Archive | January, 2011

What are you having?

25 Jan

As a pregnant chic, I get asked this question a lot. Almost every day I get asked whether I know what we’re having and every time I’m asked I have to bite my tongue to refrain from saying ‘uhhh… a baby?’. Not because I’m a semantic bitch like that (I am) but because I find it cute and funny in a totally lame sort of way. Like how I’d love for someone I don’t know that well to ask when I’m due to I can make a total fuss about being offended that they’d bring up my weight gain. Clearly I need more entertainment in my life.


I’m almost 19 weeks and no, we still don’t know what we’re having yet (though I believe based on previous scans that it’s a human of a yet to be determined gender). Even my brain wants to know and has been torturing me with some of the most vivid dreams I’ve ever experienced. Usually I wind up holding a boy, but last night was the hum-dinger of all gender dreams. It went something like this…

I wake up in the delivery suite. I know I’m in labour because everyone is scrubbed up in gowns and I’m about to be wheeled off somewhere. I’m nervous but before I know it my OB is there, telling me everything is going to be fine. Then I see The Boy with a massive smile slapped on his teary face and a teeny baby is slapped onto my chest. It’s all goopy and bloody and yucky and I hear the nurses saying it’s a girl and I breathe in her smell as I kiss her over and over telling her that I love her. And at that moment, in my dream, I have the world’s most amazing feeling of love, calm and utter adoration as our little girl nuzzles up to me, opening her eyes for the first time. I get goosebumps just remembering it.

Long story short, Dream Boy and I bring home a Dream Girl only we can’t remember what we called her. I wake up, Pork Chop kicks, and I go back to sleep with a smile on my face wondering how I can possibly love this little being more than I do right now.

So. Boy, Girl. Don’t know and don’t care. No matter what pops out at the end of June, I know already that I’ll love it more than I can possibly bear.



Things they don’t tell you

24 Jan

So I’ve noticed a few things about being pregnant that the books don’t tell you. Or maybe they do, in which case I should get a few and read them. Because below are a couple of revelations I really could have done with being forewarned about.

1. Extra hair (and not where you want it)
Since the age of 13 I’d resigned myself to the that being dark-haired had its disadvantages. One of which being leg and underarm hair that I would, over the years, spend a small fortune on removing. But stomach hair? Thank you pregnancy hormones for giving me more hair on my chest than my man. It’s out of control down there. Even if I could squeeze myself into a bikini, I’d have to wax an area the size of Australia to look good doing it.

2. Unpredictable leaks
I’m not going to go into too much detail here, but ewwww. Did you know that your boobs could start producing colostrum as early as 20 weeks? Neither did I.

3. Fear of sneezing/laughing/coughing
I’ve got pretty good pelvic floor control. Thanks to years playing the clarinet and an everlasting dedication to keeping things maintained ‘down there’, I’m pretty proud of my Kegel  prowess. But here’s two interesting pregnancy related surprises – one is that no matter how many Kegels you do if you sneeze a lot, you’re probably going to pee your pants. The second surprise is that ladies with less pelvic floor control are more likely to get stretch marks. So not only am I going to wet myself if I laugh too hard, I’m probably going to tear a gaping red skin scar across my belly too. How awesome is that?

4. Lack of warning signals
Here’s something I used to take for granted – adequate warning from my bladder to my brain as to when I’d need to use the bathroom. Now, aside from getting up a number of times a night , I find that my bladder often isn’t on speaking terms with my brain anymore. I’m like a pre-schooler who’s lined up for the toilet whining about not needing to pee, but when I get there what do you know – I’m busting. It’s at the point now where my brain is all like ‘dude, you know you’re over the limit’ to my bladder and my bladder is all like ‘pfff. I can handle it’. Then all of a sudden my nose decides it wants in on the action – achoo! – and we all know how THAT story ends.

There are a lot of other things I could mention but this is, I think, enough for one morning. Besides, by now, I probably need to pee.

Is that what I think it is?

21 Jan

A stretch mark? At 18 weeks? You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.

I’m sure every pregnant woman is terrified of stretch marks. In fact, I’m sure every woman, pregnant or not, is terrified of potential pregnancy stretch marks. And I know that there’s not much you can do about it, except not gain too much weight and hope that you’ve got some stellar genes behind you. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t rolled myself in stretch mark cream and consumed copious amounts of water in an effort to hydrate my skin and avoid some of the side effects of growing a large baby.

So, then, imagine my horror when I look down today – at the parts of my stomach I can actually see – and spot a whisper of what can only be a stretch mark in the making. At 18 weeks. I’m not even half way yet. And I’ve got a stretch mark. Cue tears and feeling of utter helplessness.

Of course then I did what I knew I shouldn’t and I googled it. Because I wanted to know just how bad it could get. To be prepared and all that. And I saw how bad it could get and I have to admit I cried a little bit. Because wonderful though it is to be making a new life I kinda want my body to be attractive enough after for my husband to want to make another one. Lame, shallow, vain – I know. I can’t help it. If I were to say I didn’t care I’d be lying. And, sure, there are women out there who would give anything for stretch marks if it meant they had a child. I’m pretty sure somewhere back in August ’10 I said something along those exact lines. Of course if those were the options I’d choose horrendous stretch marks, cellulite and a muffin top any day.

But when it happens it’s still a bit… harsh. So much changes so quickly when you’re pregnant. Things stretch, hurt, leak and expand almost overnight. Two months ago I had a lap. Now, when I lay down on the sofa there’s a bulge. A bulge that I love, a bulge that wriggles and squirms, but it is kinda freaky to have something so totally yours be taken over so completely in such a short time. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Anyway. I’m still clutching at the vain hope that the creams can’t hurt, that drinking lots of water is good for me no matter what, and that if I watch my weight and get off my arse and actually exercise it won’t be that bad. If it is? Well, I married a doctor. There’s gotta be some kick backs from that somewhere along the line, right?

Enjoying the small things

20 Jan

Take away the fact that I’m pregnant. Take away the fact that I cried, a lot, before we even knew we were expecting. I dare you to read this and tell me that it’s unreasonable for me to be a ball of hot tears at work today.

Nella’s birth story

I can’t say that having a special needs child isn’t one of my biggest nightmares. I dread, every day in the lead up to our abnormality scan, that there will be something wrong with our little one. That they’ll find something and there will be a conversation about what needs to be done next. And while I know what our decision will be, I only hope that if those nightmares are realised I have as much love and grace and sheer awesomeness in the face of that realisation as the mother of Nella.

The week (and a half) that was

19 Jan

Having completely failed in my New Year’s resolution to post here more often, and about things more interesting than myself, I thought I’d write a sneaky update today while at work in an effort to get the ball rolling.

First off, that movement I felt last week? Yeah, it was totally Pork Chop. And I am stoked. And I’ve broken pregnancy promise #297 that I will stop worrying when I feel the little one move. Because now when I feel movement I worry it’s not resting enough, or is somehow uncomfortable pressed up against my soft, warm bladder, or is not moving enough and therefore slowly being strangled by its umbilical cord.

Anyway, aside from having a stiff drink I’m doing all I can to stop panicking. Including sending long, completely self-absorbed and paranoid emails to friends and booking myself in to see a therapist because I realise it’s going to be a long 21 years for both me and The Boy if I can’t even pretend to act cool.

So, item of note number 1: Pork Chop is moving. Pork Chop is also the cutest baby ever, as is evidenced in the latest in utero happy snap that The Boy and I sneakily took at the hospital late one night last week. It’s got a whopper of a head, but I’m confident that it’s body will catch up soon. And that being inexperienced sonographers we hopefully got the measurements wrong.

2. I have just experienced the delight that is the maternity bra. Thank you sister-in-law Mel! Holy mother of God why I haven’t got these puppies secured better before now is anyone’s guess. But let me just say that an underwire bra is a lady’s best friend, unless that lady is pregnant in which case it turns into an object of unending torture.

3. I am still procrastinating about painting (and cleaning) the house. Though I do hope to pick up some paint samples this weekend. This is because I’ve just found out they make blackboard paint in lots of cool colours and so I am planning to paint every spare surface in the stuff in the hope that it’ll help both me, and The Boy, actually remember stuff.

4. I have a lasagna craving that is just not going away. Is this what pregnant chics mean when they talk about cravings? Because it’s not as though I’d make The Boy get up at 2am to go make me lasagna and then bitch and moan at him if he so much as suggested that it may be too much trouble, though I do really have a hankering for it. Mmmm. Lasagna.

5.  Pork Chop likes Dr Seuss. Since he/she can now hear, I’ve decided to start doing a nightly read to stimulate those developing brain cells. Cat in the Hat was a big favourite eliciting lots of movement. Now I have visions of a tiny fetus sitting cross-legged in my womb, flipping through Jane Austen novels and sighing over pretty ribbons and the delectable Mr Darcy.

6. The Boy doesn’t get Jane Austen and very nearly met an unfortunate end just recently when he tried to flip the channel away from Pride and Prejudice to the cricket.

7. Milo minus balls makes for a much happier household. Though he has partly destroyed a large amount of furniture, and has caused us to completely renovate the top level of our house, he appears to be much more settled now the call of the wild has been significantly muted. Plus, he’s the cutest little thing when he’s sleeping.

8. Milo minus balls also sends a clear message to The Boy what I’m capable of doing to menfolk who don’t toe the line. Additionally, it makes The Boy undisputed Man of the House, a fact he is quite proud of.

And in other, far more interesting news…

9. There has been a lot of flooding in Queensland, New South Wales and Victoria. A city went underwater. Towns washed away. 18 people died. And the media did what they did best and over-saturated us all with dramatic, repetitive reports that on the whole lacked substance. Much like this blog, really.

10. More than 600 people lost their lives in Brazil thanks to a massive flood and landslide. There was zero airtime for that disaster, a fact I find appalling.

11. A couple aborted their twin sons, conceived by IVF, because they wanted a girl. I can’t understand it, but then I’ve never lost a daughter.

12. Sudan went to the polls to split their nation along religious lines. I appear to be the only one who thinks this sounds a lot like what went on in Palestine/Israel, especially since the religious lines in both these countries contour almost perfectly along economic ones. And we all know how well the Israel/Palestine split worked out.

13. Miranda Kerr gave birth to a perfect child, in a perfect (long, difficult but completely drug free) labour. And I bet she already has her perfect body back.

While I’d like to say that I plan on blogging in more depth about some, if not all, of the topics above, I know this totally isn’t going to happen. And there’s stuff that’s gone on that I haven’t included, partly because I’ve been watching mainstream media, and partly because no-one really needs to hear about the horrific consequences of my Brazilian wax last weekend. What I will say is that the lasagna craving was suitably satisfied with the tasty home invention of ‘Lasagna in a bowl’ and that dinner, when made by someone else, really does taste better.

Mother knows

10 Jan

So, Pork Chop is on the move.

I can’t believe I’m in the second trimester already. 16 weeks has flown by and I’m finally getting past that ‘uhh… have you heard of Weight Watchers?’ stage to the ‘holy crap you ARE pregnant!’ stage. Which is awesome because I love the fact that I can no longer see when my bikini line needs a wax – totally de-stresses my morning AND gets me a whole pool lane to myself.

Anyway, let me just say that compared to T1, T2 totally kicks arse. I have energy. I don’t have to eat ALL THE TIME just to feel half human. I have stopped panicking at every twinge, tickle and slightly weird sensation because my brain has finally decided that it’s just going to go with whatever from now on in. Clearly, my uterus has taken charge and after a brief but bloody battle my mind has surrendered to the invader within… for the time being, at least.

I do have a massive increase in fluid coming out of pretty much every orifice which is kind of gross, but not unmanageable. And my boobs are still sore but they have at least had the decency to grow a bit for The Boy’s enjoyment. Oh, and I got gastro, went on antibiotics and then got thrush for the first time in my life which was totally MORTIFYING, especially when the pharmacist insisted on demonstrating just where I had to put the cream with finger movements and everything while I’m standing between two other male customers hoping that this would be the moment that Jesus returned just to get me out of what was probably the most embarrassing moment of my entire life. But all that pales in comparison to the feeling of feeling the first real kick.

Of course if you ask The Boy and my OB, what I’m feeling is not my fetus moving – it’s gas. I’ve been told I won’t be feeling anything until at least 20 weeks, so when I told The Boy that I felt movement he pretty much just smiled and said ‘mmm’ because he knows that if he rolls his eyes and says something sarcastic I’ll cry. Then rip his balls off.

Anyway, last night while beached on the sofa drinking an apple and cranberry juice (because, you guessed it, the thrush was closely followed by a niggle of a UTI), I was poked. And then I was poked again. And then, as I sat there super still and quiet, I felt a tiny little roll. And if that wasn’t enough, I grabbed the doppler and felt the little bugger move in sync with the sound.

So there. Take that medical profession. 16 weeks and feeling movement. That, or I’ve got one mother-load of gas built up that’s going to instigate World War Three when it’s released. Either way, The Boy is going to feel it… and soon.