Beer and Ice Cream and Maturity

Based on my grumblings about the first trimester, I'm sure it's fairly easy to gather that I didn't miss drinking so much as I missed consuming calories comfortably in general. Now that I'm about a month into the second trimester, appetites have been relatively normal, and I have started to notice adult beverages--more notably, their absence.

Frank has had the occasional glass of red wine in the evening, which I don't mind whatsoever (forget "we're" pregnant. I'm pregnant, and Frank has to live with me, so he gets to drink.) This past weekend, I sat, sniffing the air, wafting the scent of Frank's Pinot Noir while we watched Hugo (which was awesome). I even snuck a little sip while he was in the other room.

Let's be clear though: I'm not the kind to think that one sip of wine would bother my baby. Frank is on the better-safe-than-sorry side, but after an adorable instance where he made two batches of pasta sauce because he was afraid the wine he put in the first one wouldn't cook off, he too has simmered on the idea that one drop won't spoil the batch. I'm not really down with the one-or-two beers rule, but I have to admit I'm starting to miss my casuals.

We went to our second Oriole's game of the week with two other couples, and no one felt awkward enough to not order a beer around me, which I was pleased with. I don't want people to change what they're doing around me in a social atmosphere...unless they're smoking, or yelling, or smell like turkey burgers. Sure, I wished I could order one of the new Natty Boh tall boys with the fancy Orioles can, but I was fine with drinking pure, unadulterated water.

Frank showed up straight from work in the top of the third, and went for his first round refreshments during the 4th. Before heading to the vendors, he decided that he was a reeaaaallly funny guy--like, hilarious--and asked me deadpan if I wanted a beer. Pointed to me and everything.

"Oh, yeah? That's funny? That's how you're gonna play it? We have five more months of this you know."
[Smiles smugly] "I'm sorry" [Giant toothy grin]
[Snarl]"BUY ME AN ICE CREAM."

I smack Frank in the butt as he walks away, shaking my head and smiling. Punk. I yell behind him, "I don't really want an ice cream, I'll just have a few of your french fries." (Perfect example of what I call a "flare and cool down", similar to putting glowing iron in a barrel of ice water. Furious one minute, taking a joke the next.)

10 minutes later, Frank gallantly marches back into sight, wielding a waffle cone full of Carvel's creamy vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles.

[Christmas Day eyes and smile] "GASP--Thank YOU!"

In truth, I really didn't think I wanted ice cream--it was heading for 8:30pm, and getting windy. But man, did I enjoy the crap out of that thing. It was SO GOOD.

As time went by, I approached the cone-nibbling portion of the program, and Frank reappeared with his food and beer. I thanked him numerous times in happy tones for the ice cream cone, which our friend Rob reported was a bit of a journey in attaining.

"Can I have some ice cream?" Frank asked.

Now, I have a decision to make here. It's going to happen pretty fast, but it's a decision nonetheless. Fact is, I am happy as a clam right now, and it is because of Frank. This ice cream was to make me happy, but also partially to make him happy. He encroached a line with that comment. I have been generous and unflinching when my husband wants to have a drink with his friends, at this point having driven him home uncomplaining on a few occasions. I have been teased. I will not let it go without a counter.

"Hmm, can I have some of that beer?" I reply.

Frank turns to me, beer in hand, and slugs half of his beer within six inches of my face, making sure I understand how much he's enjoying it. I over-enjoy the rest of my ice cream, and make sure to tell him four times that the piece of cone I left on his tray has glue on it from the paper wrapper, so he BETTER NOT EAT IT. You know, 'cause it had glue on it.

Yeah, we're super mature and we're gonna teach our kids how to share and stuff.

You can drink around pregnant ladies, just don't rub it in their faces.
You don't wanna see that "flare" part.

Pregnancy's toll as of Week 17

So there are a lot of things that happen to a woman's body while she's pregnant, starting with the very first day. Some things show up and stay, others pop in for a week, and others we're unsure whether they were really there (because we'd like to think we imagined them). If you're not into science fiction, you may find this list more horrifying than interesting or funny, so be prepared. I'm going to catalogue (almost) everything I've experienced so far from head to toe.

Head Hair: Not the scariest to start on--looks awesome and is growing well. Looks redder without having used dye.

Body Hair: Terrifying. Grows at rates exponential to pre-pregnancy, revealing my Greek heritage, rather than allowing me to keep my previously expressed Irish traits.

Skin: DRY. So dryyyy. Eczema patches behind my knees, itchy scalp.

Brain: In constant flux. Psychotic, vivid, nightmarish dreams, frequent headaches, reeling thoughts, forgetfulness, rage, pleasant daydreams, dizziness.

Eyes: Crying. Lots of crying. Eyes are also able to accurately detect adorable children under age 2 and women with pregnant bellies from an uncanny distance. Stroller brands and models are easily recognizable.

Nose: Faucet-like running of the nose started 17 weeks ago (40% of all pregnant women have congestion or runny nose for their WHOLE pregnancy). Also, I am a bloodhound. I can smell potato salad in a sealed container wrapped in a paper bag from a room away, or my neighbors cooking hamburgers while inside my house with the doors and windows closed. However, I can almost never smell my own farts.

Mouth: Gums bleed easily while brushing. Excessive spit and night drools. Unpredictable. Tongue is unreliable as a reference to "what tastes good". Talks a lot while crying. Talks while sleeping. Laughs uncomfortably in maternity stores. Dreams of kissing baby.

Ears: Enjoy informational podcasts on Pregtastic.com.

Neck and arms: still skinny, wrists feel achy after computer work.

Hands: Like to blog to provide therapy for the brain. Nails are growing long and strong.

Boobs: Huge and painful with darkening...spots. Fit uncomfortably in two underwire bras, and not at all in my other five.

General Trunk Area: Plagued by pulling, cramping sensations on its surface, often "the feeling your abs are slowly being ripped apart". Does not respond well to sudden movements due to "round ligaments", which slowly torture pregnant women while they hold on to their last days of solace in their skinny ankles. Think thick, restrictive, internal bands chaining your inner groin to your hip flexors, that seize when you sneeze, or laugh, or roll over in bed.

Back: Generally uncomfortable and tense. I think I experienced a fraction of what "back labor" is like while I was pooping once.

Stomach: Nausea, vomiting, voracious growling, small capacity, high maintenance. Not to be confused with "belly".

Belly: Embryo turning to fetus inside, now slightly distended. Likes to be touched by myself and my husband, but is shy around others.

Bladder: Frequently full, frequently emptied.

Bowels: Full of bubbles, frequently emptied.

Butt: Sitting for a long time on any surface makes my tailbone KILL. Don't know why.

Lady Stuff: Heightened awareness. Mildish cramping or contraction-type feelings cause short internal tailspins and then go away.

Legs: Often feel like I ran a half-marathon 2 days ago. Achy, and in constant need of stretching.

Ankles: Still there

Feet: live in constant fear of getting 1/2 to a FULL size bigger due to ligament loosening and general bad luck.

Body: Generally tires after about 1/3 of the "to do" list. Can walk for about an hour before sitting, but can't stand in one spot for 10 minutes without feeling lightheaded. No, I don't lock my knees. Doesn't like to bend over. Succumbing to itself slowly after multiple episodes of doing too much and seeing spots. Prefers fleece muppet blanket while napping for three-hour bouts.

I generally wake up and inspect my body for the next bizzare thing this process will inflict upon me. I found it this morning, but I'm not gonna tell you about it. It's getting creepy, and I don't even know how to classify what it is.

And if you think all of this is bad, you should hear about some of the things I torture myself with reading. Stuff happens to pregnant and laboring women that is unspeakable. I've actually promised myself to stop reading that kind of stuff. All it does is make you feel like a mild to moderate hypochondriac, and it seems to me that no matter what you tell your OB, they won't be surprised, and they'll tell you it's totally normal, so don't bother, unless your OB works at this office:

Let's just say, once you read about 2 sentences about "stage 4 tearing", you decide that you're just gonna pray instead of being informed. Let's just say, I pray a lot.

Portrait of a Franker

Ladies, you should all be so lucky to wake up to a bowl of beautiful fruit, hand delivered by the man of your dreams.

 

Thanks, Honey :)