Monday, December 31, 2007

He's My Brother

The Momes is obsessed with the baby bump. He's been all over that shit for months now, but recently I can say that his need to snuggle with my belly has reached a fever pitch. He will do just about anything to get as close to Baby as possible. This includes burrowing under the covers, begging to come up on the couch, pushing Daddy out of the way so he can get closer to me.

At night he sleeps curled up next to me with his head resting on Baby like a pillow. As soon as he settles in and gets to snoring (and trust me, the Momes can snore) she wakes up and gets to kicking him in the face. You might think this would serve as a deterrent, but not so. He just snorts and shakes his head and settles back in for more.

While I find this back and forth between my furry child and my internal one somewhat adorable and endearing, it also makes my already not-so-deep sleeps that much more interrupted. For one thing, I am approximately 1000 degrees on a good night. Add the furnace that is Moet to the mix and I'm surprised that the two of us haven't melted right through the bed yet. Furthermore, every time that I need to change positions, The Momes not does too. That makes for two of us tossing and turning the night away, wrestling with pillows and covers.

The thing is though, I am so enjoying this peaceful early interaction between my two babies. One of my greatest worries is that they won't get along when the time comes to meet face-to-face.

Moet is not a fan of small humans, he barks at a baby's cry and has been known to lunge fiercely at the odd screeching toddler. I'm terrified that he will not be able to adjust to a new baby in our lives, that he'll feel threated and left out and abandoned. And, of course, my worst fear, that he will (try to) hurt her. I don't know what I would do in such a case? I've heard a great many stories of new parents having to give up their pets in order to protect their new babies. But the mere thought of it, suggestion of it, shatters my heart to bits. I can't ever imagine having to make that decision. At the risk of being over-dramatic, it feels a little too much like that devastating scene in Sophie's Choice.

So for now I am content to let my first furry baby snuggle as much as he wants with my soon-to-be second. I hope that somehow he is getting know her, as I am, and that on an instinctual level he understands that soon he's going to be her big brother. That he'll want to protect her, not eat her. I know one thing is for sure - she's going to recognize his snoring.

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 34

Week 34.

Weight Gain: 44lbs, according to scale at doc's office on Christmas Eve. Which means 144lbs by now, after eating way through Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and all the fall-out between then and now. I've heard that appetite decreases and weight gain slows in the last few weeks because "there is no room left." I have not experienced this "no room left" sensation as yet.

Milestones this week: First sober Christmas in at least 15 years. I have officially grown out of every item of clothing that I own. I have no clue how I will possibly dress myself for my last few weeks of work. Crown and I have finally started to make headway in the nursery - progress pictures to come soon. I'm feeling pretty good, have managed to get some much-needed rest this week, but aside from daily walks with the dog, haven't worked out in at least two full weeks now. Unless you consider seriously rocking out on Guitar Hero a work out. Which it kind of us, especially when you are as passionate about the rock as I am. Heh. Starting fresh in the New Year - do not want to go into this birth unprepared and completely out of shape. Will be interesting to see what I can still do at the gym, given that the simplest things are completely exhausting at this point. For example, I can barely pry the lid off the tub of ice cream without breaking a sweat.

Here's lady lump this week - Happy New Year ya'll:

Friday, December 21, 2007

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 33

Week 33.

Weight Gain: OMG, OMG, OMG. I can't. I just can't. Let's suffice it to say, this is going to leave a mark.

Milestones this week: Lovely lady lump no longer quite so lovely. No longer recognizable to self, family or friends. Husband no longer wants to make eye contact, let alone physical contact. Pictures, other than these faceless, thighless, belly pics (must finish what I've started for documentary sake), are officially banned. Cravings consist of nothing but beer, wine, hard liquor and cigarettes. And, for some reason, orange juice. Gallons of it. I get up and chug it from the carton at 5 a.m. Exercise - what's that? Even my teeth are fat.

As for Chicken, she's pretty awesome. Not much room in there for her to bust her Kung Fu madness anymore, so instead she's taken up Thai Chi. Lots of stretching and holding and looong slooooow movements. One of her favourite activities is elbowing (or kneeing, I'm not sure which these days) The Momes in the face. He has become a bit obsessed with my belly and pretty much exclusively spends the night curled up as if sitting in my lap, with his head on my bump like a pillow. Chicken takes issue with his snoring (you'll get used to it baby girl, trust) and wakes up to poke him in the face several times a night. Doesn't deter him for more than a minute or two before he's back for more.

Speaking of my belly... brace yourselves:

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

If there is one thing that I know about babies, it's that they need to be changed. A lot. Sometimes you can go through 10 - 12 diapers in a day. That's a lot of pee and a lot of poop and potentially a lot of laundry. It also means a lot of time spent around the "changing area" that you've set up for your kid.

For some people this means a traditional change table - a very handy piece of furniture with room for a change pad, cubbies and baskets to hold diapers and supplies, drawers to tuck away clean clothes, etc.

Others prefer to use a regular chest of drawers and just attach a change pad on top. Most pads come with buckles and straps so they can be securely fastened to the chest, reducing the potential for the pad (and/or baby) to slip off mid-change. This is a great solution, since one day baby will be big enough and (hopefully) changes no longer necessary, but you'll still be able to use the drawers and won't need to get rid of a now useless piece of furniture.

Crown and I have a limited amount of space in our house, only two bedrooms, one of which used to be our office. The closet in the baby's room is going to be used partly for Daddy, partly for household storage. That means that most of Baby's clothing will need to be stored in a chest of drawers, a big one, too high to double as our change table. And we do not have room for both the drawers and a traditional change table. But what we do have is one of these: The Expedit bookcase from IKEA is positioned on its side (so long-ways, rather than tall) along one wall of the soon-to-be nursery. It's the perfect height for a change table, but unfortunately it is just an inch or two too narrow, standard change pads are between 16 and 17 inches wide, the shelf is only 15 inches.

Enter my stepfather and his newly acquired and increasingly useful hobby of woodworking. He has built many things for my sister and I by now, including some pretty fab flower boxes/privacy screens for my roof terrace, a project that nearly cost him several of his fingers, I kid you not. He offered to build us a tray that would be custom fit to slide securely onto the Expedit bookcase and hold a standard sized change table pad.

Here are some pictures of the finished project. I'll have to post pictures of the finished nursery so you can see how it fits onto the Expedit, but for now I'll just say that I think he may have stumbled onto a potential IKEA best-seller.




Friday, December 14, 2007

Isn't it Ironic: Part 2

Bending down to pick something up off the floor is the worst thing that can happen to me right now, yet I’m clumsier than I’ve even been in my entire life.

It’s true. Dropping something these days causes my heart to leap into my throat as I realize, holy fuck, now I have to figure out how to bend over and pick that up. This is particularly the case when I drop something in public, but even in the privacy of my own home it’s enough to induce a string of cursing so profane it could melt the ears off a sailor.

You see not only is bending over a very painful and awkward thing to do with this big 32 week belly in the way, it also disrupts the delicate balance of the state of any clothing I might be wearing at the time. Pants fall down, shirts lift up, boobs fall out all over the place. It’s horrifying to live through and even more horrifying to witness, I’m sure. I HATE it.

The other day I considered just leaving my iPod behind when I accidentally dropped it on the bus. I swear. I was like, I’d totally sacrifice that thing just to not have to bend down right now. Thankfully a lovely teenage boy picked it up for me. And didn’t try to steal it. Probably because it’s bright pink and had Britney Spears blaring out of it, but whatever.

The dropping stuff issue is a serious problem right now because for some reason I have lost all control over my own hands and fingers. I suppose it has something to do with the swelling? My fingers look like 10 little raw breakfast sausages and bending them to get a good grip on something is a major chore. I’m continually dropping stuff for no reason what-so-ever. I’ll be applying mascara and the wand just falls right out of my hand, usually bouncing off my boobs and ruining whatever outfit I’m wearing on its way down. Queue the cursing. I grab something out of the fridge and attempt to put it on the counter only to have it drop right out of my hand and splatter all over the kitchen floor. Awesome.

I should note that while dropping things is particularly frustrating, because it seemingly could be avoided if I hadn’t somehow suddenly erased 32-years of practice with my own digits, there are other things that I dread doing now:

Getting something out of my sock drawer, as this requires bending down and rummaging around until I find the right pair.
Picking and putting down the dog’s water bowl, or filling is bowl with food.
Picking up the dog for any reason, he’s squirmy and low to the ground.
Picking up the dog’s shit, again, requires ample bending, in public and let’s face it, nobody likes picking up another creature’s shit.
Putting on boots or shoes especially if tying laces is required.
Throwing things in the garbage because I always miss hence more bending.

I could go on, but I think you get my point. It's getting to the point where any or all of these tasks requires some form of assistance, or me getting down on all fours in order to perform whatever "pick up" is necessary at the time. Not so convenient. Especially on the bus during rush hour.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Party Up

Crown and I had our Baby Bash on Saturday night. I'm purposely avoiding the term "Shower" because, although we certainly felt showered with the love of our closest friends and family, and showered with generosity - this is going to be one spoiled baby girl - it wasn't exactly a Shower in the traditional sense.

For one, it was men and women. A trend that's becoming more popular, I know, but still a lot of people are very thrown off by this concept. When the invites went out some people reacted as if we were inviting serial killers to the party.

"You're having WHO there? Did you say MEN? Did she say MEN were coming?"

What's up with that anyway? I mean, shouldn't dads be encouraged to celebrate and get excited about the arrival of their babies just as much as moms? Call me a crazy feminist lunatic (someone did), but to me it just makes sense.

Anyway, it was a party on a Saturday night and there were men there. There was also booze. So there were drunk men. And what's a party without any drunk men? A Shower.

We didn’t play any games, but had a “Suggest a Name for Baby Champagne” name suggestion box. The best suggestion, as judged by creativity and innovation, will win a prize. I must admit, although Crown and I have not told anyone what names are on our short list (and it’s very short at this point), I was shocked by how many people guessed either dead on or incredibly close to some of my top choices. I say “my choices” because Crown hates them all except for one. And here I was thinking that I was being incredibly original. HA! In fact, one couple came so close to guessing the exact name that we both consider our front-runner, that I was a little heartbroken… until Crown told me that he “gave it to them.” Jerk. So much for our promise not to tell anyone.

The one traditional thing that we did honour at our Bash was to sit down and open all of our gifts in front of everyone. Understandably, people really wanted to see that happen and kept asking my mom if we were going to do it and when.

It was totally overwhelming, but also so much fun! Crown helped (though I thought he was going to jump out of his skin over it) and thank God for my BFF, Dings, who played my wing-man and kept track of all the gifts and who had given them. Life saver.

Girl, I got your back in January, so long as I don’t pop before then!

We received a ton of amazing gifts from the registry and I’m so grateful to everyone who stuck to the list. I know it’s hard when shopping for a baby (especially a baby girl) not to go wild and just buy clothes.

I really feel like we have almost everything we “need” for this baby at this point. A few exceptions, which I’ll be shopping for myself pretty soon, include a change pad cover (think I might splurge on the super-soft one from Pottery Barn Kids in white or organic), crib linens (again a splurge might be in order, got my eye on the “Snow” Crib Ensemble from Babylicious, so beautiful and it’s not that easy to find all-white linens for babies) and a mobile - still a little stumped by this one.

We also need a few items to complete our nursery decor, such as a table lamp, a chandelier and a chair, but we haven't quite found the "right" things just yet.

Of course, those who did go out on their own and stray from the “need-to-have” items from the registry ended up giving some of my very favourite gifts. I can’t possibly share them all with you here, but can’t resist showing off a few!

I fell in love with the "cowgirl" pattern by DwellBaby shortly after I first found out I was pregnant. The line is pretty luxe so probably not something I'd buy for myself. Good ol' Dings clearly understood how smitten I was! She got me both the hooded towel, seen here, and the stroller blanket. Love!
Not only do I have a thing for giraffes, but apparently babies do to. Especially if the giraffe in question is Sophie! This adorable toxin-free teether was given to me by a dear colleague who happens to be a new mom herself - I can't even bear to put it away in the "toy basket" because I adore it so much. It's got a special place on the shelf.


Books, books, books! We received a wonderful library of favourite kid's books, such as the two seen below. What a fabulous gift... about 8 books in total! Chicken's library is already over 25 books strong. I can't wait to start reading to her.


As I said, we actually received very little clothing and not a single pair of shoes?! So surprising, but not at all disappointing. I'm VERY excited to start shopping for my little girl. Of course, there were a few beautiful outfits in the mix. One of cutest has got to be the little cordoury dress and amazing sweater you see below. Could you not just eat it up?


I've talked about where the Chicken got her nickname on here before and so I was amazed and thrilled to receive the blue and white penguin that you see in the picture below. This stuffed animal from Pottery Barn Kids not only fulfills my own love of stuffed animals (I still have bins full saved from my own childhood), but is also a cuddly symbol of our baby-to-be. The best part is, the couple who bought it for her didn't even know about the Chicken/Penguin story! How's that for clairvoyance?
And allow me to go back for a second to the giraffe thing. Not only did we receive Sophie, but we also receved not one but two more stuffed giraffes. The cutie below and another stuffed beauty with a long floppy neck and bean bag feet. Fantastic!
I said it on the night (while stiffling back tears of course) but must reiterate now. This baby has no idea how lucky she is to have so many amazing people to love her. It was truly incredible to be surrounded by those closest to us and celebrate our baby girl. A million thank you's to everyone for your support. And for putting up with our unconventional method of celebrating--I hope you all had as good a time as we did.

xo

Saturday, December 01, 2007

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 30

Week 30.

Weight Gain: 40 lbs. Correct. That's four-zero. As in when you take 10 -- coincidently the number that I've been fighting off gaining for, oh, the last 8 years or so -- and then you multiply it by 4.

Milestones this Week: You may have already picked up on this vibe, but the weight gain is really starting to freak me out. Especially since this week I had an ultrasound and a prenatal appointment, both of which combined confirmed that I am not further along than 30 weeks and my chicken is not bigger than she should be. In fact, as my doctor put it, she is "perfectly average." He meant that to be extremely reassuring. She falls smack dab in the middle of where a baby should be at week 30 in terms of development, growth and weight. That means it's not her that's big, it's just me. Figures. In other news, I have had somewhat of an epiphany this week that balances out the scales (no pun intended) on this issue just a bit.

I am creating, housing and protecting a tiny human being. No really! That's happening.

But wait, that's not all. I'm in love with her. Sometimes I love her so much that it's all I can do to hold my shit together. And everyday I'm getting to know her better. I can feel her bum under my hand and when she's restless I rub her back until she stretches lazily and settles in. I think she loves having her back rubbed just as much as me.

I have created a safe, warm place for her to grow and as much as I can complain about the difficulties of being pregnant, some days I wish that I could keep her in me forever. Because in there she's safe. I know that there are a lot of people waiting to meet her, all of them already pledging to keep her happy and safe, and I'm glad because it does take a village. But for now that job is all mine and I know that I'm doing it well. I know that I'm doing all that I can to prepare her for the shock that will be life outside of me. And once she is out, I will always continue to do what I can, but I'll never be able to protect her as well as I am right now.

This week the counting has suddenly changed from counting up, to counting down. Instead of saying, "I'm 30 weeks along," I find myself saying, "Just 10 more weeks to go." 10 little weeks and my girl will be here. I hope that she's going to enjoy these last weeks inside of me as much as I'm going to try to enjoy having her in there. Because just as much as I can't wait to hold her in my arms, I'll miss her terribly in my belly.

Speaking of belly, here's some more proof.


Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Isn't It Ironic

Note: Written on Wednesday, Nov. 21 but not posted until today because I am incredibly lazy.

How is it that I have never been more aggravated, disappointed, annoyed and occasionally outright disgusted with human beings as I have been since I started growing a new one?

This morning a big, cigarette smelling woman in a puffy, wet down-filled jacket sat on me. ON me. Not beside me, not near me but actually ON me, on the subway.

I used to be a patient person, I swear. Perhaps even too much of one. A year ago had someone sat on me, I'd have said, "Excuse me, why don't I give you some room," and gotten up to stand somewhere else. Confrontation would not have been an option for me, although I may have silently stewed about what a douche bag the woman was.

But today? Oh no. I couldn't let it go. I couldn't let this wet, smelly woman just plop down on me and sit there all the way to Yonge St. And I couldn't get up because she was heavy. I was trapped and I was panicking. The woman across from me on the train saw my fear, but like most Torontonians pretended not to and simply ignored the fact that I was slowly being smothered by this giant stinky wet woman.

After a few seconds I realized she actually intended on staying as she was, half on top of me and slowly suffocating me to death. So I had to act.

"Hello? You can't sit on me," I said.

"This is a seat," was her response.

"Mhm, okay sure, but I'm seven months pregnant and you're crushing me. Do you think you could get up so I can at least get out from under you?"

She gave me a long foul smelling exasperated sigh, waited just a beat longer than she should have, and heaved herself up just long enough for me to hoist my swollen body up from the seat before she went crashing back down again.

I realized that I had better walk away immediately from this women or risk throwing myself at her in a fit of unbridled hormonal rage, so I grabbed my bag, which had between between my feet and waddled away to the far end of the car.

I wish that was the end, but OH NO. Not three stops later and we were at St. George St. Many people disembark here so I was able to grab another seat and sat down to rest for the next couple of stops. Who should I see some sauntering over and drop down into the seat right across from me? Correct. Wet 'n Stinky herself.

She proceeded to glare at me for the rest of the ride. As I had somehow caused her personal anguish and pain and not the reverse. It took all the restraint I had in my soul not to leap over and throttle her. I mean I really, really wanted to clock her until she bled from her eyes.

Instead I just sat as calmly as possible until I was able to get off safely at my stop.

And then I cried. I hate that stupid wet lady, but karma will have its way with her eventually.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 27

Week 27.

Weight Gain: Very close to, if not already by now, 30 lbs. I learned this at my prenatal appointment last week and I'm not ashamed to say that I cried a little.

Milestones this Week (and, since I didn't post, last week too): Last week we had our monthly prenatal appointment and while all seems fine, I expressed a concern over how big I am suddenly. People keep asking if I'm due soon and then telling me that I must be growing a BIG baby. Hi, everyone? Shut up. I can't imagine anything that pregnant women want to hear less than, "Wow, you really got big all of a sudden. That is going to be one hell of a big baby. Ouch." [They make a weird grimace face and shake their head in sympathy.]

Doctor Awesome agreed that, yes, my bump is slightly bigger than average for end of second trimester. Super. He was also quick to say that I am also taller than the average woman so he doesn't think it's an issue. He did offer to schedule me for an ultrasound at 30 weeks just to put my mind at ease. I accepted. I heart ultrasounds.

I also had to drink the orange death juice. Anyone who's been pregs already knows what I'm talking about. Anyone who hasn't been pregs yet, think Orange Crush plus McDonald's Orange Party Drink minus anything that might be good about either of them and you've got the orange death drink. It's to test for gestational diabetes and if I didn't have it before that drink, I'm pretty fucking certain that the sugar content of the test itself has given it to me now.

The chicken and I are at a get-to-know you stage. I'm starting to learn some of her likes and dislikes and in return for my doting on her with her favourite things, she puts on one hell of a fun horse and pony show. I'm positive now that she enjoys pop music, particularly if I sing along. A little JT (you may recall I first felt her move just after his concert this summer) or Brit Brit's "Gimmie More" sends her into a frenzied club-worthy dance off. She's bopping around so much in there that my bump gets to buckling like a house of cards during an earthquake.

She does not like being seated for long periods of time at my desk. If I'm still for too long, she will kick up a fuss, usually by stomping on my kidney. It's kind of a - get the hell up and move already woman, I'm all crushed and cramped in here, shit - type of kicking. Not so comfortable.

Here's the bump this week - my last week in the second trimester - home stretch here we come:


Friday, October 26, 2007

Thank You

Dear Dude at the corner of Yonge and Bloor,

Thank you so much for saving my soul today at lunch hour.

I think I was a little too tired after a long, sleepless night, and a little too hot after a strenuous step-class, to realize just how much trouble my soul was in due to my recent abominations and sins.

I must have looked down right grouchy and blasphemous as I attempted to get my heavy pregnant belly past you on the street and if you hadn’t stopped to yell at me, well, who knows where my soul would be right now.

I so appreciate you screaming in tongues and then graciously “saving me from the clutches of Satan and the horrors of hellfire” with your little paper brochure. I mean, whoa, that was a close one.

If not for you I could totally be the clutches of Satan and the horrors of hellfire right now. Instead of tired, hot, swollen, pregnant and sitting in my office chair watching the minutes tick slowly by. Hm. Waaaait a second...

Sincerely,

Beaches

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Sugar and Spice and All Things Nice

So sweet, isn't it? That age old adage that lovingly describes the differences between little girls and little boys. Aw. Warms my motherly heart, really.

Except for the fact that it's such absolute bullshit.

Clearly whoever came up with this sugar and spice crap has never ridden the TTC. I ride the TTC every day. And there are schools on my route. Which means there are girls on my bus. Teenage girls. Sugar and spice and all things nice?

More like ciggies and thongs and all things skank.

What has happened to our girls? Before I get too preachy I must confess, I logged a few hours of my teenage years with a belly full of vodka and my head in the toilet - but at least I was an angel on the outside! These days? For the love of Britney - they are wee devils!

And speaking of... one of these oh-so-sugary little tarts flashed me her "Britney" the other day! Right there on the bus at 9a.m. I believe I even gave out a little gasp of horror.

I don't blame her, by the way - Britney. She's just a rusty cog in a much larger, much more evil corporate machine. Selling sex to our little ones by way of their "starlets" and pricey paparazzi opportunities. Maybe that's what's changed in teenage girls since my day? I mean, my idol was Madonna, not necessarily the purest of roll models, but she always came across as strong, independent and sexy in smart way. On her own terms, you know?

I may have been sexual at an early age, but I sure as hell wasn't slutty. I respected my elders and deferred to authority. I never wore my undies on the outside of my clothing. Sure, I probably spoke loudly with my friend in public places and made the odd old lady feel uncomfortable, it's expected from a gaggle of teenagers. But did I talk about kicking bitches asses and doing blow and sucking balls? Oh hell no.

But these girls. These little girls who could be so smart and so beautiful if they would drop the tougher than thou routine, they are scaring the crap out of me. Because what if one day it happens to mine?

So for now I have to believe in the sugar and spice bit. For my own peace of mind. I think I'll just assume that today kids are lighter on the sugar (let's face it, too much is bad for you anyway) and a hell of a lot heavier on the spice.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

I Hope You Dance

Alright new moms and moms-to-be, I'm issuing you a challenge.

But first I'll apologize to non-moms and non-moms to be for the extreme cheese factor of what I'm about to say. Sorry. Really sorry. You might want to look away.

Back to the moms. Have you ever heard the song "I Hope You Dance", by Lee Ann Womack? And if you have heard it and dismissed it immediately as horrifying new country crap (as I did when I first heard it), have you ever really listened to the lyrics? Because if you have, I guarantee, you can not sit through this blasted song without breaking into the ugly cry. Not just weepy, oh no. The UGLY CRY.

It's a challenge. Find it. Listen to it. Listen to it again. And just try to hold back the tears. Just try. You can't. I already know it. It's not possible. Here's a sample of the lyrics, clearly written in the midst of a pregnant woman's hormonal meltdown:

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making
Don't let some hell bent heart
Leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out
Reconsider
Give the heavens above
More than just a passing glance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance

Choking back some sobbage already aren't you? Yeah, you are. It's okay. Let it out. Take some comfort in the fact that my own surging pregnancy hormones have allowed me to embarrass the hell out of myself by 'fessing up to this publicly so that you don't have to.

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 25

Week 25.

Weight Gain: Have purposely been avoiding the scale out of sheer terror. I'm not even kidding. I'm horrified. I feel as though complete denial is the only option at this point.

Milestones this week: Guess what ya'll? I'm huge. I don't know if it's a hormone surge or what but suddenly this week I have switched from feeling kind of sexy-pregnant to feeling like an absolutely hideous ogre. The physicality of pregnancy has really set in for me this week. All of a sudden a lot of things that I've always taken for granted are suddenly next to impossible.

Putting on pants without sitting down first? No go. Tying my shoes from a standing position? Forget about it. Being graceful while doing anything? Over and done with. I feel big and awkward, clumsy and sore. I'm trying so hard not to waddle, but I can't seem to keep myself straight. It's hard. I wish I could laugh about it... but I think I need a little more time to adjust.

The reactions from people are not helping either. I used to think that maybe pregnant women were being overly sensitive when they said how upset they would get by other's people's comments about their size. But I get it now. When someone asks how far along you are and you tell them and they they say, "Holy shit? Really? You have three more months?!" Yeah, it kind of hurts. Luckily, I'm a good sport and have been able to shake it off and chalk it up to par for the course. Let's face it - it is pretty fucked up what happens to the body. It would just be nice to hear a little more positive reinforcement now and then to help me get through.

All that aside though, I really am loving being pregnant. I am definitely developing a bond with my little chicken in a big way. She makes me smile, I love feeling her move. I can tell she is strong, and probably a little feisty. And for the time being, she is still all mine. Crown's not too interested in touching her or talking to her yet, my mom is out of town so can't fawn all over her as I know she's looking forward to doing upon her return, so she's mine and I already love her enough to make all the discomforts and unpleasantness of pregnancy well worth it. For her I'd go through it a million times more.

Now, if only I could get a little closer to giving her a proper name... but more on that great debate later.

Here's the lump at 24 weeks and 5 days:

Monday, October 22, 2007

Island in the Sun

I've been meaning to post about Cuba for weeks now. Three weeks to be exact. I just haven't quite gotten my act together. Mostly because I'm lazy. Anyway, it probably would have been ass boring for you to read much about the week anyway, since in a nutshell it was spent sleeping, lying down, floating and eating.

So instead here are a few choice shots from a beautiful week. Although it seems almost a lifetime ago already - I will whole-heartedly recommend taking the time out before a new arrival and jetting off on a last-blast Babymoon with your lover.

What an amazing way to take time out to reflect on your pregnancy, your baby-to-be and most importantly spend some much needed time on your relationship with your partner, outside of your day-to-day grind, away from daily stresses and chores. I don't like to say that it might be a long time before the two of us get to enjoy another solitary week in paradise together... but let's face it... it might.

A room with a view:
If you like Pina Coladas:

Beach bliss:


At the end of the point:


A beautiful hotel in Old Havana:


La touristas:

More Old Havana:

Viva la revolucion:


And last but not least, channeling Britney Spears:

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Dress You Up in My Love


I'm not sure when or why I started to refer to my unborn baby as the "little chicken" but I think it has something to do with The March of the Penguins. Bare with me here. When I saw that movie I started referring to the baby penguins (who, by the way are the cutest creatures ever to have lived) as "chickens".

As in, "Oooohhhh... look at those little chickens... I love those chickens." To which my husband promptly responded, "Cut it out with the voice. And those are not chickens." Heh.

Since then I've associated the term "chicken" not with a spicy stir fry or a delicious roasted delicacy, but with something endearing and unbelievably adorable. Hense, calling my soon-to-be-babe "little chicken".

Anyway, was perusing Martha Stewart's site the other day (hate her and love her, love to hate her) and I found the image you see above. And it suddenly hit me. At this time next year I could be preparing to dress up my little chicken for Halloween... AS A LITTLE CHICKEN!

I don't know what my point is exactly, except that, you know, holy crap.

Monday, October 01, 2007

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 21

Week 21.

Week 21 was actually last week, sorry I couldn't update, was in Cuba having the time of my life. If by having the time of my life I mean sleeping. Which I do. Yes, week 21 can be marked by mucho sleeping, eating, beaching, swimming and sunning. In other words pure and utter paradise for Beaches - where do you think the nick name comes from?

But more on Cuba in a soon-to-come post.

Weight gain in week 21 was pretty extreme. I'll give you the finally tally in my week 22 post, coming soon. Let's just leave it for now at - all you can eat buffet, every day, for seven days. Need I say more?

Milestones this week: Got caught up on sleep for first time since May. Seriously. It was the first time in five months that I actually woke up one morning and was not tired. Amazing what paradise can do for you.

Baby Girl Champagne started to try and physically break out of her warm watery habitat. I'm thinking maybe she wanted a cigar and a mojito (yeah, me too kid, guess what, sometimes life ain't fair). Her kicks and punches are now visible from the outside, if you catch them at just the right time. She's moving all the time now, several times a day, and she is very strong. She even wakes me up at night with her crazy antics. I suppose I might as well get used to it.

Here's a good kick story. Please skip ahead to photos if you are afraid of gross.

One thing I never really thought about before pregnancy was that the wee kicks and punches are not only felt on the top of your tummy. No sir. This kid kicks organs. Organs I've never really felt from the inside before. Organs like um, the bladder and bowel. You can see where this is going.

Crown and I decide to go for a leisurely stroll along the beautiful Varadero beach one afternoon. I had recently peed but let's face it, the ocean was right there in case of urgent emergency. I wasn't concerned. We walked pretty far - all the way to the end of the point, at least a couple of kms. We get to the end, take a few pictures, admire the view. Suddenly, little chicken wakes up and starts doing gymnastics. A back handspring to the bellybutton. A somersault to the gut, and then... oh! The trampoline... on my BOWEL.

I'm not sure if you can quite imagine what happens to a full bowel if a 10 inch parasite starts to do JUMPING JACKS on it but let me explain. You suddenly and urgently feel the need to shit yourself. Suddenly our romantic beach walk? NOT SO VERY ROMANTIC ANYMORE. This story ends well, my friends, but I'm not sure how. I literally thought, several times during my fast and painful walk back to the resort, that I was going to shit in my bikini right in the middle of this pristine, sunny, white sand beach. Because when a baby bounces on your bowels, you gotta go and you gotta go RIGHT NOW. You simply can't hold it in. You're squeezing one way, she's jumping the other and before too long, she is going to win.

Chalk one up for Mama this time, Kiddo. I made it to the banyos without mishap using pure self-restraint and sheer determination. It may have been our first battle of wills but it certainly will not be our last. Remember my sweet, strong, determined baby girl, your Mom? She's tougher than you.

Sorry for the gross - had to share. And now, as a reward for listening. I give you Beach Belly:


Blocking out the sun:


Displacing a good portion of the ocean:


And as a special bonus, a little family shot that I like to call, Porno Tits:

Friday, September 21, 2007

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 20

Week 20.
18 lbs heavier than b.b.b. I might stop counting pretty soon.

Milestones this week: Half way there! Woohoo! Holy fuck. Ack.

So, today is my 32 birthday. My last sans child. Kind of creepy. To celebrate this, and our 1 year wedding anniversary (also this week) Crown and I are heading off into hurricane territory to take a much belated honeymoon/early babymoon in Cuba.

The Momes has been shipped off to Mom's. Let it be public knowledge that I dropped him off in almost perfect health. It's her turn to try not to kill him for a week. I miss him already. Isn't that pathetic?

Just finished my packing. Getting a much needed mani/pedi in the morning before we take off (thanks Chops for the gift certificate). Now am headed to bed. Can't wait to have our day of travel over and just get there and lie down. Think I'll just lie down for seven whole days. Bliss.

Sorry about the shitty picture this week - we've been too busy to snap a real one. Will do it up tropical styles next week.

Blog ya when I'm back, ya'll.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

My Lovely Lady Lump: 19 weeks

Week 19.


No idea how much heavier I am this week because I haven't made it to the gym even ONCE. And the gym is where the scale is. Mere fact that I haven't made it should give you some indication that things are probably not looking good on the weight gain front. Monday. Starting fresh.

Milestones this week. Ohhhh! A doozy! I had my 19 week ultrasound on Monday. Wow, Sir. Who knew it would be so intense? I kinda thought Crown and I'd go in, they'd rub that gooey wand on me for a few minutes, pronounce the gender of my baby and we'd shed a tear and giggle with joy and that would be that. Wrongo.

First of all that shit lasted almost an HOUR. Crown had to sit in the waiting room for about 58 minutes of it. My technician wanted to go on her lunch break and the chicken wasn't cooperating. Little bugger was facing down, towards my spine, so the tech couldn't get the facial shots she needed. She had me roll this way and that, get up and go pee, cough, more rolling... still nothing. So instead, while she waited for Baby to roll over, she just scanned and rescanned the kid. She must have counted those fingers like four times. She spent a lot of time looking at the "four chamber view" of the heart. I was just glad to hear that there were four.

Meanwhile, I stared and stared hard at her face, worried that if I took my eyes off her for an instant I would miss a flash of uncertainty or concern that might indicate that my baby had two heads or something. Not this woman though - she was a statue! My baby could probably have actually had two heads and she still wouldn't have so much as flinched.

Good news, my baby does not have two heads. Although the tech would not reveal a thing to us during the exam, I called my doc the next day to get the results and was thankfully informed that everything is 100% perfect.

Oh? And the part you're really waiting for? The part that the technician not only wouldn't tell us, but would hardly let us look at for ourselves on the screen? Not even pausing long enough to let us squint and stare and guess? Well, yes, I found that out as well.

Looks like this little chicken is a hen. We're having a baby girl.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Never Ending Story

Hey Peeps. Wanted to give a quick update on the status of the Momes.

Although we checked him out of the hospital last Wednesday (it just occurred to me that I never wrote down the whole story - sorry but can't tell it again right now. Too traumatic. Suffice it to say he was very, very ill.) and brought him home, seemingly back to his old self - he suffered a bit of a set back starting on Sunday. His condition continued to worsen and last night we had another night of hell.

His breathing was poor, his stomach was swollen and painful. His poo was, well, less than solid, let's say. He was lethargic and feverish. We suffered together through the night and brought him back in to the doc's first thing this a.m.

Apparently he has contracted a new infection, probably picked up during his hospitalization. He may or may not be suffering from a re-inflammation of of his pancreas, too. They are running new blood work to find that out and we should know tomorrow.

In the meantime, I have him at home, under watch and as you can see here - sick as he may be - he's still up for some smooching with Mama.



Mama, however, is not feeling up to very much at all. See below. I think I've had about 10 hours of sleep in the last three days. Not enough for a preggy. Not nearly enough. Ah, the things we do for our kids.

Monday, September 10, 2007

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 18

(Sorry so late - I'm a week behind due to the worst week in recent history. Week 19 to follow shortly.)

Week 18.

15 lbs heavier than b.b.b., according to the scale at the gym last Friday. Hate the gym scale but don't have one at home so it will have to do. I swear it is a lying biotch.

Milestones this week: Survived a serious family crisis over the long weekend and everyone (The Momes included, thank God!) came out alive and kicking. In fact, the little chicken is really kicking! So much so that on Saturday night Crown was able to feel the first little punts right through my lower belly. This week the movements have definitely changed from a swooshing, rollercoaster-like flipflop feeling to real, defined little kicks and punches. I love it! It's fast becoming the best part of my day.

Also attended, participated in and finished my first step class since discovering the chicken. It was SO fun! I've been doing this same Friday afternoon step class for almost six years now and had really missed it. Was great to be back and feeling strong enough to work up a good, pre-preggy sweat. That's right, ya'll. Still got it.

Finally, me and Dings (did I mention she's preggers too? Due three weeks after me!) signed up for a prenatal Pilates class. Psyched. Can't wait to start it! Am love, love, loving the second trimester.

Sorry about picture quality. Because of the Moet Ordeal we weren't able to find the time to take a proper picture, so I took this self portrait using the MAC's Photo Booth feature. I feel like the bump has stopped growing out front this week and instead all the growth is happening out back in the "love handle" region. Not cute. Note strategically placed hands. Thank me, I'm sparing your eyes.



Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Love Like This


Dear Momo,

I still remember the day that I brought you home. It was, in fact, five years ago this past weekend. A beautiful sunny day in September, already a special month for me, made so much more so by your arrival.

You weighed only 2 tiny pounds that day, and could curl up quite easily in the palm of Daddy's hand, but already your personality was enormous. Much too big for such a little guy - bright and feisty and full, full, full of love.

You took us on as your new parents, as instant replacements for your own look-a-like, four-legged mommy, with an open and trusting little heart. That day, on our ride back to your new home, I promised you that we would love you and care for you and protect you always. All I ever wanted in return was the chance to smell your dirty dog smell and see you wag your tightly curled tail at me with love each time we crossed each other's path. I had no idea on that sunny day that you would give me those things and so much more.

We have had many trials as a family since you came into our home and changed our lives forever. Your kind is a fickle breed, more demanding than most, and your Daddy and I have been scared for your health and safety more than once.

There was the day you had surgery to remove a little bump from your chin, one that the doctor told us might be cancer. It wasn't. They took it off on your first birthday and Mommy stayed home and cried until I had you back safely in my arms. You pulled through.

One scary winter night, something happened in your tiny brain and a seizure sent us racing to the emergency room - you wrapped up in a towel, Mommy in her PJs and winter boots. They kept you that night and Daddy and I both cried when we had to leave you behind, unsure if you'd get better over night. This time the doctors told us the worst case scenario, "It could be encephalitis, " they said, "it's incurable." Once again you proved them wrong. We had you home the next day and we've never had another seizure since.

This weekend, my sweet boy, you decided to test the strength of our little family once again. Getting your squished little pug-nose in a place it didn't belong. And this time we almost didn't bring you home. This time when the doctor told me you might not survive the night, I believed her because I had held your tiny body in my arms as we rushed you toward help and I felt you slipping away. I felt it in my heart sweet Moet. And for what must have been the first time in my life, I felt my heart truly break.

Perhaps this is your own stubborn way of reminding Dad and I that you are our first baby? That although we are working toward bringing a new tiny member into our perfect circle, we are only making it a little bigger but no more round. And you are right Lil'Boss, you are first, you are loved, and I can not go into this next phase without you.

Because what you don't know is that what you brought into our lives that sunny day in September, just five short years ago, is something that can not be replaced or replicated by anything or anyone. You brought an indestructible sense of humour. Moet, you are so funny. There is nothing on this earth that can bring a smile to my face faster than you can. Even when you are being naughty we can't help but laugh with you. Sweet Momo, you may not know it, but you have been the light of our lives and taught us about real love. Because your brand is pure and unconditional, we had to learn that kind of love too. Even when you are frustrated or sad or sick, you give love. It's all that we can do to try, with all of our hearts, to give it back to you in full.

This next few days is up to you my little Moet. You have already beaten the odds. We thought we'd wake up Monday to news that you had left us, and instead we were all given a gift. A gift of one more day, and now another after that. I can't bring you home with me just yet, but Moet, I will do anything and everything in my power to get you back here with us as soon as possible. Back where you belong. Firmly routed in the center of our happy home. But you also need to know, that no matter what happens, you'll always, always remain in the center of our hearts.

I love you sweet Momo, more than you can know.

Mommy.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 17

Week 17.

11lbs heavier than b.b.b. I know, not supposed to be getting lighter, but this was what the doctor's scale told me on Monday, so this is what we're going with this week. Shut up.

Milestone this week: Hearing baby's heartbeat at my second prenatal appointment. It sounded like this: thwumpthwumpthwumpthwump. No really. Exactly like that. It was pounding away at 136 bpms, the perfect speed according to doc.

This week, two pictures for your viewing pleasure. The first is the regular Lady Lump photo, always taken first thing in the morning to ensure tautness and consistency.

The second is a self portrait, taken using Mac's fun Photo Booth feature. This one I took today (so 17 weeks, 3 days) at the end of the day after much eating. Note the difference and don't judge.

Working for the Weekend

Most of us are working for the weekend. Sad but true.

In a few rare instances, some among us are working ON the weekend. This past weekend there were a few examples worth sharing.

Example #1.
My beautiful, brave, strong and determined friend Scarbie from over at Martinis to Milk was hard at work this weekend. On August 23, at 6:30 a.m. she delivered to this earth the most incredibly beautiful human being, named Lucine Seta Silverthorne. Not only did my lovely friend deliver this bundle of joy, she did so with very little intervention, pushing her baby girl out just they way they are intended to arrive, drug free and ready to party. Hard at work, indeed. Congrats to one of my favourite families, who for now seem so very complete.

Example #2
Another of my favourite people was putting in the hours this weekend. This time the smart, sassy and ever-so-flexible BendyGirl. Bendy spent Sunday entering into Holy Matrimony with her soul mate, The Captain. Those among us who have starred, or even just participated, in a wedding of any kind know, it's a lot of work! This glowing bride pulled off her special day and night with humour, grace and style. And what a magical night it was. Congrats to my newlywed friends. Thank you for including us in your amazing evening.

So while these friend spent their weekend hard at work. I had the utmost pleasure of sitting back and watching it all unfold. Since I love to see people in love, from my seat? This past weekend was all pleasure. Thanks friends!

Friday, August 24, 2007

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 16

Week 16.
14 lbs heavier than b.b.b. (WTF?!? But that's what the scale at the gym tells me. Sob.)
Sorry about the P.J. bottoms. Had a terrible cold. Couldn't be bothered to put on something cuter for the photo.
Milestone this week: Discovering that Baby likes pop music.
24 more weeks to go.








Thursday, August 23, 2007

Is There Anybody In There?


So the time period between "so sick that you think you might barf your fetus out through your mouth" and "feeling better but so huge that you can't help but start to complain again" is a very strange time in pregnancy. And I'm in it.

The thing that is so weird about it this - you know you are pregnant, other people know you are pregnant, but you don't always "feel" pregnant. You just kind of feel like you - but swollen.

I think the issue is this - morning sickness, as horrible as it is, at least gives you a constant (and I mean constant) physical reminder that something is happening inside of you. Early in your 2nd trimester, while you do begin to show a lot more, there's no sickness reminding you that your parasite is growing and thriving. You can't feel it moving yet, so it's almost as if there's nothing going on. In fact, you worry that maybe there ISN'T anything going on.

I've had moments of panic where I suddenly think,

"Oh my God. What if I'm not pregnant at all and I've told everybody that I am. Plus I got so fat. HOW EMBARRASSING."

It's irrational but I blame hormones.

My point is, for the last few weeks I've been impatiently waiting to feel this little chicken inside me start to move. And waiting. And waiting. And... nothing. Nothing that is until Tuesday night. Apparently my baby likes Justin Timberlake.

Okay - have your laugh. Yes, I am 31, married and pregnant and still not ashamed to admit that I went to see JT and I love every minute of it. He did in fact rock my body and I think he rocked Baby's wee body too. It could have had something to do with the bottle of Coke I drank during the show, but I got home and laid in bed and I felt something. It was something that I've never felt before. Not at all the way I've heard the first tiny movements described by others.

Not like "popcorn" or "fluttering" or "butterflies" at all. A little more like "gas bubbles" as some describe it, but not quite like that either. To me it was more of a deep, strong sensation. Nothing airy and bubbly about it. If you make a fist with one hand and roll your knuckles along the inside of your other hand... it kind of felt like that and it was happening way down low down in my abdomen.

This sensation happened on and off for about half an hour, until I finally fell asleep. I didn't think too much of it until the next day, when the same thing happened again during my spinning class. It has happened on and off since, still rather infrequently, but also unmistakeable. Something is in there, alive and kicking.

And I think he or she is pop music fan. Sorry Crown. You're about to be outnumbered. Me and this kid? We're bringing sexy back.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Do You Believe in Magic?

Ladies! Moms-to-be! Ladies with friends who are moms-to-be! Ladies who tend to over eat at Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner! Have I got news for you!

RUN don't WALK to the Zara on Bloor... because they now carry a line of maternity clothing called Zara For Mum. It's awesome. I stumbled upon it completely by accident this afternoon when I popped into Zara at lunch to see if I might find a dress that would actually fit me to wear to my friend Bendy Girl's wedding next weekend.

Got distracted by an adorable pair of jeans that I looked at longingly for a moment before realizing that HOLY MOTHER OF GOD - THESE ARE MATERNITY JEANS! They had the big ol' elastic waist and everything. Glancing quickly around I realized that there was one table and two racks dedicated to this new line! I grabbed one of everything and headed to the change rooms.

Sadly, the dress pants and jeans didn't work out for me - although the jeans, at $69, are THE coolest mat jeans I've seen outside of the designer styles like Seven for all Mankind and Chip and Pepper. I just can't bring myself to pay designer prices but if the Zara's had fit, I'd have bought them in every colour. Boo. They are really, really nice. Skinny and "low rise" but with the full elastic panel waist to sneak up under your tops. Imagine - low rise jeans without the fear of flashing ass crack? I'd wear them forever more.

I did take a shine to the mat leggings - but my bump still isn't big enough to fill them out and I decided not to shell out for them just yet. I didn't get around to trying all the shirts and blouses - was stretching my lunch break a little far at this point - but I'll be going back for sure.

What I did come away with was an awesome winter coat - one item that has been stressing me out since I realized that I'd have to buy one to get me through the cold months. Seems a little early to buy a wool coat - but you know that shit won't be around for long. At $149 this baby is a steal! The best part about it? It looks great even without the big bump! The short sleeves and waist length swing is all the rage, but by leaving off the bottom over-sized button, they've left room for my bump to poke comfortably though once it's too big to be contained. Check it:


I also picked up a bright red swingy t-shirt that was a little pricey at $29 but the colour just sucked me in. You can never have too many dressy t-shirts, you know?

I raced straight home to bring you this news. I'm thrilled, thrilled, thrilled and praying that Zara will continue stocking the line through fall and winter. I'm an avid Zara shopper already and this latest discovery is almost too good to be true. It's a shopping miracle.

Thank you fairy Godmother. Now can you please find me some stylish pants that fit and a dress for next weekend's wedding? Respect.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Green Eyes

Here's hoping our baby gets my husband's eyes:

I Will Not Forget You

Just in case you were worried, the first baby of the family is still incredibly cute. Here he is being the cutest cutesickle in cutesiville at a recent cottage getaway up at Mr. and Mrs. DRock's awesome summer house. For more summer fun photos, you can always visit Flickr.

My Lovely Lady Lump: 15 Weeks

My bump, my bump, my lovely baby bump.
Week 15.
11lbs heavier than b.b.b. (before baby bump). Very clearly not "all baby." Ahem.
25 more weeks to go.


Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Every Rose Has It's Thorn

Phewf. I'm back. And when I say that, I mean really, I'm back. Because I have been gone for quite some time... not just from this blog... but from this planet. I've been in a place that can only be described as it's been accurately and eloquently coined by the one and only Scarbiedoll... the FIRST HELLMESTER.

As of today I am 15 weeks with child. Sounds so pretty when you say it like that doesn't it? With child. Awww... so loving and fuzzy and miraculous. As of about two weeks ago I'm able to see it clearly as such. Before two weeks ago I was with parasite.

Listen, I don't want to be a whiny bitch right off the bat. So let's start with the truly amazing and beautiful things that happened during our first trimester.

a) We survived it. All three of us. In a time that is full of worry about whether or not this little energy sucking zygote is serious about moving in for the next 9 months, getting through the first three together is an amazing and relieving experience.

b) Ultrasounds #2 and 3. I skipped over ultrasound #1 intentionally here, because we're talking about the FUN stuff, remember? More on that in just a jiff... Ultrasound #2 was amazing because at 7 weeks and 4 days I was able to see the little jumping bean inside of me and witness the flashing and fluttering of it's tiny little heart. Ultrasound #3 at 12 weeks and 2 days was mind blowing. Crown was with me when together we met our little chicken for the first time. This thing was a baby! A baby! In there? Moving and kicking and somersaulting. Incredible. There really aren't words enough, but for me it was instant love.

c) Sharing the news. My hands down, absolute favourite part of pregnancy so far. Telling family and friends this news has made every minute of my discomfort worthwhile. This will be the first grandchild for both of our families. Of course, everyone is very excited and the look on people's faces and reactions that ranged from jaw dropping disbelief to squealing and jumping up and down for joy gave me strength to get through the worst moments. It makes you realize that a pregnancy is not about you. It's about adding to an entire family, social network, village and beyond.

Enough warm fuzzies to convince ya'll that I'm truly happy about this amazing creature growing inside of me? Good. Now here's the reality of the first hellmester in concise and honest points:

1) Ultrasound #1. I had it at just over 5 weeks. When you are so early in a pregnancy you have to drink a shit load of water and hold your pee for an HOUR prior to an abdominal ultrasound. Then you go for your ultrasound, ready to DIE from having to pee so bad and the technician presses on your bladder with a fucking baseball bat (or so it seems) for approximately half and hour. The alternative is the magic wand that goes up the you-know-whatsit. Trust me when I say that, as unpleasant as it may sound, the magic wand is waaaaay more preferable. I actually requested it for ultrasound #2 just so I didn't have to suffer the pee pee torture.

2) Vomit and lots of it. That's right, I was a puker. I puked more in three months than I have in my entire life ever and that includes from drinking even. Swear.

3) Food aversions. They are real and I had every one of them. The truly twisted thing about food aversions? Sometimes you don't know you are averted to it until AFTER you have already tried to eat it. IE/the time I thought it was okay to eat quiche and broccoli for lunch at work and ended up projectile vomiting all over the shared washroom facilities. Can you say life long nightmare come true?

4) Giant breasts and not in a good way. 15 weeks in and I've already outgrown TWO sets of bras. The cruelest part? These fuckers were so sore for three months that Crown and I couldn't even enjoy their new found enormity. Boo.

5) Everything smelled like ass. No really. Pretty much everything. Flowers smelled like ass, coffee smelled like ass, public transportation smelled like ass, cabs smelled even more like ass... and don't even get me started on what ass smelled like.

6) Too tired to even be tired. I'm a naturally sleepy person. I looooooove to sleep. My mom claims that I didn't sleep through the night until I was four years old (here's hoping that gene is recessive) and I've been making up for it ever since. But you know what? I didn't even know what tired WAS until this happened to me. Like sometimes? I would lie on the couch and want to cry simply from being so tired, but I was just too damn tired.

7) You get fat. Peeps? Did you know about this? When you get pregnant? You get fat. No, seriously, I know you're as shocked as I am but it's true. That shit you hear about, "Oh she was all belly." Yeah, fucking bullshit. Fat happens everywhere. My ass is pregnant, by thighs are pregnant, and my boobs? Well, let's just say they are having twins.

There is more that could be bitched about but I'm in such good spirits at having left those weeks behind me that I'll leave it there. I'm just so happy to be back. To be healthy. To be carrying the most amazing little parasite around with me. As of last week, the chicken is dying to be noticed. My belly has popped right on out and no amount of sucking it in can make it disappear. Below is the belly at 14 weeks. I'm shocked at the difference already this week and will post the 15 week shot asap.

I hope you'll join us on this journey. It's sure to be one hell of a ride.

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Papa Don't Preach

Need I say more?

In case you feel that I do, here's the quick and dirty:

-13 weeks along
-only just emerging from the shock (this includes Crown)
-so far, everyone is healthy (I guess some would consider morning sickness healthy - more on that another time) and all tests check out
-I've tried to tell everyone that I can in person, but it's tough between summer schedules and the fact that I've been in bed by 9pm at the latest every day since around May, if I missed you...
SURPRISE!

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Enjoy the Silence

I know. I KNOW. I've been a terrible blogger.

Truth is, I'm only writing right now because I feel a nagging, persistent, relentless twinge of guilt at having not written in so long. I know it's been long enough for people to stop reading - and so then it kind of becomes "what's the point"? Well, at least I thought I should type a few words so that blogger doesn't shut me down.

Do they do that if you don't write for a long time? I'm such a bad blogger that I don't even know.


Here's a quickie update for anyone who cares:

Shit is going down at work. My company has been purchased and so the job that I love very much, that I've been doing for close to six years, is suddenly in jeopardy. Should know what's up with that by the end of the summer. That's a little stressful, but what can you do?

I'm still riding. Had my first near injury last week while riding a new horse, Valentine. He head-butted me in the face. That's right. In the face. You know what sucks? Getting head-butted in the face by a big horse.

Recently spent a heavenly week up at the cottage. Amazing. Full-on beach days in May? What's better? GTs.

Crown and I opened our roof last weekend. A lot of work but it's looking swell. Complete with three lovely potted cedars and shiny new BBQ. Not quite finished yet, but we're ready for the summer party season. Bring it.

I've been trying to be healthy since debauchery at the cottage. This includes: no drinking, no refined sugars and, AND, I've quit smoking. Crown quit over three months ago and so I final just said, "Why"? It's stupid and I'm done. But I miss it and I intend to get really fat by substituting with many crunchy snack foods. Does that cancel out the healthy part?

The Momes? Is awesome. Here's a recent picture of the little one suffering the effects of cottagitis for you to enjoy until I guilt myself into writing again. Until then, enjoy the silence.


Monday, May 07, 2007

Which One of These Things Is Not Like the Other?

Crown and I are alike in many, many ways. But of course, we are also individuals. Each with his or her own quirks, likes, dislikes. Neuroses.

Okay, fine. I'm the one with the neuroses. As much as it pains me to admit it, Crown is pretty freakin' neuroses free. This is one of our major differences.

If you've been reading for a while, or know me at all, you'll know that I'm a clean person. A tidy person. I've posted before about my obsessive compulsive need to have things orderly and scrubbed.

Crown is a decently tidy guy, as guys go. I think it's safe to assume that I could not have loved him this much, let alone committed to him for life, if he weren't. I am seriously that much of a freak. But the differences in our level of orderliness is evident in many ways. Especially around the house.

If you were to take a good look at our bedside tables, for example, you'd see that mine is tidy, books piled neatly and at right angles to the corners, always in the same position, just below the alarm clock and kitty corner to the lamp. His, on the other hand will have book askew, possibly even (gasp!) upside down and backwards, crumpled receipts from God knows when tossed about amongst some loose change and a flattened pack of gum.

Likewise, the floor on my side of the room will be tidy, perhaps a yet to be unpacked shopping bag and my neatly stacked pile of mail. His? Balled up socks, slippers kicked off randomly and a tangle of yesterday's clothes.

Because we've learned, for the most part, to live with and occasionally even love, each other's differences, we more often than not, leave each other alone about them. Once a week, I clean up all the stuff, and by the end of the day, his piles have reappeared and I leave them alone until next week's cleaning session.

I was in the master bathroom the other day, when I was struck by the perfect illustration of the difference between Crown's kind of tidy, and mine. Can you tell which towel belongs to whom?


Okay, how about here? Just a few days later, after my weekly clean and tidy?


I had a good chuckle when I realized that our bath towels, like our bedside tables, are so representative of us. And then I had a little sigh and realized how lucky I am that he actually hangs his up at all. Thank the Lord for small miracles and for my sort of tidy guy.