A Post Which Confirms I'm Just Another Mom Because There Are Only So Many Things to Talk About

This morning The Bean woke up not quite her usual giggly self. No, I'm actually not being sarcastic...for once. The kid wakes up like the world is full of opportunity and awesomeness and that good things will definitely be happening today. This is not a trait she inherits from me.

But this morning the giggles were grunts. And grunts only mean one thing...the first diaper of the day was going to be a particularly dirty one.

Oh well. I no longer think twice about wiping snot or spit up on my newly cleaned shirts. It's safe to say my standard for gross has been raised.

I was not, however, prepared to be face to face with biology happening as I changed the morning diaper. It was looking at me and I was looking at it and The Bean was busy gnawing on the box of wipes. In true mother fashion, I quickly closed her back up in her dirty diaper - why change two diapers when you can change one?

I set The Bean up with a copy of The Wall Street Journal and gave her quiet time, but she was making a face I knew all too well. A face she did inherit from me. A face which read "Please dear lady, make up a good story about how I died. Don't let people know that my undoing was piece of poo that simply refused to leave my body."

We tried giving her pear juice, but The Bean has come to the conclusion all food should be white, liquid, dispensed from a boob or bottle and rhyme with filk. Everything else is most likely poison. We tried having her walk around the house, despite her actual inability to walk. We tried coffee (no we didn't). And still, just fruitless grunting.

I feel bad for her. Really I do.

Sort of.

Payback's a bitch kid.

Mechanics

So, here I am today (sans makeup and any sort of hair styling--don't judge, you're lucky I got out of my pajamas):



Yes, I believe I have officially set the world record for largest boobs in the history of ever.

I am 36 weeks and some odd days into this pregnancy which means I am days away from being considered full-term. Good thing that's not a wildly horrifying and fear-inducing thought and doesn't set off the crazy monsters who live in my head.

So, I'm just a touch pregnant.

For the most part, there are pretty simple workarounds for dealing with the enormous growths taking over my (or what used to be my) body. Need to put on shoes? Easy enough, if you sit down and swing your legs up to the side. Drop something on the floor? No worries, it can live there until the baby is born.

But there is one activity which I MUST do every week and the workaround leaves a lot to be desired. So I welcome all thoughts and suggestions.

Each and every doctor's appointment from the onset of this pregnancy includes peeing in a cup.

Which is no problem when you don't have an unmovable mass of squirmy child sitting on your lap.

Figure 1:


But that's no longer the case. Now my arms no longer can make the trip to collect this weekly specimen using the usual path.

Figure 2:


Not a big problem because you can just go in from the side. Except. Well, it's a little difficult to see what's going on down below these days. I want you to go to the bathroom and close your eyes and attempt to pee into a Dixie cup.

How's that cup-holding hand doing?

Figure 3:


So, you have to get creative on how to make this all work. And can I tell you, that creative + pregnancy does not equal pretty?

Figure 4:


I'm turning to you interwebs. How do we perform this feat without (1) ending up with pee hands, (2) needing to perform advanced yoga moves, or (3) endangering myself or The Bean?

A Retraction

Editor's note: I'm going to try as best I can, but this post will likely be gross, disgusting and way too much information. Mom, you may not want to have Grandma read this one...

I thought I knew, but I had no idea. I'm sure I'll say that a lot throughout this pregnancy and whole raising a child thing.

We're going to approach this episode with a positive outlook. I know, it's a new thing for me too.

1. I didn't die.
2. I have a pretty good idea what labor is going to feel like (before you jump down my throat, I have confirmed this with three women who have actually gone through the birth process. So bite me.)
3. I didn't die.

This past week I was traveling. With traveling comes: dehydration from flying, eating foods you don't normally eat, lack of sleep and energy. These same activities also happen to be the perfect formula for the big c-word.

Constipation.

Every now and again in this here blog, I make mention of one's difficulty with pooping due to pregnancy. I. DIDN'T. KNOW. ANYTHING. I had it so good. I should've kept my mouth shut and not tempted the gods.

Since this is clearly a disgusting situation, we'll keep it high level.

I was in labor for 10 hours with a poop baby. Throughout these 10 hours, I went through the 5 stages of grief:

• Denial (This can't be happening to me. Maybe I'm being shy because I'm out in public. I'm sure after I get back to the hotel, this will sort itself out.)
• Anger (Are you even kidding me? This is ridiculous. Everyone poops. There's a book on it. This should not be this difficult!)
• Bargaining (I swear, if you let me poop I will only eat spinach and apples for the rest of this pregnancy. I will not even look at a piece of cheese.)
• Depression (I am never going to be able to poop again. I am going to be the first person who dies from not being able to poop. Maybe I should just end it all now before I die on the toilet bowl fruitlessly pushing.)
• Acceptance (No one has died from lack of pooping. You will live, even if you have to call an ambulance to come save you--I didn't.)

Needless to say, I survived. Also needless to say, this sucked really big time.

So a few helpful hints for the future:

1. Never travel without Colace (the only approved stool softener for pregnant women)
2. Don't skip your prenatal vitamins--it may be the only fiber you get when traveling and eating out a lot (though a salad wouldn't kill you either...)
3. Lay off the cheese--no matter how temptingly delicious it is
4. Stay hydrated with water, Gatorade, Kool-Aid, whatever it takes...
5. Just remember: At some point, you will poop. It may hurt. It may take 10 hours. But it will come. Be patient and try to relax.

And that. Is that.

In less stinky (hah) news, I've officially hit the halfway point in the pregnancy. We're 20 weeks along...only 20 more to go! Our next appointment is the biggie...stay tuned for pictures and more...

Bored

280 days. TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY.

• Time it takes to walk from New York to California. And back...and then back to California again.
• Roughly 2 college semesters
• 200 hundred days longer than it takes to go around the world by train and boat (according to the book)
• The number of days from conception to birth

I am one of precisely 7 pregnant woman in the world...ever...who is not utterly enthralled and amazed with every second of being pregnant.

Don't get me wrong, I have my moments of "This is pretty neat" and "Holy crap, I'm pregnant," but most of the time the running sentiments are "Yep, still pregnant" or "I wonder what I should have for lunch today."

Look, you try maintaining unbridled excitement and positive thinking for 280 days straight and tell me how that works out for you.

Here's where I went wrong. I went to some of those mommy-to-be e-board/forum discussions and immediately felt a return of the morning sickness dry heaves. It is page after page of "OMG pregnancy is so amazing and wondrous," "Hooray! We finished the nursery" and "Rate my baby name choices"--and this is only from the women who are due in July.

While, I'm far outnumbered...I'm still convinced they are the crazy ones.

Sure; pregnancy is amazing. I'm still amazed I threw up for 3 months straight and am still alive. I am also amazed that my body is fine with not pooping for weeks on end. And it is definitely amazing that I am able to stand upright after my boobs quadrupled in size.

I get it. It's a new experience for us first-time moms-to-be and you still can't tell the difference between gas and the baby moving (you're in week 8; you are cooing over gas bubbles), but I'd be totally willing to bypass the whole pregnancy thing and just get to the having a kid part. Mainly because I'd be able to have wine, sushi and blue cheese again.

And don't start in with the "enjoy it while you can" advice...but that rant is a post for another sleepless night.

Wherein We Tell the World We're Pregnant

Sentimental is not a word people use to describe me. If it doesn't serve a functional purpose, I throw it away. Walks down memory lane are an exercise I do without. Emotions make me angry.

Telling people I'm (we're) pregnant is a wildly awkward situation I'd like to get over as quickly and painlessly as possible--it's sort of like going to the dentist. Charming, I know.

Naturally, this response leads to the absolutely most awkward and painful ways of telling people since everyone other than me wants to fuss, cry, hug and/or jump up and down over the news.

Don't believe me? Here's a sampling of how I handled telling people:

Telling the husband
When a month and week passed by with no signs of getting my period, I became suspect. Greenwich could set their clocks to my schedule. Since we were officially "trying" to get pregnant, I didn't want to get my hopes up and test too soon only to see a negative pregnancy test. So I waited.

It was precisely one week and three days after I was supposed to have my period when my resolve to take the test broke down. Unfortunately, before I was able to take the test the following exchange happened between me and my husband:

Husband: Time to get up. We have massages scheduled this morning.

Me: Uh...I'm going to pass. Why don't you take my session and get an extra long massage (Note of clarification: there's all sorts of conflicting rumors on the subject of massages in the first trimester of pregnancy. Since I had done all of no research on it, I didn't want to risk anything.)

Husband: Get out of bed you lazy bird. You are a stress ball and this helps you.

Me: (after numerous pleas of "I'll just sleep in" or "I don't feel that great", I gave up and spluttered out) I can't go.

Husband: Why the hell not?

Me: Because I might be pregnant and you can't get massages when you're pregnant. But I don't know for sure because I've held off on getting a pregnancy test. I was going to go buy one today.

Husband: ...

I'll spare you the rest of this riveting conversation and leave you with this: He went and got his massage and I texted him that I was indeed pregnant. Welcome to the technology era.

Telling my mom
Where I lack in sentimentality, my mother makes up for it three thousand fold. She will gladly show you every item I produced from birth until last week. Milestones are meant to be celebrated with much pomp and circumstance and as much attention as possible.

I felt a ridiculous amount of pressure telling my mom that she was finally going to have a non-furry grandchild. She has been waiting roughly 32 years and 11 months for this announcement; so I needed to make it brilliant, charming, full of sentimental mementos she could cherish.

I told her over a plate of lasagna after trying to find the "right moment" all day long.

Telling my friends
Well, I started this blog...