PREGGY PANTS

Check these babies out.

Cobalt blue, skinny, PREGO PANTS--complete with no discernable fly apparatus whatsoever.

No beltloops, no buttons, no zippers (but still four pockets!!). And BEST of all--NO ABDOMINAL PRESSURE. It's even better than wearing leggings.

I actually bought these a week ago, and began wearing them right away, because even though I don't have a huge bump to show, I do tend to unbutton my pants if I'm in the car for five minutes or longer, so I felt it was time to invest. I also ended up getting one of those spandex tubes that allows you to secure your unbuttoned/unzipped regular pants without being exposed--it looks just like you're wearing a white cami under your shirt--awesome!

Frank was gracious enough to observe me at the Tangier Outlet's Motherhood Maternity store while I criticized and applauded various clothing designs. I plucked a few from the clearance racks to try on, and awkwardly called him to the dressing room between wardrobe changes.

In the room, they had this HORRIBLE, mishapen bump/pillow that velcro'd behind your back to try on, apparently to help you diagnose what your clothes will look like on you after a steady, 6-month-prenatal-diet of toxic waste. This prompted me to--of course--try it on, but also to laugh super awkwardly, and then to suddenly feel very uncomfortable altogether, which I attempted to communicate with Frank.

"HAHA--this thing is GROSS--it doesn't look anything like a normal bump. Bleeeeh....HAHA... Sorry, I'm being weird--every time you come over here I say something weirder than the last time."[shaking head, shaking head]

"Ehh, you're okay--I'll let you know when it's getting weird."

I acted weird the rest of the time we were there, half-feeling like I shouldn't be in there, but knowing otherwise--Frank of course was helpful in making sure I didn't end up in the fetal position in the storage room after over-thinking things.

Listen here, Mom-store employees! I'm a pregnant lady! SORRY if I'm so skinny! I demand stretchy pants! (author's note: the people at the store were perfectly cordial. Any incredulous looks were only existant in my scary daydreams.)

"Are you serious? You don't even look pregnant"

Like the first day at a new school--I'm not sure if everyone thinks I belong there, but I'm glad I went, because I did make friends...with a pair of blue pants.

Pumped for the Bump

I'm 15 weeks now (I'm realizing now that I wish I'd labeled some of these posts by weeks for reference), which as I said means that I'm feeling MUCH better, eating a larger amount and wider variety of foods, and by MY standards, starting to show!

Now by "show", I mostly mean that I can't suck it in anymore. There's still a lump even if I try to make my ribs show, which I really wouldn't recommend you do if you have a lump like that. It's uncomfortable. I wear cute little dresses that I think make it look more like I'm pregnant, but most people haven't really seen it yet (which I keep telling myself is because of how well I've dressed my slowly expanding body with looser wears).

The first one to notice was today, and it was my precious, precious, 14 year-old tutoring student.

--Oh my GAWD, you're SHOWING.
--[surprised] You think??
--[huge eyes]OH MY GOSH, I'm sorry if you're offended, I CAN'T BELIEVE I said that to you.
--Haha, Actually I'm kind of glad you did--no one else has really said anything, and I was kinda thinking I am too.
--I'm SO SORRY, do pregnant people get offended when you say that? because it's not like you look fat or anything it just kinda looks like you're pregnant."
--[Laughing] "REALLY--I'm not offended, don't worry. I don't know if that offends pregnant people or not...Just don't tell them they look huge."

And we continued to eat melon and strawberries her housekeeper had cut up, and I laughed somewhat tentatively while she vocalized that "16 and Pregnant" once in a while makes her want to have a baby for about 15 seconds because the babies are so cute.

[big eyes]"but not really, I mean I DO NOT want a baby."

I slowly nod with approval before she adds, "But have you ever seen when two ugly people have a baby, and they always have like, the most beautiful, perfect baby in the whole world?"

I laugh awkwardly, as if I have no idea what she's talking about...it is a totally random comment, but I've seen it once or twice. Babies are just little miracles, there's no two ways about it.

...We conclude by deciding that she can just play with my baby instead.

Pregnant dress shopping

As I wrote in an earlier post, my best friend is getting married 2 days before my due date, and I am the maid of honor.

"Good luck getting to that wedding."...
"We'll see about that."...
"HA--Good luck."

These are just a few of the many highly optimistic jeers I've received upon telling people about this event. They have not phased me, and I am going into this with no qualms about committing to being there. I just ordered my $250 maternity-style dress, shown below, in petal pink. Lovely!



Brief excerpt from the fitting:
Woman who I instantly disliked: "Let's measure your waist next, although that's just going to disappear anyway, isn't it!!"
Me: Ha. ha. [will you leave now?]

Bride-to-be confirms that the woman said all of the wrong things to absolutely everyone the whole time we were there, and I manage to shake it off.

3 days later--voice mail from (thankfully) a different, very nice lady confirming 9-months pregnant sizing calculations:
"Hi there, this is [nice lady] from [nice dress shop], just wanted you to know that I'm going to place the order for your dress, and I'm going to place it in a size 16, because you know, you're going to have milk in there, and you'll need a little extra room. Just give me a call to let me know that that's okay, Thank youuu."

Me: SIX-TEEN? No. That can't be right. That lady measured over my bra, and I probably won't even wear one for the wedding. No. That's too big. I'm calling her--sixteen? No, not sixteen, that's huge.

[Frank remains silent as I dial, still mumbling.]

Phone call to dress shop:
Nice Lady: Hello, Nice Dress Shop
Me: Hiii, is this Nice Lady?
Nice Lady: Yes, it is--
Me: Hiii, you just left me a message about ordering my dress?
Nice Lady: Oh, yes, glad you called.
Me: Yeah.. I'm just a little worried that sixteen is going to be too big. I mean, I'm only an 8-10 right now, and--I just think it's really big.
NL: 8/10 in real dress sizes?

[Note: Real dress sizes are evil, tending to run anywhere from 2 to 10 sizes smaller than the clothes you wear every day. You would think that dress makers would want to make their clients feel great on the special days they're shopping for, not make them feel like whales...You would think.]

Me: [remembers how real dress sizes work] UGHHH, REAL dress sizes...[unsure of what else to say]
NL: Because if you're an 8/10 in real life, you're probably a 12 in dress size, and your bust measured a size 14, and we want to give you some extra room, because the way we aaare, you're going to, you know, you'll have milk in there.
Me: Ugh, I forgot about real dress sizes. The more we talk about this, the more 16 sounds okay.
NL: Yeaaah. We just want to make sure we can zip it up, because the rest of it can stay big.
Me. [Resigns completely] You're right...keep the 16.
NL: Alright, honey. We'll let you know when it comes in, thanks for calling.
[click]

Me: UUUGH I'm going to wear a SIX-TEEEN.
Frank: It's just a number, you just want it to fit you, right?
Me: Sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

So there it is. I've invested 250 Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers in a dress larger than has ever humanly fit me, with full intent to wear a diaper underneath it. [It's going to be a long day, and I WILL NOT pee myself on the dance floor.]

Despite what will be the odd circumstances, and what seems like quite a gamble, I really, honestly have a good feeling about it. So just get on my team, and get excited about my giant dress, K? Good talk.

The Baseball Spa

Yesterday was a full day of running around--3 tutoring students, and what didn't seem like that many errands...until I was done with them.

The day in order:
Miss shower
Prep for reading lesson
Student 1- 10am-11:30am
Assemble pregnancy snacks
(drive for half hour)
Student 2- 12:15-1:15
Catch up on student reporting
Research surprise for someone online
Call someone to talk about it
Call someone else to talk about it
Eat apple
Post office drop
Drug store for candy treats for turtle feeders
Walmart to waste my time because they didn't have what I wanted
BACK to office to furiously order surprise after final confirmation from someone
Harried drive to student 3's school, only to find that she has been picked up from school. Just as well.
2 minutes later--It's student 3's mom--she is so sorry! Grandma didn't know about lessons. Sigh.
Student 3- 3:45-5pm
Wendy's for junior cheeseburger deluxe and water and bloating
Bank for deposit
Yell at car I know is beeping at me because they want my front row spot at the bank
Back out of spot and mouth "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?"
Realize that car is just notifying karate student next door of its arrival.
Call customer service line to change certain details of surprise after tip from someone
Mall for secondary treat for aforementioned surprisee
Pee at Macy's
Walk in two full circles around escalators before re-arriving at "down" escalator
Call Pei Wei for carryout--pickup time will be 6:40.
Waste time at a totally different Walmart because they don't have a totally different item I want.
Pei Wei pickup--no fuss, no muss.
Trader Joe's for simple item that Walmart didn't have, plus fresh flowers.
(drive for half hour)
Other post office drop
Smash and shear thumbnail on steering wheel reaching for keys in ignition. Still sitting in driver's seat.
Deliver treats for turtle helper neighbors. Yay, skittles!
Home at 8--put away uneaten snacks.
Divide Pei Wei and garnish with mini container of extra peppers and carrots
Husband is home, looking dapper.
Anticipation for Pei Wei builds as blood sugar makes final pre-dinner drop--everything is READY.
Spill every drop of giant glass of water while adjusting flower vase.
Grumble about wet socks
Get large towel from upstairs
Marvel at pattern and span of water strewn across dining room floor.
Shake head and scoot towel with feet, burning final existing molecules of glucose.
Sit opposite of spill site and allow husband to pray before impending explosion.
No explosion--eating instead.
Husband draws bath upon request
Enter husband's impromptu-named "Baseball Spa"

Here the list stops, because here starts a completely new, delightful portion of my day.

Frank has the laptop set up on the sink with live streaming of the Orioles/Yankees game. I start relaxing right away, soaking, scrubbing and shaving away layers of pregnancy-induced dry skin and a skin-darkening coat of leg hair. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW, DON'T READ IT.

He helps me scrub my back, and the game is tied when I hop out of the tub.

Next was the mud mask. I was very proud of this purchase--Rite Aid had all sorts of fun beauty treatment stuff for like 75% off, and I had indulged in about $20 worth of reduced-price goodies. I got some nice, oceany-smelling body butter, another great organic lotion that smells like magic, my sugar scrub, and then the crowning glory--a 14oz, clasp-sealed jar of detoxifying face and body mud, originally over $20, which I had yet to try.

Frank had me lay on the (spa)bed in the next room with a towel under my head, and used his extra barber brush to apply the cold gook on my face, carefully avoiding my eyes and lips as per the instructions. There was a coldness, but also a slight burning sensation through the 15-minute process, which I figure was just a foreseeable part of the procurement of firmer, fresher skin. I brushed it off, focusing on the ninth inning of the baseball game, but also expected some redness after rinsing the mud away.

What I didn't expect, was greenness.

"Um...my face is stained green."
"What? What do you mean?"
"I mean I look like a zombie."
[enters the bathroom]"Hmm...did you use the sponge to wipe it off?"
"YAH, I used the sponge."
"...I'm sorry, babe."

Frank is feeling it bit bad between making jokes about photosynthesis, but I'm not particularly mad. I'm mostly worried about health implications of having stained skin, especially while carrying a child. Perhaps discount spa treatments aren't the best way to go...although my skin is firmer and very soft at the moment. Besides, I'm still having fun being pampered, and there's still a foot treatment I've been hoarding with soft little conditioning socks to come.

So here's an approximation of before and after:

Before

After

I may be exaggerating slightly on the shade, but it does make it look like I have a dirty hobo beard. Meaning that it still looks like this today.

I put on a yellow sweatshirt recently passed to me by my sister this morning, which Frank seemed to think looked really great on me. He even suggested that I wear yellow more often, which I know, from 25 years of experience, is not the best advice for moi. I don't [normally] have a yellow complexion.

"Maybe it's because my face is green"

"...maybe it is. But it still looks nice."

And I have to smile, because even though he keeps calling me "Triceratops" and "Plant lady", I know that even if I had on something red that made me look like I was about to vomit, he'd probably find a way to call me pretty.

Thanks for "The Baseball Spa", Honey.

Shopping for Mommy

I went to the mall yesterday to order some new glasses from Lenscrafters. I had put a pair on hold the day before that were quite different from any I've had before, and while I wasn't 100% sure on them, I was looking forward to trying them on again after my tutoring sessions. They had these ambery acrylic frames, a bit large, but I didn't think they were bad. Dolce and Gabana--so fancy, although not a deal-breaker since my insurance covered most of the frame price.

I walk into the store, the guy finds my frames, and instantly tells me that he doesn't like them. Cool.

He doesn't like the color ("just personally"), and after another 45 minutes of trying these amongst all sorts of other frames, he also lets me know "they're too big for your face". WAAAAH. I also liked a similar pair of clear purple frames against my better judgement, but in the end, after hemming and hawing, and almost not signing the paperwork after it was printed, I went with these:

Ooooh, how cute, you say. Sooo nice! If you worked at Lenscrafters you might add something inane about how well my eyes are centered. And while I like them quite a bit more after about 4 hours of wear the next day, I have a very strange feeling about this purchase.

See, I wanted something different from my current [slightly warped, very filthy] glasses that I bought about 2 years ago. Theses specs had all sorts of color and zazz that really got me excited about buying, and thusly wearing them. But I didn't want "different" to mean "average" or "boring" or "domestic-looking". As soon as the guy was sitting with me, hammering in the details which would allow me to purchase these lovely frames, I began to feel trapped by their simplicity. I felt I had sacrificed some of my own personal flare at the tauntings of this salesman, but perhaps not only because of him.

I know I'm gonna have a kid in 6 months (I'M GONNA HAVE A KID IN 6 MONTHS.) There's a weird feeling that I get when I get dressed for a baby doctor appointment, where I feel like I have to wear a dress with my hair down, and some light feminine makeup. That feeling started to sneak in on me while I shopped for glasses.

I felt, and kind of still feel like I'm strattling this line between the obvious idea that of course, I can still be my one-click-off self, and that maybe I need to grow up--whatever that means. That maybe I shouldn't wear buzz lightyear hats in public,

or wear dresses with sneakers and sweatshirts,

 or pretend I'm a dinosaur in a dress with sneakers and sweatshirts,

 I've been thinking about what my baby is going to see when he (maybe she) starts hanging out with me. For some reason, I can't shake the thought that I don't look like a mommy.

This of course, is ridiculous, because one day, when my kids want to wear their buzz lightyear hats with dresses and sneakers and sweatshirts, and stomp around like dinosaurs in public, we'll all be on the same team. So, that may be one point for Lenscrafters, but I've decided, family first--I won't melt into a boring suburbanite without a fight.

Awwwww Baaaabyyyyy

12 week ultrasound/first trimester screen today. Checks for some big genetic abnormalities, makes sure everything's growing right (brain, arms, legs, kidneys), and also checks for CUTENESS.

     Baby Padilla face up

Baby Padilla face down

7.34 cm Human Baby Padilla (yes, that's the name we chose.)

Danielle says the baby looks like it has a duck beak, but I quickly let her know that that little "beak" means that he likely doesn't have Downs Syndrome, so we'll take a little ducky baby for now.

By the way, you're looking at my kid. That lives in my body. That's growing like crazy. THAT IS SO CUTE, RIGHT? Everything on this baby is as good as it could look now, according to the doctors. We are so, so happy, and it was totally insane and addicting to see him moving around on the screen. Arms and legs everywhere. Fingers and toes, the whole bag. Even opened his mouth--AWWW--kind of weird and gross because he pees and drinks the same stuff. Yeah--now it's EWWW, but look at it this way:

it's a circle of LIFE.

And one day Frank and I will be presenting our baby on Pride Rock just like Mufasa and Sarabi.

Baby's still cute. End of discussion.

Turning the Corner

I went on a trip to Florida with my family. I will spare all of the details for now, except for the one where I began eating real foods again. HALLELUJAH.

It actually happened the night before I left (Monday, March 26th). Frank suggested we go out somewhere, and that my stomach and I choose where we go. I'm sure he was expecting the pasta place around the corner (good salads and bread), or... he was probably expecting that. Not much variety in my world as of that moment.

However, where I did decide I'd like to go, was totally out of the box of eating relative to pregnant Carla.

I had a bright, shining image in my head of a plate of Greek food. Lamb shanks, orzo with a richly seasoned tomato sauce, and oven roasted potatoes. "Let's go to Acropolis", I said.

"Are you sure? I mean, we can definitely go but...you really want to eat meat?"
"YES! I'm positive. Worst case scenario, I'll just eat the orzo, but I have a good feeling about this."
"Allll right! Let's do it!"

With that, Frank and I hopped in the car, and made our way to Greektown, where we shared a meal to the exact specifications of my vision--call it mother's intuition, but I ate more of the lamb than the pasta. It was...an incredible feeling. I imagine it's the same feeling you get when you just make parole for a crime you didn't commit, or you finally don't have to use your emphasema oxygen tank in heaven.

Week 12--I love you.
One pound a week--here I come.