"In your dreams..."

       ....or perhaps, "how much crack did you smoke before going to sleep?" 

       I have officially entered the phase of pregnancy where a "good night's sleep" is becoming more of an oxymoron.  First, there is the configuration of pillows on either side of me and between my legs along with the sheer fact that I now wake myself up when I have to roll over. Once I do roll over, I realize I have to pee.  I walk to the bathroom in a sleepy stupor, do my thing, come back to bed and wrestle with my pillows for another 10 minutes before I fall asleep again, only to repeat in another 2-3 hours.  Now, one would assume that this is the most likely reason for the restless nights.  

        There's that.....but then there are my wild, beyond graphic, crack-infused, sometimes x-rated dreams.  Supposedly they really "kick in" during the third trimester but again, I find my pregnancy book to be incredibly ambiguous when listing these dreams as simply "vivid."  Let's put it this way: if I weren't pregnant and was having these dreams, I might be telling myself to lay off the pipe for awhile (if that was indeed the cause).  Here's a brief history of what the sandman has been bringing me over the past few weeks.

       If you are pregnant, have ever been pregnant, or have had friends who are pregnant, you are probably well aware that pregnancy dreams have a reputation all their own.   It all started in the second trimester, when literally, I would wake myself up after having had a very, um, detailed and explosive sexual escapade--so much so, that my body was literally gearing up for the big O as I was sleeping.  This was new territory for me, but apparently it's quite common with pregnancy.  *Now there's a pregnancy symptom that can stick around as far as I'm concerned.*  This happened on several occasions, as a matter of fact.  Sadly, I always woke myself up up before it got to the "good" part.  *Just a little disconcerting, to say the least*  So I would lie there horny and frustrated, knowing there was really no easy way to roll over, wake up my husband and ask him to "finish the job" he didn't even know he started.

       These are not quite as fun, but twice in the past week, I have dreamt that I could see the baby by looking down at my belly.  And not just as in, "oh, look at my baby bump"  I mean, "oh look- there's the head, there are the legs and feet...."  At one point, the baby pressed itself so hard into my belly, that I could see the indentation of it's little nose and eyes and lips.  At which point I began to casually lift up my shirt and point it out to random people as I was walking around.   *Freak.*  That's right, no sense of modesty on my part.  Later in the same dream, the baby started crying (keep in mind, it's still inside of me).  So I did what any other mother would do in my unique circumstance:  reached inside my belly, and rubbed the baby on the back until it fell asleep.  I don't remember how exactly my hand got in there, but I should be glad that I don't remember that part.  

        The other night, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling weird pressure *down there.*  So I pulled the covers back, and lo and behold, there was a head!  Acting as if this was the way I had planned to give birth, I reached down and pulled the baby out and laid it on my chest and everything was fine.  No pain, no blood, heck- no umbilical cord to cut either.  Done and done! I'm not sure where Jake was this whole time either-maybe he had run to get some hot water....(never have understood the urgency with which people in movies screamed to "get hot water!!" when a woman was about to give birth, by the way).  

        Probably the most bizarre of all dreams was last night's "midnight madness show," hosted again by yours truly.  Everywhere I went in my dream, people were doing walking handstands- I mean, this is how they were moving about, and of course, it was normal.  Well, "normal" that is, until they began to split in half.   One leg, torso and arm went one way, the other side went in a different direction.  (And keep in mind, everyone is still walking around on their hands).  But apparently, it became my job to put people back together, you know, matching up the correct bodies and making sure that everyone got the other leg, torso and body that was rightfully theirs.  *ummmm, what the??*  I woke up and immediately started laughing as I tried to explain this to Jake, who looked at me as if I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.  (Might be the same expression some of you have right now as you're reading this too).   

     Was it something I ate?  Was it something I saw on TV, or read in a magazine before falling asleep?  It certainly wasn't something I drank or smoked (I SWEAR).  Apparently, it's just pregnancy.  I've learned that pretty much anything abnormal that I experience (and let's be honest, there's nothing "normal" for 10+ months) from weird pains, to weird bumps, to *ahem* growing body parts (see previous post) and most especially, "vivid" dreams, can all be attributed to baby.  

     If I'm already having them now, I can only imagine the kind of dreams I'll be having in another two months.

Wasting Away Again in Margaritaville...

     First, it needs to be said, I'm not a liquor kind of girl.  Well, *ahem* I used to be...but ironically, I don't remember if I liked it or not.  My friends tell me I did, but those stories are for another time. Once I got turned onto wine, it's pretty much been the only thing I drink with any consistency.  Before I got pregnant, Jake and I would have a glass, sometimes two, with dinner almost every night.  *Ah, those were the days.*   We took a trip last summer to Charlottesville to tour some local vineyards and do some wine tasting, although I would not consider myself a "wino" by any means.  Anytime the "wine people" start getting into tannins, acidity and varietals, my eyes will inevitably cross and they will assume I'm already drunk and cut me off.  One man actually told me that the wine I was currently sampling tasted of "earth and saddlebags" and had a "humorous finish."  I stared at him blankly.  Where the crap did he get his marketing skills from?  All this to say, I'm much more surprised to find myself somewhat disinterested in the grape so far this pregnancy.  

      But an ice cold margarita sounds fabulous right now.  I can almost taste it.  In fact, it's all I've been wanting now for the past 3 weeks.  This, coming from the person who was indifferent toward Mexican food for a better part of my life prior to getting pregnant.   Now, I have it weekly- sometimes twice weekly and it's usually my idea to go and get it.  Margaritas were never on my radar either- I would maybe indulge in one or two over the course of an entire summer, but that's about as exciting as it got for me.  Now, seeing big posters of this lime libation splattered on the walls of our favorite Mexican restaurant automatically sets off the countdown in my head.  13 weeks...12 weeks 2 days...12 weeks to go.  All the while we're there, I'm ogling the pictures with glazed eyes the way most women do over the likes of someone like Javier Bardem or Patrick Dempsy.  

      When I start to think this through rationally, it can't possibly be the tequila I'm craving--can it?  I haven't had many good experiences with tequila.  (Whatever you do, do not mix it with diet coke when studying for a percussion exam.  It does not take the edge off.  Better yet, don't mix it with diet coke, period). *shudders*   The point is, I could only drink a margarita if the taste of the tequila was heavily masked.   So perhaps it is the feeling I'm craving (and no, I don't just mean the buzz).  Tasting the fresh lime, hearing the ice clink in the glass, feeling the pure relaxation that is "Margaritaville."    I'm now waiting for a warm weekend (which will probably be in the next few weeks) to try and perfect a virgin margarita recipe and see if it doesn't at least help to curb the craving.  I may end up disappointed.  I have a sneaky suspicion that after all is said and done and baby is here, I will take my first coveted sip and feel that I've been ripped off- that in fact, they aren't nearly as good as I remember them- and that ultimately (and sadly), most of the appeal came from the fact that I knew I couldn't have it.   

Then again, one sip could legitimately send this now light-weight Momma to another stratosphere, thus making it THE best drink I've had in 10 months.  It's all just a waiting game for now...

Where are my feet?

     This is the view from above.  Since I'm slowly resigning myself to the fact that my beloved 3 inch heels are a thing of the past (*sigh*) I went to buy a new pair of black flats today.  But why? I realized that I haven't been able to see my feet for a few weeks now.  One day in the not-so-far-off future, I might even leave my house wearing one shoe of each color and not even know.  *Big faux-pas*  I suppose I have a reasonable enough excuse but I'm trying so hard to be fashionably preggo.  Thank God muumuu's are no longer in style.  Nothing like wearing a glorified tent to make an already round woman feel even rounder.

       Since the belly has popped, I have maybe cared a little less about shoes, for two primary reasons.  1) As mentioned above, I can't really admire my shoes without bending myself in half and 2) my lower back is absorbing the weight of my belly, which has in turn forced me to sport ballet flats or flip-flops.  Pretty soon, I'll be at the point where I don't even care what's on my feet as long as I don't have cankles and I'm relatively comfortable.  

        Shoe shopping is less motivating and so is anything that requires me to bend over.  *Feel free to let your imagination run free here.*  Shaving my legs has turned into an olympic event in my bathtub.  My body will just not bend that way anymore.  My hair, however, continues to grow at an alarming rate, thus proving that God does have a sense of humor.  For instance, the time I went to my OB's appointment, completely forgetting that he was going to be doing an internal exam....I won't even mention how many days had gone by since my last shave.  I'm sure he had seen worse but I, on the other hand, was mortified.   So I have officially reached the point in my pregnant state where I will only shave for special occasions.  I get to determine what's "special" enough to require me to contort myself into a deformed pretzel in order to do away with hair in places I can't even see anymore.   Out of (my) sight, out of mind right? ;-)

      

Another Milestone

Pictured above is the smallest baby to ever survive after being born at only 22 weeks and 6 days gestation.  That's a little over half the time babies need to bake.  She was 9 inches long and weighed only 10 oz- less than a can of Coke.  I saw this picture and immediately teared up. (Suffice it to say, I have given up watching shows like Amazing Babies or any TV drama showing teeny tiny babies hooked up to tubes and IV's- absolutely heart-wrenching).  This week marked a pretty huge milestone: viability for our little Junebug.  If baby were to be born now *heaven forbid*  he/she would have a decent chance of surviving with the help of modern technology.  By "decent," it's about a 50-60% chance.  Most doctors are in agreement that 28 weeks is the safest point, giving baby a 90% chance or better of living without complications.  The road to recovery from pre-term birth is still a tough one, but given the advances of modern science, it is a story that usually has a happy ending.  For the life of me, I cannot imagine having this baby next month *but* if it were to happen, I am relieved to think there would likely be a light at the end of the tunnel.

     So the tiny little feet pictured above are probably only slightly smaller than Junebug's right now.  I'm finally getting kicked and poked hard enough to see my belly move and to watch them displace a remote control when I set it on my belly.  *Too fun*  Jake was looking at my belly incredulously the other night and commented, "just think....there's a head in there!"  *crickets and blank look*  Let's hope that head is attached to all the other various and important body parts. A torso and some limbs are considered ideal, don't you think?  We both laughed- obviously I knew what he was getting at.  There's a living being inside my belly that we've already seen sucking it's thumb at a recent ultrasound, and who- at this point- can direct it's movements and is starting to have REM cycles.  Crazy.  Every morning when Jake's obnoxious alarm goes off, I roll over to hit it and immediately the baby is awake and kicking.  Luckily right now, Junebug doesn't have but about 1 1/2 lbs of body weight, so I can usually go back to sleep pretty quickly. (God, I'm going to miss my lazy mornings *sigh*).  

     With each little poke, kick and roll, I'm recognizing this baby as a little individual person rather than just a life-form in my uterus.  With little over 3 months of "cooking" left to go, he/she is forming the capacity to make cognitive decisions, can feel pain as any other person would feel it and respond with all five of his/her senses.  The tiny little beating heart that I hear swooshing away at my monthly appointments will some day be broken by a girlfriend or boyfriend.  *sniff*  Ok, before the floodgates open...I am simply an awe that this baby is considered viable.  It seems like just last week I sat in my bathroom holding a positive pregnancy test and the 13 week mark seemed an eternity away.  These next 13 weeks will bring me to full term.  Holy cow.  Something tells me it's going to go pretty fast...*I can only hope.*

The Push Gift

    

 ...or for some, the "caesarian" gift.  ("Not only do you get a baby, you get 10 huge staples in your abdomen- WAY TO GO!")   I believe this to have evolved fairly recently.  I'm sure husbands have been doing this for their wives for years, but recently it has become the trendy thing.  Walk into a jewelry store and tell the clerk you're looking for a push gift for your wife, and they'll know exactly what you're referring to.  I have had a few friends, who after bringing babies into the world, received nice gifts from their husbands but I just thought it was happenstance.  One got a new Kate Spade diaper bag. Another was given diamond earrings. Basically, it's the new daddy's way of showing his bloated, exhausted, episiotomy-hating wife his love, appreciation (and perhaps gruesome amazement) for the miraculous thing her body has just done.

         It all seemed a little much to me when I first heard about it.  Honestly, a takeout order from my favorite Italian Restaurant sounds equally fabulous after hours of only ice chips and hard labor.  A margarita?  Yes please- that would be even better.  But maybe I'll re-evaluate this "push" gift idea when I'm too huge to sleep,  regurgitating half of my meals, sporting cankles and can't wear my wedding ring due to hellacious water retention.   If not then, surely I will rethink it as a bulbous head makes it's way through my unforgiving birth canal.  I mean, who in their right minds would turn their nose up at a David Yurman bracelet or a savvy diaper bag?  Not I.  

And okay, before I make it sounds as though I expect something, let me be clear.  The obvious "push" gift at the end is a beautiful, healthy screaming baby with all ten fingers and toes.  Women don't decide to get knocked up so they can finally get that Tagheur tennis bracelet they've been eyeing because let's face it: there are plenty of other shorter and undeniably less painful ways of acquiring one of those.  After all is said and done and baby is actually in my arms, I'll be too in love to care about anything else (except making sure I get something other than hospital food).  I certainly would never want a gift- for any occasion- if it were out of obligation.

So do I think it's a little extreme?  Yes.  But do I think pushing a watermelon out of my woot is extreme as well?  Damn right.  But that, I realize, does not give me entitlement.  Just an incredibly sore va-jay jay. ;)

The Top 10 Things Never to Say to Pregnant Women

*Most* people know how to speak and behave around pregnant women, as a general rule.  I've discovered that some people, however, do not have a filter through which they speak.  So, as promised, here are the 10 things to never say to a pregnant women, according to yours truly. These are in no particular order.

1. "You just wait...."  

Here are some G-rated examples of things said to me:

"If you think your boobs are big now, you just wait..." 

"If you think you're uncomfortable now, you just wait..." 

"If you think you're exhausted now...." (you get the idea)

Do people get some kind of satisfaction in pointing out that you're not nearly as miserable now as you will be?  Gee thanks.  I'm enlisting my friend Karma to pay you a visit sometime in the near future.

2. "Try eating some saltines."

Saltines, huh?  Wow.  I had NEVER heard that one.  I miserably called the nurse at my OB's office to ask for a prescription for Zofran and one of the first questions out of her mouth was, "Have you tried saltines?"  Seriously, what is it about these crackers that makes people (even trained medical professionals) think that by eating them, the nausea should instantly vanish?I mean, did she really think that I hadn't already tried anything and everything possible to stop the bubble of puke from creeping up even further in my throat?  "Oh nevermind.  You're right. Who needs Zofran when I have a tasteless box of crackers in my pantry.  My bad."  Seriously people.  Just as many pregnant women who have tried the ol' saltine and ginger ale diet have more than likely watched it come back up in the toilet.  Moving on.

3.  "Can I touch your belly?"

Unless you're a close family member, girlfriend or the one actually responsible for putting that peanut in there, then no- no, you may not.  Period.  I might even exercise some grace if you actually ask, but unfortunately, most people just don't bother to ask anymore.  A pregnant woman's belly, therefore, is often treated like commercial property- i.e. the assistant at my eye doctor who put her hands way too close to the equator, thank you very much. *shudders* How often do you see someone walk up and rub the stomach of an overweight woman- just because their belly is bigger (albeit for a much different reason, but still).  Or run their hands up and down someone with obvious washboard abs?  It just doesn't happen.  But if you've got a pea in your pod, look out.  It's an instant magnet and it's all hands on deck.  Which, on a bad hormonal day, means I'll deck you.

4. Any comment about how big you are:  

"Wow, you look like you're about to pop."   Why thank you, Captain Obvious.  I'm having a baby- what's your excuse??

"You sure there's only one in there?"  *fake laugh*  Amazingly people think this is actually funny.  All the while, I want to retort, "You sure you don't want the heel of my boot up your ass?"

Or the opposite (which I got up until a month ago when I finally popped):  

"You're 15 weeks?  You don't look pregnant at all!"  Nice.   Because after all the nausea, fatigue, breast enlargement, inflamed nipples, food cravings and swollen ankles- all I want is to at least look the part.   Apparently I just looked more like I had way too many fourthmeals at Taco Bell.

5.  Any unsolicited advice or comments about baby's name.

"What kind of a name is....?  

"That's such a popular name right now."  

"What about....?"

Let me start off by saying that yes, of course, you are entitled to your opinions.  But please know when to keep them to yourself.  And this would be one such time.  It seems many people are surprised to find out that, *shock* mom and dad-to-be don't want or need their stamp of approval on the choice of names they've picked.   And it's not up for discussion.   Didn't you all get our email about which baby names you liked best?  You didn't?  Oh, I'm sorry.  That's right.  We don't care. 

6.  "It's probably just your hormones."

I realize a lot of women will play the hormonal card as often as they can get away with it.  I admit I did this often when Aunt Flo made her monthly appearance.  But pregnancy hormones are not "just hormones," people.  They're downright scary.  They could beat the crap outta my period hormones and steal their lunch money to boot.   So, yes, I'm all too aware that my body is outta control and I'm a) crying because someone in front of me at Panera took the last four Cheese Egg Souffle or b) overreacting because you didn't call when you said you would  or c) feeling the intense need to dust the bedroom before we go to sleep to avoid having a meltdown or d) crying for no apparent reason at all...

but having you tell me that's it's probably "just my hormones" does NOT in any way make it easier or better.  Jake learned this early on and has since stopped saying that.  Now he just gives me a hug or rubs my back (or retreats to his studio for hours at a time to escape it all, poor guy.)  *Big brownie points to him* <3

7. "Hey Mama!" (or "Preggo")

I have a first name, and the last time I checked my driver's license, it was neither of those.  The only person who gets to call me anything that closely resembles "Mama" is my unborn child.   However, if you are a fellow "mama-to-be" (there are quite a few in my circle of friends right now), you're excused as there is a camaraderie among pregnant women, where there is a true sense of empathy.  (The same is true for #3).  But that still leaves quite a large percentage of you who should call me by my first name. 

8. "Are you sure you should be eating that?" 

Since when is it anybody's business what I have a craving for?  If I am granted a reprieve from the waves of nausea long enough to realize that I really want a double cheeseburger from McDonald's, then outta my way.  What baby wants, baby gets.  If I've decided that in fact, one piece of chocolate birthday cake was not enough, then back off.  I'm expending more calories sitting here growing a human than you probably will in one visit to the gym.

9. Any unsolicited details about your own labor and birth experience.

Remember the overly friendly eye doctor assistant in #3?  Well, she also had some lovely things to share with me concerning her own birthing experience.   She gave me a play by play on how she ended up pushing for nearly 6 hours because she was afraid she was going to poop on the table.  No lie.  Instead, other grotesque things ended up happening to her, most of which made pooping on the table sound ideal.  Definitely not the kind of story you want to hear from the woman touching your contact lenses.  I'll add that she did this only after she sat me down in the dark in that weird chair with the goggles.  I had nowhere to run and by the time her story was over, I was wanting to poke my mind's eye out.

10.  Any comment or question about how baby may have been conceived.

Upon hearing the good news that a baby is on the way, there is really only one appropriate response and that is:  "Congratulations!"   Things not to say include but are not limited to: "It's about time,"  "Is he getting fixed after this one?"or "are you sure you can handle another one?" Also, questions like, "how long did you all try?" or "was it planned?" and any other fertility-related inquiries are quite frankly nobody's business.  If they are close enough to know, they don't need to ask and likewise, if they don't know, they simply have no business asking.

And so there it is.  A list, which I'm sure will grow to 15, maybe even 20 things never to say to a pregnant woman by the time I reach June.  We shall see...

Ode to Zofran

 

Ok, time for me to out myself.

I have struggled with a terrible fear of throwing up for most of my life.  Not exactly sure why it became something I feared so much, although I think I have traced it back to a lovely midnight projectile vomit episode that woke me from my sleep when I was about four and scared the pants off of me.  It was the first time I can remember being sick like that.  Ever since then, I have had an unusually strong aversion to it- more so than the average person- 'cause lets face it: no one I know leans their head over the porcelain throne for a horribly gruesome two minutes and then declares, "God, that was fun!  Can I have another go at it?"  I was not a sick kid and in fact, can remember every time that I did throw up.  Out of my 26- almost 27 years of life, I can count the "incidences" on two hands.  Not very much.  My anxiety over this "normal" bodily function took on a whole new life, though, when I was diagnosed with a panic disorder shortly after Jake and I were married.  I had been having random panic attacks that ultimately led me to be afraid that I would throw up.  If I was anywhere in public- a restaurant, the grocery store, sitting in Starbucks even- I would start to feel an overwhelming sense of urgency to get out immediately because I was afraid I would end up throwing up in front of everyone.  Weird?  Yes, but that is me in a nutshell.  Irrational?  Very much so, but aren't all phobias?  I stopped doing anything that I thought might cause me to be sick: no working out, no eating weird food (which eventually became almost no food at all), no hanging out with friends (unless they came to our house), definitely no singing or playing in public like I used to (I don't know how on earth I would have been able to get my music degree had this happened before I finished at VCU).   To make a long story short, emetophobia- better known as the fear of vomiting- had me trapped inside my own nightmare.  Surprisingly, I learned that this is the 5th or 6th most common fear (not that that made me feel better).  If nothing else, it was reassuring to know that I wasn't the only person who had or would ever struggle with such an odd thing.

Thank God that I was able to overcome it with the help of some good meds, a good psychiatrist, and an incredible counselor.  I'm also thankful it didn't deter me from wanting to experience what I believe to be the greatest thing of all: motherhood.  Well, I can only speak as far as the pregnancy part of motherhood at this stage in the game, but you get the idea.  I was definitely worried about the morning sickness, especially considering the crappy luck my mom had.  I figured I better just brace myself for the worst, as it was probably in the genes. 

  I still remember how shocked I was to see two bright pink lines when I took my pregnancy test on that late September morning- first, because it was only our second month of trying (our first month of *really* trying), and secondly, because I just did not *feel* pregnant. I mean, where was the nausea?  We've all seen the shows on TV: woman is sitting with her husband/boyfriend at a nice dinner but then she immediately turns green, cups her hand over her mouth and runs to the bathroom to throw up.  This is always the dead give-away.  So predictable too.  Nevermind the missed period.  Too many women I've known have puked their guts up long before their pregnancy test turned positive.   My mom was so sick with me- throwing up morning, noon and night- that her doctor threatened to hospitalize her if she lost any more weight.  Nothing worked to ease the nausea and vomiting for her, and she- like so many women- suffered through the miserable first 13 weeks. (This was back before the miracle pill that is Zofran).

I remember calling my best friend later that day to tell her.  I said, "I feel great!  I still have an appetite..." (I was actually more hungry than usual at that point) "...and if I didn't have the positive pregnancy test sitting in front of me, I would never even think I was pregnant!"  And she just laughed before she said the three words that I've come to totally despise,"You just wait."  I have found, increasingly in the last several weeks, that people just love to tell pregnant women this. Friends, family, even complete strangers.  "You think you're tired now, you just wait..."  You think your boobs look big now, you just wait..."   Oh nice.  My hormones love you so much right now for saying this to me.  *Post coming soon dealing with this particular subject: The top 10 Things Pregnant Women Hate to Hear."  Get ready*  

Apparently, for most women, the nausea and morning sickness doesn't really kick in until the 6th or 7th week.  When I took my test, my period was not even late.  I got an early positive, so it put me right about 3 weeks 5 days, or something like that.  Lovely.  I started the mental countdown: 2 weeks until I feel like shit, 1 week 3 days until I begin the puke-fest, 5 days until my life as I know it is over....(okay that's a little melodramatic, but you get the idea).  I knew that this was, by far, going to be the worst part of pregnancy for me (considering everything else went smoothly).  What- pushing a watermelon through my hooha?  Yeah, no sweat.  Not compared to morning sickness.  I figure if I do throw up during labor and delivery, I'll probably be in too much pain to care at that point, but hopefully the epidural will take care of that.  At that moment, I just couldn't stand the thought of waking up every morning and making a dash to the toilet to be sick.  Or smelling something "not quite right" and gagging to the point of puking.  

So I just took it one day at a time.  Around 6 weeks, I started feeling "off" and had a significant increase in my need for coca cola.  (I still drink a little coke just about everyday now and it has been the one thing that always tasted good to me when I feel queasy).  By bedtime in the middle of the 6th week,  I was not doing so well.  By that point, I was doing anything and everything to figure out what would help the queasiness: I found that sucking on peppermints actually made me feel worse, I loved fresh lemon in water, and lived off of mashed potatoes, dry cereal, and chicken noodle soup on the worst days.  Given my history, it didn't take me long to call my OB and ask for something to help.  I did not even want to pretend to try and be strong.   I just wanted to not feel nauseous and gaggy.  (And okay, I may have embellished a little bit, but to be honest, I didn't feel like giving her my unique struggle with emetophobia).   She called in a prescription for Zofran, so the next time I found myself sprawled out on our couch at 1 in the morning in my own personal hell, I popped one of those little miracle-workers in my mouth.  15 minutes later, I was a whole new person.  

And so, my love affair with this little white pill began.  I bow to any woman that has struggled through her pregnancy without ever reaping the benefits of this drug- whether they are just mentally and emotionally much stronger than I could ever be, are blessed with intestines of steel, or just didn't have it at their disposal then.  I credit it with helping me get through the worst of those first 13 weeks and have never hesitated to sing it's praises to other newly pregnant women.  That being said, it isn't the cheapest drug to get, but it was well worth it in my book.  I never threw up, although there were a few times I felt like I could.  It didn't always take the nausea away completely, but it helped.   I still had times during the day when I wouldn't need to take it at all and could eat normally, well before I hit the second trimester.  By the 10th week, I was feeling noticeably more human and by the 13th week, I had come out of it almost completely.   This is not to say that I don't still take it now.  Occasionally, I still find myself needing one randomly.  To be honest, it's more of a security blanket of sorts for me these days, but it just helps to know it's there if or when I do find my gag reflex being uncooperative.  I think I may "stock up" on these little white wonder-pills when the stomach bug is running rampant- "just in case."

Of course, even in my greenest moments (with or without the Z-pill) I was ever cognizant of the tiny peanut-size of a reason that I was feeling so bad.  And it made me smile- it will be all but a distant memory come June. :-)

It's already happening...

I usually pride myself on being organized.  I'm the type A person who can't totally relax at night and fall asleep if there is stuff scattered on my bedroom floor.  Clutter stresses me to the Nth degree, but there's a catch.  If it's in a closet therefore I don't have to see it on a regular basis- I can look past it.  Could look past it.  Not so much anymore. 

Before getting pregnant, I always thought this "nesting" thing that I read about was a complete joke.  I even had a couple of friends who apparently "cleaned" themselves right into labor and yet it still seemed foreign to me.  Jake and I make it a point to keep our house fairly neat and tidy: I dust, swiffer and vacuum every week.  (I only realized after we bought all of our black furniture how much dust loves to accumulate on them.)  I am constantly threatening to shave our two cats due to the massive amounts of hair I am forced to pick up every week.  Our house is small and modest, but perfect for the two- soon to be three- of us.  So when people started mentioning their "nesting" instincts kicking in, I thought,  well I won't be doing anything different than what I've been doing since we got married.

And then, as with the rest of this pregnancy, the baby has made me eat my words.  I have just recently started eyeing our closets with a new-found zest.  I cannot wait to get in them and tear things up.  I've taken huge black trash bags and just started chucking things.  If I can't find a place for it, it goes in the bag, no matter how nice it is, or who gave it to me.  If I haven't used it in over 6 months, it goes to Goodwill.  God, it feels so good to get rid of things.  It feels even better to open closet doors and see shelf space!  I've already locked in on storage solutions to use in our walk-in closet.  I also brought up a can of white trim paint from the basement, and have started making plans to touch up all the trim in our house where it's needed.  Plans are in the making to re-do our hall bathroom.  I swear, if I wasn't going to be the size of a house in April/May, I would get out and tackle the yard too.  Thank God we're hiring someone to come and do away with the massive amounts of leaves, twigs and ugly shrubbery.  When people come to visit this baby, the last thing I want is for them to trip and stumble through a Fall wonderland on the way to our back door.  

Since these urges have already begun, and I'm not quite to my third trimester, I'm thinking I haven't even hit my full momentum yet.  I guess there's something hard-wired in a mother-to-be's DNA, that even while she is feeling contractions, she says, "Nope, I'm not going to the hospital and having this baby without scrubbing the bathtub."  

Hopefully that will at least give us the right to slack off for a while after the baby comes. :)

Fresh Fruit....and Varicose Veins??

This is a post of randomness.  I'm learning more and more everyday that pregnancy = random. Pregnancy also = uncomfortable, but that's another topic.  Let me first address the fact that I have to have fruit right now.  Fresh fruit.  For the last two weeks, it was green grapes.  I was in Subway last week and when I got to the end of my order, I gazed into the case of cookies.  Once upon a time, I would have remembered that I could swap out my bag of chips for two cookies (and I did that more often than I should have).  But not this day.  When I thought about what I wanted for dessert after my 6 inch cold cut combo, I immediately thought of the green grapes I had bought at the store earlier in the week.  My mouth literally started to water.  I stopped at the grocery store on the way home from Subway and left with a gi-normous bag of green grapes (because I had already devoured the first bunch I had brought home that week).  I chose grapes over chocolate.  *shock*  No lie.  Right now, it's morphed from green grapes to fresh berries- strawberries, blueberries and blackberries.  I'm about to finish the whole container I bought at Kroger yesterday.  Thank God I haven't been struck with the "I need to have McDonald's french fries and I need to have them now!" craving.  I still have about four months to go though.

And now, without any smooth segue, on to my ugly varicose veins.  I just did it: I crossed the bridge between blackberries and ugly spider veins.  Apparently, I have about 50% more blood pulsing through my veins right now.  And I feel and see every bit of it right under my left knee where baby has decided it would be nice to give me the mother of all varicose veins.  It has been there for as long as I can remember, but never entirely visible.  I noticed it, but only because I knew it was there.  Well, now everyone knows it's there.  It's blue, red and purple and because that's not grotesque enough, it's also lumpy and bulbous.  It looks like something you would see on the legs of your great-grandmother, underneath her sagging hose.  Even the cute little Vietnamese man who was giving me a pedicure the other week looked at it, while massaging my legs and feet, and said, "Ow. You hit? You bump?"  *I seriously thought he was making fun of me until I realized 1) he was speaking English and 2) my varicose vein had finally gone and gotten a life of its own.*   By the end of the day, it hurts to put my full weight on it.  So I end up limping around the house.  A little like Quasimoto, except my hump is in the front and not on my back.  Supposedly after the baby comes, the swelling goes down and the veins will become less "veiny," but I'm expecting it to hang around for a while.  Laser surgery anyone?

More randomness to come....I've only just begun. :)