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.
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.
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.
Frank and I went to Hershey Park this past weekend with the youth group from our church. One of the other group leaders got some discounted tickets through his work, and we set the plan to go about a month ago. I did know I was pregnant at the time, and I did realize that this would mean I would largely be watching from the ground instead of screaming from runaway trains in the sky like I usually would.
However, this is Hershey Park we're talking about--have you ever heard the phrase "Hershey-Park-Happy?" It was coined by the institution, but is a true feeling nonetheless. I've probably been to Hershey Park 10 times in my life, and it's about equally fun each time. It's not too big, so you always get to everything you want in a day, it's consistently clean, and, oh yeah--that whole chocolate thing. Not to mention some of the world's freshest lemonade, and Pennsylvania-made Turkey Hill ice cream.
Needless to say at this point, I was okay with getting some outdoor exercise between what would inevitably be a day of lavish eating for me.
We woke at 7 that morning, making sure to bring Tylenol, sweatshirts for the evening, and a bunch of snacks--for us, and for the kids. I found myself running out of time, and decided that delaying breakfast until the car ride to meet the rest of the group was the time saver I needed. It did save me time, but not aggravation or stomach pain. By the time I got in the car, I was visibly clenching my teeth, and my eyes were bugging a bit...but darnit if we weren't RIGHT on schedule.
Frank immediately turns on the car stereo, containing the Hunger Games soundtrack we picked up before Easter, and turns to track 14--my personal favorite--which he hopes will ease the tension in the car.
Halfway through the song, and after a full cup of yogurt, I turn to Frank and say, "Good idea." He smiles with relief and satisfaction, stating, "I thought you might like that."
So we get to our destination no problem, meet up with the rest of the gang, and we're off to the park in 2 minivans--a boy van, and a girl van--the numbers were perfect and no one could resist. Before we separated, I had announced that I was having a baby in October, and did NOT want to be harassed about not going on roller coasters, as I was already upset about the sacrifice. The rate of knowledge prior was about 50%, so there was some excitement and chattering from the crowd.
I got some fun questions from the two already-moms in the car, (I love being asked about being pregnant, especially by people who have already been pregnant, because it helps me to find out if certain things are "normal" or not, including but not limited to constant runny noses, and insecurities brought on by maternity shopping.) and also enjoyed the pleasant feedback on our baby names. I absent-mindedly drank an entire 32 oz bottle of water without trying, and had to pee pretty badly upon arrival to Hershey's three-mile stretch of parking lot.
I led the pack on the way in, my eyes frantically searching for cartoon silhouettes of people wearing dresses. What may have been 45 minutes later, we found one right outside the gate, which I declared would be my first stop as I marched forward. One of our young guys said, "don't you want to wait until we're inside the park?"
"NO."
That was all I had to say about that--until I saw the long, unmoving, stereotypical line snaking out of the women's room.
"...Okay let's get inside."
And it was a very good choice, as the bathroom immediately inside the gates was almost cavernously empty. Don't follow the crowd, kids.
After relieving the intense pressure on my bladder, I realized that I really wanted to ride a roller coaster. I started searching on Frank's iPhone for at least one quack to say that riding roller coasters was perfectly safe for baby, as long as you didn't fall out of your harness. That of course didn't happen. Some people had written on message boards that they had ridden water slides, but many others had wagged the finger at them in the reader comments. The thing I decided to rely on was reading that amusement parks were pretty good at labeling what was safe or unsafe for those with-child, so I would just have to read all of the signs.
Luckily, they were all very easy to read:
Womp, womp. No fun for you.
First stop was the Comet (pshh, that one's boring anyway)--I waited and chatted with the mother of four extremely nice children about wearing sweatpants and early ultrasounds.
Next stop--the Great Bear (yeah, that's a fun one, but not my favorite). I used this time to go to the bathroom, and locate and eat half of a tomato and mozzarella sandwich at a nearby foodery.
Then--we did something I could do!! The Kissing Tower! It moves very slow, and gives you an awesome view of the park (and its surrounding parking structures!)
Here's a description of this ride's intensity from Hershey Park's website: Mild Thrill Ride - This is a low to medium speed ride with expected changes in elevation and speed. This ride may require some rider body control and is not intended for unaccompanied toddlers or very young children.
Woooo. At least I got a couple kisses from my honey.
I also got to ride in those old looking motorcars that tap out at a rockin' 5mph around a fixed track. Two words: ADRENALINE. RUSH.
Then we got lunch! Frank got these awesome buffalo chicken french fries (that I ate about a third of). NOM. Let's see..then we walked though ZooAmerica (and took a bathroom break).
Then there was The Claw--use your imagination, that's pretty much what it looks like. Couldn't go on that, so I decided to try to crush some 4-year old's dreams of winning a cheap stuffed toy with a rubber mallet.
I succeeded on the first try--SELF HIGH-FIVE!
Then, there was Fahrenheit, which was brand spanking new, and taunting me with its terrifying 90-degree drop. I talked a somewhat reluctant Frank into getting on it while I calmly sipped one of those delicious lemonades (which would lead to a bathroom break shortly thereafter) I mentioned earlier. "You'll be fiiiine. The drop is steep, but look how SHORT it is! The rest of it's all twisty. You LOVE twisty."
I have to admit I was pretty proud of him. Drops aren't his thing, and that ride looked intense. I plan on using my skills of reverse-exaggeration to get my kids on roller coasters as well.
After that ride, Frank was a bit windblown, and had a headache. Understandable. We wandered with the group down to a site where there were two roller coasters (one of which was Storm Runner, my favorite,WAH) in very close proximity. I was exhausted from walking at this point (it's about 4pm), and Frank needed to settle his brains, so we found a nice shady bench and cooled our heels.
As the two-hours-between-meals mark set in, I ate the second half of my sandwich, and started scanning the area for a special, indulgent dessert. Boy, did I find it.
What I am holding, ladies and gentlemen, is a Fried KitKat Sundae with three, (count em) THREE scoops of Turkey Hill's finest creamery ice cream (and the monkey that 4-year old didn't deserve). I got way more than I bargained for on this one. I mean, I knew it would be awesome, but I just assumed they'd throw some vanilla ice cream on there and call it a day. Oh, no. That would make you Happy, but it wouldn't make you "Hershey Park-Happy".
First, they made a criss-cross blanket of Hershey's Syrup on the plate, then we got to CHOOSE which ice cream we wanted (vanilla, strawberry, cookie dough), and they placed the carefully sugar-dusted KitKat heart-explosions alongside. I was about to take it off the counter, when she asked if I wanted hot fudge [as she encircled it with whipped cream]. YES PLEASE! I reached out again, only to be blown away by ANOTHER topping choice solicitation--Hershey's syrup (WHAT? that's already underneath!) or hot caramel? [Bewildered: No, thank you.] "You can also get crushed up Oreos, or Reese's, or peanuts, did you want any of that?" [mouth agape.]
My literal response was, "I'm a little overwhelmed right now, so I think we're good."
Even without the last six toppings, it was so rich and glorious that Frank and I needed a stray teenager to help us finish it. And let me just say, KitKats were made to be battered and fried.
The magic pretty much ended there. I think the last bite of that sundae was exactly when it started to rain. We ran to the Chocolate World gift shop just as it was reaching maximum capacity, struggled inside for a while, and walked four miles back to the car in the rain. On the way, I made one last desperate flee to a deserted parking-lot-porta-potty in the pouring rain. It was worth it.
I took at a well-deserved 90 minute nap in the car on the way back. From there, we headed a few miles further from home, and watched the Jonny Bones UFC fight out with some friends, where I happily drank grapefruit juice while everyone else drank Yuengling.
Overall, a very fun day, if more tiring and less thrilling than it might have been otherwise. I was happy to walk with my little baby around the park and hang out with some fun kids whose parents are at least 16 years ahead of me. It was also empowering to spend an entire day (and late evening) out without surrendering to x, y, or z after being behind the social curve for a few months.
Lastly, and I don't mean to brag, but we did a little tally before bed--in the 18 hours I was awake on this day, I went to the bathroom TEN TIMES. I hear it only gets worse.
Frank and I decided to have fun looking for baby bedding online last night. This started as a normal exercise, and ended in frenzied coos and squeals of adoration, which had to be forcefully put to an end so that someone (...carla) would eat dinner.
There was a set that we saw and liked a lot from Jill McDonald called Adorable Dinos. It's cute, but here's the cutest part of it (that I want no matter what theme of nursery or gender of baby we have:
Could you just SCREAM?! It's so freakin' cute!!
We continued to search Amazon, and became underwhelmed after a while. That's when Etsy came along, and filled my mind with the whimsy of handmade blankets, bumpers, letterpress decor, and the rest of the stuff that my perfect baby daydreams are made of.
I largely have a problem with little boy bedding sets, and that problem is the color brown. (see adorable dinos link--how big does that ugly terd-border have to be?) Why baby colors and brown are put together so frequently, I can't begin to imagine. I don't need my kid's room to help bore them, or me to sleep. (I'll have motivational posters for sleep aids--read on.) I know it's trendy, and I'm sure many of you reading find it completely acceptable, which is completely fine...UNLESS you're coming to my baby shower.
NO BROWN WITH PASTELS AT MY BABY SHOWER. PLEASE.
By the way: I don't know if I'm having a boy or a girl. I just can't stop looking at the boy stuff--mother's intuition?? We'll find out May 16th!
It's shown on a toddler bed, but it's for a crib also. You have the option of another fabric on the underside, which I think I would go for--perhaps a solid--check out the blankie.
Observe the complete lack of brown. Moy Bien. Also, there is quite a presence of all awesome colors, which leave the door open for some fun solid color accenting...what's that? You'd love to see what I have in mind??! WELL.
Here are those posters I mentioned.
I love these. They're hand made, in all the colors I love, and should whip my kid into shape in no time.
Baby hay-fever continued the next day after a trip to the allergist. I innocently waaaaandered into Target, for nothing in particular--first stopping at the Liz Lange Maternity stuff (while making sure I wasn't getting any funny looks from the fitting room counter), then meandering past the shoes, and finally arriving at the ominous and foreboding baby aisles.
It's a really strange thing to feel as though you're playing hide-and-seek with your future identity. "They say" (If I had a nickel for every time I've said that while relaying newly-acquired baby knowledge) that moms become moms when they're pregnant, right? Well if I were they, the timeline would be a bit more complicated than that. I don't know at what point exactly I'll be able to own it (my guess is right before I give birth to #2), but as excited as I am, I almost feel I haven't earned it yet. Maybe I didn't throw up enough or something. Anyway, back to the show:
From the main aisle, I plant my feet so I can glance over the baby care lotions and soaps, even going so far as to lean forward slightly, without actually moving closer. I rest back on my heels, look casually up and down the aisle, and take a large, slinking step to my left. I'm in.
I mentioned the small eczema patches on the back of my knees to my allergist, who reported that I should get some good moisturizer, and perhaps some 1% hydrocortisone cream, both of which would be quite safe for my pregnant self. On top of the fact that (believe it or not) I'm actually getting slightly more comfortable in baby-specific shopping areas, I also decided that Johnson's Baby Lotion was a reasonable thing to shop for without necessarily having a kid, so I remained comfortable enough to stay and browse. After a few sniff tests, I chose shea and cocoa butter.
After the initial pickup, I became a bit more brazen--still skipping the breast-pump aisle, but staying to oogle the blankies and baby clothes.
Found these first--ROBOTS. whimper whimperrr, so cuuute--12 month size. I flip between the four (blue, stripey, robo-print and yellow) over and over, sending pictures to Frank and hoping he'll encourage me to buy them.
It's at this point that I realize I have a very deep need to buy something, and I decide that this something should be for a newborn. I kind of had this feeling where I wanted to be the one to buy the first little outfit for my (80% sure-to-be) son.
Hello there, newborn-baby cuteness...if only there were something unbearably adorable to go with you...
Ahh! There it is.
After much internal struggle, I resist the bibs, but inevitably give in to the set of 3 monster onesies (only $8.99--anyone that knows me knows I can't resist a unit price of five dollars or less [$3 per onesie! Trouble ahead!])
I carried the onesies and the lotion to the checkout line, along with a 6-pack of paper towels (select a size, duh), and a can of speghettios with meatballs. I love Target.
Feeling quite happy with myself, I went home while my blood sugar proceeded to dip. Upon returning home, I found the lid of our trash can tossed carelessly in our BEAUTIFUL flower bed (full of wilted tulips), and proceeded to stomp and curse until my speghettios were heated, and it was all happily-ever-after from there. All laundry-and-facebook-and-feeding-the-turtle-carrots-and-Pandora. Nice day.
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.
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.
