Yes, I know Tilly's already here, but thought I should probably write the blog that I intended to write on Saturday morning, oh, about the time I was pushing her out...
Have you ever had something you were so sure that was going to happen and when it didn't, you were completely taken by surprise, like all of sudden you woke up one day and the sky was tangerine?! That is what happened to me with Tilly. Don't ask me why, but for some reason, the WHOLE time I was pregnant, I was sure she was gonna come early. I didn't know how early, but I figured this was one of those instinct things like how I was pretty sure Tilly was a girl before the ultrasound confirmed it (well, except for that "nightmare" around week 33 when I had a nightmare that my little girl suddenly was a boy and I had nothing but pink stuff and frilly dresses for him - panicked enough that I made the ultrasound tech re-check at my last ultrasound).
Anyhoo, right from the get go, I was just so sure she was gonna come early - to the point that I was worried she would come out before my time at work was up. So then, a week and a half before my due date, I went on mat leave. Perfect. All I figured every day was, well, she can come now. And then every day, I slept right through the night. No contractions. No water breaking. Not even the mucus plug (boys and anyone else who's never seen it - think of a giant huge marble-size booger. Sorry, can't think of something less gross to explain it)
The weekend before she was due, Tyler got to Regina, and I thought ahhhhhhhhh.... Tilly was just waiting for Daddy to get here! Now she'll come. Hmmm. Still no labour stuff. Day before her due date (Monday Nov 21)... Oh! Maybe this is it!! DAMN - just needed to take a big dump. Off to my family doctor aka. the nicest doctor and possibly person I've ever met. He's got huge smiles and I think he's almost as excited about her imminent arrival as I am. He measures her and guess her at 8.5 pounds. All I can think is, okay muffin, you can come out now. Mommy doesn't want more than a 9 pound baby coming out of there and I need you to still be able to put on some of your adorable newborn clothes!
Get home and that's it - off to the reflexologist. Charlie's been saying that he's got a pretty good success rate getting stubborn babies to come out. Off I go and he massages and pokes and prods my feet and my ankles... Hurts, so something must be happening!! Just to cover my bases, stop on the way home at the health food store to buy red raspberry leaf tea and some castor oil* - sure they're old wive's tales, but she needs to be born by her due date because I was SURE she would be.
Dawn of due date. Wake up. Feel tummy. Feel Tilly kicking away. Is it just me or is she kicking harder? Maybe she's trying to Chuck Norris kick her way out? Should I be shining a flashlight up there to show her the way out? Tyler tries to give her a pep talk. Interesting. Did I just imagine it, or did she just laugh at me? Not one of the gee-this-clown-is-funny kind of laughs. More of the you-mere-mortals-think-you-can-get-me-to-do-what-you-want? kind of laughs. Get the chills. Better call acupuncturist and massage therapist. Can't get in until Monday, Nov. 28. Dammit, this child is kicking my ass in this intense battle of wills.
Wake up Wednesday morning. New idea - gonna try the "Murphy's Law" method of induction. Go shopping to buy all the stuff I need to do a bunch of Christmas baking the next day - gingerbread, sugar cookies, maybe even nanaimo bars. This is gonna work - Murphy's Law is like the Secret - oh, so powerful, sending the vibes out into the universe.
Wake up Thursday morning, sigh, and go to the kitchen and actually do Christmas baking. Curses, this girl is seeing right through me!! New plan of attack. Right now, she's like a diva, in her dressing room, refusing to come out because everyone is catering to her, talking and trying to cajole her on to the stage. Time to try to reverse psycologise this baby. We're not gonna talk to her and beg her to come out today. Nope, she's gonna be so pissed, she'll storm right out of my uterus. This plan is brilliant!
Wake up Friday morning. Damn, that plan was stupid. Time to head to the OB for the appointment I only made because the receptionist made me because Ottilia was supposed to be here by now. Get there and the first thing my OB does is discuss the possibility of induction. I feel so defeated - you win baby. I sign the release form and sign the paper, scheduling it for December 5th. The OB says, that's if she's not already here. I smile weakly and say sure, "IF". Then the OB offers to thin my cervical membranes aka "the rim job" - wow and I thought pap smears were unpleasant. This is pap smear times 100. Oh Shannon, you may have some mild cramping and spotting, so don't worry about it.
Now I just go on about my day as if I'm not even pregnant - sure, I still waddle like the March of the Penguins, but I am a woman thoroughly defeated. I guess this is one of those things where I just have to give up on my certainty, like someone handing me the keys to a beautiful all-expenses paid villa in Southern Spain. Ain't happening.
All day, feeling little pangs, but no big deal - nothing new. About 11pm, feeling... sore. No cramps, no water breakage. Just... sore.
Okay now this is my season cliff hanger... Can't say anymore until the next post because I don't wanna take anything away from the big blockbuster labour story. It's epic but mommy needs to have a sleep now... Please don't let this be like that 80's show Dallas and I'll wake up still pregnant...
* Got home and looked up stuff about taking Castor oil - waaaaaay too scary about the stuff that could happen to baby. Figured I could wait so if anyone needs a bottle of castor oil...
Wednesday, 30 November 2011
Wednesday, 16 November 2011
Braxton Hicks are jerks
So now I really truly get it. Yes, not getting to have some of the things I love (sushi and sangria, for example) sometimes makes pregnancy seem like FOREVER. Thanks to the last 2 weeks though, I get why in the third trimester, I am already tying to bribe, cajole, and trick this baby to come out of me.
Braxton Hicks contractions suck ass. Sorry to be so blunt, but there's really no other way to put it. John Braxton Hicks in 1872 got these named after him so forever after, he is on my "List". Of course they're named after a man. Sigh.
Books and baby sites make it sound like they're a walk in the park - a slight tightening of the uterus. Bullshit. Take your period cramps. Take the worst one you ever had times about 5. Now imagine that every night for weeks with no end in sight. It's not like I get them constantly, but a good 3 or 4 a night seems to be par for the course until I give up whatever I am doing and go to bed. I can almost hear the Braxton Hicks contractions laughing at me - haha, we have made her bend to our will once again. Like I said, they're totally jerks, akin to those douchebag ex-boyfriends that almost all of us had at one time or another.
Now Braxton Hicks didn't come alone to this party. Oh no, that would be "ruining his rep." He brought along his equally douche-y buddy, Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. Never heard of it? Me either until my last doctor appointment. You see, while getting the lovely Braxton Hicks contractions every night like a Vegas show, SPD has decided it wants to be the opening act / co-star nightly.
Basically, this hormone makes all your ligaments relax so the baby can get out (it's called relaxin - aren't they clever?) One of the places the ligaments need to relax (obviously) is in the pelvis. That baby's head ain't getting out otherwise. Well, in the front, the ligaments are supposed to stretch out a little bit, but if your pelvis isn't "locked" (whatever the hell that means), or they stretch out a little too much, you can get pain. A lot of pain. The best way I can describe it is that it's like getting kicked in the crotch with a really pointy pair of stilettos - but from the inside.
Yes houseboating buddies, for inventing the C-punch term, I am now experiencing a reverse one or 5 on a daily basis. Karma is a bitch. (For non-houseboaters - think of it as the woman version of kicking a man in the family jewels, but with a cruder and unfortunately catchy moniker one thinks up after days of drinking "punch" on the Shuswaps)
The only relief from these two asinine conditions? Laying down. Unfortunately, they also have an annoying little gnat of a cousin - acid reflux. Yep, joy of joys. After Braxton Hicks and SPD have kicked my ass enough to make me go to bed at 7:30pm, about 10 minutes later, acid reflux comes to this little get together and makes me feel like puking all night. Whoopee shit.
So you see, I am starting to get a little desperate - Tilly needs to get her little butt out here. I am in the process of making a list of all the things I can do to convince her to come out - booking reflexology and acupuncture, purchasing a trampoline, and I'm even getting close to drinking castor oil. Any ideas short of a vacuum cleaner are more than welcome - well, almost any. I just remembered who reads this and what you people come up with sometimes frightens me a little.
Braxton Hicks contractions suck ass. Sorry to be so blunt, but there's really no other way to put it. John Braxton Hicks in 1872 got these named after him so forever after, he is on my "List". Of course they're named after a man. Sigh.
Books and baby sites make it sound like they're a walk in the park - a slight tightening of the uterus. Bullshit. Take your period cramps. Take the worst one you ever had times about 5. Now imagine that every night for weeks with no end in sight. It's not like I get them constantly, but a good 3 or 4 a night seems to be par for the course until I give up whatever I am doing and go to bed. I can almost hear the Braxton Hicks contractions laughing at me - haha, we have made her bend to our will once again. Like I said, they're totally jerks, akin to those douchebag ex-boyfriends that almost all of us had at one time or another.
Now Braxton Hicks didn't come alone to this party. Oh no, that would be "ruining his rep." He brought along his equally douche-y buddy, Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. Never heard of it? Me either until my last doctor appointment. You see, while getting the lovely Braxton Hicks contractions every night like a Vegas show, SPD has decided it wants to be the opening act / co-star nightly.
Basically, this hormone makes all your ligaments relax so the baby can get out (it's called relaxin - aren't they clever?) One of the places the ligaments need to relax (obviously) is in the pelvis. That baby's head ain't getting out otherwise. Well, in the front, the ligaments are supposed to stretch out a little bit, but if your pelvis isn't "locked" (whatever the hell that means), or they stretch out a little too much, you can get pain. A lot of pain. The best way I can describe it is that it's like getting kicked in the crotch with a really pointy pair of stilettos - but from the inside.
Yes houseboating buddies, for inventing the C-punch term, I am now experiencing a reverse one or 5 on a daily basis. Karma is a bitch. (For non-houseboaters - think of it as the woman version of kicking a man in the family jewels, but with a cruder and unfortunately catchy moniker one thinks up after days of drinking "punch" on the Shuswaps)
The only relief from these two asinine conditions? Laying down. Unfortunately, they also have an annoying little gnat of a cousin - acid reflux. Yep, joy of joys. After Braxton Hicks and SPD have kicked my ass enough to make me go to bed at 7:30pm, about 10 minutes later, acid reflux comes to this little get together and makes me feel like puking all night. Whoopee shit.
So you see, I am starting to get a little desperate - Tilly needs to get her little butt out here. I am in the process of making a list of all the things I can do to convince her to come out - booking reflexology and acupuncture, purchasing a trampoline, and I'm even getting close to drinking castor oil. Any ideas short of a vacuum cleaner are more than welcome - well, almost any. I just remembered who reads this and what you people come up with sometimes frightens me a little.
Sunday, 6 November 2011
Naughty knotty pregnancy
When I found out I was pregnant, I was pseudo-prepared for a lot of the things I've gone through thanks to many friends who preceded me and television. I knew that my back would be sore, and having double D's most of my adult life, I figured big deal. Like that's gonna be anything new. Oh pregnancy, you little prankster, you.
In my first trimester, my back and neck mostly hurt because I sat and slept in any position that would keep me from losing my lunch and I can almost guarantee that somewhere, a chiropractor sensed my discomfort and bought a new car based on my future chiro spending. Oh well, I thought, I knew that this wasn't gonna be a cakewalk (as an aside, could someone somewhere please invent a cakewalk? You know, I'm out, going for a walk in the fresh air to be healthy but interspersing said walk with cake stations? Pregnancy makes my dreams really vivid and this dream made me REALLY happy).
On to the 2nd trimester... back more sore. Go to a massage therapist in Regina, this big guy. He has a table that has a big hole for my tummy to hang out in, but one small problem... or I should say, me being small was the problem. You see, at only 5'1", I am slightly vertically challenged. So there I go onto the massage table, making sure little baby Tilly gets to hang down and chillax in the baby belly hole and then as I lie down the rest of the way... my face ends up in the uncomfortable "seam" of the metal table and the face part so my nose is getting squished and breathing is a little difficult, compared to say, breathing underwater. Get a couple little towels and attempt to MacGyver up a forehead rest so I don't suffocate, which would be counterintutive of the whole massage to make me feel better thing.
Time to get down to business. Tell him I hurt - this guy looks like he may moonlight as a amateur wrestler a la Nacho Libre - and he nods and starts in on me. Holy SHIT - how did I get a knot in the side of my knee?! OMG, that knot in the middle of my right calf somehow just shot up to my left shoulder. Flip me over. Yes, my neck hurts... I HAVE KNOTS IN MY COLLARBONE?! This is getting ridiculous. Go to see him a few times, but, with what I can assume is the amateur wrestler unspoken rule of conduct, he seems to hurt me more and more with every massage. Time to take a little break...
Now it's my 3rd trimester and Tilly is getting bigger and bigger, and with that, it's like she's moved from a 2 bedroom townhouse to a broom closet. With the growing comes growing discomfort. Now, wherever I drive and no matter if it's hot or not outside, the seatwarmers must always be on. Thank you electric heating pad... I love you Lush bubblebath so I can try to soak the knots away (although as another aside, even though this one feels best, getting out of the tub is akin to trying to self-pedicure or put on socks. It ain't pretty)
Been trying reflexology but when I'm honest with myself, I don't think it's really helping much anymore... I think I'm just more into having a half an hour foot rub. Decide to try another massage therapist in the same office. Talk to her and she's had 4 children - A HA! Someone who understands these pesky knots from both sides of the equation! Book in the massage thanks to the new and super fun back spasms and, dare I say it, occasional butt spasms (on the up side, now I really can talk like a New York jewish woman, complaining about my sciatica). She gives me a massge and I explain about the knee and collarbone knots. She nods and says something about there's a few more she'd like to check out...
I have more in my armpits and even my HAIR hurts. Yes, my hair. The hairline at the top of my neck. It's as if my hair is made of something that really really hurts that I can't think of. Not fair... The only other times I've had hurting hair, it ALWAYS involved some alcoholic overage, like vats of margaritas, barrels of sangria, or a picina of rum and coke (we actually did used to drink this when we worked in Mexico - should've come with a warning label)
So now, here I am... Trying to get comfortable is a full time job... On the upside, in the next couple weeks, from what I've heard / seen on television, I'll be so sleep deprived, I don't think I'll even notice the knots anymore. Yay?
In my first trimester, my back and neck mostly hurt because I sat and slept in any position that would keep me from losing my lunch and I can almost guarantee that somewhere, a chiropractor sensed my discomfort and bought a new car based on my future chiro spending. Oh well, I thought, I knew that this wasn't gonna be a cakewalk (as an aside, could someone somewhere please invent a cakewalk? You know, I'm out, going for a walk in the fresh air to be healthy but interspersing said walk with cake stations? Pregnancy makes my dreams really vivid and this dream made me REALLY happy).
On to the 2nd trimester... back more sore. Go to a massage therapist in Regina, this big guy. He has a table that has a big hole for my tummy to hang out in, but one small problem... or I should say, me being small was the problem. You see, at only 5'1", I am slightly vertically challenged. So there I go onto the massage table, making sure little baby Tilly gets to hang down and chillax in the baby belly hole and then as I lie down the rest of the way... my face ends up in the uncomfortable "seam" of the metal table and the face part so my nose is getting squished and breathing is a little difficult, compared to say, breathing underwater. Get a couple little towels and attempt to MacGyver up a forehead rest so I don't suffocate, which would be counterintutive of the whole massage to make me feel better thing.
Time to get down to business. Tell him I hurt - this guy looks like he may moonlight as a amateur wrestler a la Nacho Libre - and he nods and starts in on me. Holy SHIT - how did I get a knot in the side of my knee?! OMG, that knot in the middle of my right calf somehow just shot up to my left shoulder. Flip me over. Yes, my neck hurts... I HAVE KNOTS IN MY COLLARBONE?! This is getting ridiculous. Go to see him a few times, but, with what I can assume is the amateur wrestler unspoken rule of conduct, he seems to hurt me more and more with every massage. Time to take a little break...
Now it's my 3rd trimester and Tilly is getting bigger and bigger, and with that, it's like she's moved from a 2 bedroom townhouse to a broom closet. With the growing comes growing discomfort. Now, wherever I drive and no matter if it's hot or not outside, the seatwarmers must always be on. Thank you electric heating pad... I love you Lush bubblebath so I can try to soak the knots away (although as another aside, even though this one feels best, getting out of the tub is akin to trying to self-pedicure or put on socks. It ain't pretty)
Been trying reflexology but when I'm honest with myself, I don't think it's really helping much anymore... I think I'm just more into having a half an hour foot rub. Decide to try another massage therapist in the same office. Talk to her and she's had 4 children - A HA! Someone who understands these pesky knots from both sides of the equation! Book in the massage thanks to the new and super fun back spasms and, dare I say it, occasional butt spasms (on the up side, now I really can talk like a New York jewish woman, complaining about my sciatica). She gives me a massge and I explain about the knee and collarbone knots. She nods and says something about there's a few more she'd like to check out...
I have more in my armpits and even my HAIR hurts. Yes, my hair. The hairline at the top of my neck. It's as if my hair is made of something that really really hurts that I can't think of. Not fair... The only other times I've had hurting hair, it ALWAYS involved some alcoholic overage, like vats of margaritas, barrels of sangria, or a picina of rum and coke (we actually did used to drink this when we worked in Mexico - should've come with a warning label)
So now, here I am... Trying to get comfortable is a full time job... On the upside, in the next couple weeks, from what I've heard / seen on television, I'll be so sleep deprived, I don't think I'll even notice the knots anymore. Yay?
Saturday, 15 October 2011
Pregnancy can be a hairy situation
When I found out I was pregnant, it explained a few things - weird(er) back pains and the nausea I'd been feeling. No big surprise, kinda par for the course... You see when women who get kinda blindsided by pregnancy find out, there are general pregnancy symptoms we know about: no period (take that Playtex!), the incessant nausea (hello premium plus) and that you will suffer all sorts of aches and pains thanks to your stomach growing to watermelon-esque proportions. I'm from Saskatchewan - they make helmets out of watermelons. I know one when I see it.
But my hair... my beloved hair. No matter the size of my ass, a giant Mount Vesuvius zit on my face, I love my hair. Sure, I didn't always love it - thank you 1986. I thought I would look cool if I got my hair cut short. I mean REALLY short. I hated it but not as much as my curls did. They rebelled. While the short hair was growing out, the curls showed me who the boss was (no it did not involve Tony Danza) and my hair stuck up everywhere - especially at the bottom. Remember the cute little "Donna from 90210" hair cut everyone got where it was short but curled up cute on the bottom?! My hair did that - about 4 years before it was "cool." Oh the humanity. I had to actually get a PERM to tame the curls because no amount of Aussie Helmet Head Hairspray (or whatever it was called) could keep the curls in check. Fast forward to high school - I learned the perfect combination of products and the length the curls liked. We began our love affair.
I have heard countless times someone say to me "You probably wish you had straight hair. Everyone with straight hair wishes they had curls and curls wishes they were straight." I replied with not a chance. I love the naturally big hair. Me and the hair share the same personality, no matter what the trends - we're kinda in your face and a little crazy, but cute.
It's a big mass of curls without being too curly - Walking past a hair salon once, I was even pulled in because a woman wanted a perm "just like this" and the stylist promised she could do it. I got a free cut for keeping my mouth shut. Observe the power of the curls. Unfortunately, the curls giveth and the curls taketh away.
You see, in that nasty first trimester (or what I shall call the puke-mester), I felt gross. I felt bloated and ugly and needed a little pick me up - what else to do but to go get my hair done!! Made a call to my fabulous hair dresser, headed over and told her she could cut a little extra off, but I still needed to put my hair in a ponytail - other women (and some men) know what I speak of... There is short and then there's too short to be pulled back when you are feeling lazy / vomiting. I came out of the appointment with a lot less hair and got home to the horrible realization that I was now the latter - no matter what I tried, the hair would not all fit into one simple pony... Well, the nausea, hormones, and lack of sleep kicked in and I cried and cried and cried. I'm not saying it was rational in any way, shape, or form. Just putting it out there - I was a bawling mess of tears that couldn't be consoled until 3 weeks later, thanks to said pregnancy hormones, the hair had grown fast enough to become pony worthy again.
Now in the time since, I've gotten my hair cut again and done my hair daily (usually said ponytail - I'd rather sleep for that extra 5 minutes). Unfortunately, I hadn't realized that THE CURLS had been slowly but surely plotting their revenge against me.
Over half way through my second trimester, my mom was asking when I straightened my hair. I kept scoffing at her, figuring my hair was just a little straighter from pulling it back in a pony so much. Oh how I wish it were true. One weekend, I had a shower and came out to curly hair - like I have my whole entire life. I let it dry by itself and that`s when something horrible happened - my hair got straighter and straighter. By the time it was dry, my beloved little kinks were a thing of memory. Tried to wash it again the next day, adding in voluminous amounts of volumizing hair products and using the good old diffuser dryer to no avail - the curls have forsaken me.
Please God tell me that this is another cruel joke of pregnancy and my curls will come back with my monthly visitor or at the absolute worst, if they don't return, at least Tilly will get my curls... like in Highlander, there can be only one? So much for my planned entries into mother daughter look alike contests. Kids like that, don't they?
But my hair... my beloved hair. No matter the size of my ass, a giant Mount Vesuvius zit on my face, I love my hair. Sure, I didn't always love it - thank you 1986. I thought I would look cool if I got my hair cut short. I mean REALLY short. I hated it but not as much as my curls did. They rebelled. While the short hair was growing out, the curls showed me who the boss was (no it did not involve Tony Danza) and my hair stuck up everywhere - especially at the bottom. Remember the cute little "Donna from 90210" hair cut everyone got where it was short but curled up cute on the bottom?! My hair did that - about 4 years before it was "cool." Oh the humanity. I had to actually get a PERM to tame the curls because no amount of Aussie Helmet Head Hairspray (or whatever it was called) could keep the curls in check. Fast forward to high school - I learned the perfect combination of products and the length the curls liked. We began our love affair.
I have heard countless times someone say to me "You probably wish you had straight hair. Everyone with straight hair wishes they had curls and curls wishes they were straight." I replied with not a chance. I love the naturally big hair. Me and the hair share the same personality, no matter what the trends - we're kinda in your face and a little crazy, but cute.
It's a big mass of curls without being too curly - Walking past a hair salon once, I was even pulled in because a woman wanted a perm "just like this" and the stylist promised she could do it. I got a free cut for keeping my mouth shut. Observe the power of the curls. Unfortunately, the curls giveth and the curls taketh away.
You see, in that nasty first trimester (or what I shall call the puke-mester), I felt gross. I felt bloated and ugly and needed a little pick me up - what else to do but to go get my hair done!! Made a call to my fabulous hair dresser, headed over and told her she could cut a little extra off, but I still needed to put my hair in a ponytail - other women (and some men) know what I speak of... There is short and then there's too short to be pulled back when you are feeling lazy / vomiting. I came out of the appointment with a lot less hair and got home to the horrible realization that I was now the latter - no matter what I tried, the hair would not all fit into one simple pony... Well, the nausea, hormones, and lack of sleep kicked in and I cried and cried and cried. I'm not saying it was rational in any way, shape, or form. Just putting it out there - I was a bawling mess of tears that couldn't be consoled until 3 weeks later, thanks to said pregnancy hormones, the hair had grown fast enough to become pony worthy again.
Now in the time since, I've gotten my hair cut again and done my hair daily (usually said ponytail - I'd rather sleep for that extra 5 minutes). Unfortunately, I hadn't realized that THE CURLS had been slowly but surely plotting their revenge against me.
Over half way through my second trimester, my mom was asking when I straightened my hair. I kept scoffing at her, figuring my hair was just a little straighter from pulling it back in a pony so much. Oh how I wish it were true. One weekend, I had a shower and came out to curly hair - like I have my whole entire life. I let it dry by itself and that`s when something horrible happened - my hair got straighter and straighter. By the time it was dry, my beloved little kinks were a thing of memory. Tried to wash it again the next day, adding in voluminous amounts of volumizing hair products and using the good old diffuser dryer to no avail - the curls have forsaken me.
Please God tell me that this is another cruel joke of pregnancy and my curls will come back with my monthly visitor or at the absolute worst, if they don't return, at least Tilly will get my curls... like in Highlander, there can be only one? So much for my planned entries into mother daughter look alike contests. Kids like that, don't they?
Sunday, 2 October 2011
Could I possibly maybe miss being pregnant?!?
Wow, have I ever been a slacker. Totally hurting my chances for world domination through blogging, but figured I needed to postpone my usual kindergartener bedtime and get my act together. We'll see how long this lasts - if I end in the middle of a sentence, I fell asleep again.
So believe it or not, for all the no booze or sushi-ness of pregnancy, and as the day nears that little Tilly will come into the world, I am realizing there may actually be some things I will miss about no longer having my little passenger...
1. People being nicer to me than usual.
Now I admit, not everyone fits into this category - talking to you lady Costco worker who informed me I had dropped something while wrestling my Costco card out only to watch me struggle to pick up my small thumb drive and just smirk at my mild grunting and efforts not to "turtle"
I'm talking to the people that hold open the doors, let me go in front of them in line, reach stuff for me that is too high up (while my tummy has grown exponentially, I am still, sadly, a mere 5'1") and offer me a seat in a crowded room. You people deserve a medal, or at least some good karma. There, I've given you all I can. Go forth and win the 6-49.
2. People lifting / carrying stuff for me.
Yeah, this kind of falls under the category of being nice to me, except people seem to do this whether they want to or not. At work, I take the last morsels of water from the cooler. Before I was pregnant, I would struggle and probably pull something in the groin area attempting to change the giant water jug without spilling it everywhere and blaming it on a water leak. Instead, now I can find any man in the office, smile sweetly, and simply say,"The water jug's empty. Could you please help me since I'm... you know (insert patting of tummy here)." No one ever says no to me. Same with boxes delivered to me and heavy grocery bags. Oh, the power.
3. Blaming the baby for stuff.
Now I realize this seems slightly cruel, but c'mon - I'm sure I'm not the first and I'm sure I won't be the last woman to do this. Teaching my coordinator (who is a big boy, 6'3" and a hockey ref) what I need him to do one day, right in the middle of a sentence, with absolutely no warning, in place of my next word came out a belch that would've made Barney from the Simpsons turn around and take notice. While slightly embarrassed, we laughed, he high-fived me because he said it was "awesome" and I blamed Tilly for the burp. Hey, it never happened to me when I wasn't pregnant, so it was the only reasonable explanation, right?!
Of course, this rule also applies to "fluffies", better know as farts. Sometimes those bad boys just come out of nowhere and smell like something may be rotting inside me. I say it's Tilly's reaction to Indian food - she's obviously not a curry fan.
This can also be applied to indigestion, poor sleeps, too long in the bathroom, acne, and bad hair days.
4. Maternity clothes.
Now my favourite of the maternity pants have this ENORMOUS wide elastic band that goes right up over your whole tummy. It feels like yoga pants material and by extension, makes every pair of pants feel yoga pants-y. Jeans, cords, dress pants - none of those dumb belts and digging buttons or zippers here! Sure, they kinda fall down a little while you walk or get up or down, but then I can feel totally at ease hiking up the pants and even adjusting any accompanying wedgies. And hey, if you don't look just right, people give you a little fashion slack because, hey, you're sleep deprived and can't fit into your "normal" clothes... You never see Marie Claire magazine giving a fashion black bar across the face of a pregnant woman - because then they would be big jerk faces and no one wants that and they must remember that all pregnant women eventually become non-pregnant women.
And as for the shirts... they hide stuff, are long, and generally are made of nice comfy material. And while I love my heels, is it wrong that it seems my feet are in heaven thanks to my constant wearing of birkenstocks, runners, loafers, and pumas?! I don't think my tootsies have been this happy since I discovered height altering footwear as a teeny bopper.
5. Lack of eating guilt.
I'm not gonna say I was a food nazi before I was preggers, but having Tilly inside me has given me new license to enjoy whatever I damn well please. Yes, I am still very good about the foods I'm not supposed to eat (I swear, this is a record for me NOT eating hot dogs), and I eat a bunch of fruits and veggies every day, but now, if I want to eat an ice cream sandwich, dammit get out of my way because that bad boy doesn't have long for this world... And I may even be checking out sister Drumstick or brother-in-law Ice Cream Cake. And by the way, those of you with stock in Kit Kat bars, the drought is over. I see a Kit Kat in my peripheral vision, it is getting hunted and gathered and consumed like a cavewoman collecting berries.
6. Being a "we".
Tilly and I are a 2 for 1 package. We're referred to as "you girls" and when I get home, I say, we're home, not just me. Sure the kicks can get annoying especially when I am so tired I could cry (and sometimes do - another advantage is not holding back tears!), and Tilly-kins has decided that she has taken up tap dancing on my bladder. The weird thing is though, when I get up in the middle of the night for my fourth pee in as many hours, if I DON'T feel her move at least a little bit, I get a little freaked out and jiggle my belly around to make her react. Perhaps another not very mommy move, but at least I can get back to sleep without worrying there's something wrong in there.
7. Looking at baby stuff.
It's not like I couldn't look before I was preg and can't after she's born, but there's this special kind of excitement about looking at the super adorable little dresses, toys, shoes and all the other way over-priced but too friggin' cute baby stuff while having the baby in your tummy.
It's not like you're shopping for someone else for a baby shower - this stuff is for your little girl. And after you have the baby, at least I'm not trying to rush through looking at it before the baby cries or mommy-the-milk-factory is called into service for the upteenth time.
Mind you, I go into baby stores / sections and have a deer in a headlights kind of look (you know it's bad when a manager at Babies R Us takes you by the shoulders, speaks softly and uses short words to explain stuff you ask about that says you must look totally freaked out)
In the same vein, at least when I'm pregnant I can attempt to sort through the immense amount of crap out there for babies - I know the basic basics I need (car seat/stroller, place to sleep, diapers, and some clothes), but between bumbo chairs, snuggies, breast pumps and all the other stuff there is, I don't have any idea what this child needs...
Maybe I'll just take pictures and try to convince her when she gets older and asks questions about why I was so clueless I'll just tell her I was a hippie. Or that I heard the toys were covered in lead paint from China and I didn't want her to get lead poisoning. Ah, I've got a little while to figure that part out... unless she decides to come early. Please God, no.
So believe it or not, for all the no booze or sushi-ness of pregnancy, and as the day nears that little Tilly will come into the world, I am realizing there may actually be some things I will miss about no longer having my little passenger...
1. People being nicer to me than usual.
Now I admit, not everyone fits into this category - talking to you lady Costco worker who informed me I had dropped something while wrestling my Costco card out only to watch me struggle to pick up my small thumb drive and just smirk at my mild grunting and efforts not to "turtle"
I'm talking to the people that hold open the doors, let me go in front of them in line, reach stuff for me that is too high up (while my tummy has grown exponentially, I am still, sadly, a mere 5'1") and offer me a seat in a crowded room. You people deserve a medal, or at least some good karma. There, I've given you all I can. Go forth and win the 6-49.
2. People lifting / carrying stuff for me.
Yeah, this kind of falls under the category of being nice to me, except people seem to do this whether they want to or not. At work, I take the last morsels of water from the cooler. Before I was pregnant, I would struggle and probably pull something in the groin area attempting to change the giant water jug without spilling it everywhere and blaming it on a water leak. Instead, now I can find any man in the office, smile sweetly, and simply say,"The water jug's empty. Could you please help me since I'm... you know (insert patting of tummy here)." No one ever says no to me. Same with boxes delivered to me and heavy grocery bags. Oh, the power.
3. Blaming the baby for stuff.
Now I realize this seems slightly cruel, but c'mon - I'm sure I'm not the first and I'm sure I won't be the last woman to do this. Teaching my coordinator (who is a big boy, 6'3" and a hockey ref) what I need him to do one day, right in the middle of a sentence, with absolutely no warning, in place of my next word came out a belch that would've made Barney from the Simpsons turn around and take notice. While slightly embarrassed, we laughed, he high-fived me because he said it was "awesome" and I blamed Tilly for the burp. Hey, it never happened to me when I wasn't pregnant, so it was the only reasonable explanation, right?!
Of course, this rule also applies to "fluffies", better know as farts. Sometimes those bad boys just come out of nowhere and smell like something may be rotting inside me. I say it's Tilly's reaction to Indian food - she's obviously not a curry fan.
This can also be applied to indigestion, poor sleeps, too long in the bathroom, acne, and bad hair days.
4. Maternity clothes.
Now my favourite of the maternity pants have this ENORMOUS wide elastic band that goes right up over your whole tummy. It feels like yoga pants material and by extension, makes every pair of pants feel yoga pants-y. Jeans, cords, dress pants - none of those dumb belts and digging buttons or zippers here! Sure, they kinda fall down a little while you walk or get up or down, but then I can feel totally at ease hiking up the pants and even adjusting any accompanying wedgies. And hey, if you don't look just right, people give you a little fashion slack because, hey, you're sleep deprived and can't fit into your "normal" clothes... You never see Marie Claire magazine giving a fashion black bar across the face of a pregnant woman - because then they would be big jerk faces and no one wants that and they must remember that all pregnant women eventually become non-pregnant women.
And as for the shirts... they hide stuff, are long, and generally are made of nice comfy material. And while I love my heels, is it wrong that it seems my feet are in heaven thanks to my constant wearing of birkenstocks, runners, loafers, and pumas?! I don't think my tootsies have been this happy since I discovered height altering footwear as a teeny bopper.
5. Lack of eating guilt.
I'm not gonna say I was a food nazi before I was preggers, but having Tilly inside me has given me new license to enjoy whatever I damn well please. Yes, I am still very good about the foods I'm not supposed to eat (I swear, this is a record for me NOT eating hot dogs), and I eat a bunch of fruits and veggies every day, but now, if I want to eat an ice cream sandwich, dammit get out of my way because that bad boy doesn't have long for this world... And I may even be checking out sister Drumstick or brother-in-law Ice Cream Cake. And by the way, those of you with stock in Kit Kat bars, the drought is over. I see a Kit Kat in my peripheral vision, it is getting hunted and gathered and consumed like a cavewoman collecting berries.
6. Being a "we".
Tilly and I are a 2 for 1 package. We're referred to as "you girls" and when I get home, I say, we're home, not just me. Sure the kicks can get annoying especially when I am so tired I could cry (and sometimes do - another advantage is not holding back tears!), and Tilly-kins has decided that she has taken up tap dancing on my bladder. The weird thing is though, when I get up in the middle of the night for my fourth pee in as many hours, if I DON'T feel her move at least a little bit, I get a little freaked out and jiggle my belly around to make her react. Perhaps another not very mommy move, but at least I can get back to sleep without worrying there's something wrong in there.
7. Looking at baby stuff.
It's not like I couldn't look before I was preg and can't after she's born, but there's this special kind of excitement about looking at the super adorable little dresses, toys, shoes and all the other way over-priced but too friggin' cute baby stuff while having the baby in your tummy.
It's not like you're shopping for someone else for a baby shower - this stuff is for your little girl. And after you have the baby, at least I'm not trying to rush through looking at it before the baby cries or mommy-the-milk-factory is called into service for the upteenth time.
Mind you, I go into baby stores / sections and have a deer in a headlights kind of look (you know it's bad when a manager at Babies R Us takes you by the shoulders, speaks softly and uses short words to explain stuff you ask about that says you must look totally freaked out)
In the same vein, at least when I'm pregnant I can attempt to sort through the immense amount of crap out there for babies - I know the basic basics I need (car seat/stroller, place to sleep, diapers, and some clothes), but between bumbo chairs, snuggies, breast pumps and all the other stuff there is, I don't have any idea what this child needs...
Maybe I'll just take pictures and try to convince her when she gets older and asks questions about why I was so clueless I'll just tell her I was a hippie. Or that I heard the toys were covered in lead paint from China and I didn't want her to get lead poisoning. Ah, I've got a little while to figure that part out... unless she decides to come early. Please God, no.
Thursday, 4 August 2011
My name is Shannon and I am baby Tilly's bitch
What a realization. At my cousin's wedding this past weekend, and sitting at a table with my brother, I mentioned something about not being able to eat something on my plate because "Tilly doesn't like it," which, in true annoying little brother form, he responded, "Oh so you're her bitch? You're gonna take orders from a 24 week old?"
I sighed and admitted that in all my years of working hard to be a modern, self-sufficient and sustaining woman, a tiny baby that is just over a pound and the size of an ear of corn (according to one of the bazillion pregnancy emails I get) has completely and totally taken control and made me her bitch aka Mommy.
My foodie tendencies with an I'll try anything once attitude? Out the window, in favour of PB and banana or pepperoni pizza. A sound night's sleep? Nice try Shanny. Tilly seems to be hosting a rave nightly, with the occasional high kick to the bladder. And speaking of the unspeakable bladder functions, no longer do I even seem to have control of my own bowels, now a slave to Metamucil and high fiber snacks. Apparently my bowels think I'm 70.
My usual lovely skin? Okay, of course I usually get some zits here and there but now I feel like I'm 13 again and the 'before' in a ProActiv commercial and even my arms have strange red bumps all over them. My glorious mane? Well, I'll admit that the curly-haired wonder has not always had control over the 'fro, but I FINALLY had it figured out only for the rules to change during pregnancy, with my hair somehow being frizzier and oilier than ever. I've gone back in a hot-tub time machine (although I'm not allowed to go in hot tubs anymore either) to that '80's staple, the ponytail scrunchie. Thank God for the Whitetrash Whitefish ski weekend that forced me to buy some at the dollar store. Yes, I am wearing a hair accessory from the loonie store. Sigh.
My ability to see my feet and self-pedicure? Completely disappeared beneath the belly, only to be observed when bending over and reverting to a child-like state, begging MY mommy to paint my toes for me. Then realizing that when Ottilia's an adult and preggers, I will still be her bitch and painting her toes too.
Hmmm... I guess that's what they mean by the circle of life? Maybe I'll just hire a little Asian nail lady with a vibrating pedicure chair for 9 months...
I sighed and admitted that in all my years of working hard to be a modern, self-sufficient and sustaining woman, a tiny baby that is just over a pound and the size of an ear of corn (according to one of the bazillion pregnancy emails I get) has completely and totally taken control and made me her bitch aka Mommy.
My foodie tendencies with an I'll try anything once attitude? Out the window, in favour of PB and banana or pepperoni pizza. A sound night's sleep? Nice try Shanny. Tilly seems to be hosting a rave nightly, with the occasional high kick to the bladder. And speaking of the unspeakable bladder functions, no longer do I even seem to have control of my own bowels, now a slave to Metamucil and high fiber snacks. Apparently my bowels think I'm 70.
My usual lovely skin? Okay, of course I usually get some zits here and there but now I feel like I'm 13 again and the 'before' in a ProActiv commercial and even my arms have strange red bumps all over them. My glorious mane? Well, I'll admit that the curly-haired wonder has not always had control over the 'fro, but I FINALLY had it figured out only for the rules to change during pregnancy, with my hair somehow being frizzier and oilier than ever. I've gone back in a hot-tub time machine (although I'm not allowed to go in hot tubs anymore either) to that '80's staple, the ponytail scrunchie. Thank God for the Whitetrash Whitefish ski weekend that forced me to buy some at the dollar store. Yes, I am wearing a hair accessory from the loonie store. Sigh.
My ability to see my feet and self-pedicure? Completely disappeared beneath the belly, only to be observed when bending over and reverting to a child-like state, begging MY mommy to paint my toes for me. Then realizing that when Ottilia's an adult and preggers, I will still be her bitch and painting her toes too.
Hmmm... I guess that's what they mean by the circle of life? Maybe I'll just hire a little Asian nail lady with a vibrating pedicure chair for 9 months...
Saturday, 23 July 2011
It's me, not the hormones
Well, Tilly's decided that 2 am seemed like a good time to wake up on a Saturday morning, so here I am, wide awake just pondering Tilly-kins and stuff in general (like pizza - God, I love pizza). Then I thought of something that has really been sticking in my craw (is that the right saying? Well it is now.) - the fact that people seem to think pregnant women are all bundles of joy and anything that makes them a little upset MUST be the hormones.
Oh those nasty hormones. As a girl, when we got our first visit from "Aunt Flo" (boys, I'm talking about our periods - get over it) not only did we have the new-found joy of wearing diaper-like apparatus stuck to our panties, but we had to shop for LOTS of black pants because you just never knew when a pad would slip and there you would be in math with leakage (and another thing boys - when we had / still have leakage, it's BLOOD contrary to the maxi pad commercial belief of blue liquid).
The other joyful thing was that when somebody (invariably you boys) did something insensitive / stupid / downright mean and we got mad and told you so, we didn't get the proper respect that our tirade deserved. No... we got a newly teenaged boy taunting us with "Somebody's got PMS" - looking back they probably didn't know what those 3 ominous letters stood for, but they did know it was enough for us to get even more frustrated with them and give up on any rational conversation or interaction with them.
Yep, that damn PMS keeps following us and mostly men blaming said hormones for anything they do that we don't like. (Disclaimer - don't get made at Tyler for these - I dated manys a jerk long before I met him. And I have a brother. And friends with manys a jerk as well)
- You're mad at me for going out all night, getting hammered, and puking ALL OVER your bathroom then asking you to make me breakfast while I'm hungover? Must be PMS.
- You don't like that I used your credit card to buy this samurai sword with nunchuks that I used to break your lamp? Must be PMS.
- You're jealous because I've "reconnected" with my super hot and single ex-girlfriend and we've been going for coffee / lunch weekly for the last 3 months? We're just friends! Must be PMS.
- You're strangling me because I ate the last Kit Kat? Must be... Okay, that one may be justified.
Now here's the kicker - being pregnant does have the upside of not even caring about tampons for 9 months and the PMS shadow is gone. To unfortunately be replaced with not only men, but women too, saying, "Oh, she's mad about something (no matter how justified). Must be the hormones."
I feel like saying to these people - HAVE YOU MET ME BEFORE I WAS WITH CHILD?! And 99% of them have known me a long time - you would think long enough to know better, but...
Yes, I know the pregnancy-related waterworks are hormone related. Sitting at the dinner table with my parents, laughing, with the news on in the background. Then out of nowhere, a story about a boy giving half his liver to his mom to save her life and suddenly, there I am still laughing but there are tears POURING out of my eyes. That is the hormones.
Telling people a story about my first week at my new job. I need to learn about using and updating the website. Call our provider, set up a time, and long story short, he proceeds to leave me sit in his waiting room, being almost half an hour late for the meeting at HIS office made to fit HIS schedule. When he finally shows up with a lame half-assed apology, I inform him very calmly that this is not how I do business, that being late for a meeting with me shows complete disrespect and will not be tolerated and that next time, after a 5 minute wait, I will be leaving, with all future meetings happening at MY office and finally, that I will not be paying for this training session as he's already used up a quarter of it being late. I then shake his hand and get down to business for an hour and a half, without mentioning it again.
What do I hear? Stick to your guns! Good for you for not putting up with that! Way to listen to Oprah and show people how you expect and deserve to be treated. NOPE. Gee, those hormones sure are kicking in - glad I don't have to work for you while you're pregnant. Did the world seem to think that I became Mary F*ing Poppins the second Tilly was created inside me?! I wouldn't have put up with this when I wasn't pregnant so why am I expected to now?!
Funny thing is, when people blame the hormones for something very-not hormone related, it's as if it sets said hormones off like illegal fireworks on a beach while houseboating - they go every which way and are very dangerous. I use every ounce of willpower I have (which is a lot without the usual fortifier of vodka) not to scream, scratch their eyes out, and punch them through a door like a Jason Statham movie while gargling the cry that Zena Warrior Princess used to do before she kicked ass.
Instead I smile sweetly, dig my fingernails into my palms to the point of verging on piercing the skin, and walk away with some lame excuse like needing to go to the washroom.
All I gotta say is if you actually think that whatever I'm doing IS caused by hormones, keep it to yourself or the last thing you'll hear is Zena while being taken down by nunchuks.
Oh those nasty hormones. As a girl, when we got our first visit from "Aunt Flo" (boys, I'm talking about our periods - get over it) not only did we have the new-found joy of wearing diaper-like apparatus stuck to our panties, but we had to shop for LOTS of black pants because you just never knew when a pad would slip and there you would be in math with leakage (and another thing boys - when we had / still have leakage, it's BLOOD contrary to the maxi pad commercial belief of blue liquid).
The other joyful thing was that when somebody (invariably you boys) did something insensitive / stupid / downright mean and we got mad and told you so, we didn't get the proper respect that our tirade deserved. No... we got a newly teenaged boy taunting us with "Somebody's got PMS" - looking back they probably didn't know what those 3 ominous letters stood for, but they did know it was enough for us to get even more frustrated with them and give up on any rational conversation or interaction with them.
Yep, that damn PMS keeps following us and mostly men blaming said hormones for anything they do that we don't like. (Disclaimer - don't get made at Tyler for these - I dated manys a jerk long before I met him. And I have a brother. And friends with manys a jerk as well)
- You're mad at me for going out all night, getting hammered, and puking ALL OVER your bathroom then asking you to make me breakfast while I'm hungover? Must be PMS.
- You don't like that I used your credit card to buy this samurai sword with nunchuks that I used to break your lamp? Must be PMS.
- You're jealous because I've "reconnected" with my super hot and single ex-girlfriend and we've been going for coffee / lunch weekly for the last 3 months? We're just friends! Must be PMS.
- You're strangling me because I ate the last Kit Kat? Must be... Okay, that one may be justified.
Now here's the kicker - being pregnant does have the upside of not even caring about tampons for 9 months and the PMS shadow is gone. To unfortunately be replaced with not only men, but women too, saying, "Oh, she's mad about something (no matter how justified). Must be the hormones."
I feel like saying to these people - HAVE YOU MET ME BEFORE I WAS WITH CHILD?! And 99% of them have known me a long time - you would think long enough to know better, but...
Yes, I know the pregnancy-related waterworks are hormone related. Sitting at the dinner table with my parents, laughing, with the news on in the background. Then out of nowhere, a story about a boy giving half his liver to his mom to save her life and suddenly, there I am still laughing but there are tears POURING out of my eyes. That is the hormones.
Telling people a story about my first week at my new job. I need to learn about using and updating the website. Call our provider, set up a time, and long story short, he proceeds to leave me sit in his waiting room, being almost half an hour late for the meeting at HIS office made to fit HIS schedule. When he finally shows up with a lame half-assed apology, I inform him very calmly that this is not how I do business, that being late for a meeting with me shows complete disrespect and will not be tolerated and that next time, after a 5 minute wait, I will be leaving, with all future meetings happening at MY office and finally, that I will not be paying for this training session as he's already used up a quarter of it being late. I then shake his hand and get down to business for an hour and a half, without mentioning it again.
What do I hear? Stick to your guns! Good for you for not putting up with that! Way to listen to Oprah and show people how you expect and deserve to be treated. NOPE. Gee, those hormones sure are kicking in - glad I don't have to work for you while you're pregnant. Did the world seem to think that I became Mary F*ing Poppins the second Tilly was created inside me?! I wouldn't have put up with this when I wasn't pregnant so why am I expected to now?!
Funny thing is, when people blame the hormones for something very-not hormone related, it's as if it sets said hormones off like illegal fireworks on a beach while houseboating - they go every which way and are very dangerous. I use every ounce of willpower I have (which is a lot without the usual fortifier of vodka) not to scream, scratch their eyes out, and punch them through a door like a Jason Statham movie while gargling the cry that Zena Warrior Princess used to do before she kicked ass.
Instead I smile sweetly, dig my fingernails into my palms to the point of verging on piercing the skin, and walk away with some lame excuse like needing to go to the washroom.
All I gotta say is if you actually think that whatever I'm doing IS caused by hormones, keep it to yourself or the last thing you'll hear is Zena while being taken down by nunchuks.
Thursday, 21 July 2011
You can't do that
First off, sorry for my tardiness in posting a new blog. With moving and general sleepiness, all blogs I tried to write came out whiny / bitchy / completely senseless, so here I go with what I hope will be better...
I've discovered over the last month, and especially the last few weeks, that there are more and more things I can't do as a pregnant chick and while at first a few of them are kind of nice, it is starting to get a little annoying.
Sure, right from the get go, I knew that my former life as an extreme BMX rider, kickboxer, skydiver and heli-snowboarder were over, but didn't realize the little things I would grow to miss.
1. Lifting stuff
At first, kind of cool when I'm very strictly told not to lift any boxes / heavy stuff. For example, in the course of my move, Tyler loaded all my belongings up and down and up and down the stairs of our 3 story walk-up apartment. I carried my purse and snacks. Felt right. Figured it was justified - I'm carrying our baby for 9 months - at least you can carry my 2 overstuffed suitcases and various other things I've deemed can't-live-without-able (like my cookbooks, 25 purses, and my stuffed ET doll I've had since the mid-80's - don't judge)
Then, starting a new job, it's started getting sort of inconvenient. Water cooler's out of water. Search our office for a male - smile sweetly, ask him to leave his important work that I can tell he's right in the middle of, and ask him to change the jugs. You see they are genuinely nice guys, and the pregnant lady did ask, so here they come to do it for me. Ditto with changing the recycling bag, putting / taking t-shirt boxes out of my car, and reaching heavy stuff that was put on the top of my desk in 2001 by a nameless entity that I want to remove from the premises. At least I can still lift the file folders.
2. Lying / Sleeping on my back
Never knew this one before. Apparently, when you lie completely flat on your back, it makes baby squish some kind of blood vessel and she doesn't get as much blood = bad. I may already be a bad mommy, because I try really diligently to go to bed on my side (pillow between my legs, the beloved body pillow from my friend Cara wedged behind me like I'm in a trench in WWII). Yet somehow, invariably, I wake up in the middle of the night (see point #3) with the leg pillow across the room and I have somehow managed to roll over the body pillow in steamboat fashion to be lying on my back. (Remember steamboat? Sleepovers with your friends and just when everyone's asleep, someone screams "STEAMBOAT" at the top of their lungs and proceeds to roll across everyone on the floor? Also good to use when having to wake up your little brother on Christmas / Easter / any morning before he was bigger than you?)
Anyhoo, then when going back to sleep, reconstruct "The Trench" only to have it defeated again in the morning. And now, at 22 weeks, the Tilly-meister is getting back at me because somehow, when I roll on my back, I can't catch my breath - it's like she's saying, cut off my blood, I'll cut off your air. She's totally gonna be a badass and I haven't decided if I like that or not.
3. Sleeping through the night
This may be the thing I miss the most of all, those blissful nights and curling in a little ball on my tummy or back (both now forbidden), empty bladder and conking out for a magnificent 8-10 hours. Tilly doesn't like to sleep that long - I think she gets bored and decides to see how she can mess with me. Some of the wonderful pregnancy side effects seem to include back spasms (like she did a total round-house kick to my lower back followed by some elbows and maybe she even bit me), leg spasms (I suspect she's inherently learned some ancient Chinese medicine so she knows just how to move to make my foot / calve muscle / knee jerk and spasm), extreme body heat (maybe she's having a Zumba class in there? 2 fans on me and I feel like I'm in Mexico in July), and of course, the funnest of all, the need to pee - over and over. I think she just gives my bladder a little nudge when she wants to get up and unless I want to start wearing adult diapers, up I get to relieve myself.
4. Everything else
Oh how the list can go on and on. I miss people NOT touching my belly - a woman in Walmart that I've never seen and probably only know through 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon gave my belly a little pat. WTF? When did this become a lucky talisman that people rub before purchasing their weekly Lotto Max ticket?
Eating fish - my memories of delicious salmon, awesome sushi, and all other fishy dishes were awesome. My new reality is that I find them and the smell grosser than used bandaids in a bowl of feces. Sigh.
My shoes are sooooooo beautiful - so pretty that I bought little clear plastic show boxes for them to live in until I could wear them next. Nowadays, my feet are looking a tad sausage like and putting on my heels makes me feel like I'm going to fall over - at least my 8 year old niece can still come and play with them (and she walks in them perfectly).
Okay, I should probably stop there - I have a much longer list, but if I keep going, you're going to probably say "Gee, I thought Shannon was going to try to make this post less whiny." and then you'll delete me on FB.
Besides I should probably go and have breakfast - without coffee or the now-horrendous smell of breakfast sausage - and because Tilly is kicking me in the bladder again...
I've discovered over the last month, and especially the last few weeks, that there are more and more things I can't do as a pregnant chick and while at first a few of them are kind of nice, it is starting to get a little annoying.
Sure, right from the get go, I knew that my former life as an extreme BMX rider, kickboxer, skydiver and heli-snowboarder were over, but didn't realize the little things I would grow to miss.
1. Lifting stuff
At first, kind of cool when I'm very strictly told not to lift any boxes / heavy stuff. For example, in the course of my move, Tyler loaded all my belongings up and down and up and down the stairs of our 3 story walk-up apartment. I carried my purse and snacks. Felt right. Figured it was justified - I'm carrying our baby for 9 months - at least you can carry my 2 overstuffed suitcases and various other things I've deemed can't-live-without-able (like my cookbooks, 25 purses, and my stuffed ET doll I've had since the mid-80's - don't judge)
Then, starting a new job, it's started getting sort of inconvenient. Water cooler's out of water. Search our office for a male - smile sweetly, ask him to leave his important work that I can tell he's right in the middle of, and ask him to change the jugs. You see they are genuinely nice guys, and the pregnant lady did ask, so here they come to do it for me. Ditto with changing the recycling bag, putting / taking t-shirt boxes out of my car, and reaching heavy stuff that was put on the top of my desk in 2001 by a nameless entity that I want to remove from the premises. At least I can still lift the file folders.
2. Lying / Sleeping on my back
Never knew this one before. Apparently, when you lie completely flat on your back, it makes baby squish some kind of blood vessel and she doesn't get as much blood = bad. I may already be a bad mommy, because I try really diligently to go to bed on my side (pillow between my legs, the beloved body pillow from my friend Cara wedged behind me like I'm in a trench in WWII). Yet somehow, invariably, I wake up in the middle of the night (see point #3) with the leg pillow across the room and I have somehow managed to roll over the body pillow in steamboat fashion to be lying on my back. (Remember steamboat? Sleepovers with your friends and just when everyone's asleep, someone screams "STEAMBOAT" at the top of their lungs and proceeds to roll across everyone on the floor? Also good to use when having to wake up your little brother on Christmas / Easter / any morning before he was bigger than you?)
Anyhoo, then when going back to sleep, reconstruct "The Trench" only to have it defeated again in the morning. And now, at 22 weeks, the Tilly-meister is getting back at me because somehow, when I roll on my back, I can't catch my breath - it's like she's saying, cut off my blood, I'll cut off your air. She's totally gonna be a badass and I haven't decided if I like that or not.
3. Sleeping through the night
This may be the thing I miss the most of all, those blissful nights and curling in a little ball on my tummy or back (both now forbidden), empty bladder and conking out for a magnificent 8-10 hours. Tilly doesn't like to sleep that long - I think she gets bored and decides to see how she can mess with me. Some of the wonderful pregnancy side effects seem to include back spasms (like she did a total round-house kick to my lower back followed by some elbows and maybe she even bit me), leg spasms (I suspect she's inherently learned some ancient Chinese medicine so she knows just how to move to make my foot / calve muscle / knee jerk and spasm), extreme body heat (maybe she's having a Zumba class in there? 2 fans on me and I feel like I'm in Mexico in July), and of course, the funnest of all, the need to pee - over and over. I think she just gives my bladder a little nudge when she wants to get up and unless I want to start wearing adult diapers, up I get to relieve myself.
4. Everything else
Oh how the list can go on and on. I miss people NOT touching my belly - a woman in Walmart that I've never seen and probably only know through 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon gave my belly a little pat. WTF? When did this become a lucky talisman that people rub before purchasing their weekly Lotto Max ticket?
Eating fish - my memories of delicious salmon, awesome sushi, and all other fishy dishes were awesome. My new reality is that I find them and the smell grosser than used bandaids in a bowl of feces. Sigh.
My shoes are sooooooo beautiful - so pretty that I bought little clear plastic show boxes for them to live in until I could wear them next. Nowadays, my feet are looking a tad sausage like and putting on my heels makes me feel like I'm going to fall over - at least my 8 year old niece can still come and play with them (and she walks in them perfectly).
Okay, I should probably stop there - I have a much longer list, but if I keep going, you're going to probably say "Gee, I thought Shannon was going to try to make this post less whiny." and then you'll delete me on FB.
Besides I should probably go and have breakfast - without coffee or the now-horrendous smell of breakfast sausage - and because Tilly is kicking me in the bladder again...
Saturday, 9 July 2011
Big Girls Don't Cry - unless they're pregnant.
Seriously, I've figured out why I now need to increase my water intake to that of a fish - I need to supplement for all the tears I seem to shed. I know this must be incredibly frustrating for those around me. Case in point, a day in my boyfriend's store:
Me: They didn't slice brownies last night
Ty: Oh well, guess they were just lazy.
Me: Well, there's lots of people who really like them and now they're not gonna get any today (tears begin)
Ty: Are you starting to cry?
Me: Yes - I just think it's really important that things get done when they're supposed to.
Ty: Uh, this really isn't worth crying over.
Me: You think I don't know that?!? Just... leave me alone (and then I proceed to go hide beside the slushie machine and sob for a moment and then back to normal)
Unfortunately, this is not an isolated incident. It started out just heightened emotions - you know, tearing up / crying during the last of the Oprah shows, Extreme Home Makeover, and other common tear jerkers. Sure, my crying was a little more intense than usual, lasted a little longer, but still, thankfully, justified.
However, in this second trimester, where the 24/7 nausea has mercifully left the compound (except for the occasional and unwelcome flashback), I am now forced to endure a minimum of twice daily crying bouts. I think the nausea used to act like a distraction, with my body and mind so focused on not puking, there was no time for superfluous waterworks. Now though...
- watching the Food Network (yes, seriously)... Chef at Home made such a nice dinner for his wife and look at how good his little boy is about trying at least a bit of everything. It's so beautiful... WAAAAAAAAAAH
- Putting on my makeup... my eyeliner tip just broke and I can't find the sharpener, and I'm almost out of my favourite eyeshadow... WAAAAAAAAAAAH
- Listening to my iPod (you'd think it'd be justified but wait)... Oh the Counting Crows Mr Jones... I loved this song and it was the my favourite the summer I moved to Calgary... WAAAAAAAAAAH
- Shopping for maternity clothes... I really liked these pregnancy jeans, but they're the only ones not on sale and the other pair makes my butt look fat... WAAAAAAAAAH
- In the food court... I want sushi but I can't have it - don't Japanese women get pregnant?!? Why can they have sushi and I can't?! WAAAAAAAAAAH
- Reading a book (again, not as justified as you would think)... The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo had such a bad mommy and she's gotten so screwed... poor dragon tattoo girl... WAAAAAAAAAH
- Driving around town... I just let that guy in and it's super busy traffic and I didn't even get a thank you wave from that asshole... WAAAAAAAAAAH
Of course, this last week, I'm in the process of getting ready to move to Regina for work and leave my baby daddy in Calgary, who by the way, gives Tilly kissies and talks to her every day, so I've learned to set my alarm a half an hour early just to give myself enough time for the inevitable blubbering to subside.
Yes, I used to have my extra sensitive moments, usually around my time of the month, but my favourite coping mechanism (vodka / margaritas / sangria / bailey's) has been ripped from my grasp. My second favourite was ice cream, chocolate, etc, but it seems as though Tilly's not a big fan of these - one spoonful / square and that's that... What am I gonna do with this child?!
I figure in the meantime, I need to team up with a scientist that can help me develop a few things, like kleenex that doubles as blotting papers, a mascara that will withstand the constant tears, because quite frankly, conventional waterproof is really letting me down, and some sort of candy like those nausea Preggie Pops that when unwarranted and ridiculous tears start to come on, I can just pop in my mouth and it will all subside.
On the upside, at least my tear ducts are being cleansed regularly.
Please God, make this kid start to love Kit Kats or I'm screwed.
Me: They didn't slice brownies last night
Ty: Oh well, guess they were just lazy.
Me: Well, there's lots of people who really like them and now they're not gonna get any today (tears begin)
Ty: Are you starting to cry?
Me: Yes - I just think it's really important that things get done when they're supposed to.
Ty: Uh, this really isn't worth crying over.
Me: You think I don't know that?!? Just... leave me alone (and then I proceed to go hide beside the slushie machine and sob for a moment and then back to normal)
Unfortunately, this is not an isolated incident. It started out just heightened emotions - you know, tearing up / crying during the last of the Oprah shows, Extreme Home Makeover, and other common tear jerkers. Sure, my crying was a little more intense than usual, lasted a little longer, but still, thankfully, justified.
However, in this second trimester, where the 24/7 nausea has mercifully left the compound (except for the occasional and unwelcome flashback), I am now forced to endure a minimum of twice daily crying bouts. I think the nausea used to act like a distraction, with my body and mind so focused on not puking, there was no time for superfluous waterworks. Now though...
- watching the Food Network (yes, seriously)... Chef at Home made such a nice dinner for his wife and look at how good his little boy is about trying at least a bit of everything. It's so beautiful... WAAAAAAAAAAH
- Putting on my makeup... my eyeliner tip just broke and I can't find the sharpener, and I'm almost out of my favourite eyeshadow... WAAAAAAAAAAAH
- Listening to my iPod (you'd think it'd be justified but wait)... Oh the Counting Crows Mr Jones... I loved this song and it was the my favourite the summer I moved to Calgary... WAAAAAAAAAAH
- Shopping for maternity clothes... I really liked these pregnancy jeans, but they're the only ones not on sale and the other pair makes my butt look fat... WAAAAAAAAAH
- In the food court... I want sushi but I can't have it - don't Japanese women get pregnant?!? Why can they have sushi and I can't?! WAAAAAAAAAAH
- Reading a book (again, not as justified as you would think)... The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo had such a bad mommy and she's gotten so screwed... poor dragon tattoo girl... WAAAAAAAAAH
- Driving around town... I just let that guy in and it's super busy traffic and I didn't even get a thank you wave from that asshole... WAAAAAAAAAAH
Of course, this last week, I'm in the process of getting ready to move to Regina for work and leave my baby daddy in Calgary, who by the way, gives Tilly kissies and talks to her every day, so I've learned to set my alarm a half an hour early just to give myself enough time for the inevitable blubbering to subside.
Yes, I used to have my extra sensitive moments, usually around my time of the month, but my favourite coping mechanism (vodka / margaritas / sangria / bailey's) has been ripped from my grasp. My second favourite was ice cream, chocolate, etc, but it seems as though Tilly's not a big fan of these - one spoonful / square and that's that... What am I gonna do with this child?!
I figure in the meantime, I need to team up with a scientist that can help me develop a few things, like kleenex that doubles as blotting papers, a mascara that will withstand the constant tears, because quite frankly, conventional waterproof is really letting me down, and some sort of candy like those nausea Preggie Pops that when unwarranted and ridiculous tears start to come on, I can just pop in my mouth and it will all subside.
On the upside, at least my tear ducts are being cleansed regularly.
Please God, make this kid start to love Kit Kats or I'm screwed.
Saturday, 2 July 2011
Dear Ottilia #1...
Dear Ottilia;
Hi my little girl! This is your mommy. You're still just a little astronaut in my tummy, but I thought I should write you a letter to let you know about what's happening and some of the things I am hoping will and won't happen once you decide to make your debut.
Mommy loves you, but I have started to keep a record for every bit of nausea, headaches, emergency trips to the doctor, weird bumps / rashes, aversions to my favourite foods, and generally crappiness I have been feeling. When you start to hit puberty and are driving me up the wall, I will be bringing out said journal in front of your friends and start listing them off. You've been warned.
While I know you'll be adorable, I want you to use your head. You will read books and think for yourself. Self esteem is good, but I don't want you to play dumb for a boy. If you do, I will ship you off to a school run by nuns and it won't be just like the Sound of Music. Although it may be in Austria. I haven't decided yet.
If I hear you've been hanging out with Charlie Sheen wannabes, there will be an intervention and it will not be pretty - I will be contacting those witches from Sleeping Beauty and putting you into a slumber until me and your daddy can "take care" of the scumbags. Scumbags - fair warning... mess with the momma bear and you will be mauled. And hidden in a forest.
I want you to realize that from the day Mommy peed on her magic Clear Blue stick and found out that you'd been hitching a ride in there, me and your Daddy were instantly in love with you with all our hearts and we would do anything for you. Along with that comes some stuff we know we will do that will annoy / embarrass you. I apologize in advance for the following:
- giving you big wet kisses and hugs, while telling you how much I love you in a version of baby talk, all in front of your friends and a boy you like
- taking you to the mall to get your first training bra and talking to the salesperson about you growing little boobies and pushing them into position, probably while there's at least another girl from your class in the same dressing room
- having the birds and the bees talk with you - just know, it won't be terribly easy for me either, and I would rather be watching whatever substitute for Grey's Anatomy will be on television, but we'll get through it together.
- showing you how to use a tampon, pluck your eyebrows, and shave your legs... There will be a little blood, and little pain, but it will be worth it. Hopefully.
- your Daddy standing at the door and being threatening (perhaps with a gun) when a boy comes to pick you up for your first date. That's just something Daddy's do - you're his little girl now and forever and if anyone messes with you, he'll be annihilated (and that's not figurative. I'm serious.)
Well Tilly, that's all your mommy can think of for now. If you're reading this, I'm probably sleeping and you've snuck onto my computer and found the link. That's what I get for having a baby genius on my hands.
Love,
Mommy.
Hi my little girl! This is your mommy. You're still just a little astronaut in my tummy, but I thought I should write you a letter to let you know about what's happening and some of the things I am hoping will and won't happen once you decide to make your debut.
Mommy loves you, but I have started to keep a record for every bit of nausea, headaches, emergency trips to the doctor, weird bumps / rashes, aversions to my favourite foods, and generally crappiness I have been feeling. When you start to hit puberty and are driving me up the wall, I will be bringing out said journal in front of your friends and start listing them off. You've been warned.
While I know you'll be adorable, I want you to use your head. You will read books and think for yourself. Self esteem is good, but I don't want you to play dumb for a boy. If you do, I will ship you off to a school run by nuns and it won't be just like the Sound of Music. Although it may be in Austria. I haven't decided yet.
If I hear you've been hanging out with Charlie Sheen wannabes, there will be an intervention and it will not be pretty - I will be contacting those witches from Sleeping Beauty and putting you into a slumber until me and your daddy can "take care" of the scumbags. Scumbags - fair warning... mess with the momma bear and you will be mauled. And hidden in a forest.
I want you to realize that from the day Mommy peed on her magic Clear Blue stick and found out that you'd been hitching a ride in there, me and your Daddy were instantly in love with you with all our hearts and we would do anything for you. Along with that comes some stuff we know we will do that will annoy / embarrass you. I apologize in advance for the following:
- giving you big wet kisses and hugs, while telling you how much I love you in a version of baby talk, all in front of your friends and a boy you like
- taking you to the mall to get your first training bra and talking to the salesperson about you growing little boobies and pushing them into position, probably while there's at least another girl from your class in the same dressing room
- having the birds and the bees talk with you - just know, it won't be terribly easy for me either, and I would rather be watching whatever substitute for Grey's Anatomy will be on television, but we'll get through it together.
- showing you how to use a tampon, pluck your eyebrows, and shave your legs... There will be a little blood, and little pain, but it will be worth it. Hopefully.
- your Daddy standing at the door and being threatening (perhaps with a gun) when a boy comes to pick you up for your first date. That's just something Daddy's do - you're his little girl now and forever and if anyone messes with you, he'll be annihilated (and that's not figurative. I'm serious.)
Well Tilly, that's all your mommy can think of for now. If you're reading this, I'm probably sleeping and you've snuck onto my computer and found the link. That's what I get for having a baby genius on my hands.
Love,
Mommy.
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