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

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.

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:

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:

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.

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: