Oh No, She Did Not Go There.....Except I Did.

So here I am in my 15th month of pregnancy.

Two weeks ago, I got to peek inside my womb because my doctor couldn't tell if The Bean was head up or head down and if one wants to squirt humans out of their naughty bits, those being squirted should be head down. (I've just determined squirt can be added to the list of words that upset me.)

You guys...she has her father's head. It was super cute to see the unmistakable resemblance right up until the moment I realized it looked JUST like her father's head. And her father's head is enormous. It might be the same size as his. Right now.

So I started to panic. I haven't stopped yet.

I should've known she was head down because that enormous head is pushing down on parts of mine which would prefer to not be pushed down on 24 hours a day. Parts that were not intended to be pushed on for any extended period of time. Parts that try to escape the pressure when they are so taxed. Parts that...

...guys, my butthole fell out.

Oh sure, this is common for pregnancy. I can't say it was a big surprise. But it's still upsetting when you realize things normally living inside of you are suddenly making their way out.

Sort of like having a baby.

But far less cute.

So please pardon me while I go rub down with witch hazel, take a warm bath and apply an ice pack while balancing on my head to get my butthole back to its rightful place inside my body.

A Short Scene

* This post is not suitable for children, my parents, men, or people who may have to look at me in daily life. It contains brief nudity and highly upsetting (to me) topics.

The Setting: A hotel room after a long day of being pregnant. Our main characters are getting ready for bed at the completely understandable hour of 8PM.

The scene opens with Michael laying in bed and Jen about to put on her pajamas.

Jen unleashes her much-discussed breasts from their containment compartments.

Michael: Whoa! Look at those things. Are they getting bigger?

Jen: Whimpers Yes. Can we drop it? I'm over these things. They are ridiculous. They're not even attractive anymore.

Michael: No! They're great! But they are getting bigger...like...all of them...the parts...the...

Jen: THE NIPPLES!?!?! YES! IT'S ALL GETTING BIGGER AND DARKER AND AWFULLER.

Michael: ....

Jen: Apparently it's so the baby has an easier time finding the nipple when they are breastfeeding. They have very poor eyesight when they're first born.

Our baby will be all set. The Bean will be able to find my nipples from outer space.

Never look at me again.

Michael: ....

....

....

....

Are they going to go back to normal after?

Jen: I hate you.

And I don't know.

Try Not to Hate

In a matter of seconds, I went from being cute pregnant to hippopotamus pregnant.

I feel like ending the update there, but after my last post apparently people expect great things out of me. I should've kept my funny in reserve because it's starting to run out.

After 3 days of 90-degree Atlanta heat--in APRIL--the physicality of my pregnancy can no longer be ignored; despite my constant attempts to do just that.

There was the mountain hike Michael and I tried to do this weekend. I'm not sure why we thought that was a good idea. But by mile...oh wait, we didn't even make it a mile...a half a mile in I gave him the look that said "if we don't get to the air conditioned car in less than five minutes you may be saying goodbye to some body parts you hold dear."

20 minutes later we were eating pizza and drinking cold water so we thought we might live. But we don't do well in the state of contentment. So we decided to play tennis.

Oh yes. You read that right.

Now before you get all up in arms, I didn't actually play tennis. That would be ridiculous.

We drag the tennis ball machine to the courts so Michael can practice his swing and I go around picking up all the balls and refilling the machine. Because a 7-month pregnant women constantly pacing a steaming hot tennis court and bending over 500 times to pick up tennis balls is much less ridiculous.

I would draw a picture of what this looked liked for you, but I'm still tired. So you can go ahead and picture a melted donut with stringy hair and swollen ankles--that about covers it.

An hour later we were lying in bed contemplating all the feasible excuses to get out of dinner plans for the evening. But it was the one instance the pregnancy card wasn't going to work. We were meeting up with the parents of a one-month old. If anyone's tired, it's them.

Luckily I balanced all this physical stress with mental stress on Sunday when I pre-registered for my delivery at the hospital.

At my last appointment the nurse lectured me for 20 minutes about how I needed to be registered because anything can happen from here on out and what if something happens on the way to the parking lot and I'm not registered (thanks for giving me a new thing to obsess about).

Because no one in the history of Ever has gone to the hospital without pre-registering.

So I spent Sunday morning signing consent upon consent to rip my body open using safety scissors and rusted hedge clippers if need be. And acknowledging that I should be left in a pile of bloody tatters if the doctor is suddenly called away for a family BBQ.

Just another glimpse into the weekend of a pregnant woman.

I Think I Might Be Pregnant

Michael: I thought you women are supposed to embrace being pregnant and be all 'I'm Mother Earth; Hear me roar.'

Jen: *Growls*

I made it all the way to the third trimester and all I got was a stupid gift basket of promotional items from the nurse who took my blood today.

The Bean is clearly taking after her mother and is inside the womb with her day planner making sure to cross major milestones off her to-do list as they arrive. Unfortunately, these milestones have driven home the fact that I am indeed pregnant and in the not-too-distant future will be caring for a live little human...or a large trout. You can never be too sure about these things.

The past 2 weeks have brought on a plethora of pregnancy symptoms. The powers that be were smart enough to realize they should wait until the third trimester to give me side effects or else I would've thrown in the towel months ago. Now I'm sort of invested to see this thing through; if only to ask The Bean why she needs to plant herself on my far right side for days on end making me lopsided and uncomfortable in every single position conducive to sleeping.

Today we discovered The Bean is measuring about a week ahead of where the average 27-week growing baby measures (who knew the medical community would be so accurate about these things); while I've gained no weight in 4 weeks. So she's clearly part magician.

It also explains why I am full after two bites of food. The Bean has shoved my stomach out of her way to make room for all of her spells, newt eyes and bubbling cauldrons.

We also learned The Bean is strategically positioned upside down (this is apparently good for babies, but seems wildly disconcerting and uncomfortable to me), which explains why I feel like someone is constantly kicking me in the ribs and punching me in the bladder--because someone is.

Go ahead and ask a close friend to do this to you. See how pleasant you are by the end of the day.

I'm Mother Earth...hear me complain.

Intervention

This weekend I spent my time like many mothers-to-be; partaking in a 5-hour pub crawl with 200 of my nearest and dearest friends and neighbors.

Don't judge; it was for charity.

And yes, I will do anything to not deal with decorating or buying furniture for the nursery.

Happily, I didn't draw too many sideways sneers and hisses of "look at the already irresponsible mother. Shouldn't she be at home not killing my buzz with her disfigured abdomen?" I figure I averted the mobs' judgment because I'm such an adorable pregnant woman...

Or...it was really because there was a woman who had her two-month old strapped to her chest for the entire pub crawl and she took all the heat off of me.

Not drinking has been fairly easy for me. Well, except for those days where everyone around you is drinking and it's warm and they are all having a much better time than you because they are wrapped in alcohol's loving embrace. Which is roughly every time I get together with my friends.

But I'm sticking to my guns and not introducing The Bean to the joys of vodka and wine (not together, that's just gross) until she's at least 3 weeks old and can handle her liquor.

However, I have managed to replace alcohol's void in my life because I am easily addicted to every single thing I am introduced to. Particularly if those things will occupy brain space that would otherwise futilely try to figure out how to find a nursery set that won't cost me a year's salary or why crib bedding manufacturers insist on putting lame-ass cartoons on every single item.

Ice Cream:
(Oh my god, is she really going to talk about ice cream AGAIN...I get it. You're a crazy pregnant lady with an ice cream obsession. What else is left to say?)

Currently my freezer is home to: 1 pint chocolate gelato that is to die for and I sneak one spoonful into my body each day; 1 frozen yogurt pint that serves as a back up for the day I run out of gelato and need a frozen dairy treat; 3 fruit sorbets that remain untouched because they're sorbets.

The freezer is my new mini bar.

Nesting:
Cross OCD with the natural pregnancy urge to nest and you have my crack/cocaine.

While most rational people are curled up in bed sleeping, I go on organizational benders of epic proportions. (Which coincidentally does not involve cleaning my floors. That hatred runs deep.) I've managed to consolidate two rooms worth of crap into one. Mainly through my strategic use of throw everything away.

This drives Michael insane since my criteria to throw something away involves my not having used it in the past month. Which may be a little harsh, but I HATE clutter. (They should hire me to go on the show Hoarders. I fantasize about tying those people up to the wall while they watch me throw all their crap away. "Sorry. You have clearly lost your mind and it's time for someone to come fix this. No, no, no. We're not going to talk about this because you are CRAZY.")

Luckily, Michael travels a lot for business and I embrace these moments as my prime "organizing opportunities."

So, yes. I purge in secret.

Who needs alcohol with addictions like these?

Happy and not drunk at a bar!

This photo was taken precisely three seconds before The Bean sent a crippling pain up the entire right side of my body from doing a new break dancing move she's been practicing.

Times, They Are A-Changing

When it comes to food, there are three types of people in this world: sweet-toothed people, salt-addicted people and pregnant women.

For the past 32 years, I have been an avowed salt addict. Dessert never interested me much, but a plate of nachos could leave me in a puddle of drool. I was the odd child who turned her nose up at cookies in favor of pickles. Every time.

During the summers, I went to day camp. Each day a kid was chosen to help the counselors pick out the daily snacks. Everyone dreaded when it was my turn. "Hey guys! Look what I got us! Watered down Kool-Aid and pretzel rods. Great, right?? Look, I know the other kids got fudge pops today, but who would want those when there are dry, salty pretzels to be had!?!?!"

I'm sure you can see where this post is going already...

About a month ago, I began to notice it. It started innocently enough. A cookie once in awhile or a sudden hankering for pie.

So I channeled this new-found desire into a positive outlet. I started eating yogurt with strawberries and began to devour bowls of cereal (things I passed up previously because you never knew when cheese and crackers or a salt lick might suddenly be available).

This was working...until the alien-child within started controlling my brain. Yes, she's not even born and I'm blaming her for everything.

Here's what happens:

*I* want a little piece of chocolate to satiate the itsy, bitsy, ever-so-tiny desire for a little something sweet.

The Bean hijacks my brain and says, "We should probably get some chocolate ice cream, with a little hot fudge on top and maybe put some chocolate chunks in it. While we're at it, why not add some peanuts, whipped cream, strawberry sauce and...what else do they have at this place...we'll take that too."

And it certainly doesn't help that Michael, notorious sweet-tooth, echoes The Bean's sentiments, but out loud. "You never want anything sweet. You should just treat yourself," all while writing out his detailed sundae order for me.

Little did he know, encouraging this only makes it worse.

You'd be surprised how conniving one can be when they don't want their indiscretions uncovered. For instance, last week Michael ordered a strawberry shortcake dessert, but then decided he was going to take it home and have it the next night.

This meant the strawberry shortcake would be spending the entire day with me at home. Alone. Unguarded.

Luckily, I was very good at geometry in school. A half inch from one side, then the next side, then the final two...and voila! Strawberry shortcake nearly imperceptibly smaller than the night before.

Finally, a real-world application of math I can get behind.

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...

Pregnancy Denial

Pregnancy denial: Refusal to attribute clear pregnancy symptoms to being pregnant.
(aka, "I will not be like the billions of pregnant women who have come before me. I will be exactly the same me I was prior to being pregnant. Except I'll be growing a person. The only reason people will know I'm pregnant is when my belly pops out and hits them in the eye.")

For all the readers who are or have been pregnant, I'll let you catch your breath from the hysterics-induced asthma.

Over the last few weeks, I've begun to notice some odd behavior in myself that I have to question, but refuse to attribute to being pregnant. Probably because I'm pregnant and that makes you insane.

To add insult to injury, these are the exact activities that, in your head, when you met other pregnant women you SWORE you would never do yourself when you became pregnant.

Let me tell you from my new-found experience, intentions v. nature is an ugly fight. Nature will end up winning. But if you're as stubborn as me, I know I won't be able to talk you out of the fight...so best to you.

Increased appetite
Pre-pregnancy facts: You only need to eat an additional 300 calories a day when pregnant, not 10 additional meals.

My pre-pregnancy mentality: I will eat how I normally do and not deny myself the occasional snack when I'm hungry. There will be no sending my husband out for food at midnight; I will not live on milkshakes; I will not go to a party and have people see me go the buffet table and think to themselves, "get out of the pregnant lady's way, she has the crazy in her eyes."

Pregnancy A-Ha moments: For the past week, I have woken up at 6:30 AM and before I could pee, before I could let the dogs out, before I could say good morning to my husband, I had to get an enormous bowl of cereal in my belly BEFORE.I.DIED.I.SWEAR.TO.YOU.

Last night we went out to a late dinner (warning signal 1) after I had eaten a salad as an early lunch (warning signal 2). I couldn't be bothered to engage in, politely listen to or even absentmindedly nod at the surrounding conversations. All I could think about is how quickly would my food come and how come those people got their food already and wherethehellismyfoodgoddammit. Once the meals arrived, I kid you not here, I had hoovered in my burger and was eyeing my husband's before he had gotten in three bites of his.

Hormonal shifts
Pre-pregnancy facts: You may experience some mood swings as your hormone levels adjust to being pregnant.

My pre-pregnancy mentality: I will be the same sane, rational person I was pre-pregnancy. There will be no crying at commercials, lashing out at my husband for "not understanding what I'm going through" and there will definitely be no losing one's temper or screaming. I will embody the perfectly serene pregnant woman.

Pregnancy A-Ha moments: The dogs. Oh my God, the dogs. Why can't they wipe their freaking paws before coming in the house. Don't they realize I just washed the floors for the 3rd straight day in a row? And why must they bark at every single thing they see??? (Cue: screaming fits directed at the dogs, the husband, the innocent friends calling to say hi. Followed by bouts of hysterical guilt crying for yelling at everyone. Finished with soft sobbing and rubbing of the belly apologizing for the outrageous way I acted and coos of "I hope to God you don't inherit my crazy.")

This is the most amusing symptom to me because you think you are acting rational, right up to the minute you realize you have just lost your shit everywhere and are prancing around like the Queen of Loonyville.

It's the double meltdown effect. One meltdown caused by some external factor like dirty dogs, no yogurt in the house or the wind blowing leads to a second meltdown about how ill-equipped you are to deal with life and why in God's name did you think having a baby would be a good idea.

Exhaustion
Pre-pregnancy fact: You will get tired throughout your pregnancy as your body expends energy growing another human being.

My pre-pregnancy mentality: I will not be the pregnant lady who falls asleep at 7 PM while eating dinner. I will go out and do everything I did before AND get the house ready for a baby. I will not use pregnancy as an excuse to leave parties early or not give 110% all day, every day.

Pregnancy A-Ha moments: I didn't feel an ounce of guilt when I got into bed at 6:30 PM the other night with the intentions of reading a little before going to bed a little earlier than usual and woke up the next morning having only advanced three words in my book.

And the pregnancy excuse to leave parties...yeah...there may or may not be some abuse of that one. Firstly, I am legitimately tired. But secondly, when you're the sole sober person standing around listening to 20 different drunken conversations, going home to clean one's floors doesn't sound so bad. At least you can be in pajamas.

It's Time to Glow

Welcome Week 16 and what my doctor and the nurses told me were the "glowing" weeks of pregnancy.

If by glowing they meant no sleep, instantaneous fluctuations from freezing cold to sweating, bloating of ridiculous proportions, the whole no pooping thing and a desire to sit around and do nothing...then yes, I'm glowing.

There's a lot of hurry up and wait in pregnancy. You go to the doctor's office every 4 weeks for a check up to make sure everything is progressing. That sounds like a lot of visits...before you realize you are growing ANOTHER HUMAN BEING.

I freak out over watering my plants...I'm pretty sure we should be checking in on a baby a little more frequently.

I had an appointment today. One I was anxiously awaiting since it had been 4 weeks since my last check-in and in the beginning of the second trimester you barely feel pregnant. (Who knew dry heaving could be so comforting?) So I wanted to get in there and hear the heartbeat doing its thing.

Here's what I spent 4 excruciating weeks awaiting:

8:45 - Check in with reception
9:00 - Nurse calls me in
9:02 - Pee in cup for 1 billionth time this pregnancy
9:03 - Blood pressure taken
9:04 - Vial of blood stolen
9:05 - Lay on table anxious to hear a heartbeat
9:06 - Heard strong, little heartbeat and is buttoning up pants
9:07 - Can't think of a single question to ask the doctor (apparently they've done this before)
9:08 - Scheduled next appointment
9:11 - In car ready to drive home
9:30 - Convinced I've ruined everything in the last 19 minutes and start to anxiously await next appointment

And We're Back

After a lovely escape to Lake Tahoe, we are glad to be back home in Atlanta. Sweeping up a never-ending supply of dog hair. Cleaning dirty dishes. Working absurd hours. Doing laundry. Did I say I was glad to be back?

I had a lot of time to think on this trip. Mainly because I was unable to participate in many of the activities Lake Tahoe in the winter is famous for: skiing, hot tubbing, drinking and more skiing. But fresh air and good friends are always welcome, and I had plenty of both.

I'm in the second trimester and so far, you can have it: I'm bloated and fat and only those closest to me know I'm pregnant. Everyone else gives me dirty looks implying I should've not had that extra piece of pie over the holidays.

I'm mostly not sick, except those times when I am. The best part about those times: I never know when they may arise...like mid-sentence on the phone with a client. Ah, the dry heaves are truly the way to express client service.

Nothing fits quite right. Not regular clothes. Not my fat girl clothes. Not maternity clothes. All sweat pants, all the time.

The second trimester is all about the sexy.

Oh You're Pregnant? Let Me Ask You This...

The general population is familiar with exactly three symptoms of pregnancy. Thusly, when you tell others you are pregnant you are greeted with one of, but no more than, the following three questions:

1. Do you have morning sickness?
2. Are you tired?
3. What have you been craving?
   * Answers below because I know you’re dying to ask them yourself.

And while I never (read: always) get tired of answering these queries, I think there are far more interesting side effects of pregnancy to be discussing.

Are those your boobs or are you having twins?
I was always a well-endowed woman prior to being pregnant—since we’re not holding back here: a 36D. Within ONE MONTH of being pregnant, I was wearing a 38DD…and apparently, these things KEEP GROWING. You. Have. To. Be. Kidding. Me.

Now some of you mean-spirited people are probably thinking, “Hey Jen, lay off the ice cream.” I’ll have you know, I’ve lost 5 pounds since being pregnant (which by my calculations means I really lost ten pounds, but gained 5 back in my boobs alone).

Now my husband and I are in great disagreement about the new pregnancy physique. Apparently he doesn't mind if I look like some ridiculous cartoon character drawn by a hormonal teenage boy ("I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way").

How’s the pooper running?
Pre-pregnancy I was not one to discuss to my “import/export” system—not with friends, not with my husband, if I could I would opt to ignore that portion of my life completely. However now, it refuses to go unnoticed.

I would like for you to imagine eating how you normally do for an entire week. Now throw in the IMPOSSIBILITY of going pooper—because it ain’t going to happen. Then, much like the Bible, on the seventh day God said let there be pooping (I may or may not be paraphrasing). Let me tell you…that seventh day is a bitch.

Because I care about your well being, I’ll not discuss in great depth the associated gas, cramps and (what I’m sure will be on the horizon) hemorrhoids.

Why is everyone treating you as though you have a debilitating disease?
You got me. I tried to move a chair—a regular ol’ kitchen table chair—and you would’ve thought I had suggested tightrope walking across a lava pit filled with alligators (just go with me on this one). At least three people yelled at me to sit down and rest.

News alert: I’m pregnant; newly pregnant, in fact. A time when doctors encourage working out and increased activity because the fetus is more protected now than it will be at any other stage of the pregnancy. I know this because I’ve managed to fall down and throw myself into traffic on at least three separate occasions since discovering I was pregnant and everything is still fine.

I’m lazy by nature, so when the time comes I’ll be more than happy to let you do everything for me. But for the time being, please let me continue to be a normal human for as long as possible.

***

My instinct is some poor soul must have asked these questions and received honest answers from a pregnant woman and spread the word to only ask the three “safe” questions.

1. I’m growing a human being inside of me. Couple this with my penchant for forgetting to eat and you have the precise formula for feeling queasy.

No, it is not limited to the morning.

It’s less “sickness” and more “nasty gagging and dry heaving I have no control over.” Things that make me gag include, but are not limited to: noxious smells ranging from the trash to roses, standing up too quickly, seeing dog poop, having to clean up cat puke, bending over to put on my sneakers, walking up a flight of stairs and thinking about anything at all.

Yes, it’s starting to abate as I enter my second trimester.

2. I work between 60-70 hours a week for my “day” job. I also had the bright idea to start a catering business which I continued through my first trimester of pregnancy (did you notice the usage of past tense?). Catering took roughly 90-100 hours a week. By my calculations, that left me with approximately -2 to 10 hours of free time each week. Tired doesn’t begin to describe it, but it had very little to do with being pregnant.

3. Sleep and a day where I don’t gag.

Honestly, I haven’t noticed any real cravings just yet. I’ve never been shy around food so a sudden desire for artichoke dip or a cheese sandwich with pickles is not out of the question—pregnant or not.