The Pregnancy "No-No" List

I'm slightly aware that this next statement may make me sound like a borderline alcoholic, but I promise that's not the case. Truly, one of the hardest things for me about being pregnant is the restriction of alcohol. There I said it. (What, you thought I was going to say sciatica? That sucks too, but in a different way). I've found that giving up the nightly glass of wine doesn't seem so difficult in the first trimester since nausea and alcohol don't tend to mix well anyway. But once I cross the threshold into the golden second trimester and began to feel like myself again, my self starts to remember how good my favorite bottle of Cabernet tastes. I look longingly at the shelves of wine in the grocery store and have found myself enviously eyeing the couple splitting a bottle at my favorite local cafe. (I stop staring just short of drooling and making an ass of myself). Anyone who knows me knows that wine is my drink of choice. I made weekly trips to the local wine shops- usually with Ella in tow- tasting wines and usually coming home with a few bottles in order to stay stocked up. A glass or two of wine each evening was the norm in our household and I looked forward to date nights with Jake where we would pop in a DVD, put our feet up and crack open a bottle. As preggos, it's bad enough that we're sick for 14 weeks straight during the first part of our pregnancy, and then we're faced with our changing bodies and fluctuating weight, but it only adds insult to injury when we're out with friends and have to watch them enjoy their adult beverages as we sit and sip our Shirley Temples. It's utter torture sometimes.

But truth be told, I live very comfortably in moderation camp. Every woman has to choose what's right for her and her baby in terms of what she allows herself to do while pregnant and it's a personal decision. I felt okay about drinking an occasional glass of wine when I was pregnant with Ella, starting around my 5th month up until she was born. I know that some would flame me for that, and of course, they're entitled to their opinion. In keeping with that, I also never ascribed to the "no deli meat" while pregnant. Because if I lived according to that, then I would have to obey the "no soft-serve ice-cream" rule. (No DQ when you're pregnant?? That's just silly). And then if I didn't do that, I wouldn't be able to be around any chemicals at all. While I don't walk around with my nose jammed into a jar of rubber cement, I did paint most of Ella's nursery during my 2nd trimester, (with latex paint and in a well-ventilated room), got my hair highlighted on a couple of different occasions and even used self-tanning lotion that my OB had approved. I guess I came to my own conclusion that pregnancy is tinged with enough worry and concern for me- everything from Down's screenings to spina bifida testing to gestational diabetes and so many other developmental concerns- that if I had to make myself worry whether the peanut butter cup blizzard I had just devoured was possibly contaminated by a dirty machine carrying lysteria, I would have had to check myself into the funny farm.

Coming from someone who considers herself to be a chronic worrier, it seems there's so much more to worry about in pregnancy now than there was even 20 years ago. I do value and appreciate where modern science and technology has brought us, but I can't decide whether it has actually created a culture of fear more than one of safety. Has it hurt more than it's helped? The answer to that is different depending on who you ask. I'm sure if I was considered a high-risk pregnancy, my answer to that would be a lot different than it is now. I have been lucky to not have to deal with some of the pregnancy complications that others face. But if there's one thing I do well (not that I'm proud of it), it's worry. Especially about things that I have no control over. So I try to live my life while pregnant as normally as I would when I'm not, with some obvious precautions and exceptions. I do eat deli meat, but usually heat it to steaming first- a good middle ground. I try to get plenty of sleep (and with a 14 month old, that proves to be difficult at times). I avoid ice cream, not because of the lysteria threat, but because of my lactose intolerance this pregnancy. (I had a Chic-Fil-A milkshake about once a week in my last month of pregnancy with Ella and it was usually the highlight of my week). I have had a glass of wine or two since being in the second trimester, and will probably continue to have one glass of wine per week. I met up with a good friend last night who is 31 weeks pregnant with her 2nd. We went to a local wine shop to do a tasting and proceeded next door to a wine bar and ordered a glass at the bar. Needless to say, a few eyebrows were raised, but we had a great time and I really enjoy that I'm not feeling as uptight about things this time around. Pregnancy is a special time in a woman's life, and thus, should be treated with respect, but it's not a disease. It's not a perpetual "no-no list" but a heightened awareness of your own personal intuition about you and your baby. My momma gut hasn't let me down in the past and I continue to trust it.

And so the count-down continues. 24 weeks, 3 days, or approximately 171 days, until this baby gets here and then of course, I'll have a whole new set of worries. But among the many things I'm looking forward to post-pregnancy, being able to crack open a bottle of wine while fixing dinner and then share it with the hubs is one of the top ten, for sure. If absence does, in fact, make the heart grow fonder, then my heart is growing quite fond of wine, soft cheeses and ice cream. ;)

I Just Need to Get This Off My Scale (I mean, "chest")

I don't consider myself to be an overachiever. In the academic realm, I regret now that I only allowed myself to simply "get by" with A's and B's. I knew even then that I could do better, but I was much too concerned with being a social butterfly. Musically, I've always been more of a perfectionist, but even then, I was never driven to the top of the class, and while I did set (and achieve) my own personal standards, they by no means included holing myself up in a practice room for 8 + hours a day. There does, however, appear to be one area in my life where I love to show off: weight gain during pregnancy. Apparently, I pull out all stops and it's no holds barred between implantation and D-day.

I say "apparently," because this kind of weight gain came as a shock to me. I can vividly remember sitting in my OB's office at our first prenatal appointment when I was pregnant with Ella. When I asked how much weight I could expect to put on, my doctor matter of factly said, "oh, probably a good 30 lbs." I almost keeled over at even the thought of that much weight and silently vowed right then and there that I would not gain 30 lbs. No way. And as luck would have it, I didn't.

I gained 55.

There's a quote that says something to the effect of, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans." (I'm finding that pretty much incapsulates all of parenthood). So about half-way through my pregnancy with Ella, I just stopped looking at the scale at the doctor's office. I figured ignorance truly is bliss. And I was incredibly relieved when all of the weight came off (and then some) in the first 6 months and I realized that I could actually abandon my original plans to breastfeed her until the 4th grade in order to get my body back. That would have been awkward.

But now, it's back to whistling and looking away as the nurse asks me to hop up on the scale and I'm once again scheming ways in which I can produce enough breastmilk to feed an orphanage once this baby arrives. I'm almost 16 weeks pregnant and it appears my body very clearly remembers how to make a baby. If there were classes being offered in this field, I'm guessing my body would have a major in gestation with a minor in fat storage. I'm currently in that awkward stage where I'm not obviously pregnant yet but appear to have "let myself go." Which is odd, because the only place I remember letting myself go was Arby's. My reasoning was simple. When you're newly-knocked up, hungry and constantly feeling on the verge of throwing up, if the only things that sound good to eat are a roast beef sandwich and mac 'n' cheese, well, that's what you eat. Of course, I questioned why I couldn't be like my friend Elizabeth who craved lima beans. Really, how could you go wrong eating those? Definitely a "scale-friendly" food. Not me, though. I wanted- needed- carbs and starches- baked potatoes, bagels, pasta, and then of course, the occasional (or maybe not so occasional) roast beef sandwhich from Arby's. I wasn't overly concerned about my weight, as the numbers didn't creep up very much in the first few weeks. But I can only assume that there must have been some sort of delayed reaction, because quite literally, I gained 4 lbs almost overnight (or over the course of a weekend). It's continued to come in spurts ever since. Unfortunately, it seems that my body has decided to hold on to every little calorie I eat, as if it's being starved and doesn't understand that there are limitless food options available. I wish I could somehow reason with it and explain that there really is no need for the bowl of cheerios I ate last night to make their way down to my hips....and yet, they did, and there they shall stay for quite some time. I cringe to think of what happens when we order pizza.

So, my weight gain to date...*drumroll please*....18 pounds in 15 weeks. How much of that is baby, you ask? Oh, about 4 ounces. (I win the prize, right?) And while I'm vaguely aware that I'll be having to put on a swimsuit in 3 weeks, I haven't really let that sink in. Denial is a good place to be for now. And the best place for my scale, I've decided, is buried deep in my closet, under my favorite pair of Seven jeans and other clothes that have been over-taken by my burgeoning body parts. I have high hopes that they will make their triumphant return sometime in 2011. Until then, what I don't know can't hurt me, right? ;)

From a Bulging Belly to a Grateful Heart (Part I)

While pregnancy gives a woman much to be excited for, it goes without saying that it's not always a walk in the park. Between the first trimester nausea and fatigue, the growing belly and tightening clothes in the 2nd trimester, and the various body aches and pains that accompany the 3rd trimester, a pregnant woman can count on hurting in some form or another just about every day she puts her foot out of bed. (Lucky us).

And while it's easy to gripe and complain (and we have every right to), I thought it was time to write a post about all the things that I'm grateful for this pregnancy, in spite of the above-mentioned annoyances. First and foremost, I'm grateful for my health and the health of this baby. Stating that pregnancy isn't "a walk in a park" is a major understatement for many women who find themselves violently sick throughout the entirety of their pregnancy, or are put on bedrest due to threatened miscarriage or pre-term labor. I'm so thankful that I haven't fallen fall into either of these categories, and I know that I've surely taken it for granted at times. I am also grateful to have had a "textbook" pregnancy with Ella and that I wasn't even as sick in the first trimester as some women are. This pregnancy seems to be following suit (fingers crossed!)

But here are a few other things that I simply couldn't live without and are definitely worth mentioning (in no particular order):

1. Zofran.
It's no surprise to anyone who knows me well that I would mention this miracle pill, what with my unique fear of throwing up and all things associated with it. This tiny, unassuming yellow pill is packed with a punch that transforms even the greenest of green into a nice healthy shade of pink again. Oh, and did I mention the current price for just one of these little miracle-workers is $4? I might also add that I'm not expecting much for Christmas this year, since I've had it refilled about 3 times a month at 30 pills a pop. Yep, you do the math. Nirvana ain't cheap. (But oh, so worth it).

2. Coke

Ah, nothing is more refreshing than an ice cold coke on a hot day. And there's something about it that my pregnant body craves from the moment implantation occurs until my 40th week (or 41st, as was the case with Ella). Aside from the debilitating nausea, my insatiable thirst for coke was another big clue for me that I was knocked up, even before the pee stick turned pink. And it has to be real coke. The "fatty" coke that's chock full of empty calories. Not diet, not coke zero, not even coke with lime. Just good ol' fashioned Coca Cola Classic. (Even better if it's in a glass bottle). ;)

3. Chocolate

If you had handed me a piece of chocolate or a brownie when I was in my first trimester with Ella, there was about an 85% chance I would have gagged and run for the bathroom. Not so much with this pregnancy. It's no secret that I've developed quite the sweet tooth with this baby. Just the mention of chocolate or seeing a commercial on TV will have me salivating for some dark chocolate sorbet or a Milky Way bar. And that's not to say that indulging in a big chocolate chip cookie a few weeks back wasn't without it's consequences of immediately feeling sick and regretting the decision. Still, I craved it and continue to have a jonesing for something sweet every day. Although now unfortunately, I don't often have the backlash of nausea to make me re-think going for that second or third helping. Which, consequently, brings me to #4...

4. Elastic waistbands.

I lost the battle against my pre-pregnancy jeans about 4 weeks ago and have been living comfortably in maternity pants ever since. Honestly, it's a battle that I regret fighting so hard to begin with. After having the button of my jeans digging into my bulging belly for 6 weeks, secured only with a hair rubber band, stepping into my favorite maternity pants was like a little slice of love handle heaven. And now that my belly is actually starting to resemble more of a bona fide baby bump and less of a muffin top, I can feel even better about investing in a designer pair of maternity jeans, right? ;)

5. Naps

Naptimes are sacred in this household because Ella naps = Mommy naps. I am both lucky and grateful that she still takes two fairly long naps a day, and although it's a rarity that I actually get to have some shut eye when she does, I almost always take advantage of the time to put my feet up and rest (and maybe eat, again).

6. My husband.

I admit, during the lowest points of my pregnancy (i.e. moments I spent lying on the bathroom floor and every contraction leading up to my epidural with Ella), it was tempting to blame Jake for my condition (I mean, after all, I didn't get myself pregnant). But honestly, he's my rock. I know that I couldn't have survived either pregnancy without him. From late-night Wendy's runs, to foot-rubs and back-massages, to dealing with the ups and downs that was (and still is) the hormone rollercoaster I've been on, it goes without saying that the man has the patience of a saint. And the biggest heart of anyone I know. I know I'm a lucky girl, although I don't think I let him in on that fact often enough.

7. My daugher.

Amidst the tantrums and the ever-unfolding diva attitude she displays on a daily basis, she is without a doubt, my absolute joy. Even after a day of feeling worn down, hungry, nauseous, then hungry again, then scared to death of what life will look like with 2 under 2, I can take just one look at her and immediately know exactly why I'm doing this all over again. I remember that I literally felt my heart grow in capacity when they put her in my arms and I'm totally expecting for it to grow twice as much again when this new baby comes. Becoming a mommy has hurled all kinds of new things at me, but none have been greater than the joy it brings me to watch her grow into this incredible little person. While I have my moments of anxiety about bringing another baby into our already crazy life, I am reminded of what a gift it's going to be for me to watch Ella transform, before my very eyes, into "the big sister." Being an only child, I'm grateful to be able to give her something that I was never able to experience for myself- the love that exists between siblings. To be able to play a part in creating this legacy for them is something I never want to take for granted.


There will be more "grateful" posts to come, I promise, as I have much in my life to be thankful for....but only so much time before a certain little bug wakes up from her nap. ;)

Veggie Tales

And this is how our particular tale goes (names have been changed to protect the innocent).

There once was a little girl named Stella. Stella became a very picky eater after she stopped nursing. She loved cheese- lots of cheese. And she loved bread- lots of bread. And sometimes she would eat pasta (but only as long as there was cheese on it). She did not, however, like peas, carrots, green beans, broccoli, sweet potatoes, squash and cauliflower- or anything that did not resemble cheese or bread.

So she ate cheese and bread for lunch and dinner. Over and over and over again.

The mommy tried to hide carrots in her cheese quesadilla at lunchtime. Stella discovered them when she took her first bite and got so mad that she threw her quesadilla on the floor. The mommy went and beat her head against the kitchen counter.

The daddy showed Stella how to eat her veggies to encourage her to try them. Stella decided to kindly offer her daddy the rest of her veggies instead. Then proceeded to dump them on the kitchen floor. The mommy went and banged her head against the kitchen counter again.

This continued every evening with no end in sight.


The end.



*A sad and rather short story.* (Hey, I never promised it would have a happy ending).

#%@& happens.

A lot, when you're chasing after a 14 month old. And it comes in various forms. The literal kind, that you wipe off a pair of butt-cheeks 2 or 3 times a day and that- if you're unlucky enough to have raging pregnancy hormones- will sometimes leave you gagging for the duration of the diaper change. Then there's the more metaphorical, yet very real bull#%&@ that abounds in everyday life. (If only a box of wipes could take care of that, I'd have it made, but I digress).

The point is, %@& happens. And sometimes the actual word, "s**t" happens as well. I admit, it's more of a common word in our household than it should be, and this is one that I can't put on Jake. And so at last, I "out" myself. For years, I have taken some unknown, great pleasure in saying this word. Maybe it's the way you can really get into the "ssshhhhhh" part of it, especially if you're really peeved. In those instances, I pride myself on taking a one-syllable word and stretching it into two. More like "ssshhhheeee-iiiiiiitt!" It just feels good. And I justified this for many years. I figured, it's one thing to do it by yourself and no one's there to hear you as you sit behind the wheel of your Mazda V6 Wagon (because that's the kind of car you buy when you want to dominate the highway, right?). I also had a theory that there's a direct correlation between the amount of pain I'm in and the number of times I get to say this word. So that 5 lb bag of ice I dropped on my toes? That was worth a couple of expletives. But the sneaky thing about this word is that if you're not careful, it starts to randomly show up before you have time to stop it: your computer freezes and you're right in the middle of a facebook status update. (#%@&!) Then you can't open a jar of spaghetti sauce (#%@&!) You step in dog-doo (quite literally- #%@&!) You stare at a positive pregnancy test on a random Saturday afternoon and then it's HOLY #%@&! (saved for those truly momentous occasions). 10 months and 1 week later, and you've been in labor for 16 hours when the doctor informs you that you're going to need a c-section. (#%@&! #%@&! #%@&!)

And so life continues, and #%@& continues to make an exit from your lips every now and then. And it's all good for awhile because your little girl is just a baby. There's no need to censor the Lil Wayne and Nelly CD's just yet. But the weeks turn into months, and now you realize she's starting to listen to you. She wants to communicate with you. You think this is pretty much the coolest thing ever. And you're not much worried about the few times you slip, because she's still so little. She doesn't understand the meaning of that word anyway.

But she doesn't need to.

Because kids don't need to understand what they say before they say it. Remember the show "Kids Say the Darndest Things?" Someone got seriously rich capitalizing on little kids who made total @$$es of their parents by saying things within a context they didn't understand or repeating things they had no business repeating. And most of the time, it's cute. When you wait so long to hear them say their first word, the last thing you probably worry about is whether that word will be sandwiched between some expletives. Ella has always been quite the chatterbox, and so I became accustomed to listening to her experiment with combinations of vowels and syllables and talking nonsense to her Sophie and other animal friends for months. And like any other mom, I melted the first time she said "mama" and giggled at her attempt at "banana" ("nanana") and "kittycat" ("keekah"). And then one day- whether by chance or perhaps by, ahem, some *other* coincidence- I heard a different set of syllables and vowels coming out of her mouth. At first I reasoned it must have been the word "spit," but really, how likely was that? I walked back to her room, watched her throw her binkey on the floor and then, right on cue, "#%@&."

Fabulous.

It got even better when we would go to Target or the grocery store. I was now very well aware of her newfound vocabulary and as if in slow motion, I would watch as she would animatedly point at something and then proceed to yell out the same 4 letter word before I could get my hand to her mouth or shove a cracker down her throat. We got a few looks, needless to say. I prayed it was a phase. And thankfully, it seems to have passed for now. (And you better believe I've made Jake clean up his language....ahem...)

So I guess it's time for me to come up with another word that is just as gratifying to roll off the tongue in less than happy circumstances. I think I'm actually going to miss it. But it must be done. Apparently, little cornfields have big ears.

Things I Wish I Had Known (A Letter to Myself)

A few months back, a good friend of mine asked me to take part in a project she was doing for work that aimed to uncover certain universal truths about the mother-child bond. In this project, her agency asked for women who are mothers to write letters to themselves the night/day before they have their first child. What would we tell ourselves? What things do we know now that we would have loved to know then? What legacies do we wish to carry forward with this next generation?

I jumped at the opportunity to write about the relationship I have with my Ella-bug and immediately dove into the recesses of my memory, trying to re-live the last few days, hours, minutes, before I was catapulted into "first time Mommy-dom," with it's steep learning curve, rollercoaster hormones and 3-a-night feedings. And as I reflected back, I realized that- excited as I was about meeting this tiny person who had been shoving her feet in my ribcage for well over 5 months- I had become afraid of her. I had heard one too many stories from (I think) well meaning people who told me that my life, as I had come to live it, was "over" once "that baby comes along." Things like, "forget sleeping in," and "I hope you enjoy infomercials because that's all you'll be watching at 2 a.m. when you're up feeding the baby," and "your time is the baby's" and "you'll forget what it's like to have a real date night with your husband...." reverberated through my head. In spite of all the wonderful things people were speaking into my life about becoming a mommy and how I would fall head over heels in love with this little creature (which I totally did), I instead chose to hang tighter onto all of the negative things. Isn't that the way it always goes?

And guess what? I lost sleep. A lot of it. I cried a lot in those first 2 months of Ella's life. But more often than not, the tears were happy ones (hormones, I tell ya, hormones...) I actually *did* get to sleep in, because I have a wonderful husband who would get up with Ella when it was obvious that I needed a break. And we started having "real" date nights again after about 6 weeks, when Jake's parents offered (and we gladly accepted) to keep her for us on a Friday or Saturday night almost every single weekend. To this day, she still goes over there one night every weekend and we still get to be "Kristin and Jake," not just "Mommy and Daddy."

I was scared for no reason. And as I started to write this letter to myself and reflected back on the last days before Ella's arrival, I realized that I haven't missed out on a single thing. Nothing at all has been taken away from me that I wouldn't gladly give up. (Obviously, because I'm about to do it all over again in 6 months. ;) ). Life is more rich because I'm Ella's mommy. She has given me more than I could have ever given myself in the 27 years I had before I knew her...



Dear Kristin,

You have been waiting impatiently for your little girl to get here for 10 months and 1 week now. Your labor has started up and then just as quickly fizzled out every day for the last week and as far as you're concerned, time could not be going any slower. But please, hold onto this moment. Enjoy feeling her move in your belly. Savor these last precious moments you have with your husband as just the two of you. Life is about to change dramatically in less than 24 hours. Yes, after 276 days of pregnancy, you have only hours left to wait. Don't rush this. Because once you hold your daughter tomorrow, time will never be able to go slowly enough for you. You will blink your eyes and the tiny 6 lbs 15 oz peanut you cradle in your arms will soon be an independent, spunky toddler who refuses to let you rock her to sleep. You, too, will become the cliché you swore you'd never be, who asks, “where did the time go?”

Right now, you are wondering how you could ever love someone as much as your parents love you. You've heard people talk about this kind of love, and though you would never admit it to anyone, you're afraid you may be the one exception. You worry you won't love her enough. But rest assured, your heart will break in a completely new way when you lay eyes on her tomorrow. You will dream bigger, pray harder, laugh louder and love more deeply than you ever knew you could. Jake will continue to be your rock, and though you might find that you disagree over the little things, remember that they are just that- little things. He will astound you in the way that he loves and cares for his little girl and your heart will be so full as you watch her eyes light up when he comes home from work. Please don't take him for granted. You will be emotionally and physically exhausted at the end of each day, but remember that he will be too. Lean on each other and your love will be stronger for it.

Now is also a good time for you to admit that you don't adapt well to change. You have a certain idea of how things should be once Ella is home with you. Be prepared to throw these pre-conceived and idealistic notions out the window. This is going to be messy- both in the physical and metaphorical sense of the word. Make the decision right now to adjust the amount of pressure you place on yourself. You will not be able to clean the house, fix dinner, take a shower and tend to all of Ella's needs, every single day. Your outfit may not be coordinated some days. You may not get a chance to put on makeup. This doesn't make you any less of a woman, and it certainly doesn't make you a failure. You are using up every resource available to you to take care of this little one and that in and of itself, is a beautiful thing. Don't stress about the pile of dishes in the sink or the dust bunnies lying on the floor. You have the rest of your life to clean up your house, but only so many years where she will actually want you to play with her. Get down on the floor with her at her level- every day. And remember that it really is okay if she doesn't go down each night right at 8:30 or if she doesn't finish all of her veggies. Be prepared to question yourself on a daily basis, regarding everything from over the counter meds to sleeping arrangements and discipline, but resist the temptation to carry around the infamous “mom-guilt.” Don't let yourself fall prey to anyone who makes you feel that you aren't enough. Remember that God has hand-picked you to be Ella's mother and thus, has given you a strong intuition specifically for her. Trust it and go with it. If you remember to do anything as a mother, extend grace as much as you ask for it.

No matter what you ever knew or thought you knew about God, you will experience Him in a whole new way tomorrow when you hold your newborn baby girl. You may, in fact, get just a glimpse of how much you are loved by Him. Your daughter will be a constant and precious reminder that life is to be lived. Get ready for the celebration.



K