Bump Books

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People who know me probably know I enjoy reading. So, of course, when I found out I was growing a human inside me, I decided to read up on this new (to me) subject. 

The first bump book I got was one that was recommended by someone I was in a class with, while she was pregnant, and I was not. It was The Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy. I was underwhelmed. The book didn't have all the factual info I was hoping for, and it felt like it was trying too hard to be cute. For example, every time the author talked about how you're pregnant for nine months, she put (ten) after. Exactly like that. Every time. Which might have been cute or funny the first time, but it's not even accurate. 40 weeks does not equal 10 months... it equals 9 months and 1 week. And you're not even pregnant when the doctor starts counting; it's 40 weeks from the start of your last period, and for the most part you're not fertile until about 2 weeks after that. Sorry if that's too graphic or too technical for anyone, but I really needed to get it off my chest. Speaking of which, the other ongoing theme that annoyed me throughout this book was the references to the "titty fairy" and how small-breasted women were always so excited to have their boobs grow during pregnancy. I miss having small boobs. A lot. When I went shopping for new bras and the saleswoman wanted me to try on a DDD cup, I literally started crying. Which was probably partly due to my raging preggo hormones, but still. Stop trying to tell me I should be excited about needing to wear a bra 24/7 or risk permanently damaging myself.

I wish I had gotten the second book first. I actually started reading Expecting Better before I finished reading The Girlfriends Guide, and finished it first. Expecting Better is the pregnancy book I would have written if a) I hadn't finished grad school recently enough that the thought of reading another research paper makes me want to puke, b) I hadn't finished grad school long enough ago that my access to the university library has been revoked, and c) a brilliant author named Emily Oster hadn't written it already. This book cites actual research that's been done by actual researchers on the various things you're told to do (or mostly not do) while pregnant. And then... she doesn't tell you what to do. Oster assumes that pregnant women are real people with brains and can make their own decisions when given actual information and data instead of just rules. It's a freaking miracle, and I would recommend this book not only to anyone who is pregnant, but to anyone who has ever thought about whether or not growing a human is something they might be interested in. 

Are there any other pregnancy books you would recommend? Or baby books, since I should probably start reading up on what to do when you have a small human in front of you and not just inside you?

The day I wanted to hit an old lady

Today, I am 6 months pregnant. At least, the doctor has declared that with 2-3% certainty that I will give birth in exactly 3 months (October 18th, in case anyone's counting). Which, as far as I can tell, makes today as good a day as any to share some of the... colorful? surprising? shit-tacular? things I have heard from people (mostly, but not all, strangers) about the now very obvious fact that I am growing a human.

When I was 11 weeks pregnant, a coworker said "I can see you've already lost your waistline." I was too shocked to say anything in return (plus, I was wearing a uniform at the time, which will disappear anyone's waistline faster than you can say "man pants"), but I did manage to flip her a double bird.

More recently, a grocery store employee called me a watermelon smuggler. I hadn't slept well the night before, so all she got was a blank stare until my hubby explained to me what the hell she was talking about. And by then we were out of the produce section.

Another woman asked me when I was due. Because I was in a (relatively) good mood, I leaned my shoulders back, put a hand on either side of my belly, and responded with a question of my own: "how could you tell?" I don't know why that made her uncomfortable, but it did.

This past weekend was my personal favorite (so far; I'm sure I'll need to do a follow-up between now and mid-October). At an event held by a community group I belong to, an old lady came up to me after our group leader made a speech identifying all the group members. She said, "When the leader said you were the 'member at large' I almost started laughing out loud." I wanted to hit her.

Now, you may be wondering: what is the moral of this collection of stories? There are probably several. For starters, people can be super insensitive. And men don't give a shit about how pregnant women look, only other women do. I'm sure there are others, but I'll leave those to your imagination. It's time for me to brush my teeth and try to fall asleep while being smacked around by, apparently, a watermelon I stole from the grocery store.

Backsplash

While my hubby does the majority of the sanding on our upstairs floors (prepping for a baby room), I've been feeling kinda useless. That's our big project at the moment, and I may or may not have broken my sander (we do a lot of sanding). So I decided that instead of sitting around reading baby books, I'd start my own home improvement project. Which I may or may not finish first (especially since I'm only doing part of the project for now--I'll explain later).  

Our kitchen isn't ready for a baby. Most of our cabinets don't even have doors, much less baby proof latches. But before we do cabinet doors, I want to cover up the dingy off-white paint and replace the ugly backsplash. I thought the backsplash was tacky (it's tiles that have clearly been painted various colors at various times). 

But I was in no way prepared for what was underneath. 

Who the hell thought this was a good idea? The red and checkers and hearts appear to have been hand painted (which is impressive, if appalling). The teacups and kitchen-y stuff is (gasp) wallpaper or something else glued on. So now, I'll be spending my afternoon soaking and scraping wallpaper behind the range. Maybe I should've been more satisfied feeling unproductive...

The paradox of choice

On any given day, I maybe remember 5% of what I learned in college. Recently, one thing that popped back into my brain from some forgotten corner was a concept called the paradox of choice. The idea behind this is that the more options we have when making a decision, the less satisfied we will be with the decision we ultimately make. 

The examples my professor used were peanut butter and jeans. The example that I experienced that brought it into my head was car seats. Regardless, the idea is the same: if you only have a few options, you're going to be satisfied that the one you pick is good enough. If you have a lot of options, you're not going to be satisfied unless you pick one that is perfect. Babies R Us has easily 30 car seats in the store, and 2,000 online. How the hell am I (or anyone else) supposed to know which one is the best, most perfect car seat out of 2,000? There is literally no way. 

What is the solution here? For peanut butter and jeans, I would usually just go for it. For car seats, I'm going to do more research and hope for the best.