why would you even begin to think about being sexy?
He probably didn’t mean all of that, but that’s how I felt when he said it. Being able to bring a new life into this world is one of the most powerful things that a woman can do. So how come instead of feeling like Superwoman sometimes I feel like less of a woman than I did before? Do I equate womanliness with sexiness? Shouldn’t I feel honored that my hips, thighs, boobs, and belly now have something more important to do than be cute things to look at? And why is it that the larger I get, the more and more I feel invisible?
I’m sure I could spend hours trying to answer all of these questions and maybe I will in another post on another day. Right now I have naps to take and fat sandwiches of death to make (that’s right Bonefish hostess, if you’re reading this, watch out. I have one waiting for you…).
Since we had never been, Steve and I decided to go the restaurant last Tuesday for dinner.
The hostess led us to the nearly empty dining area and the atmosphere felt surprisingly intimate for a chain restaurant. I’m so used to us hanging out in the bar or at home recently that I expected something a little closer to Red Lobster, but the low track lights and the decorative wall made it feel a little nicer. We both took our seats in the booth. The hostess handed us our menus and looked at me and said:
“Is this booth going to be ok or is it too tight for you?”
I went from feeling pretty good to feeling like the epitome of huge in 0.5 seconds. I’m approaching five months and have gained about ten pounds. Not a small amount of weight, but good enough for me at this point. And now I am being asked whether I can fit inside of a booth at a restaurant. 300 pound people go to restaurants every day and sit in booths. I know because I’ve seen them. Steve said she was just trying to be nice, which probably is true. But in my mind I still called her a skinny biatch and wished that she would eat a fat sandwich of death.
To tell the truth, it kind of hurt my feelings.
Later on I told Steve how I really didn’t feel sexy anymore. His Response:
“So what? You’re pregnant.”
A lot of times my husband knows just the right thing to say to make me feel my best on my worst day. This was not one of those times.
What he said: So what? You’re pregnant.
What I heard: So what, you’re really not a woman anymore anyway, just a carrier of sorts for the baby inside you. You are round, you can’t drink, ride a motorcycle, get in a hot tub or stay up past 9 pm. You struggle to get out of a chair, why would you even begin to think about being sexy?
He probably didn’t mean all of that, but that’s how I felt when he said it. Being able to bring a new life into this world is one of the most powerful things that a woman can do. So how come instead of feeling like Superwoman sometimes I feel like less of a woman than I did before? Do I equate womanliness with sexiness? Shouldn’t I feel honored that my hips, thighs, boobs, and belly now have something more important to do than be cute things to look at? And why is it that the larger I get, the more and more I feel invisible?
I’m sure I could spend hours trying to answer all of these questions and maybe I will in another post on another day. Right now I have naps to take and fat sandwiches of death to make (that’s right Bonefish hostess, if you’re reading this, watch out. I have one waiting for you…).
Monday, April 28, 2008
True Confessions! Scandalous! (17 weeks, 3 days)
So What If I Told You This:
I can’t stand one of my cats. I have seriously contemplated giving her away and pretending like she ran out the door. The only reason why I haven’t is that I know my husband wouldn’t believe me.
I think politics are boring and only kind of care whether Barack wins. I didn’t vote in the primary and felt bad and pretended like I did one time when the topic came up and I didn’t want to look bad in front of White people.
I had no “conscious” reason to have natural hair or wear locks. Its just what I felt like doing at the time and it was easier to maintain so I kept doing it.
I’m afraid to find out the sex of the baby because if they tell me it’s a girl I might cry (not happy tears)
Although I know that “living in sin” is wrong, I think that the year my husband and I lived together before we got married was the best thing we ever did.
I don’t understand ninety percent of the poetry that I read.
I don’t like neo soul music. Because I have natural hair people always want to tell me when India Arie/Alicia Keys/ Jill Scott are coming out with a new album and I feel like I should care but I don’t. Now when that Li’l Wayne album drops in June, I will be at Best Buy! ( or the bootleg man, whichever one I get to first)
Aaaah, that felt good. Just felt like one of those true confessions kind of days. Until Next Time….
I can’t stand one of my cats. I have seriously contemplated giving her away and pretending like she ran out the door. The only reason why I haven’t is that I know my husband wouldn’t believe me.
I think politics are boring and only kind of care whether Barack wins. I didn’t vote in the primary and felt bad and pretended like I did one time when the topic came up and I didn’t want to look bad in front of White people.
I had no “conscious” reason to have natural hair or wear locks. Its just what I felt like doing at the time and it was easier to maintain so I kept doing it.
I’m afraid to find out the sex of the baby because if they tell me it’s a girl I might cry (not happy tears)
Although I know that “living in sin” is wrong, I think that the year my husband and I lived together before we got married was the best thing we ever did.
I don’t understand ninety percent of the poetry that I read.
I don’t like neo soul music. Because I have natural hair people always want to tell me when India Arie/Alicia Keys/ Jill Scott are coming out with a new album and I feel like I should care but I don’t. Now when that Li’l Wayne album drops in June, I will be at Best Buy! ( or the bootleg man, whichever one I get to first)
Aaaah, that felt good. Just felt like one of those true confessions kind of days. Until Next Time….
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Help, I feel great! (15 weeks, 6 days)
Disclaimer: If this blog doesn’t make any sense its because Steve is watching Deuce Bigelow as I’m writing this and the movie is too freaking stupid/hilarious for me to block it out completely.
I haven’t blogged in a while mostly because the last couple of weeks have been pretty uneventful. My morning sickness is gone, the dark circles under my eyes are slowly being replaced with that dewy pregnancy glow. I even had enough energy on Sunday to workout and vacuum my house all in the same day. The results of my most recent screening showed that I only had a one in 10,000 chance of giving birth to a baby with downs syndrome which is about as low as you can get. To top it all off, I’ve gained only about half the weight that I had at this point when I was pregnant with Kya. Things are going well and with the exception of feeling a little more tired than normal and some sinus issues, I feel pretty darn good.
And I can’t stand it.
Now by no means am I asking for the constant nausea and fatigue that seemed like it would never end a couple of weeks ago (Are you listening God?) But in some horribly sick and twisted way, feeling bad incessantly felt like my evidence that all was well inside. It sounds crazy, but feeling crappy to me just means that the baby, little parasite that it is, is sucking all of the life out of me and by doing so is ensuring his or her own success. Now that I’m feeling better, what evidence do I have that its doing ok in there?
It will probably be another couple of weeks before I feel it move consistently. Sometimes I talk to it or poke myself in the stomach to try to get it to “make contact”. “If you are ok in there kick twice”. It doesn’t work. No sickness, no movement, no signs. And then the anxiety starts. I know, those crazy hormones.
But then again I know that this is not the only time that I’ve felt stressed because everything was going well. I know I’m not the only person that has had a perfect day, or an uneventful week, or just a stress free time in my life that made me feel like uh-oh, things are a little too great, followed by “something is about to go horribly wrong.” It doesn’t really make any sense, but sometimes knowing that something is happening feels better than not knowing anything at all.
Yesterday we heard the heartbeat for the first time. The little beats, that sound like a sped up washing machine, gave me some temporary reassurance that all is well. For today, at least, I’m trying to enjoy where I am now and just accept that everything is ok. I’m trying to save the anxiety for a time when I really need it.
But I still can’t wait to feel those kicks……
I haven’t blogged in a while mostly because the last couple of weeks have been pretty uneventful. My morning sickness is gone, the dark circles under my eyes are slowly being replaced with that dewy pregnancy glow. I even had enough energy on Sunday to workout and vacuum my house all in the same day. The results of my most recent screening showed that I only had a one in 10,000 chance of giving birth to a baby with downs syndrome which is about as low as you can get. To top it all off, I’ve gained only about half the weight that I had at this point when I was pregnant with Kya. Things are going well and with the exception of feeling a little more tired than normal and some sinus issues, I feel pretty darn good.
And I can’t stand it.
Now by no means am I asking for the constant nausea and fatigue that seemed like it would never end a couple of weeks ago (Are you listening God?) But in some horribly sick and twisted way, feeling bad incessantly felt like my evidence that all was well inside. It sounds crazy, but feeling crappy to me just means that the baby, little parasite that it is, is sucking all of the life out of me and by doing so is ensuring his or her own success. Now that I’m feeling better, what evidence do I have that its doing ok in there?
It will probably be another couple of weeks before I feel it move consistently. Sometimes I talk to it or poke myself in the stomach to try to get it to “make contact”. “If you are ok in there kick twice”. It doesn’t work. No sickness, no movement, no signs. And then the anxiety starts. I know, those crazy hormones.
But then again I know that this is not the only time that I’ve felt stressed because everything was going well. I know I’m not the only person that has had a perfect day, or an uneventful week, or just a stress free time in my life that made me feel like uh-oh, things are a little too great, followed by “something is about to go horribly wrong.” It doesn’t really make any sense, but sometimes knowing that something is happening feels better than not knowing anything at all.
Yesterday we heard the heartbeat for the first time. The little beats, that sound like a sped up washing machine, gave me some temporary reassurance that all is well. For today, at least, I’m trying to enjoy where I am now and just accept that everything is ok. I’m trying to save the anxiety for a time when I really need it.
But I still can’t wait to feel those kicks……
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