Have you ever been punched in the gut? I have. I was maybe 11 years old when a boy in my class punched me right in the stomach for mouthing off to him during art class. I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt.
These days, my daughter is the one flailing her limbs at my abdomen, but the funny thing is that she's doing so from 20,000 leagues under my lunch.
For weeks, I couldn't wait to feel my baby kicking and moving. The doctor told me at my last appointment that I should be able to feel her any time soon, and I received an email at 18 weeks from "Similac Smart Moms" titled "Here come the kicks." You can imagine my dismay when I didn't seem to be feeling anything.
I can't pinpoint the exact day, but all of a sudden, baby girl started raving. I went from feeling nothing more than indigestion to very purposeful churning sensations. These first motions, called "quickening," are known to some cultures as the true beginning of life.
Whenever I feel her kicking, I think to myself, "Well, hello to you too." When I went for my last ultrasound, she appeared to be fast asleep when her image first showed up on the screen. After a little prodding, she began rustling around. By the time the ultrasound tech was finished looking at her heart, she was in a full sprint. Her little legs were moving like propellers, but the poor thing had nowhere to go but face first into my uterus. I was relieved to see that she's a healthy, vivacious baby. Her activity is both charming and comforting.
At times, however, the kicks are sharp, painful and inconvenient. From what I've read and experienced, babies in utero are more likely to be still during the day when mom is moving around a lot, creating a rocking motion. When mom rests, baby wakes up. Unfortunately, I'm quite stationary during class every day. While I take notes, she takes the opportunity to dance.
She also goes crazy whenever I do. If I have an adrenaline rush, get nervous or excited, baby girl empathizes with me. When a nasty storm passed by my home very early this morning and repeatedly smashed tree limbs into my window, I woke up alarmed and a little scared. My daughter must have decided it was breakfast time right then even though I still had a few hours of sleep to go.
Baby girl is kicking as I type right now, and I can't help but smile every time I glance down at my belly- even if she is jumping on my bladder like a 5-year-old in a moonbounce at the state fair.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Maybe Baby
Two days before the start of my senior year of high school, I went to a sleepover at a friend's house to enjoy a girls night and to watch the season premier of some stupid MTV show. Around midnight, a few of us started getting restless. I, being the rebellious one, elected to quietly get us out of the house and drive to Wal Mart. Four girls, including me, piled into my car. When we got there, half of them confessed that they wanted to buy pregnancy tests. I just wanted to buy candy...
After puberty, sexually-active girls are programmed to have a paranoia about pregnancy. If they happen to throw up one morning, the deal might as well be sealed. I have no idea why, but everyone thinks morning sickness is the surefire indicator of a bun in the oven. Heads up ladies: It doesn't only happen in the morning, and even if you do barf after breakfast, you may have just gotten a hold of a bad Pop Tart.
So I bought my Sour Patch Watermelon gummies while two of my cohorts nervously purchased pregnancy tests. I stood in the bathroom with them while they peed on the little sticks and feigned relief with them when the minus sign appeared. When they explained the reasons for prenatal paranoia, I had to muster control of every muscle in my face not to laugh. One girl hadn't done anything sexual in months; her "monthly bill" was just a couple days late.
Today I was flipping through the March issue of "Baby Talk" magazine when I came upon "5 Signs You Might Be Preggers." (That's seriously the headline.) "1) Sore breasts. 2) Fatigue. 3) Food cravings or aversions. 4) Constipation or bloating. 5) Super [sense of] smell."
Here's a sign you might be pregnant: You're reading "Baby Talk" magazine!
Only one definite way to determine pregnancy exists. You have to drive to the drug store, wander down the family planning aisle, choke down your pride while you pay for the test, go home and pee on it.
The human body is a miraculous thing. It's capable of performing countless functions on autopilot every minute of every day, but it's also not perfect. To any girl reading this: Do not make yourself panic. Women skip periods or throw up in the morning for any number of reasons. If you really think pregnancy is a possibility, then remain calm and do the practical thing.
I know plenty of girls who are just too scared. They're scared of buying the test, scared of using it, scared of the outcome. I understand that fear, but reality tends to be a bit more pressing. Contact me if you like. I'll go with you to buy a test. I'll do everything but pee on it for you, actually.
After puberty, sexually-active girls are programmed to have a paranoia about pregnancy. If they happen to throw up one morning, the deal might as well be sealed. I have no idea why, but everyone thinks morning sickness is the surefire indicator of a bun in the oven. Heads up ladies: It doesn't only happen in the morning, and even if you do barf after breakfast, you may have just gotten a hold of a bad Pop Tart.
So I bought my Sour Patch Watermelon gummies while two of my cohorts nervously purchased pregnancy tests. I stood in the bathroom with them while they peed on the little sticks and feigned relief with them when the minus sign appeared. When they explained the reasons for prenatal paranoia, I had to muster control of every muscle in my face not to laugh. One girl hadn't done anything sexual in months; her "monthly bill" was just a couple days late.
Today I was flipping through the March issue of "Baby Talk" magazine when I came upon "5 Signs You Might Be Preggers." (That's seriously the headline.) "1) Sore breasts. 2) Fatigue. 3) Food cravings or aversions. 4) Constipation or bloating. 5) Super [sense of] smell."
Here's a sign you might be pregnant: You're reading "Baby Talk" magazine!
Only one definite way to determine pregnancy exists. You have to drive to the drug store, wander down the family planning aisle, choke down your pride while you pay for the test, go home and pee on it.
The human body is a miraculous thing. It's capable of performing countless functions on autopilot every minute of every day, but it's also not perfect. To any girl reading this: Do not make yourself panic. Women skip periods or throw up in the morning for any number of reasons. If you really think pregnancy is a possibility, then remain calm and do the practical thing.
I know plenty of girls who are just too scared. They're scared of buying the test, scared of using it, scared of the outcome. I understand that fear, but reality tends to be a bit more pressing. Contact me if you like. I'll go with you to buy a test. I'll do everything but pee on it for you, actually.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Adventures in Babysitting
My baby girl already has a lot of people who love her, especially me. She's also got a fleet of three children who are dying to meet her- her aunt and uncles. For Christmas, I told my dad and stepmom that they could take off for a whole weekend and I would watch the kids. I got here eight hours ago and I'm exhausted.
When I got pregnant, I knew the world was not going to slow down for me. Little did I know how much I would slow down in spite of the world. Elementary-age children are fast. They think fast, talk fast, move fast. They like to spin in circles for no reason and they will literally get distracted by something shiny. I've been keeping up with my siblings for over a decade, and until now, I was always bigger, faster, tougher. It seems I have gotten puffy and soft.
The oldest, Jack, is tricky. Intellectually, he's way ahead of the game, but getting him to just accept that he's a kid requires patience. While in the car earlier, all four of us were brainstorming good Disney movies because I would like to accumulate a few of the good ones for baby girl. Jack stood his ground and maintained that despite the surprising amount of stabbing, Disney movies are lame. He wanted to watch a "Jurassic Park" or "Star Wars" movie this evening, but let's just say no one was holding him down when we watched "The Lion King 2: Simba's Pride."
My sister, Carly, would probably massage my feet if I said they were sore. She will do absolutely any chore or favor without needing to be asked. If you try to wrangle her into a pair of jeans, however, she will fight you tooth and nail. She's a simple girl with a kind heart. Earlier, I had to tell her to stop doing everything for me because she just didn't have to. When I asked her if the glass bottle I drank from went into the recycling, she said, "Hang on just one second and I'll put it in there for you." I have every faith that she will spoil her little niece rotten, and that's fine with me. Every little girl needs a cool aunt.
Not to be forgotten for even a second, Thomas has always existed as the comic and calming relief. Quieter than the other two, TJ will always go with the flow. I don't know if I've ever met a 6-year-old with better manners, and because he's so sweet, he's hard to resist. Thomas reminds me that even quiet children still have incredibly active minds. This afternoon, he willingly offered up the information that rock climbing harnesses feel like really big underwear. Were we having a conversation about rock climbing or underwear at the time? Nope.
Some people might think it's odd that my daughter will have an 11-year-old uncle, a 9-year-old aunt and a 7-year-old uncle when she's born. I honestly wouldn't have it any other way. As kids themselves, they'll be able to share things with her that maybe I've forgotten. I was 10, 12 and 14 years old when each of my siblings was born, and I loved watching them grow while I grew up myself.
Besides, heaven forbid some component of my having a child be conventional.
When I got pregnant, I knew the world was not going to slow down for me. Little did I know how much I would slow down in spite of the world. Elementary-age children are fast. They think fast, talk fast, move fast. They like to spin in circles for no reason and they will literally get distracted by something shiny. I've been keeping up with my siblings for over a decade, and until now, I was always bigger, faster, tougher. It seems I have gotten puffy and soft.
The oldest, Jack, is tricky. Intellectually, he's way ahead of the game, but getting him to just accept that he's a kid requires patience. While in the car earlier, all four of us were brainstorming good Disney movies because I would like to accumulate a few of the good ones for baby girl. Jack stood his ground and maintained that despite the surprising amount of stabbing, Disney movies are lame. He wanted to watch a "Jurassic Park" or "Star Wars" movie this evening, but let's just say no one was holding him down when we watched "The Lion King 2: Simba's Pride."
My sister, Carly, would probably massage my feet if I said they were sore. She will do absolutely any chore or favor without needing to be asked. If you try to wrangle her into a pair of jeans, however, she will fight you tooth and nail. She's a simple girl with a kind heart. Earlier, I had to tell her to stop doing everything for me because she just didn't have to. When I asked her if the glass bottle I drank from went into the recycling, she said, "Hang on just one second and I'll put it in there for you." I have every faith that she will spoil her little niece rotten, and that's fine with me. Every little girl needs a cool aunt.
Not to be forgotten for even a second, Thomas has always existed as the comic and calming relief. Quieter than the other two, TJ will always go with the flow. I don't know if I've ever met a 6-year-old with better manners, and because he's so sweet, he's hard to resist. Thomas reminds me that even quiet children still have incredibly active minds. This afternoon, he willingly offered up the information that rock climbing harnesses feel like really big underwear. Were we having a conversation about rock climbing or underwear at the time? Nope.
Some people might think it's odd that my daughter will have an 11-year-old uncle, a 9-year-old aunt and a 7-year-old uncle when she's born. I honestly wouldn't have it any other way. As kids themselves, they'll be able to share things with her that maybe I've forgotten. I was 10, 12 and 14 years old when each of my siblings was born, and I loved watching them grow while I grew up myself.
Besides, heaven forbid some component of my having a child be conventional.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Mind Your Manners
Lately I've been considering things that will be drastically different between my childhood and the way I envision my daughter's. Let's be honest- cartoons in the 90s were way better than anything animated on TV these days. When I was little, Disney released "Aladdin," "The Lion King," and "Mulan," and the first "Toy Story" movie. Now they're reverting to the standard princess story lines and Andy is all grown up. I was also taught cursive in elementary school, not typing.
Granted, I wish someone had taught me how to type properly because even at 21, I still chicken peck at the keyboard. I do know, however, that I want my daughter to learn one thing to the same extent that I did: manners.
I can recall rolling my eyes when one of my parents reminded me to use manners on the occasion that I neglected them. But now, I'm extremely thankful they instilled those values in me. I never forget to say "please" and "thank you." When someone asks how I'm doing, I reply, "I'm doing well, thank you. How are you?" I hold the door for people with children, or anybody for that matter. I didn't realize how important these things were when I was a kid. Now I get it.
People remember someone with good manners. Showing respect is the best way to get it back. I can honestly say that manners have never failed me, and the older I get, the more I pay attention to them in others.
This could be my hormones talking, but lately, other peoples' bad manners have been driving me up the wall. When I hold the door for a girl in my dorm and she doesn't bother to offer thanks, I wish for the briefest moment that I hadn't bothered. I can't stand it when I'm ordering food, at someone nearby says to the waiter, "Gimme a...." instead of "May I have..." I've worked in the food service industry. They're not afraid to spit in your lunch.
Today I was walking to class when a guy in his car tossed his cigarette butt out the window and onto the sidewalk while he sat in traffic. I was so tempted to pick it up, toss it back in his car and say, "Excuse me, you dropped this." My dad says that's a good way to get beat up, and obviously I didn't do it, but c'mon people. Don't toss your butts onto the sidewalk of a non-smoking campus.
I don't expect my daughter to curtsy, but I do intend to teach her a firm handshake and polite conversation. I've never heard someone say, "That girl's manners were TOO good. She needs to stop." So go ahead, baby girl, watch the crappy cartoons and don't bother with cursive, but please always remember to say "thank you."
Granted, I wish someone had taught me how to type properly because even at 21, I still chicken peck at the keyboard. I do know, however, that I want my daughter to learn one thing to the same extent that I did: manners.
I can recall rolling my eyes when one of my parents reminded me to use manners on the occasion that I neglected them. But now, I'm extremely thankful they instilled those values in me. I never forget to say "please" and "thank you." When someone asks how I'm doing, I reply, "I'm doing well, thank you. How are you?" I hold the door for people with children, or anybody for that matter. I didn't realize how important these things were when I was a kid. Now I get it.
People remember someone with good manners. Showing respect is the best way to get it back. I can honestly say that manners have never failed me, and the older I get, the more I pay attention to them in others.
This could be my hormones talking, but lately, other peoples' bad manners have been driving me up the wall. When I hold the door for a girl in my dorm and she doesn't bother to offer thanks, I wish for the briefest moment that I hadn't bothered. I can't stand it when I'm ordering food, at someone nearby says to the waiter, "Gimme a...." instead of "May I have..." I've worked in the food service industry. They're not afraid to spit in your lunch.
Today I was walking to class when a guy in his car tossed his cigarette butt out the window and onto the sidewalk while he sat in traffic. I was so tempted to pick it up, toss it back in his car and say, "Excuse me, you dropped this." My dad says that's a good way to get beat up, and obviously I didn't do it, but c'mon people. Don't toss your butts onto the sidewalk of a non-smoking campus.
I don't expect my daughter to curtsy, but I do intend to teach her a firm handshake and polite conversation. I've never heard someone say, "That girl's manners were TOO good. She needs to stop." So go ahead, baby girl, watch the crappy cartoons and don't bother with cursive, but please always remember to say "thank you."
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Meet Me Halfway
Today is the 20 week mark in my pregnancy. I'm halfway there!
When I reflect on the first half of my pregnancy, I recall the fear I felt in November, the nerves from December, the readjustments in January, and the assimilation to motherhood that has punctuated February. At the risk of sounding cliche, this has been very much a roller coaster ride.
My relationships with the important people in my life have undergone intense changes in the last four and half months. At a time when I thought I would be fully branching away from my family, I need them more than ever. Roy and I are nowhere near where we were in November. These days, my circle of friends has evolved, and even though I miss some old faces, the people who truly want to be supportive and kind are the only ones who remain.
I could probably look back on the last 20 weeks with plenty to say all night, but I would much rather spend my time anticipating the next 20 weeks to come. These are the big ones- literally. Most of the first half of my pregnancy was undetected. I had no problem with people knowing I was expecting, but passers by on the street would not immediately detect the bump unless I was wearing a tighter shirt.
From here on out, the jig is up. As if the bump I have isn't enough, the hot flashes I get during class are enough to let people know that something is definitely going on with me. Wiping sweat from your forehead and fanning yourself with note cards when the weather outside is still 50 degrees or colder is hardly subtle.
I'm beyond excited for the next 20 weeks. If my entire life has been any indication, they're going to fly by. Next thing I know, I won't be typing about pregnancy, I'll be talking about motherhood.
When I reflect on the first half of my pregnancy, I recall the fear I felt in November, the nerves from December, the readjustments in January, and the assimilation to motherhood that has punctuated February. At the risk of sounding cliche, this has been very much a roller coaster ride.
My relationships with the important people in my life have undergone intense changes in the last four and half months. At a time when I thought I would be fully branching away from my family, I need them more than ever. Roy and I are nowhere near where we were in November. These days, my circle of friends has evolved, and even though I miss some old faces, the people who truly want to be supportive and kind are the only ones who remain.
I could probably look back on the last 20 weeks with plenty to say all night, but I would much rather spend my time anticipating the next 20 weeks to come. These are the big ones- literally. Most of the first half of my pregnancy was undetected. I had no problem with people knowing I was expecting, but passers by on the street would not immediately detect the bump unless I was wearing a tighter shirt.
From here on out, the jig is up. As if the bump I have isn't enough, the hot flashes I get during class are enough to let people know that something is definitely going on with me. Wiping sweat from your forehead and fanning yourself with note cards when the weather outside is still 50 degrees or colder is hardly subtle.
I'm beyond excited for the next 20 weeks. If my entire life has been any indication, they're going to fly by. Next thing I know, I won't be typing about pregnancy, I'll be talking about motherhood.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Plan B is for Baby
The proverbial "they" say that life is what happens while you were busy making other plans. These days, I will testify to that sentiment.
If you had asked me what I planned to do with my life at this time last year, I might have said that I had ever intention of graduating, getting out of Kentucky, renting a small apartment, getting a job as a journalist, and adopting a kitten from the local animal shelter to keep me company. I envisioned myself answering middle-of-the-night phone calls to go cover a story somewhere and blowing my paychecks on grocery supplies to make a recipe I just had to try. My 20s were going to be a time for trial and error, slaving over work and traveling on the weekends, figuring myself out one day at a time and maintaining a devil-may-care attitude in the meantime.
People often ask me what went through my head when I first discovered my pregnancy. I was scared and excited in a way that I thought I might laugh, cry, sneeze, throw up and faint all at once. Looking back on it, I'd like to say that a million thoughts went through my head at that moment when the stick read positive, but there was really only one. I realized that anything I did or wanted to do would never be just for me, but rather me and my baby.
I surprised more than one person with my sense of calm during those early weeks of pregnancy. Celeste was on standby for me to have a complete mental breakdown almost every day for a month or two. Instead of "congratulations," people I told often stuttered and said, "I don't know what to say... Are you OK?"
In many ways, I wasn't OK. Despite the overwhelming amount of attention that pregnancy brings, there have been plenty of times when I've felt very much alone. But I am beyond excited to be having this baby. These words are neither a plea for pity nor an abridged version of my lamentations. When I started this blog, I had every intention of discussing pregnancy with honesty and sincerity with healthy doses of wit and sarcasm to fill in the cracks.
I'm not going to pretend that pregnancy at a young age isn't hard. I wish I wouldn't be living in a dorm room until my seventh month or that I could afford the crib bedding that I've fallen hopelessly in love with. But not one second of any day has gone by since November 14 that I've regretted this baby.
"They" also say that everything happens for a reason. I still have an amazing life. There are lessons I will learn from these experiences that many people will never know. I'm still going to graduate, and I'll be damned if I don't eventually adopt a kitten from the local animal shelter. But now, instead of responding to phone calls from an editor in the middle of the night, I'll jump out of bed at the sound of a hungry infant.
And that's just fine with me.
If you had asked me what I planned to do with my life at this time last year, I might have said that I had ever intention of graduating, getting out of Kentucky, renting a small apartment, getting a job as a journalist, and adopting a kitten from the local animal shelter to keep me company. I envisioned myself answering middle-of-the-night phone calls to go cover a story somewhere and blowing my paychecks on grocery supplies to make a recipe I just had to try. My 20s were going to be a time for trial and error, slaving over work and traveling on the weekends, figuring myself out one day at a time and maintaining a devil-may-care attitude in the meantime.
People often ask me what went through my head when I first discovered my pregnancy. I was scared and excited in a way that I thought I might laugh, cry, sneeze, throw up and faint all at once. Looking back on it, I'd like to say that a million thoughts went through my head at that moment when the stick read positive, but there was really only one. I realized that anything I did or wanted to do would never be just for me, but rather me and my baby.
I surprised more than one person with my sense of calm during those early weeks of pregnancy. Celeste was on standby for me to have a complete mental breakdown almost every day for a month or two. Instead of "congratulations," people I told often stuttered and said, "I don't know what to say... Are you OK?"
In many ways, I wasn't OK. Despite the overwhelming amount of attention that pregnancy brings, there have been plenty of times when I've felt very much alone. But I am beyond excited to be having this baby. These words are neither a plea for pity nor an abridged version of my lamentations. When I started this blog, I had every intention of discussing pregnancy with honesty and sincerity with healthy doses of wit and sarcasm to fill in the cracks.
I'm not going to pretend that pregnancy at a young age isn't hard. I wish I wouldn't be living in a dorm room until my seventh month or that I could afford the crib bedding that I've fallen hopelessly in love with. But not one second of any day has gone by since November 14 that I've regretted this baby.
"They" also say that everything happens for a reason. I still have an amazing life. There are lessons I will learn from these experiences that many people will never know. I'm still going to graduate, and I'll be damned if I don't eventually adopt a kitten from the local animal shelter. But now, instead of responding to phone calls from an editor in the middle of the night, I'll jump out of bed at the sound of a hungry infant.
And that's just fine with me.
Friday, February 18, 2011
It's Only Life
Time for a little realism: Some days just aren't as great as others. Groundbreaking, right?
Pregnancy hormones are very real. I've been known to have a resilient personality. I'm notorious for bottling up feelings and keeping them to myself. I'm comfortable that way. But I'm slowly learning that sometimes you just have to let go. Using energy on carrying around this baby and making sure I take good care of myself means less energy for keeping myself together.
I would be lying if I said I haven't had my share of breakdowns so far during this pregnancy. For the most part, I'm a generally content person, but I have fears, concerns and frustrations that bring out the less put-together side of me.
I'm slowly learning that I need to let myself be human. If it's OK for me to give in to cravings and walk around my dorm with my pants unbuttoned, then it's OK for me to lose my cool once in a while.
Common thoughts running through my head when I'm not feeling so great:
1. I don't want to be at school. I don't want to sit in an uncomfortable desk that hurts my butt or listen to my professor talk about international governmental organizations.
2. These pants fit me yesterday! Why won't they button today?!
3. Why is it so damn hot in this room?
4. I'm never going to be prepared enough for this baby!
5. Be nice to me for crying out loud!
But here's the deal: You gotta pull yourself up by the elastic waistband and keep going. It's OK for anybody to cry, but when that's all said and done, the day goes on. I threw a plastic hanger at the wall earlier and it broke. Was it mature? No. Did I feel better? Yes.
After that, I got up, put on a fresh coat of mascara, went out to get some snacks, and got back to my room just in time for the fire alarm to go off. Twice.
Thank goodness for my baby girl. Thinking about her is the one thing that makes me feel better every single time. On a side note, I have now learned not to respond to that fire alarm without taking a snack outside with me.
Pregnancy hormones are very real. I've been known to have a resilient personality. I'm notorious for bottling up feelings and keeping them to myself. I'm comfortable that way. But I'm slowly learning that sometimes you just have to let go. Using energy on carrying around this baby and making sure I take good care of myself means less energy for keeping myself together.
I would be lying if I said I haven't had my share of breakdowns so far during this pregnancy. For the most part, I'm a generally content person, but I have fears, concerns and frustrations that bring out the less put-together side of me.
I'm slowly learning that I need to let myself be human. If it's OK for me to give in to cravings and walk around my dorm with my pants unbuttoned, then it's OK for me to lose my cool once in a while.
Common thoughts running through my head when I'm not feeling so great:
1. I don't want to be at school. I don't want to sit in an uncomfortable desk that hurts my butt or listen to my professor talk about international governmental organizations.
2. These pants fit me yesterday! Why won't they button today?!
3. Why is it so damn hot in this room?
4. I'm never going to be prepared enough for this baby!
5. Be nice to me for crying out loud!
But here's the deal: You gotta pull yourself up by the elastic waistband and keep going. It's OK for anybody to cry, but when that's all said and done, the day goes on. I threw a plastic hanger at the wall earlier and it broke. Was it mature? No. Did I feel better? Yes.
After that, I got up, put on a fresh coat of mascara, went out to get some snacks, and got back to my room just in time for the fire alarm to go off. Twice.
Thank goodness for my baby girl. Thinking about her is the one thing that makes me feel better every single time. On a side note, I have now learned not to respond to that fire alarm without taking a snack outside with me.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Bump Watch- 19 Weeks
Here's the latest! Sometimes I think baby girl gets bigger by the minute. My lovely roommate, Celeste, takes a picture of my belly every Wednesday. I love seeing her get bigger. The baby, that is...
19 weeks
19 weeks
So embarrassing...!
I love being pregnant, but I would be lying if I said it hasn't been without its share of awkward, uncomfortable, and downright humiliating moments. Since I'm all about laughing at yourself and taking life as it comes, I thought I would share the top five most notable embarrassments from my pregnancy so far. Hope you get a giggle at my expense.
1. Size 0 skinny jeans are unforgiving if you gain approximately 1.5 pounds. I used to slide them on every day and walk out the door with no problem, and while they still fit over my legs and hips, my waist is another thing entirely. Simple solution: unbutton them. For weeks now, whenever I sit down for an extended period of time, I unbutton and unzip my pants and casually drape my shirt over the opening. No one notices.
But you know what they do notice? When you stand up and walk out of the room without re-buttoning. Yes, my friends, I have walked out into the hall of one of the busiest buildings at the University of Kentucky with unbuttoned pants. Apparently everyone else is a lot more observant than me because I didn't do anything about it until I took note of people glancing in the direction of my crotch. Woops.
2. Everybody farts. Pregnancy just means you fart more often and with less control. And you know what I keep reading? It only gets worse. That's all I have to say on that subject.
3. As Roy has seen fit to discuss on his blog, my tailbone is often a source of pain and discomfort. Anyone will tell you that the best cure for an aching back is a massage, but this just happens to be my lower back. Quite low, actually. Yes, I request "butt" massages, but I can swallow my pride on that one because my daughter is apparently trying to make my tailbone just fall off. Someone has to hold it on!
4. The other day, I had just left my room to go indulge a craving. That craving was just about one mile away. Barely out of the building, I ran into a friend of mine who asked me where I was headed off to. After I told her, she looked at me dumbfounded and said, "You're walking all the way to McDonald's for fries?" All I could say was yes.
Pregnancy cravings are insatiable and demanding. I have no shame in taking on a long walk for french fries, but it's just a little embarrassing when someone calls you out on your own zeal for cheap, fried cholesterol.
5. Visits to the doctor's office so far have been bearable. I didn't enjoy having blood taken from my arm, but I clenched my jaw and got over it for the sake of baby girl and her health. I'm even getting used to peeing in a cup once or twice a month. But you know what never becomes less uncomfortable? A pelvic exam.
The very first time Roy came to the doctor with me was to hear the baby's heartbeat. This was long before we knew she was a girl. When I went to the nurse's room for her to check my weight and blood pressure, she told me that since it had been a year since my last pelvic exam, the good doc might as well go ahead and knock that out today.
So I laid there, feet in the stirrups and fists clenched, while my doctor did whatever she does down there. Only a thin white paper sheet stood between Roy and my discomfort. I'm sure my face contorted into all kinds of expressions for him to see while I was probed. I guess I should get over it since all modesty flies out the window in just a few short months.
That's all I have for now, but I'm only about halfway finished with this pregnancy. I'm sure that as I get bigger, my embarrassments will only become more frequent and profound. Stay tuned!
1. Size 0 skinny jeans are unforgiving if you gain approximately 1.5 pounds. I used to slide them on every day and walk out the door with no problem, and while they still fit over my legs and hips, my waist is another thing entirely. Simple solution: unbutton them. For weeks now, whenever I sit down for an extended period of time, I unbutton and unzip my pants and casually drape my shirt over the opening. No one notices.
But you know what they do notice? When you stand up and walk out of the room without re-buttoning. Yes, my friends, I have walked out into the hall of one of the busiest buildings at the University of Kentucky with unbuttoned pants. Apparently everyone else is a lot more observant than me because I didn't do anything about it until I took note of people glancing in the direction of my crotch. Woops.
2. Everybody farts. Pregnancy just means you fart more often and with less control. And you know what I keep reading? It only gets worse. That's all I have to say on that subject.
3. As Roy has seen fit to discuss on his blog, my tailbone is often a source of pain and discomfort. Anyone will tell you that the best cure for an aching back is a massage, but this just happens to be my lower back. Quite low, actually. Yes, I request "butt" massages, but I can swallow my pride on that one because my daughter is apparently trying to make my tailbone just fall off. Someone has to hold it on!
4. The other day, I had just left my room to go indulge a craving. That craving was just about one mile away. Barely out of the building, I ran into a friend of mine who asked me where I was headed off to. After I told her, she looked at me dumbfounded and said, "You're walking all the way to McDonald's for fries?" All I could say was yes.
Pregnancy cravings are insatiable and demanding. I have no shame in taking on a long walk for french fries, but it's just a little embarrassing when someone calls you out on your own zeal for cheap, fried cholesterol.
5. Visits to the doctor's office so far have been bearable. I didn't enjoy having blood taken from my arm, but I clenched my jaw and got over it for the sake of baby girl and her health. I'm even getting used to peeing in a cup once or twice a month. But you know what never becomes less uncomfortable? A pelvic exam.
The very first time Roy came to the doctor with me was to hear the baby's heartbeat. This was long before we knew she was a girl. When I went to the nurse's room for her to check my weight and blood pressure, she told me that since it had been a year since my last pelvic exam, the good doc might as well go ahead and knock that out today.
So I laid there, feet in the stirrups and fists clenched, while my doctor did whatever she does down there. Only a thin white paper sheet stood between Roy and my discomfort. I'm sure my face contorted into all kinds of expressions for him to see while I was probed. I guess I should get over it since all modesty flies out the window in just a few short months.
That's all I have for now, but I'm only about halfway finished with this pregnancy. I'm sure that as I get bigger, my embarrassments will only become more frequent and profound. Stay tuned!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Baby Registry
The word "register" has never been an especially important word to me. I've registered for classes for the last six semesters. I registered to vote when I was 18. I've even operated a cash register. You get my point. It's not a fancy word. But now that I've discovered the joys of having a baby registry, nothing can squelch my excitement.
Yesterday afternoon, I visited Babies R' Us just to get the basic information about a baby registry. Before I knew what hit me, a nice man had handed me a scanning gun and I was off to the races.
I didn't actually register for many things in the store. Instead, my obsession transpires online. With a click of the mouse, I can register for any item. To add to my craze, I also have a handy checklist to make sure I don't forget anything. Granted, this checklist came from Babies R' Us, and since their highest priority is profit, they add a lot on there that you don't really want on the registry. Example: Why would I register for 'Thank You' cards? No guest wants to buy the token of gratitude that they can expect in the mail a week later.
After crossing off everything I know I don't want to register for, I've got a working list to build from. Last night, Roy said to me, "Kellie, you have months left in your pregnancy. You don't have to finish the registry tonight."
I think I replied with something to the effect of, "My mood changes at the drop of a hat and not a lot of things make me blindly happy any more, but this does. Let me have this!"
I know my registry doesn't have to be completed today, tomorrow, or really even this month, but I find great solace in picking out the things my baby girl needs. It gives me comfort to know that eventually, she'll be well provided for. Plus, there's nothing quite like the powerful feeling that comes with operating your own scanning gun.
If you want to see my registry or you're just curious about what goes into one, you can visit www.babiesrus.com or www.target.com and type in my name. Believe me, there's only one Kellie Doligale out there.
Yesterday afternoon, I visited Babies R' Us just to get the basic information about a baby registry. Before I knew what hit me, a nice man had handed me a scanning gun and I was off to the races.
I didn't actually register for many things in the store. Instead, my obsession transpires online. With a click of the mouse, I can register for any item. To add to my craze, I also have a handy checklist to make sure I don't forget anything. Granted, this checklist came from Babies R' Us, and since their highest priority is profit, they add a lot on there that you don't really want on the registry. Example: Why would I register for 'Thank You' cards? No guest wants to buy the token of gratitude that they can expect in the mail a week later.
After crossing off everything I know I don't want to register for, I've got a working list to build from. Last night, Roy said to me, "Kellie, you have months left in your pregnancy. You don't have to finish the registry tonight."
I think I replied with something to the effect of, "My mood changes at the drop of a hat and not a lot of things make me blindly happy any more, but this does. Let me have this!"
I know my registry doesn't have to be completed today, tomorrow, or really even this month, but I find great solace in picking out the things my baby girl needs. It gives me comfort to know that eventually, she'll be well provided for. Plus, there's nothing quite like the powerful feeling that comes with operating your own scanning gun.
If you want to see my registry or you're just curious about what goes into one, you can visit www.babiesrus.com or www.target.com and type in my name. Believe me, there's only one Kellie Doligale out there.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Until today, I had celebrated three national holidays with my daughter in utero. Let's just say they were very different from any holiday I had celebrated before she came along.
I learned that I was pregnant on November 14, just a short time before Thanksgiving. I had just enough time to freak out on my own before Turkey time rolled around and my family needed to know. I didn't quite know how to say, "Hey mom and dad, I know I'm young, broke and still in college, but I'm having a baby this summer!" The easiest part of Thanksgiving was telling myself that I could eat as many pieces of pumpkin pie as I wanted.
By the time Christmas rolled around, I had settled into a new lifestyle of caring for my unborn child and feeling much more comfortable in my situation. The holiday season meant it was time for me to interact with my extended family. On Christmas Day, I journeyed to Chicago with my dad, stepmom and siblings to tell everyone in my father's family that I was expecting a little addition. The only catch was that my siblings, Jack (11), Carly (9) and Thomas (6) couldn't know about their impending niece or nephew just yet. My big news had to be shared quietly with each individual person. I will admit, though, it was fun watching each of them react separately.
The only was to describe New Years is to say that it was intensely sober. Like any college student, I was accustomed to throwing back cheap liquor while watching the ball drop and nursing my hangovers with greasy Chinese food the next day. Not this year. I watched Ryan Seacrest host Dick Clark's Rockin' New Years Eve on TV from my couch in Louisville, wearing sweatpants and chugging down sparkling grape juice.
You might think this celebration sounds like five kinds of lame, but please believe me when I say it wasn't. To adjust a quote from the immaculate Ferris Bueller, I must say that pregnancy goes by pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. New Years was my chance to sit on the couch and bask in my pregnancy. I wasn't out with friends doing stupid things I would be embarrassed by the next day. I was contentedly perched on the sofa with my mom while Willow Smith whipped her hair back and forth on TV.
My siblings learned on Saturday night that they will have a niece this summer, and much to my delight, they were overjoyed. When I left them on Sunday to return to Lexington, they first hugged me and then wrapped their little hands around my belly while they whispered goodbyes to baby girl.
So today is Valentine's Day. I spent part of the afternoon with an old lover, (McDonald's french fries) and I just got back from firing up a registry at Babies R' Us. I have no complaints. My heart is full to the brim with love for my daughter. She makes any holiday much more interesting. I can't imagine what she'll bring to my life when she's here right around the Fourth of July.
I learned that I was pregnant on November 14, just a short time before Thanksgiving. I had just enough time to freak out on my own before Turkey time rolled around and my family needed to know. I didn't quite know how to say, "Hey mom and dad, I know I'm young, broke and still in college, but I'm having a baby this summer!" The easiest part of Thanksgiving was telling myself that I could eat as many pieces of pumpkin pie as I wanted.
By the time Christmas rolled around, I had settled into a new lifestyle of caring for my unborn child and feeling much more comfortable in my situation. The holiday season meant it was time for me to interact with my extended family. On Christmas Day, I journeyed to Chicago with my dad, stepmom and siblings to tell everyone in my father's family that I was expecting a little addition. The only catch was that my siblings, Jack (11), Carly (9) and Thomas (6) couldn't know about their impending niece or nephew just yet. My big news had to be shared quietly with each individual person. I will admit, though, it was fun watching each of them react separately.
The only was to describe New Years is to say that it was intensely sober. Like any college student, I was accustomed to throwing back cheap liquor while watching the ball drop and nursing my hangovers with greasy Chinese food the next day. Not this year. I watched Ryan Seacrest host Dick Clark's Rockin' New Years Eve on TV from my couch in Louisville, wearing sweatpants and chugging down sparkling grape juice.
You might think this celebration sounds like five kinds of lame, but please believe me when I say it wasn't. To adjust a quote from the immaculate Ferris Bueller, I must say that pregnancy goes by pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. New Years was my chance to sit on the couch and bask in my pregnancy. I wasn't out with friends doing stupid things I would be embarrassed by the next day. I was contentedly perched on the sofa with my mom while Willow Smith whipped her hair back and forth on TV.
My siblings learned on Saturday night that they will have a niece this summer, and much to my delight, they were overjoyed. When I left them on Sunday to return to Lexington, they first hugged me and then wrapped their little hands around my belly while they whispered goodbyes to baby girl.
So today is Valentine's Day. I spent part of the afternoon with an old lover, (McDonald's french fries) and I just got back from firing up a registry at Babies R' Us. I have no complaints. My heart is full to the brim with love for my daughter. She makes any holiday much more interesting. I can't imagine what she'll bring to my life when she's here right around the Fourth of July.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
The Longest, Coolest Day Ever
Friday was a day to remember- bigger than my 16th birthday, sweeter than prom, better than graduation, and more important to me than any day I've spent in college.
I found out yesterday that in addition to black cherry Kool-Aid and microwave waffles, my belly is home to a perfectly healthy, beautiful baby girl. Instead of typing out the whole story, I decided to make a video describing my experience.
Warning: I say "um" a lot, and I didn't edit out my mistakes. Enjoy!
Roy managed to catch parts of the day on camera. Have fun watching me act like a nutcase in this next video. Pictures of baby girl are at the end!
In my defense, I was incredibly anxious about making sure my baby was healthy. I may have come off as sassy, but that's just the nerves talking. :)
I found out yesterday that in addition to black cherry Kool-Aid and microwave waffles, my belly is home to a perfectly healthy, beautiful baby girl. Instead of typing out the whole story, I decided to make a video describing my experience.
Warning: I say "um" a lot, and I didn't edit out my mistakes. Enjoy!
Roy managed to catch parts of the day on camera. Have fun watching me act like a nutcase in this next video. Pictures of baby girl are at the end!
In my defense, I was incredibly anxious about making sure my baby was healthy. I may have come off as sassy, but that's just the nerves talking. :)
Friday, February 11, 2011
Baby Face
Today was the big day. The biggest day ever. I saw my baby's perfect face, back, legs, feet, heart, brain, everything...including some very important parts. Scroll down if you want to know what the little one is!
It's a girl!
It's a girl!Here is my daughter's first beauty shot. I've never been so in love.
Today has been a hectic and exciting day, so I'm taking a break for the rest of the night to enjoy some chocolate chip cookies and a Redbox rental with my mom and grandmother, but keep checking back because I'll be posting about the experience very soon. I'll even have a video to post so you can see how crazy nervous/excited I was before the appointment.
As of this moment, my jaw hurts from smiling. I feel so incredibly blessed to have a healthy daughter on the way.
Today has been a hectic and exciting day, so I'm taking a break for the rest of the night to enjoy some chocolate chip cookies and a Redbox rental with my mom and grandmother, but keep checking back because I'll be posting about the experience very soon. I'll even have a video to post so you can see how crazy nervous/excited I was before the appointment.
As of this moment, my jaw hurts from smiling. I feel so incredibly blessed to have a healthy daughter on the way.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Wait Watcher
I'm not a patient girl by nature. Never have been. So it only seems natural that waiting for tomorrow afternoon to roll around is utterly painful.
In approximately 14 hours, at 2 p.m. tomorrow, I will be sitting in an ultrasound room learning the gender of my baby. I will be absolutely thrilled regardless of whether the nurse squeals that it's a boy or a girl, so it seems a little odd that I'm so worked up over this appointment. Allow me to explain...
Everything about this baby is a mystery to me. I don't know if he or she is a calm baby, an active baby, a smiley baby or even a fat baby! Knowing the gender will reveal something to me about this otherwise enigmatic being.
My last ultrasound was 10 weeks ago, and even though I felt my heart skip a dozen beats when I saw the baby, he or she was still an amorphous blob with a head attached. Tomorrow's images should reveal facial structures, arms, legs, feet, and finally, the hush-hush parts. The other night, I even researched how the doctor can tell the difference between a boy or a girl even when the baby is 20,000 leagues under my intestines. Believe it or not, it's pretty obvious- there's either boy parts or not.
Another intrigue of mine: the shopping dynamic. While I, like most women, enjoy shopping on occasion, I'm far from obsessed. I would rather go to Target and pick out a new t-shirt than go to the mall for a sequined miniskirt. Call it simple taste. Regardless, everyone keeps telling me that after tomorrow, I'll be able to shop for my little peanut. I'm assuming that means I can start drowning myself in pink or blue. But I do love knowing that after all this time of just perusing the baby aisles at whatever store I happen to wander into, now I can actually purchase something if it strikes my fancy.
I can't bring my brain to think about anything but this baby right now. After four months of doing absolutely everything together, tomorrow I'll finally know something about my omnipresent best friend.
So what do you think- boy or girl? I'll keep you posted!
P.S. If you have any interest in reading my editorial from today's student newspaper, click HERE
In approximately 14 hours, at 2 p.m. tomorrow, I will be sitting in an ultrasound room learning the gender of my baby. I will be absolutely thrilled regardless of whether the nurse squeals that it's a boy or a girl, so it seems a little odd that I'm so worked up over this appointment. Allow me to explain...
Everything about this baby is a mystery to me. I don't know if he or she is a calm baby, an active baby, a smiley baby or even a fat baby! Knowing the gender will reveal something to me about this otherwise enigmatic being.
My last ultrasound was 10 weeks ago, and even though I felt my heart skip a dozen beats when I saw the baby, he or she was still an amorphous blob with a head attached. Tomorrow's images should reveal facial structures, arms, legs, feet, and finally, the hush-hush parts. The other night, I even researched how the doctor can tell the difference between a boy or a girl even when the baby is 20,000 leagues under my intestines. Believe it or not, it's pretty obvious- there's either boy parts or not.
Another intrigue of mine: the shopping dynamic. While I, like most women, enjoy shopping on occasion, I'm far from obsessed. I would rather go to Target and pick out a new t-shirt than go to the mall for a sequined miniskirt. Call it simple taste. Regardless, everyone keeps telling me that after tomorrow, I'll be able to shop for my little peanut. I'm assuming that means I can start drowning myself in pink or blue. But I do love knowing that after all this time of just perusing the baby aisles at whatever store I happen to wander into, now I can actually purchase something if it strikes my fancy.
I can't bring my brain to think about anything but this baby right now. After four months of doing absolutely everything together, tomorrow I'll finally know something about my omnipresent best friend.
So what do you think- boy or girl? I'll keep you posted!
P.S. If you have any interest in reading my editorial from today's student newspaper, click HERE
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Bump Watch- 18 Weeks
Here's the latest and greatest:
I'll know what the baby is in two days! The wait is killing me, but I better get over it. I have five months of pregnancy left...
So what do you think? Boy or girl?
I'll know what the baby is in two days! The wait is killing me, but I better get over it. I have five months of pregnancy left...
So what do you think? Boy or girl?
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Material Girl
I have a vague feeling that the next five months are going to fly by quicker than a Nascar pit stop, which scares me because I have almost nothing for this baby!
I had no idea that babies require so much stuff. I thought a crib was a big step, but I'm quickly realizing that it needs a mattress, sheets, blankets, and a bumper-minimum. If my little tyke came out right this minute, he or she could sleep in a crib with no mattress and wear a side-snap white t-shirt with tiny gray socks. That's it. Epic mommy fail.
I'm convinced that the human gestation period is nine months because that's just enough time to get over the first trimester nausea and fatigue, figure out everything you need to have, and finally acquire it all. When you're operating on a budget, purchasing power requires some flexibility and creativity. Don't get me wrong, I'm more than happy to get everything my baby needs, but I would be lying if I said I knew beforehand how much that is.
My strategy is to approach this monster one step at a time. After I have one thing checked off the list, I'll move on to the next one instead of taking on everything at once. My best resource has been consumer reviews. If someone else took the time to praise or condemn an item, I'm going to take the time to read what he or she said.
I spent this evening working on my business journalism class and researching crib mattresses. Some of them look like cardboard strips, while others seem nicer than anything I've ever slept on. For the cheaper ones, reviewers obviously said that you get what you pay for. One woman said that her baby's mattress had a deep and irreparable valley in the middle where the little one had been sleeping. Some of the really expensive ones, however, are too plush and pose a suffocation hazard to the baby.
Why isn't there just one store that carries the perfect mattress, the ideal swing and the safest car seat at reasonable prices? I do know this much: no matter what, my baby will have a mommy who loves him or her more than words can say, and no amount of money can buy that love. In the meantime, stay in there, baby! Mama will figure it out.
I had no idea that babies require so much stuff. I thought a crib was a big step, but I'm quickly realizing that it needs a mattress, sheets, blankets, and a bumper-minimum. If my little tyke came out right this minute, he or she could sleep in a crib with no mattress and wear a side-snap white t-shirt with tiny gray socks. That's it. Epic mommy fail.
I'm convinced that the human gestation period is nine months because that's just enough time to get over the first trimester nausea and fatigue, figure out everything you need to have, and finally acquire it all. When you're operating on a budget, purchasing power requires some flexibility and creativity. Don't get me wrong, I'm more than happy to get everything my baby needs, but I would be lying if I said I knew beforehand how much that is.
My strategy is to approach this monster one step at a time. After I have one thing checked off the list, I'll move on to the next one instead of taking on everything at once. My best resource has been consumer reviews. If someone else took the time to praise or condemn an item, I'm going to take the time to read what he or she said.
I spent this evening working on my business journalism class and researching crib mattresses. Some of them look like cardboard strips, while others seem nicer than anything I've ever slept on. For the cheaper ones, reviewers obviously said that you get what you pay for. One woman said that her baby's mattress had a deep and irreparable valley in the middle where the little one had been sleeping. Some of the really expensive ones, however, are too plush and pose a suffocation hazard to the baby.
Why isn't there just one store that carries the perfect mattress, the ideal swing and the safest car seat at reasonable prices? I do know this much: no matter what, my baby will have a mommy who loves him or her more than words can say, and no amount of money can buy that love. In the meantime, stay in there, baby! Mama will figure it out.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Flying by the Seat of My Maternity Pants
My very least favorite thing about being an adult: finances. I despise the notion of bills and budgets, and credit cards scare the living daylights out of me. For 21 years, I managed to be responsible for no one but myself, but now my entire world has turned upside down.
I've been reading my share of pregnancy/parenting magazines and books, many of which profess to have articles for the budget-conscious consumer. I'm calling a big "BS" on that one, because they really only cater to married families with budgets on steroids. I understand that college students expecting a surprise baby aren't their target markets, but can't I get an article about eating healthy without the promise of blowing my monthly cash on a bunch of organic nonsense? I want to know where I can find apple juice that won't rot my wallet or my teeth. Clearly, it was time to take matters into my tiny, obstinate hands.
I've developed a routine for getting my groceries and other necessities my way. I know that Meijer is the best place to go first because they sell most of my favorites at the most reasonable prices, and it's the only store that carries raspberry Pop Tarts and my favorite flavor of instant Asian noodles. Target is next, then Kroger, and if there's a few little things left, I visit the corner store on campus where I can use my student account money. The other important thing to remember is careful geographic planning so that the money I save doesn't get burnt up on gas.
I know my personal shopping preferences are relatively uninteresting, but my point is that no matter how many chapters or articles you read, pregnancy is about what works best for you. The whole process is such a unique experience, and while I respect older couples who have perfectly balanced checkbooks and entered baby world with preparedness, their way is not the only way. Pregnancy has forced me to appreciate each and every dollar, and I'm enjoying learning new ways to make a few extra...
After I dug through my entire wardrobe and forced myself to be honest about which things I would still wear after my midsection goes back to normal, I had a large box of clothes that were still in good condition. I loaded them into my trunk and took them to Plato's Closet, a consignment shop that buys and sells gently-worn clothing for teenagers and 20-somethings, and it was definitely worth the extra cash I got. The best thing was that Once Upon a Child was next door, so while the ladies at Plato's tallied up the net worth of the junk from my trunk, I got to browse around a well-priced baby land.
Pregnancy so far has been, without a doubt, the greatest learning experience of my life. By holding myself accountable for another tiny existence, I became more responsible in other areas of my life. While other people my age spend their cash on cheap liquor, concert tickets and one more pair of skinny jeans, I'm saving mine for diapers and a good car seat. Believe it or not, I prefer it that way.
I've been reading my share of pregnancy/parenting magazines and books, many of which profess to have articles for the budget-conscious consumer. I'm calling a big "BS" on that one, because they really only cater to married families with budgets on steroids. I understand that college students expecting a surprise baby aren't their target markets, but can't I get an article about eating healthy without the promise of blowing my monthly cash on a bunch of organic nonsense? I want to know where I can find apple juice that won't rot my wallet or my teeth. Clearly, it was time to take matters into my tiny, obstinate hands.
I've developed a routine for getting my groceries and other necessities my way. I know that Meijer is the best place to go first because they sell most of my favorites at the most reasonable prices, and it's the only store that carries raspberry Pop Tarts and my favorite flavor of instant Asian noodles. Target is next, then Kroger, and if there's a few little things left, I visit the corner store on campus where I can use my student account money. The other important thing to remember is careful geographic planning so that the money I save doesn't get burnt up on gas.
I know my personal shopping preferences are relatively uninteresting, but my point is that no matter how many chapters or articles you read, pregnancy is about what works best for you. The whole process is such a unique experience, and while I respect older couples who have perfectly balanced checkbooks and entered baby world with preparedness, their way is not the only way. Pregnancy has forced me to appreciate each and every dollar, and I'm enjoying learning new ways to make a few extra...
After I dug through my entire wardrobe and forced myself to be honest about which things I would still wear after my midsection goes back to normal, I had a large box of clothes that were still in good condition. I loaded them into my trunk and took them to Plato's Closet, a consignment shop that buys and sells gently-worn clothing for teenagers and 20-somethings, and it was definitely worth the extra cash I got. The best thing was that Once Upon a Child was next door, so while the ladies at Plato's tallied up the net worth of the junk from my trunk, I got to browse around a well-priced baby land.
Pregnancy so far has been, without a doubt, the greatest learning experience of my life. By holding myself accountable for another tiny existence, I became more responsible in other areas of my life. While other people my age spend their cash on cheap liquor, concert tickets and one more pair of skinny jeans, I'm saving mine for diapers and a good car seat. Believe it or not, I prefer it that way.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Surviving Friday
Sometimes, you just have to say to yourself, "Get your ass out of bed!"
Yesterday began like any Friday. I woke up feeling ready to take on the day full force. Fridays are always busy for me. If I stay in Lexington, Friday is for running errands. Otherwise, it means driving to Louisville, possibly for a doctor's appointment. It's always a long day. So when I got in the shower yesterday morning, I was shocked when I found myself doubled over on the verge of hurling. Please believe me when I say that thinking you're going to vomit in a public shower is both tragic and humbling.
After I rinsed off, I dragged my sorry, sopping self back to bed and moped for an hour. Every time I sat up, that acidic feeling crept up my esophagus once again. Finally, reality hit me. Just because I didn't feel well, the world wasn't going to stop turning for me. I had a list of places to go and things to get done, period. I glanced down at my belly with a look that said, "May I get up now?" and proceeded to get it together.
By then, my wet hair had dried while I was laying on it, so I had a lovely hairdo that looked like someone had run rubber cement through my locks, and my eyebrows weren't much better. My breakfast continued to threaten a revisit well into the afternoon, but I was feeling great just in time to get stuck in 5 o'clock traffic. (I made it through waiting for three stoplights before I reached into the back seat and grabbed a snack from one of my grocery bags.)
Pregnancy is unaccommodating. Sometimes the anxiety that comes with it is enough to make you puke, nevermind the hormones. But everyday living almost always means that no one is going to give you a pep talk to help you out of bed or run your errands. Living in a dorm means walking a half mile to the car only to find a construction worker leaning on it while he takes a smoke break. Reality is a punk.
But it's all worth it when you go home with a pack of the teeniest, tiniest white t-shirts you've ever seen just for the heck of it.
Yesterday began like any Friday. I woke up feeling ready to take on the day full force. Fridays are always busy for me. If I stay in Lexington, Friday is for running errands. Otherwise, it means driving to Louisville, possibly for a doctor's appointment. It's always a long day. So when I got in the shower yesterday morning, I was shocked when I found myself doubled over on the verge of hurling. Please believe me when I say that thinking you're going to vomit in a public shower is both tragic and humbling.
After I rinsed off, I dragged my sorry, sopping self back to bed and moped for an hour. Every time I sat up, that acidic feeling crept up my esophagus once again. Finally, reality hit me. Just because I didn't feel well, the world wasn't going to stop turning for me. I had a list of places to go and things to get done, period. I glanced down at my belly with a look that said, "May I get up now?" and proceeded to get it together.
By then, my wet hair had dried while I was laying on it, so I had a lovely hairdo that looked like someone had run rubber cement through my locks, and my eyebrows weren't much better. My breakfast continued to threaten a revisit well into the afternoon, but I was feeling great just in time to get stuck in 5 o'clock traffic. (I made it through waiting for three stoplights before I reached into the back seat and grabbed a snack from one of my grocery bags.)
Pregnancy is unaccommodating. Sometimes the anxiety that comes with it is enough to make you puke, nevermind the hormones. But everyday living almost always means that no one is going to give you a pep talk to help you out of bed or run your errands. Living in a dorm means walking a half mile to the car only to find a construction worker leaning on it while he takes a smoke break. Reality is a punk.
But it's all worth it when you go home with a pack of the teeniest, tiniest white t-shirts you've ever seen just for the heck of it.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Gone to Never Never Land
I love a good exaggeration. Never one to be subtle, I've always made my thoughts well known. So it makes perfect sense that I would say things like "I will NEVER wear leggings as pants." Well, I stand corrected, in black maternity leggings, no less.
If pregnancy has taught me anything so far (aside from how to get away with not wearing a bra or how to maximize apple juice intake), it's that you should never say never. Cliche, I know, but bear with me.
Pregnancy is an awkward state of being. You trade in a strut for a waddle, a lacy push-up for a peach support bra, and nights out with friends until 3 a.m. for nights in with a carton of ice cream and a midnight bedtime. I'm not saying I was the coolest girl on the block before I got pregnant, but I tried to keep myself well put-together and socialized. That being said, I had very strict ideas about what I wanted to wear- always skinny jeans with a loose-fitting, low-cut v-neck t-shirt. These days, I'm rocking a slightly different style...
I used to see girls walking down the street wearing leggings as pants and I
swore that I would never do that. "Why would they want anyone to be able to see every single contour of their legs?" I thought. Now I get it. Leggings are like a sports bra for your gams. They conform to your body, and they keep you warm without smothering your skin. They also don't look completely hideous when you're blinded by how comfortable they are.
My leggings are complete with a maternity belly panel so they hike all the way up to the top of my "waist" just under my chest. Even baby gets to enjoy their comfort, or at least that's what I like to tell myself. In reality, baby is probably laughing at me for thinking leggings are super comfy when he or she is chilling in a weightless waterbed bubble. Either way, I don't know what I would do without the item of clothing I once condemned. Props to my mom for insisting that I try them on in the maternity store!
All that being said, I have to wonder what I'll find myself wearing to class in the coming weeks. A Snuggie, perhaps?
If pregnancy has taught me anything so far (aside from how to get away with not wearing a bra or how to maximize apple juice intake), it's that you should never say never. Cliche, I know, but bear with me.
Pregnancy is an awkward state of being. You trade in a strut for a waddle, a lacy push-up for a peach support bra, and nights out with friends until 3 a.m. for nights in with a carton of ice cream and a midnight bedtime. I'm not saying I was the coolest girl on the block before I got pregnant, but I tried to keep myself well put-together and socialized. That being said, I had very strict ideas about what I wanted to wear- always skinny jeans with a loose-fitting, low-cut v-neck t-shirt. These days, I'm rocking a slightly different style...
I used to see girls walking down the street wearing leggings as pants and I
swore that I would never do that. "Why would they want anyone to be able to see every single contour of their legs?" I thought. Now I get it. Leggings are like a sports bra for your gams. They conform to your body, and they keep you warm without smothering your skin. They also don't look completely hideous when you're blinded by how comfortable they are.My leggings are complete with a maternity belly panel so they hike all the way up to the top of my "waist" just under my chest. Even baby gets to enjoy their comfort, or at least that's what I like to tell myself. In reality, baby is probably laughing at me for thinking leggings are super comfy when he or she is chilling in a weightless waterbed bubble. Either way, I don't know what I would do without the item of clothing I once condemned. Props to my mom for insisting that I try them on in the maternity store!
All that being said, I have to wonder what I'll find myself wearing to class in the coming weeks. A Snuggie, perhaps?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Bump Watch
Everybody loves a belly full of baby, right?
I'm at 17 weeks now, but here are a few pictures from the last month:
I'm at 17 weeks now, but here are a few pictures from the last month:
An Apple a Day...
"So have you had any cravings?"
I am positive that every pregnant woman is asked the same list of questions approximately one zillion times. "How far along are you?"
"Do you know the sex yet?"
"Do you have any names picked out?"
And my all-time favorite: "Who's the father?" But that's a post for another day...
My point is that pregnancy carries with it a predictable list of unavoidable questions, and for some reason, the subject of food is a hot anecdote. Some women seem to crave the most bizarre combinations, like a pizza topped with Triscuits and gummy worms. Others experience symptoms of pica, an uncommon disorder in which the affected wants to consume inedible substances like dirt, chalk or coins.
Personally, I crave the specifics. At any given moment, I want a funnel cake from the Kentucky State Fair, the juice that comes in the communion cups at church, the barbecue chips released by the Lays brand for only a short while when I was about ten years old, the baked chicken breasts that only my vegetarian stepmom can make just right, the spinach and artichoke dip that only my mom can make just right, or the strawberry yogurt that I've only ever found in convenience stores in Ireland.
Last night I went out at 11 p.m. to get my favorite sandwich from Jimmy John's. When I walked into the shop wearing my sweatpants, slippers and glasses, the cashier gave me a thoughtful look and said, "You're out awful late for just a sandwich."
"I'm pregnant."
"Say no more," she replied.
So far, only one food item has remained consistently delicious to my pregnant tastes: apples. I've been eating applesauce, dried apples, freeze-dried apples (which are very different from regular dried apples), and- you guessed it- gold ol' fashioned apples.
Last night I expressed genuine sadness when my boyfriend, Roy, refilled my glass of apple juice only to tell me that I was drinking the last of it. Tragedy, my friends. That sweet, tangy, hearty flavor is my greatest gustatory solace.
So to answer that particular question on the list- YES, I do have cravings. I am pregnant, after all.
I am positive that every pregnant woman is asked the same list of questions approximately one zillion times. "How far along are you?"
"Do you know the sex yet?"
"Do you have any names picked out?"
And my all-time favorite: "Who's the father?" But that's a post for another day...
My point is that pregnancy carries with it a predictable list of unavoidable questions, and for some reason, the subject of food is a hot anecdote. Some women seem to crave the most bizarre combinations, like a pizza topped with Triscuits and gummy worms. Others experience symptoms of pica, an uncommon disorder in which the affected wants to consume inedible substances like dirt, chalk or coins.
Personally, I crave the specifics. At any given moment, I want a funnel cake from the Kentucky State Fair, the juice that comes in the communion cups at church, the barbecue chips released by the Lays brand for only a short while when I was about ten years old, the baked chicken breasts that only my vegetarian stepmom can make just right, the spinach and artichoke dip that only my mom can make just right, or the strawberry yogurt that I've only ever found in convenience stores in Ireland.
Last night I went out at 11 p.m. to get my favorite sandwich from Jimmy John's. When I walked into the shop wearing my sweatpants, slippers and glasses, the cashier gave me a thoughtful look and said, "You're out awful late for just a sandwich."
"I'm pregnant."
"Say no more," she replied.
So far, only one food item has remained consistently delicious to my pregnant tastes: apples. I've been eating applesauce, dried apples, freeze-dried apples (which are very different from regular dried apples), and- you guessed it- gold ol' fashioned apples.
Last night I expressed genuine sadness when my boyfriend, Roy, refilled my glass of apple juice only to tell me that I was drinking the last of it. Tragedy, my friends. That sweet, tangy, hearty flavor is my greatest gustatory solace.
So to answer that particular question on the list- YES, I do have cravings. I am pregnant, after all.
Baby, It's Cold Outside
Good morning! At the start of this frigid Lexington day, I would like to offer my perspective on a relevant issue... Pregnant mornings are very different from non-pregnant mornings.
First, getting a pregnant woman out of bed is like poking a bear in the eye. You can expect growling, roaring, swatting, charging or any combination of those things. When the alarm on my cell phone goes off, I stare at it with bitter resentment before I even bother to hit the snooze button. Here's why: getting comfortable enough to sleep seems almost impossible. Personally, my temperature fluctuates about five times before it regulates sufficiently for slumber. I also used to sleep on my stomach every night, but if I try to do that now, it feels like baby is being shoved into my spine. Getting to sleep requires the perfect positioning that allows blood flow to every extremity and a temperature consistent enough to enter a stable state of snuggled. The chirp of the alarm is hardly welcome. Luckily, my phone background is an ultrasound image of my little one, so immediately after I scowl at the time, I can't help but smile.
After expressing my discontentment that morning rolled around so quickly, two thoughts cross my mind. 1) I need to get to the bathroom asap! 2) I'm hungry. So after a quick trip to the ladies room, I forage. Today, my pride and joy requested a Toaster Strudel for breakfast. Like any reasonable person, I ate three of them. Excessive? Maybe. Delicious? Yes. I'll probably eat two Pop Tarts before my first class is over, too. I used to forgo breakfast in college. It interfered with rolling out of bed with just enough time for brushing my teeth and a swipe of mascara. But these days, it's the most important part of the morning. Don't forget the side order of prenatal vitamin.
It's 9:45 a.m. right now, and on a normal Wednesday, I can't be bothered before 10. Today, however, was special. Barely awake around 8:30, I realized that my car needed to be moved for the street cleaning that occurs on the first Wednesday of every month. I won't type the word I used when the thought hit me, but it rhymes with "spit." After I wedged my car into the tiniest space imaginable, I trekked back to my dorm against winds that were so strong, I thought they would grab hold of my baggy maternity sweatpants and carry me away. That can't happen, though. I'm too heavy now.
First, getting a pregnant woman out of bed is like poking a bear in the eye. You can expect growling, roaring, swatting, charging or any combination of those things. When the alarm on my cell phone goes off, I stare at it with bitter resentment before I even bother to hit the snooze button. Here's why: getting comfortable enough to sleep seems almost impossible. Personally, my temperature fluctuates about five times before it regulates sufficiently for slumber. I also used to sleep on my stomach every night, but if I try to do that now, it feels like baby is being shoved into my spine. Getting to sleep requires the perfect positioning that allows blood flow to every extremity and a temperature consistent enough to enter a stable state of snuggled. The chirp of the alarm is hardly welcome. Luckily, my phone background is an ultrasound image of my little one, so immediately after I scowl at the time, I can't help but smile.
After expressing my discontentment that morning rolled around so quickly, two thoughts cross my mind. 1) I need to get to the bathroom asap! 2) I'm hungry. So after a quick trip to the ladies room, I forage. Today, my pride and joy requested a Toaster Strudel for breakfast. Like any reasonable person, I ate three of them. Excessive? Maybe. Delicious? Yes. I'll probably eat two Pop Tarts before my first class is over, too. I used to forgo breakfast in college. It interfered with rolling out of bed with just enough time for brushing my teeth and a swipe of mascara. But these days, it's the most important part of the morning. Don't forget the side order of prenatal vitamin.
It's 9:45 a.m. right now, and on a normal Wednesday, I can't be bothered before 10. Today, however, was special. Barely awake around 8:30, I realized that my car needed to be moved for the street cleaning that occurs on the first Wednesday of every month. I won't type the word I used when the thought hit me, but it rhymes with "spit." After I wedged my car into the tiniest space imaginable, I trekked back to my dorm against winds that were so strong, I thought they would grab hold of my baggy maternity sweatpants and carry me away. That can't happen, though. I'm too heavy now.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Fairy Tales from the Crypt
Since I'm in my very last semester of school, my academic adviser told me I could take three electives of my choice- any level, any subject. So imagine my giddiness when I realized that GER 103: "Fairy Tales in European Context" fit perfectly in my schedule. Three times a week, I trek across campus to sit in a lecture hall and learn about the many fairy tales from my childhood. Perfect for a mother-to-be, right? Wrong.
The real fairy tales are a far cry from the Disney fantasies we grew up with. Instead of flawless princesses and blundering animal cohorts, the real deal revolves around subjects like murder, rape, cannibalism and abandonment. Lesson's I've committed to memory in the last week:
- At the end of Rumplestiltskin, the jilted little fella curses the princess for consulting with the devil and rips himself in half out of unbridled rage.
- Hansel and Gretel didn't get lost in the woods because they were stupid. Their parents dumped them out there to die when they didn't have enough money to feed the whole family.
- If you were a woman with OCD several centuries ago, you would be accused of having demonic rituals and sentenced to die as a witch.
I thought this class would equip me with solid versions of the charming fairy tales I knew and loved when I was a kid. But now that I know the truth, I'm afraid that one day, I'll be reading a syrupy version of Rupunzel to my child only to stop in the middle and say, "This is BS, sweetie. Let me tell you the real story."
The real fairy tales are a far cry from the Disney fantasies we grew up with. Instead of flawless princesses and blundering animal cohorts, the real deal revolves around subjects like murder, rape, cannibalism and abandonment. Lesson's I've committed to memory in the last week:
- At the end of Rumplestiltskin, the jilted little fella curses the princess for consulting with the devil and rips himself in half out of unbridled rage.
- Hansel and Gretel didn't get lost in the woods because they were stupid. Their parents dumped them out there to die when they didn't have enough money to feed the whole family.
- If you were a woman with OCD several centuries ago, you would be accused of having demonic rituals and sentenced to die as a witch.
I thought this class would equip me with solid versions of the charming fairy tales I knew and loved when I was a kid. But now that I know the truth, I'm afraid that one day, I'll be reading a syrupy version of Rupunzel to my child only to stop in the middle and say, "This is BS, sweetie. Let me tell you the real story."
Mama Drama
On November 14, 2010, I found out I was pregnant. I had just turned 21 three weeks prior, and after the most important trip to the bathroom of my life, the entire world stopped turning. The knot in my throat made me feel like the tiny baby was growing in my esophagus. Still, I've decided to embrace motherhood with everything I have. Since that day, my entire family and most of my friends have learned the big news, and in the interest of keeping them and anyone else up to speed on my growth, hormones, breakdowns and musings, I started this blog.
So on this glorious first day of February, the discussion begins. I've had other blogs before, but I always seem to lose interest and my words cease to grace the World Wide Web. However, I have never cared about anything, ever, as much as I care about this baby. I always knew I wanted children, but I seem to have gotten started a lot sooner than expected. Armed with baby books, tons of advice and poor typing skills, I hope to share my pregnancy and beyond.
Let me bring you up to speed:
I'm still 21 years old. I'm less than a month into my last semester of college, and I share a room in an all-girls dorm on campus with my charming roommate. I'm a journalism major with a sarcastic streak, and to put it politely, I lack patience.
I'm also 17 weeks pregnant. Even though I'm enjoying every minute of my status as a vessel for another human life, my pregnancy has brought on some serious changes to my lifestyle:
I used to have a profound and firmly-established relationship with caffeine. I consumed a shameful number of milligrams on a daily basis, and the first guzzle of the miraculous substance each day brought with it a delightful high. I could also get away with not eating for a day, and my sleep schedule resembled that of a fruit bat. I know, I was a beacon of health. I also had fire engine-red hair.
These days, I doze off around midnight, every night, even if the room is brightly lit, the TV is on, or I'm on the phone. I eat just about everything I see, which is enjoyable minus the dent in my wallet from much more frequent trips to the grocery. I gave up caffeine, but I still enjoy the sporadic apple chai from Starbucks if it's been a long day. I dyed my hair the darkest shade of brown I could find in an effort to cover the red, and despite these alterations to my routines, I am blissfully happy that I get to take on the oldest profession in the world (motherhood, not prostitution).
One thing that hasn't changed about me at all: I have a lot to say. ;)
So on this glorious first day of February, the discussion begins. I've had other blogs before, but I always seem to lose interest and my words cease to grace the World Wide Web. However, I have never cared about anything, ever, as much as I care about this baby. I always knew I wanted children, but I seem to have gotten started a lot sooner than expected. Armed with baby books, tons of advice and poor typing skills, I hope to share my pregnancy and beyond.
Let me bring you up to speed:
I'm still 21 years old. I'm less than a month into my last semester of college, and I share a room in an all-girls dorm on campus with my charming roommate. I'm a journalism major with a sarcastic streak, and to put it politely, I lack patience.
I'm also 17 weeks pregnant. Even though I'm enjoying every minute of my status as a vessel for another human life, my pregnancy has brought on some serious changes to my lifestyle:
I used to have a profound and firmly-established relationship with caffeine. I consumed a shameful number of milligrams on a daily basis, and the first guzzle of the miraculous substance each day brought with it a delightful high. I could also get away with not eating for a day, and my sleep schedule resembled that of a fruit bat. I know, I was a beacon of health. I also had fire engine-red hair.
These days, I doze off around midnight, every night, even if the room is brightly lit, the TV is on, or I'm on the phone. I eat just about everything I see, which is enjoyable minus the dent in my wallet from much more frequent trips to the grocery. I gave up caffeine, but I still enjoy the sporadic apple chai from Starbucks if it's been a long day. I dyed my hair the darkest shade of brown I could find in an effort to cover the red, and despite these alterations to my routines, I am blissfully happy that I get to take on the oldest profession in the world (motherhood, not prostitution).
One thing that hasn't changed about me at all: I have a lot to say. ;)
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