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.

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

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.

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.

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: