Feeling Ready For Baby

Today, we had our 38 week prenatal appointment. Even though, based on our ultrasound yesterday, we're way closer to 39 weeks than 38. Either way, little man could make his appearance any day now. And I'm ready. I don't mean I'm ready because our hospital bag is packed (it is) or because the car seat is installed (it is), or even because I'm so excited to meet this tiny person who's going to depend on hubby and me for the next 18+ years (I am). 

At this exact moment, I'm ready to be able to say that my body is MINE again. At least partially. I'm ready to stop having acid reflux 24/7. I'm ready to stop getting kicked in the ribs at all hours. I'm ready to eat whatever I want. I'm ready to walk like a normal person instead of a duck. I'm ready to wear whatever shoes I want to, not whatever shoes don't require my hands to come into contact with my feet. I'm ready to not be congested and uncomfortable all the time. I'm ready to feel like me.

What part of returning to non-pregnancy were (or are) you most ready for?

Nesting

If "nesting" is NEEDING to sweep every leaf and speck of dust off the stairs in your yard (which is about 3 normal flights of stairs because you live on the side of a mountain and which haven't been swept once all year) to the point where you feel the urge to tell your hubby that your yard may soon resemble your crazy neighbor's yard (which is 100% bare dirt because she throws every leaf that falls inside her fence straight in the trash), then I've started nesting. These could be a very long, very OCD next 7 weeks. 

Bump Books

This post may contain affiliate links, which means I make a little money if you make a purchase using these links.

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.

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. 

Time-out

Last night, I realized I needed a time-out from being pregnant. I wasn't going to do anything crazy, but I was feeling tired of just "being pregnant." It seems like as soon as you start growing another person, everyone stops being able to see you as doing or being anything else. I was at a party recently and one of my friends introduced me to several different people as "she's pregnant." Seriously. I know she meant well and was just being excited, but I was kinda hurt. I didn't stop having a name or an identity when I started being pregnant. So last night, I put down the pregnancy books and the baby registry and did something just for me. Something I haven't done in a long time. 

What I really wanted to do was sit in a hot bath and read a trashy romance novel while sipping a glass of wine, but like I said, I wasn't going to do anything crazy. I settled for sitting on the couch and reading a trashy romance novel while sipping a bottle of water (and getting up frequently to pee). I stayed up late to finish reading it, which I haven't done since Twilight (embarrassing, but true). Even though I was using my belly as a book stand, I wasnt focused on being pregnant. I was focused on the ridiculous plot of the inconsequential story. And I enjoyed every damn minute of it. 

To all the other pregnant mamas out there, don't forget to take time to keep being you. You deserve it. 

Preggo piña colada

Being preggo is uncomfortable. Being hot is uncomfortable. Being preggo in record-breaking heat? Yep, also uncomfortable. But not necessarily unbearable. So what's the secret to survival here?

A comfy chair, a camera, and a hummingbird feeder. And a preggo-friendly piña colada. Step one, obviously, is to make the piña colada, which is easier than you might imagine. All you need are three ingredients, four if you're not preggo and want to add rum, you jerk.

Add equal parts of coconut milk and pineapple juice to a blender (1/3 cup or so is a perfect serving size) and enough ice cubes to cover the liquid (6-8 ish). Blend until smooth. Pour into your favorite honeymoon souvenir cup and enjoy, preferably while sitting in a comfy chair with a camera and a nice view, like of a hummingbird feeder. 

Who knows what could happen next? You might even end up with a few share-worthy hummingbird photos. 

How else do you beat the heat?

Pregnant brownies

I think I might be pregnant. I have brownies in the oven right now. Not for an after-dinner treat, but for the main course. You can thank my cravings and my hubby. I told him to talk me out of making brownies for dinner, but they have peanut butter in them. He loves peanut butter. Besides, the brownies are made with eggs and peanut butter, which have protein, and you're supposed to eat protein when you're pregnant, right?

Right. 

The hardest part about baking while pregnant is that you often have to break one of the cardinal rules of baking: taste it before you bake it. Luckily, my hubby was on hand to be my official taste tester and give his chocolatey thumb's up (and will be on hand to make sure I don't eat an entire pan of brownies by myself. He's such a giver). The only part I was able to taste was the peanut butter filling (which is why I'm calling these "pregnant" brownies: they're carrying around peanut butter goodness in their middle). I may or may not have cleaned that bowl with my finger. 

Shortly, my pregnant brownies will be cooked to perfection and I'll finally be able to taste them! Recipe to follow (after dinner). 

Winning

There is no winning when you're pregnant. 

You try to do the right thing, abide by the rules of what you should or shouldn't do, should or shouldn't eat. You do your research. And then, inevitably, whatever you think is okay to do or eat, you're wrong. 

One pregnancy website, book, or "expert" tells you that you need to cover yourself with sunscreen the moment you step outside, and another tells you to avoid sunscreen like the plague because of all the chemicals in it. I figured the doctor would be the most reliable tie breaker, so I asked her. She told me to wear baby sunscreen, which sounded reasonable, so I bought the regular baby sunscreen the next time I was at Target. I mentioned this to a couple of friends who also happen to be toddler moms, and they both went off the handle about how you have to get a specific baby sunscreen because the regular (read: cheap) ones still contain nasty chemicals you don't want leaching through your skin into the tiny human in your belly. Of course. 

Or maybe you're hungry (not unlikely when you're pregnant). You're on a lovely vacation in Italy and you see a place to get gelato. As you're finishing your Snickers gelato, you think to yourself "I hope this is okay for me to eat. I don't think it has any deli meat or sprouts or soft cheese or booze or raw eggs in it." And when you get back to your hotel that night, you read that while some gelatos are safe to eat while you're pregnant, some may contain questionably processed eggs and therefore, nasty bacteria. So it's okay to eat the fruity gelatos, but don't eat the creamy/custardy/eggy flavors like the Snickers gelato you just finished. Yep, that sounds about right. You then spend the entire rest of your time in Italy eating lemon and strawberry and coconut gelato while sneaking covert glances at your hubby's cup of chocolate and peanut butter and coffee custardy goodness. 

Or maybe you're going to be in a wedding while you're pregnant. Let's just assume it's tomorrow (it is). Your first inspection of the Internet tells you that you can only wear a select few brands of nail polish that don't contain select nasty chemicals (are you noticing a trend yet?). You go through your not insubstantial nail polish drawer and find that you own 3 of the select nail polishes that the Internet told you are acceptable. Except that when you look at the ingredient label, you see the words "formaldehyde resin." Well, shit. So you go back to the Internet for more answers, and find that one of your favorite brands is considered safe (for now). 

But who knows what new information will come out tomorrow about the horrible things you shouldn't do while you're pregnant. See what I mean? There is no winning when you're pregnant.