And For Today's Update...

This seriously must be some sort of blogging record for me.

Today's Workout:
Total cardio: 62:30
Run: 44:30 for 4 miles, 3 min WU, 5 min CD
Elliptical: 10 min

Today I decided that my new goal is to run off my inner thighs. I HATE the way they rub together now, not to mention the lunch buffet they make out of my running shorts. It's like my shorts are on the losing end of a Hunger Hungry Hippo game. Nom, nom, nom.

At some point, likely Thursday, I am going to start doing more strength training in addition to the cardio. But after trying to integrate into those intial workouts with dreadfully painful results, I decided to lay off until my legs were a little most acclimated - and now I think it's time.

I still had a mindful of madness today, but it was a bit better. And wonders of wonders - so was the run. It definately makes me hopeful, as each run seems to be bring me back to normal. In addition, starting next week, I would like to reintroduce my legs to speedwork, and start working off some of those mile times.

And fitness aside, I have a totally random thought I want to share:

You know the downside of having an "easy" baby? I was SOOOOOOO looking forward to using a screaming inconsolable baby as payback for the regular raging LOUD 2AM parties my downstairs college student neighbors like to throw (they were EPIC during my pregnancy). Alas, it was not meant to be, as my child is far too sweet to use for such glorious revenge. Perhaps I will have to "accidently" drop a doody diaper on their back steps when I take out the garbage next time.

Oh, and speaking of the little porkchop:


Handsome little man:


Guess who got a swing (read: Baby Ambian)?

Why hello there...

So That's Where They Put the Gym!

Wanted to first say that I appreciate all the well wishes and comments on the previous post. I usually try to respond to all email notifications of the comments, but for some reason when I hit reply lately, it just gives me that generic “no-reply blogger” email address. It only lets me respond to a handful of people, so I apologize if I can’t get to your email. But I really appreciate them.

To that end, there are a couple of things that I wanted to respond to from the comments:

1. In regards to breastfeeding – I too have come to walk around the house in my nursing bra and/or nothing at all – heck, it’s my house, and the nips need a breather, you know? Many a day you might see me lounging on the couch, dark circles under my eyes, baby passed out with the milk-drunks next to me, and a shirt nowhere to be found. Some days, especially the ones when he feeds every hour, it’s simply not worth the effort to keep putting it on and off. The only time this didn’t work was when my in-laws were in town for a week for Christmas. After all, we may be close, but we are not THAT close. The last thing any of us need is for my father-in-law to be making a midnight potty-run and see my big old milkers hanging out in the living room, baby on one end and half-asleep mama on the other.

2. You haven’t lived until you’ve literally sucked the snot out of your child’s nose. With your own mouth, yo.

3. I mentioned this in the previous post, but it’s worth reiterating – doody does fly. And airborne doodys are (ahem) messy. And stain.

4. Been living in my sweats for a while (post-pregnancy gift from my friend A, from Victoria’s Secret, size Large, and oh-so-comfortable). My husband thinks I’ve become one of those women who have just given up. Not true, I say. “Giving up” happens the day I ask for a minivan.

But the wonders of motherhood aside, I’d also like to proudly announce that I did make it to the gym – four weeks and one day since my stomach was cut open and my world changed with my new little man (although coupled with the previous few months of bedrest and inactivity, it’s felt like a year since I broke a sweat not related to my intake of French fries, pie or hot wings). I didn’t get medical clearance yet, but I was getting sick of sitting around complaining about how jiggly and heavy and I was, and needed to do something about it.

Also at the gym, I had the displeasure of stepping on a scale since a week before delivery. The way I figured it, I had gained somewhere around 45 pounds during pregnancy, and estimated that I had about 20 pounds of residual baby weight to lose. Turns out that it’s, uh, slightly more than 20 pounds. I mean, 20 pounds was bad enough, and I felt mentally prepared to deal with the scale’s reality, but nothing prepared me for the number that I actually saw.

So here goes my admission. My ground zero. My starting block. The largest weight hurdle I have ever had to overcome.

I am 30 pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight.

To.The.Pound.

And yes, that’s with the baby OUTSIDE my body.

Granted, some of that might have to do with my cartoonishly large bosoms, but seriously – the rest of it is in my belly, ass, and thighs.

Possibly a few pounds in my neck and double chins.

Maybe a few in my elephant-ears upper arms.

Ugh. I’m gross. Just GROSS. I want to barf Pop Tarts just thinking about this mess I call my body.

But instead of crying (I save that for the 3am feedings), I sucked it up, mounted the elliptical, and pressed Start. I made it through 25 minutes, and oddly considered that a victory.

And then after that, I got on the treadmill. Can’t run just yet, but I jacked the incline and walked as long as I could before I could no longer tolerate the moldy stink coming from the man next to me. Which was 20 minutes.

And then I hit some quick weights.

And then my boobs were going to explode and I knew there was a one-month old about a mile away wondering where his lunch was, so I called it a day and headed home.

Overall, I feel good that I did it. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And considering I was ready to make yet another excuse this morning to NOT go, I consider it a win (and I had a REAL good one to skip yet again, be it that the previous night was our most challenging yet, with Baby D having a cold, difficulty breathing, and thus difficulty feeding. Cue a major crying episode – both mama and child – and 5am was a bit of shit show at our house.)

(Side note: I know I am making motherhood sound awful, but the truth is, minus a couple of rough moments, our kid is great. I need to give the little chubby pork chop some credit – he’s in this crazy unfamiliar, loud, and bright world filled with all sorts of confusion, and yet he seems to handle it like a champ. He’s gaining weight, getting long and even gives us a smile here and there. But who wants to hear about all the awesomeness when there are dirty diapers, erratic sleep, crying jags and gassy infants to wail about, right? Right.)

As for the fitness, I don’t have much time to be making any more excuses anyways – I registered for the Wisconsin half-marathon – to continue my streak of running that race every year – and it’s a mere five months away. I don’t anticipate a PR (which I had two years ago there), but I know I can finish if I get my training in order.

Plus, my ass needs a healthier goal than “how many times can you eat at Five Guys in six months time?” Shit, I PR'd that bitch back in pregnancy month 6.

And here' is what I have to show for that nutritional acheivement:






How I spent my New Years Eve.

First bath - success!



Tryin' to be all fancy and stuff. At least he knew to color-coordinate his outfit to with his soothie. He's smooth like that. And not at all like his hygeine-and-fashion-challenged mother.

Well, I think we know who he got his forehead from.



One month old in this picture. My son and his baby Buddha belly. This kid barely misses a meal, lemme tell ya.

Almost outgrown his bassinet in just four weeks. He'll be stepping it up to the crib soon!

The Arrival

Turns out, if you wait long enough, the baby actually DOES come out.

Today is the three-week anniversary of my baby boy's birth, so there is a lot of catching up to do. Surely, I could have posted sooner, but I have been trying to take everyone's age-old advice of "when the baby sleeps, you sleep" so my days are pretty much feed the baby, clean poop, sleep. and when I am awake and functioning, I have tried to either leave the house (me and the baby have had two solo trips so far!), read work emails, or just chill with the baby in his few waking hours.

So what follows is basically how the little man came into our world. Be warned, in true PP form, it's pretty much as raw as it gets - I've never really been one to hold back, so why start now?

The action, I guess, started the day after the last post - Friday. That morning, after some concern, my doctor thought my water broke, so I was sent the hospital. Excited with bags packed, my husband and I set off, thinking this was out last day as non-parents.

Not so much - turns out the water in my jeans was likely due to poor bladder control - though I begged to differ, as I am accused of a lot of things, but pants-peeing is not one of them (at least not since the second grade).

Home we went.

Fast forward to Monday night - after a quick late afternoon nap, I woke to get ready for my doctor's appointment, which was at 6pm. As I put my leggings on, something splashed to the ground - was it my water? Sure looked like it, but after four times of being told I was in some form of labor and no baby actually came, I didn't want to get my hopes up. Moreover, the splash was neither the large "gush" or the constant trickle.

We got to the doctor's office, told them went happened, and the three tests they do to confirm water breakage were...inconclusive. Doctor did an ultrasound and determined that my amniotic fluid was again really low - down 4 cm in a week - so that was enough for her to order an inducement - even if my water didn't break, they would induce me because my fluid was too low at that point.

Off we went again to the hospital, where they subsequently confirmed my water DID break and my contractions were every 2-3 minutes (and obviously not painful by that point because I didn't know they were happening - but that would change).

Calls were made, and enter the excited family....

The rest went down like this:


They put me on meds to speed up contractions at 1030pm. Holy pain. Once they kicked in, I tried to beat it for as long as possible before asking for the pain meds at 230am. But to be fair, I also asked for the pain meds because they said they couldn't check my dilation until I has the epi. Epi in 230am, and that was last time I felt any sort of pain. AT ALL.

I actually slept for a few hours. The next thing I knew, the doctor came in at 7am, told me I was 8 cm dilated, and again at 8am, and told me I was fully dilated, and ready to start pushing. I was like, "Baby coming! Baby coming!"

Not so fast.

I proceeded to push for 3 1/2 hours. Yeah, you read that correctly. THREE AND A HALF HOURS. To put that in perspective, my sister's friend has a baby a few days ago and pushed for 14 minutes. Granted, pushing times vary dramatically, but 3 1/2 hours is tough. It doesn't hurt, but it is exhausting - so much so that by the end, I was taking quick naps between contractions (about 90 seconds in between each push session).

After that marathon stretch, it was determined that the baby was facing up - after they shifted him to face down, it was determined that my pelvis was too small to get him through. Our options? C-section or forceps.

This is where it got emotional - not in the "why me? my body failed me!" type way, but rather in the "we got so far, and still couldn't get him out" kind of way. It was here that I started to sob, with no one able to console me.

No way was I having my child yanked out using salad tongs, so C-section it was. Within minutes I was in the OR, which was so cold I was convulsing with shivers and sobbing while they set up, numbed me and cut me open. I felt nothing but my body being kind of yanked around (not painful, more like I could tell I was being tugged). The room was so cold my hands wouldn't stay still, and my sobbing made me a complete mess. And then, about 30 minutes after it all started, at 130pm on 12.13.2011, the doctor proclaimed:

"It's a BOY!"


My son, 7 pounds, 8 ounces, and 20 inches long.

Footprints

First family photo



So let me pause here and talk about this moment.

The proclamation was followed immediately by a large wailing cry from MY SON. I heard my husband - who sat to my left- gasp and cry, "It's a boy!" I felt an almost indescribable mix of relief (that it was over), shock (that it was a boy, because I spent 10 months convinced it was a girl), disbelief (ohmygosh I have a kid), and exhaustion. And cold. I was just so cold. I know it probably sounds weird that "joy" wasn't an immediate reaction, but in that moment, given everything that happened - and the fact that I didn't even see my child for several minutes, and didn't hold him for the first five-ish hours, it's not that unusual that there were some initial attachment issues.

Now,that's not to say I didn't feel any positive feelings - I did, but in a kind of what-just-happened-on-my-gosh-I-have-a-son kind of way. The real "love" switch got flipped some time later up in my room, when it was just me and him hanging out, and I felt this wave of emotion - joy, love - consume me. It's kind of weird to acknoweldge this out loud, especially since I always read about people fall in love immediately with their kid and all that - and for the last few weeks I wondered if something was wrong with me. But in hindsight, I know that there was just so much going on in those hours that, between the physical and emotional exhaustion of it all, I was just out of it, depleted to the point that it was hard to really take anything in.

The family meets Baby Boy D for the first time:

Aunt Devin

Check out my enormous face - I was swelled up like a blowfish, in part due to my hour-long sobbing fest and constant IV. I was swollen for about two weeks after this to unreal proportions. Anyway - this picture was taken while I was numb from rib cage down, more exhausted than I could imagine ever being, and convulsing with cold shivers (still) and unable to hold my child. I was able to use my hands to touch my belly, which was also stunningly swollen. My mouth was so dry I could barely talk (no fluids since about 8am). Here in the recovery room, they covered me with a space blanket type thing that they pumped hot air into so that I would warm up while also allowing me to eat ice chips, which seemed to, at least briefly, counteract the heat blanket. I was a mess. Took me about an hour to regulate. I couldn't even think straight.


Aunt Ellen, breaking Baby Boy D in with a Red Vine (she didn't really feed him this, just in case someone tries to contact the authorities).
Grandma
Literally hours old at this point.

Look how long he is!
One of the ultrasound photos we have is of the baby - at about 15 weeks - in this exact pose. We call it "the touchdown baby" pose. He loves being in this pose when he sleeps.

In his Christmas pjs - threatending Santa with a knuckle sandwich is he didn't get his presents on time.





So here I am, three weeks post-baby, and it's been quite a ride so far. Both me and my husband are on work leave (he goes back in two weeks, me at the end of January) so we've had a lot of "quality" time together. Some observations about these early stages of parenthood:

1. Your belly doesn't automatically disappear once the baby is out. Imagine my shock when I woke up the next morning and still looked 6 months pregnant. Not.Happy. This took about two weeks to go away, though I still have a jiggle belly, thanks to my almost-exclusive Oreo-and-RedVine-diet in that last month of pregnancy (and cake-for-breakfast holiday diet). Turns out my thighs still rub together as well. Su-weet.

2. It IS possible to projectile doody. Just ask my son. And his other favortie trick? The "fire hose." Yeah, it is what it sounds like. I think it's the sensation of the wet wipe that triggers a golden shower. Last night, during his birth announcement photo session, he was actually skilled enough to pee in his own face (and eyes). My kid's gifted. Trust it.

3. Breastfeeding? It's not natural OR easy. If I've had any issues, it's been this. And when your trying to breast feed, and your kid is struggling, it's REALLY emotional. I mean, you are soley responsbile for feeding your child so he survives, and when you can't do it, and it's 3am, and he won't latch, and your nipples are cracked and bleeding - well, let's just say epic meltdowns are bound to happen. And let's be honest, shall we? I'm not the most patient person in the world, and am also a bit of a obsessive perfectionist (understatement), so when I can't do something, I get a little nuts. The funny thing is is that - despite my own expectations and sense of failure - I must have been doing something right from the beginning, because he gained back both his birth weight and an extra pound in the first two weeks, which is really good. Knowing this, it's helped me to calm the eff down. Three weeks in and we are in a much better place. My kid's belly chub is evidence of this.

4. Speaking of BF - holy boobs. People weren't kidding when they said they would double in size when my milk comes in. Pregnancy blew them up, but BF has turned them into a completely different beast all together. That's all I have to say about that without giving my blog it's own warning label for explicit material.

5. Boob size ineviatbley leads me to think about returning to running, and how on earth I am going to start logging miles with these jugs bouncing around. I have no idea yet, and haven't gotten clearence anyways (given my C-section incision that still healing) but since I will continue to breast feed and thus the mild will be plentiful, I have to figure this out. Plus, BF makes you really tired, so getting back to the gym hasn't happened as I had hoped. I am aiming for sometime in the next few days, as we continue to get our schedule nailed down.

6. I'd say I have about 20 pounds of fat to get rid of at this point. Although I didn't get weighed at the last doctor's appointment (because I was in labor), best estimate for total pregnancy weight gain is about 45 pounds. Yeah, I know. Its about 10-15 more than the books say you should gain, but I was on and off bedrest for the last three months and pretty much stuck on the couch, so I guess I was bound to gain a bit more. And like I mentioned earlier, damn Oreos were the end of me. I swore I wouldn't be that girl, but here I am - 20 pounds of non-baby fat to run off. Superb.

So that should catch us up to speed on the last three weeks. I am hesitant to comment on the fact that our child is about as chill as they come, and for all intents and purposes, has been really...easy. We keep waiting for the other shoe to drop - for colic to set it, for brying jags that last all night to hit - but so far we have been really lucky. And I stress lucky, because I certainly have nothing to do with it - what with my lunatic temprement and all.

I am sure I will have some more Tales of Parenthood as we go on, and I'll squeeze them in between dodging poo rockets and being milked like a cow.

Later!

Salty

Let's get this out of the way first - Baby still not here.

Not going to launch into the drama of the last few weeks, but suffice to say, we are still waiting...

And waiting...

And growing....

And by growing, I mean me getting fatter. The kid? Eh, not so much. Still a bit on the small side.

I'm now one day short of 39 weeks.

Or by my count, two solid months of zero physical activity, peppered with on-and-off-and-on (again) bedrest. One moment the kid's head is all but hanging out and we are bags-packed-and-headed-to-the-hospital, and the next he/she has crawled right back up and nestled into the apparently-welcoming envionment of my womb, with talk turned to being in this for the long haul.

You can imagine how thrilled this makes me.

Yeah, I am a straight peach to deal with at this point.

In fact, I was trying to post pictures of my baby shower (coincidently held the exact day I hit nine months so you can get the full impact of my ginormously swollen body and face) for this post, but iPhone is being a bitch and not letting me transfers pics.

Or something.

Who cares.

I can't be bothered to figure it out, so I have to wait until my husband wakes up to do it for me.

Just like he now has to do everything for me: tie my shoes, cook my food, pull me off the couch (and out of the car),and deal with my bed-rattling snoring.

And endless complaining. Oh, it is endless.

I have ZERO patience for literally anything at this point (including work - it's like I am bothered when people call me during the day and I have to problems-solve some issue, gosh-forbid it breaks up my naptime), as my kid's foot has been stuck in my right rib for about five days, and I haven't sleep adequately in about two months.

Have I mentioned that my belly button (like my kid) can't decide what it wants to do, so it hasn't quite popped out, yet it isn't a regular in-ie anymore. No, my belly button looks like a clay-mation volcano, second only in nastiness to my cartoonish, National Geographic situation going on with my boobs.

Sit with that image for a minute if you can.

So in the absence of anything more entertaining (like those fucking pictures), here's a little something I learned this past week:

Eat too many Oreos and you risk not taking a crap for three days.

You're welcome.

Thoughts To Distract From The Fact That, Under Other Circumstances, I Would Be Doing Ironman Madison This Weekend

1.It’s probably a good thing that "Rescue Me" is ending the series. I hate saying that, but shit – the wheels done fell off that wagon about two seasons ago. I adored this series, especially because I watched it off of dvd while I rode my bike on a trainer all winter in prep for IM AZ and feel a special connection to it. But it’s not the same. It’s not funny – it’s just kinda silly. Of course, I say this as I am about to watch the series finale, and, when coupled with my raging hormones, will probably bawl my eyes out. ‘Cause that’s how my mood swings these days.

2.Speaking of raging hormones – holy effing maternity meltdown tonight. It started at Gap Maternity (where I was lured into thinking it held the treasures of cute maternity jeans – spoiler alert – it didn’t). For the first time in my 6 ½ months, I tried on maternity clothes that were not hand-me-downs from my sister’s closet. Long story short - it didn’t go well. Looking at myself in the mirror in my bedroom is not the same ballgame as checking out the new, rounder M in the three-way mirror of the Gap. Couple that with the last few weeks of noticing how – in general – I just look different, older, balder, chalkier and ugly – and I lost it. In a way that you just can’t come back from to resume happy shopping. It’s not a fat versus skinny thing – it’s a getting-older-frumpier-in-need-of-a-haricut-and-makeover-and-holy-shit-nice-eye-bags-and-double-chin thing.

3.I think I have finally spanned the spectrum of pregnancy experiences. From the uber sick to the super tired, and now into the “holy-shit-where-did-this-energy-come-from-did-someone-slip-me-meth?” I can barely wind down enough to go to sleep at night, I can’t read enough books, and I want to run all the time. And when I start running, I don’t want to stop. And my mind starts thinking crazy thoughts like “I could do a half-marathon!” and I need to be talked off of that ledge. Right? Right?!?!?

4.Speaking of running, I have been helping my sister Ellen prepare for her first marathon. I’ve been meeting her on the weekends to keep her company on long runs. Now, I don’t do all of the miles – like, if she has 14, I meet her halfway and do 7, or if she has 10, I can do that – but nothing quite yet over 10. This past weekend, she had 18 – so I did the middle 11-ish (was supposed to be 10 but I slightly miscalculated). Now you can see why the idea of a half-marathon doesn’t seem so crazy, right? Again, right?!?!?

5.I feel I need to qualify the last two points with this: I don’t mention this running stuff because I need/want people to tell me all sorts of validating things. In my last post, I mentioned that girl who always posts the blow-by-blow of her pregnancy on Facebook because she needs people to tell her how awesome she is that she kept running up to her third trimester, yada yada

(Side bar #1 - man,can I just reiterate how much she bugs that SHIT out of me – seriously, how many more half-nekkid growing belly pics or videos of her baby moving around in her belly do I need to see? Dang, I get that you’re excited, but come one – it’s the Internets - how about emailing that shit to your family instead of posting it for the world to see? No offense but the LAST thing I am going to do is post half-nakkid pics or belly videos on Facebook so that shady kid I sat next to in the second grade and who tortured me with his wet boogers and haven’t’ heard from since until he Friended me and who may or may not be an ex-con can see. Uh, no thanks.)

Now where was I? Oh right. For the record, I haven’t maintained my running for bragging rights or praise – I run so I can feel like I’m not a big fat slob, and so the mountain I will need to climb comes January isn’t so, well, enormous. And I write it here because this is like my journal, and that’s what you do in a journal – keep track of the good (running and poptarts) and the bad (body image and celulite). So that’s that.

(Side bar #2 - My above rant about Facebook posting does not apply to those that have documented their pregnancies on their blogs - which I read, enjoy and benefit from - especially posts from active triathlete bloggers who post about workout clothes tips and how to survive these crazy thoughts triggered by this 9-month mess. Yeah, I know - it's a double standard that I have no problem with blog posts but I get annoyed by the Facebook girl. And maybe it's not really about the Facebook posts at all, but more about that girl herself and all her annoyingness. Or maybe I just appreciate the stories/tips as opposed to the status updates. Or maybe I'm just a bitch. Yeah, that might be it.)

6.Speaking of body image, at my niece’s birthday party the other day, my mom told me that she is now convinced I am having a boy. When I asked her why, she stated, “Because when I had a boy, my ass got big like that too.” And in case I wasn’t sure what she was referring to, she pointed to my ass, and held out her hands about two feet wide. Just for a visual perspective. Fuck it - I ate the cake anyways.

7.Speaking of baby, mine’s still growing. Like I mentioned, I am 6 ½ months (although according to my husband and his mad mathmatic skills, I’m 5 months – hmmm…guess when the baby pops out a month ahead of his personal schedule, I’ll feign surprise). Kicking like a maniac, trying to punch out my belly button. And although we have opted not to find out, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if a baby girl doesn't fall out of my lady bits in the next few months.

8.Totally unrelated - I’m always surprised when I watch a Sex in the City that I haven’t seen before. Especially the super early ones in which Carrie actually looks at and talks to the camera. That’s weird – I’m glad they stopped that.

9.Getting back to point 6, this pregnancy is a big mind fuck – especially for chicks like me who have a history of screwy eating and body-image issues. I didn’t realize how much I think or worry about my weight and appearance until last week, when I saw a friend for the first time in a while, and I spent way too much time lamenting about my new – ahem – proportions. Man, I sounded so shallow – and even said that a time or two. I am embarrassed that I care so much. I am keeping my fingers crossed that all this shit will become insignificant once this kid arrives – because that’s what everyone keeps telling me. I wonder if this kid realizes how much pressure she's under - what with all the responsibility of giving me a new personality and world view. Shoo - and she probably thinks all she needs to do is look cute and drink some boobie milk. Dear Baby: This is your wake up call. Momma needs a new perspective.

Eating My Words (and everything else)

I swear I'll lay off the preggo posts soon, but right now, it's sort of all consuming. I mean, I don't think I am THAT girl that talks nonstop about the miracle of pregnancy, telling every cashier at the grocery/Target/Costco I'm knocked up and "validate me! validate me!" But yet it's still is a part of just about everything I do - considering I have this big round thing hanging off my body that prevents me from wearing anything resembling normal clothes and being able to put on socks.

But I felt I needed to say this - everything I always swore I would do/be as a pregnant broad is the exact opposite that I am.

Example #1:
"I don't understand how women just use pregnancy as a time to let themselves go and just eat themselves silly. I'll never do that - if I don't eat garbage now, I most certainly won't do it when I'm growing a baby."

Reality:





Example #2:
"I don't know why women freak out about gaining weight when they get pregnant - YOU'RE PREGNANT! Of course you're going to put on a few pounds - there's a human inside of you!"

Reality:
FUCK YOU, CLOSET. I hate you with all your stupid normal clothes. Go ahead, mock me. Mock me with your cute summer dresses, you sweet skirts, even your running shorts that I actually once needed to tie using the drawstrings. And don't EVEN LOOK AT ME, SCALE-AT-THE-DOCTOR'S-OFFICE. I see you and your smirking side eye, quietly judging as this nurse keeps moving that top marker higher..higher...I hate both of you. Leave me alone.


Example #3:
"Why are pregnant women always complaining? You're pregnant, did you not know you would be sick/fat/tired/uncomfortable?"

Reality:
Husband (any given day): Hey babe. How was (hesitant pause because he knows what's coming) your day?
Me: Oh, you mean aside from the fact that my back is killing and I couldn't sleep? Or the fact that the the insomnia had me up at 3:30am? Or that I'm still sick? Or that I'm fucking fat and I hate myself for eating an entire bag of Reeces Pieces? Or wait - did I tell you about the fact that these headaches are destroying my ability to get any sort of work done? Which one? Take your pick."
Husband: Nevermind.


Ah yes, I am sure there are more examples of why I am the world's biggest hypocrite, but that's enough for now. I think that's enough self-shame for one night. Oh, and look at that - just as I am ending this post, Baby D starts kicking up a storm. I guess that's a pretty good note to end on!

Growing

Just for the record, this current posting lapse actually wasn’t my fault. My POS computer ka-plut again four weeks ago (for the second time). Sadly, this also coincided with my husband’s 3-week business trip, so I have been sans computer for the last four weeks.

Nonetheless, I have managed to keep track of some thoughts, just haven’t been able to actually get around to posting.

Here goes:

1. Its always interesting to share the good new with someone, and then have them respond with a story about their wife’s stillbirth at 6 months. Not that I'm judging (because holy crap that would be devastating), it's just somewhat sobering when you are expecting a "congrats!"

2. Still sick, but been running though. By the end of week 13, I was like, “Eff you, Sick. You’re my bitch now.” So of course it only made sense to sign up for a 10k two days post-proclamation. And for those of you thinking, “Well 6 miles isn’t that far” – tell that to my non-running-for-three-months legs, my newly rounded-out hips, and a flappy (yes, flappy) ass. They would beg to differ.


(Me and my sweet face niece Ford, whose mommy pushed her in a stroller for the race. I'm fueled by prenatal vitamins, Ford is fueling on my phone protector. The protector probably tastes better.)

3. Turns out Fatigue was a fashionably late to the party. Showed up at week 14, and was like, “Where’s the keg, yo?” I was like, “It’s under the pillow and comforter, yo.”

4. Then it was Insomnia’s turn. Showed up at Week 16. At 330 am. Every night. It’s been awesome. But the sunny side is that I get a lot of work done at 4am (which is good given the Sick likes to stop in around dinner time and stay for the night, preventing ANY sort of anything getting done, except some serious couch surfing), and learned that some really interesting (read: smelly weirdos) go to the gym at this insanely stupid hour.

So as it stands, I am officially 18 weeks pregnant. The morning-noon-night sickness decided to hang around looking for a free meal, so I finally went back on prescription nausea meds this past week. I avoided this as long as possible – trying out every single other recommendation given to me (except acupuncture) with little overall success.

I am up more pounds than probably normal at this point, but the good news is that is seems mostly be in my obscenely large knockers (well, good news for the husband), and I have forced myself back to the gym at least four times weekly. No matter how sick I feel before hand, going for a treadmill incline walk or 5k run seems to make it slightly better.

I will be honest – the shallow part of me gets really self-conscious at the gym in my now-tight shorts and my minute-slower-per-mile pace that I hide under a towel, and I find myself resisting the urge to stand in the middle of the gym and scream, “This isn’t what I really look like! I swear I am fit! I’m just pregnant! I swear! I was an Ironman, for crying out loud!! Stop judging my cellulite!” But then reality kicks in and I try to remind myself that no matter how much my body is revolting against me (see also: leakage and a double chin), it’s all for a good cause.

As in – a baby.


(Trust me, it's under there - about four people have asked me to post "belly pics" to Facebook, but I'm sorry, I can't get past standing half-nekkid in a bra and taking awkward pictures of my large self. I have a "friend" on FB who does this every month, and it kinda weirds me out - no offense to anyone reading that has done this during their own pregnancy. Just a personal preference. If you're a lady with kids, you know what it looks like. If you're a man with kids, you've seen your wife's. Mine looks probably about the same.)

Oh, and one last thing – seeing as I have been super sick for so long and my husband is mostly gone all the time, I’ve taken to texting him photos of what our baby might look like:





You are what you eat, right?

Oh my poor poor husband - getting a text of a piece of toast is a far cry from the texts he got during the early dating days when he was on the road for weeks at a time and had a tan, lean, fit girlfriend (that would be me).

Then again, there’s high likelihood I will be birthing a wedge of cheddar cheese with a watermelon head. Or if my kid's a 12-pounder like my husband was at birth, maybe it will just FEEL like a watermelon.

And with enough TMI to make a horse vomit, I'm out.

Vanity Sizing

Nice thing about Christmas shopping is that, when it's all done, you can justify buying yourself a thing or two.

In my case, I wandered into the female apparel store with a gift card from a previous birthday.

Genius! I can get myself a gift without having to spend any more real money!

I quickly tried on a bunch of sale dresses (I love a good dress but hate the ordeal of stripping all my Midwest winter layers), and settled on one little sexy number (well, MY version of sexy, which means it wasn't running tights from Target). And the price was RIGHT ON! I'll take it!

I tried on the second dress - a longer, maxi type dress that was super hot.

Only problem was...it was a touch too big. Needed to be a bit smaller in the empire-type waist.

I put all my regular clothes back on (jeans, hoodie and ball cap), stepped outside of the changing stall, and peered around the corner to see if I could just run to the rack and snatch it quick.

"Can I help you with anything?" asks the tiny are-you-even-legal-working-age pixie from behind me.

"Uh yeah. I was just going to grab a different size for this dress," says I, feeling like Buddy the Elf lumbering around a workshop filled with Santa's helpers.

"Oh, I can get that for you. What size do you need?" offers the pixie, so tiny and petite she makes Tinkerbell look like Brian Urlacher.

"Um sure. I need a size (one size smaller than what I was holding)."

And that's when it happened.

Fucking pixie gave me the Manhattan once over.

THE MANHATTAN ONCE OVER!!!!

THEN, as if dropping the last chunk of coal into a stocking filled with elephant turds, she adds:

"Really?"

Bitch, what?

Hell NO I didn't just see this child check me out and then question my size!

In my head I responded, "You minuscule lady-child! What the hell was that?!?! What size do I need, you ask? I need size I'm-an-Ironman-who-spends-as-much-time-working-my-ass-off-in-the-gym-daily-as-you-do-applying-your-pancake-makeup. It's a specialty size-do you carry it? I'm not fucking Shrek for crying out loud! Not all small people have to walk around with their boobies hanging out their tops and jeans so tight you are begging for a yeast infection (see also: yourself). Who do you think you are with your "Really?" You, who's biggest life goal is to organize the shoe section before closing so you can rush home to your Camaro-driving-former-football-captain-now-stoner townie boyfriend, pay his rent, and cook his dinner, all with the promise of a ring and a wedding THAT'S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN. Now go flutter your wings over to that rack and get me my dress, or I will slap that blond right off yo' head."

To her face I said, "Yes, thank you so much."

*smile*

Merry Christmas and God Bless Us Everyone!

Tennessee 2010

This past weekend, a long overdue trip down south (well, south for this Chicago gal), was made to see my younger brother Nolan, his wife Jenny, and sweet face baby Brody.

The last time I saw my brother and his family was in June, when Brody was just about four months old. I've been saying I wanted to go down and see them and chill out in Tennessee (which I love), but I let work get in the way for the last several months.

Finally, completely burned out from my job and really missing my brother, I pulled the trigger on a long weekend trip.

I got into town late Thursday, and on Friday was given the honor of taking care of baby Brody all day while Jenny and Nolan went to work.

I was ecstatic at the idea that I got to spend so much uninterrupted time getting to know my nephew.

But I'm not sure Brody was entirely on board with this plan:

"Hey Brody, this is your aunt Megan."

"And she's going to take care of you today."



We made the best of it though. We ate some Goldfish, we had some milkies, we tried to change a diaper. But when he wouldn't lay still for me to get the saturated diaper off, I was sort of stumped.

So I gave him a bath.

In the middle of the day.

I guess this is sort of weird thing to do, but hey - he didn't seem to mind. Well, at least until he wanted out, and then screamed because I think he was cold.

But we got him dressed - a small miracle on my end, because I can barely manage to get out of my pjs each day and most days don't bother until I go to the gym at the end of the day. Don't hate though - that little benefit of my job is balanced out by the body-beating stress and emotional exhaustion of my line of work.

After a nap for Brody and shower time for me, we hit the local social scene.

Club Wal-Mart.

Holla!

I really just wanted to get out of the house, and didn't know where the nearest park was, so I opted for the next closest form of amusement we Chicagoans aren't normally privy to - fantastic savings at Wal-Mart.

And in true Megan's-an-Idiot form, I couldn't get his other shoe on so I was like, "Eff it, let's go."


And no, there is absolutely NOTHING weird about walking around Wal-Mart in Tennessee.

With beer in the cart.

And a one-shoed baby.

At noon.

On a weekday.

(seriously though - the beer was for beer bread I was going to make - I swear.)

Check out the pimp lean - "Heeeeey girl! Love the playa, hate the game!"
I am also mildly ashamed that I was 20 minutes into our 30 minute shopping expedition when I noticed Brody tugging on the strap - only to realize I needed to actually strap him in. I guess that explains the forward lean he had going on. I thought he was just really intrigued by the pattern of floor tile.

But of course, it wasn't all fun and Wal-Mart games. Someone took a header into the fireplace and landed himself a black eye.

Oh boy.

My brother and I were on our way home from hunting when Jenny called to tell us about the eye. Shit, I fet horrible. I told them both when they got home from work that he had fallen, but I didn't see a scratch at the time so I thought maybe he had just scared himself - turns out, he was actually hurt. Talk about feeling like an asshat. All these hours of childcare under my belt and Brody has to get the first injury on my watch.

And yeah - you read the first sentence of that last paragraph right - Nolan took me HUNTING.

Nolan started hunting last year, but he bow-and-arrow hunts. I actually think this is pretty cool, because I think that take a lot of skill and seems like a bit of a fairer fight.

But he also uses a gun, which he was using on this particular outing. He was really excited to bring this once-vegan city girl into the thicket to catch herself some deer.

In the end, I was more or less the "company." We didn't get a deer that morning, but I did learn a ton about hunting, things to look for, migration factors, and all sorts of odds and ends when one is out catching deer. I am not sure how I would have handled it if I was actually confronted with taking down my would-be-dinner, but I never had to find out.


Me having a Sarah Palin moment (cue the eye rolling and judgment of my liberal friends and family - hey, unless your vegan, the meat you eat comes from somewhere)

But seriously though - I think the pink really softens things up, yeah?

The rest of the weekend was spent more or less lolly-gagging around, eating bad food and doing no physical activity at all (which I paid for when I can home and tried to do a semi-long run on Monday - gawd, I felt like I had four butt cheeks jumping up and down and trying to escape my tights).

But overall I really had a blast. I love getting out of Chicago, spending time in Tennessee, and letting Brody get to know his Chicago kin. It sometimes makes me sad that he may never know us as well as my sweet nephews Nolan and Aiden, or precious baby Ford, but I hope that in the coming years, there will be more than twice-yearly visits.

I really enjoyed my new experiences with my brother as well. I have never really had a chance to spend time with him in the absence of all the other family, so that was cool. I am grateful that he introduced me to something I knew nothing about, as I really value the learning aspect of "living off the land." I'm proud of him and the life he has he established down there.

And just in case you aren't totally convinced of the cuteness of sweet face Brody, I will leave you with some more delicious evidence.

He's killing me with that face!
Dancing with daddy to 50 cent.

Hey girl. Yeah you. Wanna share a milkie?
Yes. Yes you are.
Our attempt at Christmas card photo. Don't worry - no babies were harmed in the process.
See? He loved it. Well, until he didn't.

Santa's little helper and his momma.

Love you guys - counting down the days until I get to smooch on the face again.