Routine

My biggest fear when I got pregnant, was that my life was going to be horribly boring from then on. I dreaded the idea of stability and routine. Alas, five weeks and three days have passed since I gave birth to this precious little man, and life has been anything but still since then. Baby=boring life, is the biggest misconception that exists. Here I am, sitting in a nursery, I was under the impression that my child was fast asleep and I could resume blogging. Now he is starting to squirm, arising from the depths of his deep dream land. His little arms are flailing and his feet, wrapped within a sleep bag are piking straight into the air. And the cry is beginning, gotta go.

36 weeks....bed rest

I have finally reached the last month of pregnancy. I do not feel overly massive as I imagined I would, and my pelvic pain is a bit better since the babe's head has dropped this week. I felt the dropping in the midst of my sleep and between dreams. I could imagine him burrowing down into my pelvis and when I awoke the midwife confirmed that he had actually dropped. She also confirmed a few more things. The sensation of period cramps that were radiating towards my back were, in fact signs of early labour. She also listened to the fetal heart rate and upon auscultation told me that I was having a contraction. Painful: not in the slightest, in fact I had never even noticed them before she pointed them out. At first I could recognize the tightening of my entire belly by touching the belly, but I could not feel it inside. Now I am beginning to feel the tightenings without touching them from the outside. Perhaps, I am a bit unaware, but I expect that they will make themselves known when it really matters. To complete her check the midwife did a manual exam of my cervix and confirmed that I had slight dilation, softening and shortening and some bloody mucous. Her prescription: bed rest until 37 weeks. That was four days ago, and I am mighty bored of all this sitting.

You see there are certain things that they advise people to do when they are nearing their due date to naturally induce their pregnancy. Some of these are: sex, nipple stimulation, walking, other exercise, drinking red raspberry leaf tea, massage and accupressure. So now I am at home, I have canceled my massages, put my runners away and am sitting like a good girl. I must admit, my bed rest is probably more active than most, but frankly my back kills when I sit for too long and my mind goes crazy when I don't leave the house every few hours. So I do interrupt my bed rest regularly for quick trips outdoors. If anyone has any entertainment suggestions I would love to hear them. I've finished a couple books and have become quickly addicted to "Friday Night Lights", but not much more has caught my attention.

I will write about birth planning and home births, if we make it to the 37th week.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

The absolute worst outfit that can be worn when pregnant has been discovered by yours truly. The wetsuit.
I took sailing lessons at MAC sailing at Jericho Sailing Centre for a week at 31 weeks gestation and since the water was still freezing, I donned a shabby rental wetsuit.
All of us newby students looked ridiculous, and one male mentioned how he felt like a teenage mutant ninja turtle, all he needed was a shell. This caused several glances my way until I looked down and realized, I had the shell! Holy hell, I am a teenage mutant ninja turtle. I will post a fab pic of my shell later this week.

32 weeks and 2 days

Its time to start counting the other way now. Basically I have, give or take, eight weeks to go. Where have the last six gone, or rather where have I gone for the last six? Toronto for two, the island for a couple weekends and I have no idea where the rest of the time has gone. I can assure you that I have not been spending my days researching products or scanning the aisles at Babies R Us, there has been little of that done. I have occasionally been known to pick up a book, we don't have cable so my life has not been absorbed by typical media outlets, instead I have been admiring the beautiful city that we are so lucky to live in. Cheese, I know. But seriously, for those of you who have not had the chance, please check out Vancouver in the Spring or Summer. Its worth the extra hike in plane fare, this time of year is the reason we all live here.

My pelvis has been hurting. It feels like it is broken. I may have mentioned this earlier, because this started around the fifth or sixth month. At first it was a mild aching after runs, then suddenly I felt like I had actually fractured the exact centre of my pubic bone and that I would never walk again. I want to put my hands on my privates and hold them together when I am walking, because they feel like they are going to yank apart at any moment. Apparently, this syndrome is called Pubic Symphisis Diastisis, an unusually wide gap between the two pubic bones. Feel free to read more here. So despite the fact that I can no longer run, walk the dog, or exercise in most manners, I still have been very very busy with this issue. I have been to physios, massage therapists, doctors, midwives and even to the dreaded chiropractors. Its not that I have any disrespect for chiros, because until recently I had never been. However, I do disagree with those who have to go to a chiro a few times a week for the rest of their life. I do not desire or respect this dependance. And after three very short and very expensive trips to a prenatal chiro in Vancouver, and three appointments being scheduled without my consent, I called it quits. Her manipulations were helpful for the rest of that day, but she told me nothing about helping myself or preventing the misalignment from returning. She was the saviour and she refused to empower me, the only way I would be saved would be if I returned to her for another session. I don't want a quick fix, but I do want to feel that the $60 I am handing over is worth it. And after a five minute session, I felt like I had just had my purse snatched.

Did I mention that I have a belly now? Its massive and I don't want it to get any bigger. Well I do, but I don't. You see, I am in some ways, a typical female. I want to remain svelte and fit, and not get big and lumpy. Thats normal right? But somehow, for ten months of my life I am supposed to be able to easily switch into the mindset that bigger is better. Not a bigger ass, not bigger arms or cankles or anything, but bigger belly. I am supposed to feel good when people say "look how big your belly is!", because a big baby (within reason), is a healthy baby. But its still hard to wrap my mind around, and my immediate reaction. I am trying to adjust my facial reactions from a squinched up disgusting face to one of pride and pleasure when the words: big or massive are dropped in my direction. The same goes for when I am told "You've grown so much!" I am 26 years old, I don't want to grow. I haven't grown since I was fourteen and I hated when people noticed then. Can't we all just pretend this isn't happening. My beautiful babe will be in arm in less than two months (I hope), so until then can I just cruise through without the show and tell of my bigger parts?

26 weeks

Nearly 26 weeks that is....

I am still alive, its just that my nails have been growing so fast that it makes it too difficult to type. And I can't find the damn nail clippers.

Sweet Dreams continued

My purchase recommendation for the day is a humidifier. I have been so dry since becoming pregnant. Perhaps its because I pee every twenty minutes and try not to drink in the late hours, or perhaps its because Vancouver is a bit rain deprived, or perhaps its this nasty dry cough that is going around, or perhaps this is a normal pregnancy related ailment. Regardless, I have finally found a solution:the most amazing humidifier I have ever seen. This puppy is truly silent, and that puff of steam you see in the ad is real, it instantly produces relaxing and moisturizing mist at whatever level you desire and warm or cold. Perfection. Sweet dreams.

Pregnancy Activities

I hope not, but today may have been the last day of mountain biking on the North Shore, pre-baby. Depends on the weather and my motivation but my inability to climb is impacting my self esteem. I am sucking wind like never before. I am also the whiney girl who gets super pissed at her boyfriend when he doesn't wait. You see, I have never been waited for. I wait. It's frustrating to wait, but even more frustrating to be left behind. I now would like to offer a deep apology to anyone I have never waited for whilst mountain biking, snowboarding, running, or anything else. I am truly, very sorry. I am an asshole.

Other than mountain biking, I spent the weekend seeking entertaining activities that were not too dangerous and didn't consist of sitting at bars watching people drink or eating and eating and eating out some more. You see, I am bored. I am bored of not being able to do much fun stuff. I think my friends are dissipating and they aren't calling anymore because I don't want to sit at a bar and watch them drink and they don't want to be seen drunk by a party pooper. So I am finding myself watching lots of movies, going for lots of walks and buying useless items, amongst other time fillers. Its not that I don't love meeting with friends for chit chat and such but it might be the 'placenta brain' so many speak of, but my conversation skills are lacking. "I am mind fucked" so to say, completely blank at times, something new to me. So Saturday we went downtown and were super tourists and rented rollerblades to rip around the Seawall. Turned out that it was actually pretty fun, despite the geekiness. I did get a fair amount of dirty looks from passerbys as I gently coasted with my dog in tow and lil belly protruding from my tank. But hey, I wouldn't 'blade' if I thought I would fall. I spent half my life on the damn things, I just ain't the falling type. And I was 'blading' at about 25% so lay off. In the evening we headed out for some non alcoholic entertainment: Yuk yuks. Very good choice. It was the early show at 800pm which I would highly recommend for the pregnant gals, simply because it seems alot of people go to Yuk Yuk's simply to get sloshed, more so at the 10:30pm show though. The comedians were awesome, well for the most part. Unfortunately, the female comedian failed to challenge my stereotype and absolutely blew. But there were a few males, such as the headliner Paul Myrehaug, whose hilarious, but very perverted (be warned), performance was interrupted by a slutty stagette party getting into a brawl with a door man. Seriously. That was entertainment I would have missed watching movies at home or drinking tea in a coffee shop. More comedy shows to come. But be cautious for there were a lot of pregnancy jokes that sensitive gals would not take lightly. For example an audience member answered the comedians interrogation saying she had a 10.7lbs babe, he then made jokes about her ability to laugh at any of his jokes without leaking, her vagina sounding like a didgeridoo in the wind and so on. So do be wary if you are not fond of the rotten humour that tends to tickle me.

I am still rather agile, and have yet to encounter any balance issues so I will be heading up to Whistler tomorrow for my first and last few days of riding. I anticipate lots of groomers accompanied by the Man who is a beginner rider who will be praying I don't repay him the favour of "not waiting". And upon my return or perhaps within the few days I am away, I will bless you with a detailed report of my decision to switch from South Community Birth Program to West Side Midwives with the intention of having a home birth, submerged in water of course.

My New Snuggle Bunny

Snoogle.

I had the most wonderful night of uninterrupted sleep last night. For those of you who have yet to have babies you might not know what I am talking about. I will try to explain. I can't sleep on my back (or it is recommended that I don't sleep on my back and despite my attempt to do it anyways because I can breathe, the guilt wakes me up) and it just isn't comfortable to sleep on my tummy, or rather my baby. So I have to sleep on my side, and as my hips widen my knees dig into each other harder and harder. I can't bear the feeling of my knees touching, or my growing thighs, or even my calves for that matter. Actually as of late, I can't stand anything of my own touching anything else of my own. I hate the feeling of my toes touching each other. I sometimes pull my baby toe to the side for relief, but then I get a bit out of breath from being so scrunched up trying to reach my toes. I don't have the biggest belly outside but it feels huge inside, my feet are getting so much further away. I am a mess and just a tad bit irritable right now.

But, last night I had the pleasure of sleeping comfortably for the first time in ages. Instead of wrapping my legs around the man as per usual, I wrapped them around my new Snoogle Pillow . The man was disappointed, but hey the Snoogle, doesn't snore, sweat or flick me aside when it gets too hot. The Snoogle has unrelenting love for me, it is here to give and never to ask. It holds my head gently, supports my growing belly, seperated my thighs, knees, calves and feet. It doesn't make me hot or sweaty and it is just the perfect mix of firm yet soft. It is perfection.

Job hunting

I spent a good portion of last week trying to calculate how many hours I have worked since finishing my schooling last October. Between taking holidays, being sick and working a pathetic two days a week, I have been struggling to fulfill the necessary 600 hours to qualify for EI when on maternity leave. I was scouring craigslist to see if I could find a decent part time job that would pay me anywhere close to my nursing wage, with no luck. I wouldn't mind waitressing until the bitter end, but the establishment where I currently work just isn't a pretty place for a pregnant lady. For instance, I am barely showing and yet, I have had trouble squeezing through many of the tight spots between tables as of late. I don't know my own hips, I run into people's chairs, throwing them off balance while they try to delicately sip steaming hot miso soup, and smoke their tables with my hips when I try to squeeze by ever so gently. And the under age youth who try incessantly to beg a drink out of me. I am now a motherly type, or at least I am trying to show my responsible side. No fake id is bypassing me, but the attitude that I am receiving and the shit tips from these youth is enough to drive me to unemployment. Not to mention the sanitation, enough said.

So I came up with a new idea. I am going to try to sell my face and bump for profit for the next few months. If anyone will have me that is. An old friend came by yesterday and out of the kindness of her heart she snapped away photos attempting to find a pretty shot amongst the blurry and awkward bunch. And ta da, her talent has prevailed. You can check out a few on her blog lalaandkiki.blogspot.com Successful or not, I can't deny that its a bit fun having photos taken all day with a good friend..

21 weeks and 3 days....

Sorry Aunty, Im posting pics again. I have had too many questions and unnecessary prods of the belly... here it is, or lack thereof... But I swear, we had an ultrasound last week and the boy is healthy and full size, maybe I was just sucking in???

Please take note of the American Apparel faux denim high waisted tights... a must have for all pregnant teeny boppers

Recycle, Reduce, Reuse

I have been a very poor blog writer as of late. There are a few reasons. One of which is the still lack of belly and the lack of nausea, the lack of cravings, okay basically the lack of feeling pregnant. Sure the lil' one still kicks and punches me every few hours, but other than that.... I just feel like me. I am actually having trouble limiting myself in terms of activities, for example sometimes I get a craving to down a Guinness, but then I have to remind myself that there is a lil guy who will get a whole lot more than tipsy for life. And mountain biking, I thought it was a good idea, I sort of still think it is a good idea, but then the other day when I was going down after a steep and horrible climb it clicked to me that 'this might not be the safest pregnant activity'. I haven't been since then. I am sure biking on flat wide trails is no prob but going downhill on narrow single tracks that are a tad slick and adorned with roots and rocks galore, well one slip and that belly is either flying into the handlebars or over them which could be worse. I will be cautious of the next trail that I ride. So this lack of feeling very pregnant has made me not want to write about being pregnant. Really, I don't have anything to complain about and I don't really feel the need to write about positive things (who the hell would want to read flowery shit?), but time is ticking and nothing is being written so I am going to try to write something, anything, positive or not.

The other reason I haven't written is because I have had a cold non-stop for a month straight. No fever, so no worries, but no avail either. I have been plugged up every day and coughing up chunks of phlegm all day. I can't take oil of oregano, no cold medicine, no friggen teas even! I am guzzling water and waiting to get better.

The last reason is because I have ADHD.... and its getting worse and worse with this pregnancy. I am taking my omegas and getting lots of exercise and have very limited amounts of caffeine, but I can't help but crave the relaxing effects of Ritalin, horrible I know. Or maybe it is just the 'placenta brain' that so many speak of. The inability to remember anything a minute later, I can't focus, I can't sit still, I have been reading the same page in my book for the past seven weeks, I am only on page 50!

So that is where I have been, out walking the dog, mountain biking, enjoying the sun, eating good food, running, watching movies, and nothing requiring very much attention at all. Oh I did have one bad dream about leaving my newborn in the front seat of a car for a few hours unattended on the way home from the hospital. I returned to the car in the dream to find my dog smothering my babe... I freaked out a bit. So we bought a car seat. The first big purchase! We also bought about fifty onesies(how do you spell 'onesy'?) in blue. But, we didn't make the mistake most first timers make.... we walked into the store, past the bamboo onesies and the hemp onesies and the brand name onesies into the cost effective aisle, the consignment aisle. There we loaded up on brand new looking onesies priced at $2.00! Upon leaving I glanced at the brand new onesies and was shocked to see that they were priced as high as $35.00. For a piece of clothing the size of my foot.... when perfectly handy onesies were available basically for free one aisle over. Maybe someone can offer a damn good reason why I shouldn't buy second hand baby gear, but until then I will continue my Sally Ann ways and stock up with more for less. My name brand loving Man can drool at Baby Bjorns, but there is no way we will be throwing our cash into that pile. Besides, we recycle, we have been working on reducing, but now we can truly work on the first principle: reuse! I actually made the mistake of titling this blog Recycle Reduce Reuse, when in actuality it should be Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. This makes much more sense, but in our day it is so much easier to start at recycling and make minimal attempts at the other two. Well no longer for us, we are now a Reduce, Reuse and Recycling duo, he has no choice.

I also should mention that this store was fantastic. The staff ranged from new moms to grandmas wanting to stay in 'baby mode' forever. They were knowledgeable and took the time to walk us through the intro to reusable diapers, car seats, strollers, and cribs. They didn't laugh at us, even when we were laughing at ourselves (which made it a bit awkward), but instead offered more and more advice and information. They even told me that the maternity dress I tried on looked horrible, honest but yet so sweet. Check it out if you are ever expecting at Lonsdale and 20th, Boomers and Echoes . And lastly, we left with one very very important article with which I would recommend to all new parents. Especially for men like my Man who have never ever changed a diaper and will be sure to be slower than the bladder of a new baby boy. The pee-pee teepee. Enough said.

20 weeks

Yesterday was the day. I will quote the man because I found his email to his friends slightly amusing:

Subject: so today we had our 20 week ultrasound
Body: All I have to say is 8---------->

He is a child still. We are children having children and his words confirm this. Regardless, the other great news we received and which he omitted, is that the babe is healthy. Not only does he have a penis but he has four limbs, a full brain, a beating heart and proper organs. It was quite a process, this 20 week ultrasound. We were in there for a good hour with the tech, Parm, telling me all about her and her husband starting to talk about having babies, different details of the ultrasound and measurements and then the brief time that the man was allowed in the room to show him the penis, basically.

I am happy. I would be happy with a healthy girl. But I am happy for the child that it is a boy. I will be able to do a better job as a mom. I wouldn't know what to do with a little girl. My mom had two boys before me, and although she was happy to have a girl finally, she was cheap and adorned me in boys clothes entered me in baseball and hockey because we had the gear and basically raised me like her third son except on church days when the dresses would come out. I can't dance, I can't sing, I don't know anything about make up or dating and I don't like gossip and chit chat. I like sports, I still have dreams of being a professional athlete (just haven't picked a sport yet), and I hate talking on the phone. I am happy, and I will force this boy to love all the sports I love and if he decides he wants to sing and dance, well then he's his father's son, what more can I do?

This morning a friend forwarded me a link to her friend's blog which outlines her opinion of what you can and can't do during pregnancy. I was thrilled to see that I am not the only one out there who still wants to live and not spend each day worrying about miscarrying or harming the fetus. I am watching the foods I consume, true. But I am riding my scooter, this weekend I am going xc mountain biking and snowboarding, I am running, I get massages, I fly on airplanes and want to take a big trip before I deliver, I drink coffee, I continue to work in East Hastings and a filthy restaurant, I use a lap top (sometimes on my lap!) and this morning I had deli meat (microwaved until steaming) and loved every minute of it. I am tired of feeling guilty, yet due to my still lack of belly, I have not been scolded by any strangers. I will refrain from doing something if it feels wrong. Thank you pregnant chicken lady for confirming that I am not a horrible person.

19 weeks

My aunt kindly asked me to stop posting pics of me pretending to look like I am pregnant. So I will withhold for a few more weeks until I have something to show. I must admit, there is still nothing there. But the aches and pains, also known as 'round ligament pain' in my lower belly, my pelvis, my back and a few other unmentionable areas, are making me think that I may soon 'pop' as some refer to it. I may have a belly soon. Then these stupid pants that I bought with the stretchy waists up to my boobs will stop slipping off my now chubby, but not pregnant looking belly.

Sicky sick sick sick

I get sick alot. It is usually a mild case of the sniffles with a sore throat and a lil cough. But this is brutal, this is like a tsunami is trying to erupt my rib cage. Constant sneezing, either a pouring nose or its stuffed so bad that I can't even muster a nose breath, and my lips are so cracked and dry from mouth breathing its unbearable. And no drugs. Nada.

I have been getting night sweats and chills, but no temperature of any significance so the babe is fine. Its just me thats suffering without a decongestant or a nice night cap to wipe me out. I tend to rely on motherrisk.org for my safety of drugs information. The few drugs I have been wondering about as of late, do not make the cut on their website which gives me the impression that I shouldn't risk it. I can withstand a week of frazzled headaches and dripping snot if it means my babe won't come out with one arm or one lung or worse no lungs at all. Its the unknown that is scary. I am sure it would be fine to take a swig of oil of oregano, or a tylenol cold and flu just one night, but what if that one night is just too much for the babe, what if its at a key moment in it's development and it flips a switch the wrong way and everything goes wrong? It is the unknown that makes it not worth it. I think perhaps I am starting, already, to put this lil one before me.

In just seven days we find out the gender of this babe. Some people are shocked that I am interested in finding out, that I am somehow killing the surprise. As if finding out if it is a girl or a boy kills the surprise, it is a baby, that is a surprise enough! Plus we need five more months to argue over names and toys and clothes and colours. And I can't spend the next five months writing "it" or "he/she" or "the babe", I'd rather know and simplify my writing at least. To conclude, I hope that one day he or she or it or the babe will thank me for not taking tylenol cold and flu. For saving it's life and sacrificing my breathing, decency, energy and public appearance. Over-dramatic much.

Olympic Spirit (not about pregnancy, got sidetracked)

I am lazy. I am starting to think that I have always been lazy, but now that I am pregnant I am especially lazy. Our city is the host to the 2010 winter games and there are events going on everywhere, many of them for FREE! And I have yet to drag my ass to a single event. Instead I have not been reading, nor have I been writing (as my blog can testify), I have not been pitching stories, working at the restaurant or even walking the dog very much. I have not been very social, I have not been shopping for clothes or baby gear, I have not been running to appointments as much as earlier months, and I have not even been sleeping very much. Where the hell have the days gone?

First off, I need to delete facebook. It is a big waste of time. Or rather it can prove to be a big waste of time if you are vulnerable to procrastination, which I am. Secondly, I need to prioritize my goals each day. Today I woke up late, read the news, went to the dentist for two hours, went to buy some dog stuff at the pet store, walked the dog for a couple hours and then went to a prenatal fitness class for an hour. After that I went to the restaurant (place of employment once weekly), and ate for a few hours. It has been four hours since the work out class ended and I am still sitting here in my workout clothes, even wearing my vest, thinking about how I should get up and refill my water. Where has my energy gone?

Perhaps I am mourning. Actually, I am sure that I am mourning. My first ever pup was put to sleep yesterday. 16 years old. He began having seizures and at first they were a week apart and the vet said he might be okay if they didn't start getting more frequent. They checked his blood work and urine and nothing came back irregular except his platelets. But then he seizured again, four times in the nighttime, each time with my mother holding him alone in the house. She said she decided it was enough when she held him as he shook and his face was bleeding from hitting the wall. She said he had enough. And from across the country I asked her to wait, but I knew that it wasn't my place. I wasn't seeing him the way she was seeing him. Just as she had seen my father deteriorate and I had remained a five hour flight away. So she took him to the vet. And the poor little guy did just the same as always, he tried to escape, he whined and wriggled away from the needle. They said it took three people to hold him down to put him to sleep.

The vet said it was likely a brain tumour or a cyst and it would have gotten worse, much worse, and fast. He was showing signs of dementia, walking in circles, getting lost in corners and falling asleep standing up. After each seizure he was losing more of his motor capabilities. But he was such a trooper. Just yesterday I was looking at him on Skype. Watching his head turn at the sound of my voice, from a million miles away. The poor guy, so close to his end but so unaware. I don't know where he is now. I don't know if he is in a better place. I don't know if he was in any pain at all. And the worst part is, I am not even sure if it was the right time. I don't know if he was ready.

My mother is heart broken. I didn't even think she liked Shadow, let alone would miss him. I don't think she knew she did either until the end. She called me to tell me that she was going to say good bye to him that day, but she choked on the words. I remained stone cold. I said nothing. I didn't know how I felt, until I started writing and now I know. I do feel something. I miss him so much. I wasn't ready for him to go. How can anyone ever be ready to say good bye, and over Skype of all things? I wanted to see him, to hold him, to pet him. I was nine years old when I picked him out at the pet store, and now he died across the country where I deserted him. Poor little guy.

Perhaps, if there is a heaven, my dad and Shadow can be together again. They can go for ridiculously long walks and sit in the sun and watch the water. Perhaps, they are in better places. Perhaps they are not alone. I always said I would be more upset if Shadow died then if anyone else in the whole world died. No one has ever loved me as much and as unconditionally as Shadow did. At 16 years of age, people asked if he was a puppy, he had so much energy and such a bounce to his gait that it could be easily mistaken. And now, he is a corpse, no longer running, no longer playing, no longer mine.

Good bye Shadow.

Irony

So.... I wrote an article, under a pseudonym, many months ago. Many months ago meaning before I was pregnant and engaged. I haven't been able to bring myself to read it in recent months. But today I received an email to announce that it has now been published online. Fabulous. Perhaps you can enjoy the irony and exaggeration a tad more than I can today.

No Time on This Sunny February Day

I meant to write a long blog today about workout classes I have been to and my expanding waist line, as usual. However, I decided to whip up a quick spanakopita after my run. It was not quick. I spent more time troubleshooting than cooking meaning the predicted 30 minutes of prep time took me an hour and now I have fifteen minutes for the damn thing to cook and to make it to work. Nonetheless I have no time to write. I just have one website to refer you to, (hisboyscanswim.com) it confirms my assumption that I think like a boy. This father has summarized a babies growth in a way that remains interesting to males. I am interested to hear if you ladies find it as interesting as I did. I haven't been able to get hooked on the sizing charts presented in books and even on my iphone chat, but this one did it for me. This week, my baby is the size of a hockey puck!

What Not To Do....

Things I have done that I would not recommend pregnant gals doing:

1) Sleeping in a friend's condo, just hours after it had been painted
2) Sleeping in that same condo in a double bed with my friend, her boyfriend and my dog
3) Getting a massage on your stomach (bumpy yet or not), the fear of something going wrong killed my ocean side couple massage at the Four Seasons. Not to mention the asshole massage therapist that was pushing down on my lower back enough to induce an abortion.
4) I would recommend that if you are in that aforementioned situation, you speak up and tell him to stop and allow you to roll to your side, I was too shy and regretted it for days.
5) Going for an open door helicopter ride. Bad idea. I didn't understand why the pilot called us adrenaline junkies, until I was reaching for the vomit bag.
6) I didn't find out where the vomit bag was before the flight took off. I actually had a mouth full of puke that I was swallowing and re puking as I tried to sign language to the Man that I needed a bag because I couldn't open my mouth and press the speaker button to tell the pilot. Always know where you are going to puke before you puke, especially in a very windy, open door helicopter with strangers.
7) Going to a Hawaiian Luau. Which is essentially a festival of eating lots of meat and watching skinny ladies shake it. Apparently pig that has been roasted in the ground beneath leaves and such for hours may pose a threat to a pregnant woman's fragile GI system. I spent New Years Eve realizing this.
8) Telling ladies at a Doula workshop that you are pregnant. I was still unsure of whether I was going to keep the babe, and they were busy telling me about their experiences, offering their doula services, mocking baby showers and boasting about blessing ceremonies......
9) Talking face to face with your partner after he has had gum surgery and not washed his bleeding teeth and wounds for five days, I still love you but....
10) Having your parents and the in-laws stay with you for a week while you are still in the first trimester and nauseated and bitchy and bitchy and bitchy....another really bad idea.
11) Going into McDonald's when you are nauseated. Eating it is okay, but I would recommend sending someone else or driving thru, the smell and sights of that place are enough to make me wanna....
12) Telling realtors you are pregnant. It suddenly becomes all about the children that are so far from being children rather than what we want.
13) Telling your friends about potential baby names. If they hate it, and they tell you, you will hate them. If they like it, they might steal it. It's a tricky spot, keep it inside.
14) Wearing super high heels and super tight pants (3 months preggers), riding a party bus through downtown, over several bridges, surrounded by drunken ladies throwing themselves on each other and inadvertently into bus benches and windows. Violent, bruises, out of control, very bad place to be pregnant.
15) Working at a stinky sushi restaurant during the nauseated stages.... A sushi restaurant that specializes in deep fried everything smothered in mayo....
16) Wrestling with your boxer pup who happens to be waist high on hind legs. She tends to live up to her name and has thrown a couple jabs into the belly, bit uncomfortable.
17) Going into an East Hasting hotel. Going into an East Hasting hotel and watching someone puke and having someone smoke in your face for an hour.
18) Riding a scooter in the blistering rain. It's a bit scary, and super depressing. And the road rage I have had lately should be guarded by a seat belt and a heavy door, not the easy access of swinging my fist into any asshole's window.
19) Buying lots of really nice, costly, tight fitting clothes that you think will last you a few months when you first get pregnant. Water retention.
20) Going over to your skinny friends house to try on dresses when you still don't have a bump but have still gotten bigger. The zippers wouldn't budge, it was a tad embarrassing.
21) Trying to get a job, when you are nauseated, exhausted and sometimes in a very bad mood. Perhaps the problem may lie in getting pregnant before having a secure full time job.
22) Prenatal yoga prior to having a protruding belly, see last post.
23) Reading about anybody else's pregnancy experience. It's contagious, what they feel you will start to feel. If your feet haven't swollen yet and you read about it, you will notice your feet start to bulge. If you are pregnant, stop reading. Sign off. Go watch Friends, and not the ones where Rachel is pregnant!
24) Sleeping on a blow up mattress that has been known to leak. Sleeping is hard enough these days and dreams are crazy enough, but that night I had to pump the mattress every hour and I couldnt stop dreaming about sinking on the Titanic. And if you aren't already slightly larger, you will steel feel massive in the morning when you can't get out of bed because you are sinking and have to call for help. But really, thank you for letting me stay over, just please get rid of your mattress.

Prenatal "Yoga"

I have never been much of a fan of yoga. I prefer fast moving, high adrenaline activities where there is no time to think and realize that I am extremely uncomfortable or scared shitless. These days, however, I enviously eye mountain bikers unloading their gear, MMA fighters on the television, and even runners sprinting their hearts out in the trails. These past few months, I have become a a spokesperson for moderation, the old me's nemesis. I take days off from exercise, hell I take weeks off and sit on the couch and eat salty comfort foods. I head out for runs and end up walking the entire time. I have had my swimming gear in my back seat for two months and have not gotten my feet wet (since the day my swimming pal told me she saw a belly protruding). And I am happy to spend the entire day inside in my pajamas reading books, and even cooking, (for those of you who don't know me: this is insanely abnormal). I have even considered taking up knitting, along with my new casserole obsession. And yoga, the fact that I have attended more than one class a week is indicative of the change in my exertion preferences. This slow moving activity, the deep breathing and long breaks, is tempting and relaxing at times. I have been going to Iyengar, Hatha, Yin, Kundalini and Power on the good days. At the beginning of each class I make an awkward introduction to the instructor and tell them, complete strangers, that I am pregnant. They then instruct me on what I can and cannot do, each instructor with a different mantra. I have heard "no twists, no lying on the belly, no lying on your back, don't strain, no hot yoga, twist but not too much, no inversions, do anything that feels right: you will know if its not right (to that teacher I should have said: nothing feels right!)" And the best advice, given by a highly respected male instructor : "try out a prenatal yoga class they will tell you what you can and can't do".

So I took the plunge last Thursday and made my way to my first, and potentially last prenatal yoga class. I arrived a tad early which is not a comfortable place for me to be. I don't know what to do when I am early for yoga classes, and at a prenatal yoga class I found out that women just talk about their babies and their plans and yada yada. I have yet to buy anything for my babe, I have no plans, I have no idea where we will live in six months let alone what colour the nursery will be! I opted for silence. Before entering the studio I was stopped by the cashier and told "this is a prenatal yoga class". I gathered that she thought I was either too skinny to be pregnant, or too young to possibly be pregnant and showing my face amongst the older thirty and forty year olds. I smiled, said nothing and entered the class. I sat on my mat and stretched in silence with no clue what to anticipate. I listened to the instructor walk around and introduce herself to the new members. I realized that there were women in the class who were far less pregnant than me, but seemed by visual speculation, much further along. They had bumps, where is my bump? I should remember to take another pregnancy test soon if a bump does not present. I introduced myself and told her I was 16 weeks and had done yoga before and avoided her eye contact while she smiled and stared at me in this odd spiritual way that is supposed to transcend silence, but made me feel more awkward still. And that was just the beginning.

I want to sum the class up in one paragraph. Basically we spent less than a quarter of the time on our feet, the majority of the class sitting cross legged and the end sleeping in the fetal position. It seemed more like a spiritual dance and chant class than yoga. We belly danced for a good ten minutes, again very awkwardly and hollered out whatever we 'needed to'. I must admit I enjoyed the belly dancing music and asked the Man to make me a cd when I got home. Everything I hated during the class, I look back on with a meek fondness. I can't remember the last time I danced like that, freely, out of rhythm, and sober. Likely not anytime after the age of 12. And we even did some breathing exercises where we hummed nursery rhymes. I don't know any nursery rhymes, so I was horrible at this, but learning important mothering skills, I think. If I do go back, which I doubt I will for a long time. Until I can't do normal yoga anymore, or I can't run freely or go to the gym with my head held high. Until that moment, I may not go back. But if I do go back, there will be two reasons, neither of them related to the physical benefit of the practice. The first is the constant humiliation I felt in the class. Rarely do I feel that stupid and uncomfortable. But, birth can often feel that way too. I can imagine feeling awkward screaming in pain, or moaning or kneeling on all fours or squatting over a toilet with a doula, a midwife, my Man and others surrounding me. I also realize that the awkwardness may cause me to clench up, to tighten my muscles and my being and make birthing impossible. This class encourages us to feel stupid and enjoy it, relax and do what feels right in front of a room full of strangers. The second important lesson was learned in the last ten minutes before shavasana (sleep time) when we stuck our arms straight up in the air and waved them up and down like birds, for ten minutes straight. My shoulders hurt after one minute. But she said we could not stop, we had to push through and so on. I am a sucker for the mantra "no pain no gain" so I jumped on this exercise as soon as she yelled "don't give up!" I watched some ladies put their arms down and my competitive edge kicked in and I flapped harder and stronger. She said "do whatever you have to but continue flapping!" I found myself closing my eyes and rotating my spine in large circles and nodding my head up and down and visualizing myself running around the last corner on a track (the worst part of my race when I ran the 800m), but in my vision I was kicking and getting stronger, I think I even saw a six pack bursting out as I continued to the finish line. And then for the first time ever a vision of me birthing popped into my mind. I was crying and sweating and looked like I was in agony, and for some reason I was flapping my arms as distraction. And I endured, I continued to circle my spine and flap my arms and tried to relax my muscles and rest whilst still contracting the muscles. My arms got warm and tingly and soft and relaxed and the pain began to vanish and it started to feel like I could continue forever...."Stop!" Back to reality, back to the awkward yoga class with older women with bigger bellies and more confident belly dancing. Back to the real me, but just a little bit more prepared perhaps.

Would I recommend prenatal yoga? Its hard to say after just one class. But I can imagine, for some women that have never exercised, doing anything during pregnancy (even if its dancing and arm flapping, aka 'yoga') is better than sitting at home eating chips and McDonalds. For others who are more active and continuing to work-out during pregnancy, I would say to try it out, but not to expect a work out physically but rather mentally. I will warn you to be prepared for the gushy, flowery lingo and the constant hugging of your 'babies'. This I was not prepared for, you see I have yet to develop an attachment to my 3 oz. baby because I have yet to see it bulge from my belly. I need a visual bump before I hug my baby and talk to my baby and sing disjointed nursery rhymes. After that class, I feel that I may be alone with my feelings of disconnect. Perhaps tonight I will belly dance and hmmm and haaa and hug my baby and work on that 'bond' in the privacy of my home and the company of myself.

16 weeks AKA 4 months

Hungry

I used to get mad at the Man when he ate in non-eating public places. For example, a rather large fight erupted when we were standing at a West Jet service desk and I looked over to see my partner stuffing his face full of peanuts while trying to communicate to the agent. I cringed. If he weren't so handsome and were just a bit plumper he would be disgusted with himself. But somehow he thinks its totally fine to eat non stop in public places, dripping crumbs on bank tellers, clients and the worst: on grocery clerks at check out. I have never understood why people will not just sit down to eat a meal rather than snack all day, rudely, and uncleanly in front of others. Is it possible to be THAT hungry? Can they not just eat breakfast and then wait for lunch, take some time out of their day and find a seat away from their computer, away from their desk and away from their work for ten minutes to slow down and enjoy the morsels that pass through their lips?

Then I hit fifteen weeks. Its been only three days now, but all of this "rude to eat in front of people" crap has dissipated. I am hungry. I don't care who is around me or where I am. I am hungry. I was walking towards my gate in the airport just two days ago. It was only an hour flight and I was nicely stocked with enough beef jerky to feed an Albertan family for an hour. Yet, the popcorn stand tempted me. That's not entirely true, there was no temptation. I simply saw popcorn, purchased dill pickle and cheddar popcorn and consumed popcorn. I don't think I actually was tempted, because that would include pausing and thinking. No I just ate. I ate all the way to the gate, all the way down the weird cubicle-like tunnel, all the way down the airplane aisle whilst passengers glared at me, and then the entire flight: much to my neighbour's dismay. I was that annoying person. I had a big newspaper spread out and I was stuffing my face, non-stop. I paused only when the pieces fell to the ground. Then I would search for them and decide whether they were edible or not, again much to this clean Asian man's dismay. Once my popcorn was done I started into the fruit gums. I meant to have one, but instead I sucked and chewed my way through an entire packet. Just in time to meet the Man at the baggage carousel. By that time I was ready to break into the beef jerky, which we ate all the way home (with a stop off at Booster Juice) before dinner. It is times like these that I wish I had just a bit of a bump, so others could at least try to understand.

Last night I had delivery Chinese food. I have never ordered food to my door, ever. When I was a little girl and my mom was raising three kids we didn't even order in, we would pick up our food for the extra 10% discount. Never have I ordered food in, it grosses me out. It is the epitome of laziness. It is how people get so fat that they can't fit out of their door frames. It doesn't make sense. If you want food, you should have to work for it, even if that is just driving and paying for it. So I want to be clear: I did not order the Chinese food. I turned down the offer when we walked by the restaurant but immediately regretted my decision when we got home and I was trying to pick bean sprouts out of his noodles. I think it was annoying the Man as much as it was frustrating me, so he picked up the phone and placed an order for another bowl of noodles sans bean sprouts and MSG, plus another dish. The food arrived, the Man paid...and then he left. He went to play soccer, to get fit, while I sat on the couch and ate Chinese food. I felt disgusting and like I had missed out on an important experience my whole life. Ease. The ease of eating without moving at all. Effortless. And soon after, grossness.

But unlike days gone by where I would combat a gross indulgence by cutting back a bit the next day, saying "no" to seconds or eating bran instead of sugary cereals for breakfast, instead I went to bed full and woke up starving. Famished actually, where I was running to the bathroom retching because my stomach has never been so empty. These days my number one cash grabber is food. I was a girl that would starve to save money. During university I would have a $1.50 bagel for breakfast and a $1.00 bowl of white rice for lunch and maybe another bowl for dinner, then head home to eat peanut butter and crackers. But I had money for clothes, for boots, for snowboards and concerts. Now I don't want to buy clothes that won't fit for long, I am taking up hobbies to kill time til I can mountain bike again and I get headaches if I go to bars or concerts. So I buy food. Sad.

Yesterday I squeezed into a pair of skinny jeans I had avoided since the day I found out I was pregnant. I was late to meet a friend for lunch so I ran out the door before I realized they were unbearably uncomfortable. Too late, I was biking to meet her when I realized another thing. I hadn't been on a bike since late Summer. I am out of shape. I was panting, granted this is a single speed bicycle but the route was completely flat, perhaps even downhill. It was cold out but I was sweating, and panting and my thighs felt like they were going to split the stupid skinny jeans that weren't made for pregnant thighs (stretchy or not). Alas I arrived and gorged on fries with veggie gravy, a veggie dog loaded with cheese and a salad to encourage my heart to continue to beat. Ok, here lies the secret: I undid my button when I arrived. It was unbearable, I had to. And then when I got back to my bike to go home I undid the zipper, and sadly, there was no fear that they would fall down. They were painted on. And then, a bit sadder, I walked beside my bike all the way home because I didn't think I could bear to lean over my full belly and balance the bike. Don't be confused, I don't have a bump yet. I'm just getting wider and plumper, and hungrier yet.

Boy becomes Man

It's sad that the only reason I know exactly how far along I am is because of my iphone. You see there is an application called ipregnancy. Each time I am asked how far along I am I can click the app and magically my numbers appear. The app also shows what stage my baby is in, what I can expect this week in my wonderful changing body of big bum, even bigger boobs and soon to be bountiful belly. I can also track my appointments and my ultrasounds. Essentially it replaces the old age baby books. The only problem is that my child will likely never revisit this experience since this iphone is sure to expire before the kid could understand. Actually looking at the app now, I realize I have miscalculated my date, according to recent ultrasounds, I am actually 14 weeks and 4 days today. Not that I am counting.

I promised myself I wouldn't count. One of my girlfriends, who is the same age as me and has two children already, told me to just get on with my life and don't even think about being pregnant. I tried, it lasted, well no, it never happened. Since I became impregnated I have yet to 'not think' about being pregnant ever. I am sorry, but if you are puking, have migraines and my recent physical ailement of irregular movements (just guess), well how do you tuck those feelings aside and pretend life is normal. If life were normal I would be having a few glasses of wine here and there, coffee, sushi each and every day (as is the norm), and lots and lots of deli turkey, beef jerky, smoked salmon and other bits of the good life. But I cannot. To prevent my child from either miscarrying or having birth anomalies I must ask for them to spare me the bean sprouts in my vegetarian pho, I must seek out nitrate free bacon and microwave my deli meat until it becomes a steaming pile of sweaty skin. I am not strong enough to will my mind to ignore what is going on. And I must count. I must pay attention to each and every change that should happen in my body, according to books, iphones and friends. The wonderful thing is that this is one of the first experiences I have had that seems to fall in line with every other womans. They even predict my weight gain and loss accurately, and the conspitation started the day I read it in the iphone app, how wonderful!

The reason I don't want to count relates to a Doula training course I took just a few months ago (unrelated to my own situation). The instructors, who were absolutely thought provoking and life changing, discussed the effects of due dates. By giving a woman a due date a whole lot of pressure is induced on her. Most women expect to be early. For example, I am under the belief that I will be two to three weeks early. I don't know where this thought came from, it is just what I expect and know. But I am sure every woman thinks, and hopes, that they will be early. When that three week early mark passes many women feel as if they are already late. By the time the actual due date rolls around they are already three weeks late in their mind and begging their practitioner to induce her. They are anxious, panicky and not helping the situation. Then a week or so later they are induced (due to medical protocol and the woman's pressure), and when that fails the woman is compliant, if not begging, for a c-section. I do not want a c-section. I am a firm believer in the ways of Ina May, a wonderful midwife from the Southern USA who promotes natural, non-invasive childbirth. No induction thank you. No c-section thank you very much. Obviously I will accept that these are essential procedures for many women, and it very well may happen to me. But I will not succumb to the manipulation of hospital staff that need my bed like a waitress needs that table for four. No way. Not I. I will ask questions and demand to be completely informed about what is and what isn't absoluetly medically necessary. Plus I will remind the Boy to remind me (when I am in pain and desperate), and the midwife, and my doula and everyone else who will be near me. That is why I don't want to count, I don't want to be cut. Anywhere.

A side note about the Boy. The Boy has become a Man. I will now refer to him as the man. He supersceded my migraines and sickness and basically forced me to sit and admire him sing a song wrote himself for yours truly. And then he became a Man. We are all aware that there is no way that I am talking about sex, so I will not elaborate. I will maintain a slice of privacy despite this blog, that is probably read by only those close to me. Although I do wish it would take hold of the public eye and support me forever more. The crazy dreams continue.

14 weeks and 1 day

Nothing there yet.....
There is a heart beat, 160 bpm today, so thats good.
And I will be happy if the bump remains hidden for another few months, hell until the end would be perfect.

I'm in a rush to work. Waitressing still a few times a week. I need to grow up. I went to the midwife today and they asked me if I did the blood work I was supposed to have done on January first... shit. I totally forgot. There was only a two week window to get it done and I missed the boat. I need to grow up. Luckily, because I did the private ultrasound this will make up for the blood work. But still, I need to get my shit together.

Today at the birth centre I also asked the questions that most parents would ask on the first visit. I can't believe I just referred to us as parents, but I can't think of what else to call us, patients sounds odd. Since we have been struggling with the decision of whether we can possibly function as parents rather than worrying about specifics of childbirth, I have yet to question the careproviders. I am shocked actually, because some stats say that as many as 50% of pregnancies are unplanned, so how can these people be ready to pick a care provider and screen them adequately when they are wrapping their head around the idea of a baby, plus puking by the minute and mood swings. It blows my mind. Now that we are at 14 weeks and damn sure we are going through this ring of fire, now I am ready to ask questions.

These were just a few of my 'important' questions. "Will a midwife or physician come to my house when I am in labour and do their best to prevent me from going to the hospital until absolutely necessary?" Response: "Yes, if thats what you want." Next question: "Will you do your best to not slice me from vag to rectum aka give me an epiosiotomy", response: "most definitely". Next: "Can I refuse the vitamin K injection and the erythromycin and suctioning of my babe?" response: "yes, but suctioning is done if there is meconium in the amniotic sac and if the babe is chocking on mucous". Those were the most important questions I asked, and I was completely satisfied with the responses. I can't help but feel more trusting towards this clinic because the care is provided by a team of midwives and doctors and they also provide free prenatal classes and a doula. It seems to me that they have the parent to be's needs in mind.

I do need to grow up and I am sure that the care providers think the same thing when we rush in late for our appointments or call the clinic because we have lost our requisitions or simply miss blood work altogether. Yes, those are moments we need to get it together. But I do think they are surprised when we have our little moments when we show them we do know a bit of what we are talking about and can fire off words like episiotomy, erythromycin and meconium. We still have six and a half months to learn how to take care of ourselves and quickly transfer these skills to providing for another being. Six and a half months and counting.

First Trimester Screening

Today I blew $525 to determine whether my babe had predisposing traits suggesting Downs Syndrome or other chromosomal abnormalities. We went to the Pacific Centre for Reproductive Medicine for the first trimester screening. I say we because it was myself, the Boy and my best friend who had just flown in from Toronto. On first impression we likely appeared to either be a dysfunctional threesome or similarly to "Friends", my best friend appeared to be my girl friend and the Boy the generous sperm donor. We didn't introduce ourselves to the Doctor or genetic counselor to clarify who was who. Instead it was a good judge of their professionalism, and we were quite impressed. Equally impressive was the relaxed yet absolutely perfect atmosphere they had created. In each of the immaculate white patient rooms there was a clear window with willows pressed between two pains, simple yet pleasing. In the bathroom there was a candle glowing and a fresh clean scent, like a spa. Nothing like any other medical facility I have visited. In the waiting room there were other women waiting. They were all beautifully dressed with stunning jewelery, clothes and flawless make up, I somehow doubted that they were here for first trimester screening. Most were solo, suggesting other ideas, the recipients of generous sperm donors perhaps?

The actual testing was brief. It actually made me feel like I was getting ripped off. For $525 I nearly felt like they could at least tell me the gender or something at all. Instead we left with the news that the odds of us having a problem were very very low, as measured against medians from a large database in Europe. This is a good thing, it is just the money factor. Since there was nothing wrong it was a quick $525. Believe me, I am happy, just wish I had skipped the test. But isn't that how it always is. Apparently this test is available to women in many other countries free of charge, in North America, however it is still an elective and costly test. The care and treatment we received was impeccable, better than I have received anywhere else. They drew blood and told me exactly what they were looking for. Two hormones that were present in pregnancy, but these two hormones if their numbers varied from the number one in certain patterns, it implied an increased risk of chromosome issues. The results for the blood work will take a few more days, but the genetic counselor said that there is little to worry about based on the other data. The other data being the presence of a nasal bone, the rump to crown length, the thickness of skin behind the skull, the presence of a stomach, the minimal back flow of blood through the liver, and the presence of four limbs. These were visualized by a very gentle and very well spoken Obstetrician/Gynecologist/Radiologist, who was using 2D ultrasound. The heart rate of the babe was also at a normal 155 bpm, reassuring. And the babe was rotating smoothly in my uterus. Nothing like the last ultrasound where the babe was spinning continuously and moving about wildly. That was the first and last day I drank coffee during my pregnancy thus far.

The boy was emotional during and post ultrasound. I, however, am now in my second trimester and my hormones are stabilizing and I feel that I am returning to my same unemotional self. It may have been the one and a half litres of water in my bladder that were bulging on the ultrasound as proof. I was focusing on not leaking or releasing completely, and simply being ridiculously uncomfortable. What I wasn't focusing on were my feelings. I wasn't teary or emotional at all. In fact I was a bit horrified. You see, the image that the Doctor continued to capture was one that I wish to never see again. He would zoom in and show us the skull and as he did, the babe, I kid you not, stuck it's tongue out and gave a big thumbs up. I asked if he/she was about to suck their thumb and the Doctor looked equally confused as he tried to joke that the babe was giving a thumbs up. I saw nothing cute and adorable, the image actually freaked me out completely. My boy and best friend were staring at the screen from my left side and I looked towards them trying to avoid the image of the freaky baby sticking its tongue out and giving a thumbs up, thats not right. This babe, just 7cm or so now, appeared to have a disturbing side that had nothing at all to do with chromosomal abnormalities. So now, I have come home with the relief of knowing that my babe has less than a 4% chance of having a chromosomal abnormality but a very large chance of being a freaky Bart Simpson wannabe. I can't wait for the dreams tonight will bring.

I can't help but mention the telemarketing call I received just yesterday. I called in sick, so I wasn't even supposed to be home, and I must say I have never ever received a telemarketing call on this home phone. Nevertheless, I was greeted by "Greg from the Down Syndrome Society of Canada" who aggressively and poorly read out the plea word for word from a paper before him. I told him "I am not interested at this moment" and he continued by grilling me on when I would be able to, why I couldn't and how much I could give. I don't donate to telemarketers, I don't trust people enough especially without eye contact. But a unbeknownst to me superstitious side emerged and made me fear the coincidental timing of the call. I thought that perhaps if I donated I would not have a Downs baby, if I didn't donate I would soon be the mom receiving donations and I would forever remember my refusal to give. I quickly hung up and spent the rest of the day fretting the result of my tests today. I still have a 4% chance of bring forever reminded of my greed. But a suspicious side of me can't help but wonder if the Pacific Centre for Reproductive Medicine might have possibly released my data to telemarketers on particular dates when I would be vulnerable? Do you think?

Pro Choice

I nearly forgot to mention the enormous discussion that consumed my day. Today we discussed abortion, again. We have battled with the decision to forever alter our lives in ways we have yet to predict, quite possibly good. Or to end it now and plan new trips, live vicariously and be youthful just a little bit longer. I looked up abortion clinics and held the phone intending to call and ask for counseling. But I knew I would tell them I didn't want an abortion and they would tell me I had my answer. I looked up pregnancy crisis services of Vancouver but realized this wasn't exactly unplanned, I was aware of my options and I wasn't in a harmful relationship. Really, they wouldn't have anything to counsel me on. I was simply looking for someone to hold my hand and decide for me. This is not going to happen anymore. Considering counseling gave me my answer, I don't want an abortion. I don't want to call a number to argue with a person who tries to convince me otherwise. I have already decided. I am politically pro-choice but I am against it on a personal level. I could never do it myself, however, I hold nothing against anyone who chooses that route. After 24 hours and three months of debating, we have decided to continue on this journey (after longer heated discussion with Boy aka partner). But we won't continue in the indecisive manner with which we have arrived, we are certain now. We are going to have a baby. And this is a good thing.

Crying Times

In the past two days I have started to grow quite fond of the idea of having a lil one. This is a good thing I realize, because it is happening, whether I want it to or not. But this has not been how I have felt all along. I have cried, a lot. I am not a person who cries, ever. I did not cry at my father's funeral, nor my grandmother, nor for any sad reason whatsover. But in the past three months the only routine thing I have done each and every day is shed a tear or two. Now, they have not all been tears for self pity. This has been the itinerary: At first I cried because I was scared shitless. Then I cried because I didn't want to get fat. Then I cried when I gained weight (and this is just the beginning). Then I cried because I didn't want to do it alone, away from support in Toronto. Then I cried because my Boy wasn't meeting enough friends in Vancouver. Then I cried because he was at the bar with friends. Then I cried because he was at the bar again with friends. Then I cried because he was at work (I got a little needy for a while). I cried because we live in a rental house, unstable. Then I cried when we were looking at houses to buy because "I never wanted a family or to own a house!". When we couldn't buy the house I cried again. I cried because I missed eating the food I loved. I cried before Christmas because I wanted family to be with us for Christmas and it didn't seem like it would ever happen. Then I cried at Christmas, alot, because the in-laws were here and my mom was here, and it was too much to handle. And in Maui, I cried lots in Maui. Mainly because I felt so sick. I was so tired of puking, not doing anything, being so hot and then having food poisoning. I remember crying as I puked in a bowl looking in the mirror (I got too lazy to walk to the bathroom). There were many more emotional cries: which is quite normal or so I'm reassured by others. But the cries I haven't come to understand are the ones for no apparent reason. When I read a story about a lady dying in a plane crash I sob ten times then resume my day. Today I read an article about a lady having an abortion: ten short sobs. A girl breaks up with her boyfriend in a movie, sob. A hooked died in my book, sob. And so on, its completely uncontrollable. I have never felt so much emotion in my life. I have never reacted so easily. All of the cliches about pregnant women...they are somewhat true.

Pregnant women are nauseated: true. They are emotional: very true. They have gas: gross but true. They get constipated: true. They are needy: true. They get hungry alot; true (and then nauseated if they don't eat: true). But the sayings which I looked forward to: the pregnancy glow and 2nd trimester energy boost? I have yet to see this. I am pimply, very very pimply. And I am exhausted, day in and day out I want to sit on my ass and do nothing. And horny? I am so tired and nauseated and did I mention tired, and look where sex got us in the first place.

One last thing about the crying: the day before I did a pregnancy test I booked a doctors appointment. You see I had started crying and never in my life have I cried more than once in a six month period. I get angry, yes, but not sad very often. So this crying thing had started but it would end just as soon as it started. Within seconds I could wipe my eye and be laughing and joking away. It was insane. I seriously questioned my sanity. So I booked an appointment to ask the doctor if I was bipolar. The next day I did a pregnancy test and it made a bit more sense. I did go in for that doctor's appointment, but it was simply to confirm my pregnancy and the beginning of an emotional experiment.

13 weeks and 2 days

Sweet Dreams

Last night I dreamt that my Boy had turned into a completely psychotic murderer. The vividness with which I remember my dreams these days is causing a bit of chaos in my daily life. I woke up and would not let him touch me. I hated him, he was a psycho. I tolhd him everything he had done and why I never wanted to see him again.

In my dream I was in a weird basement with him. He was freaking me out by giving me crazy eyes and chasing me around as if to kill me. His friend came down the stairs and I said that he was scaring the shit out of me, could he help me? The friend tried to calm him down, in the end the Boy took his friend by the head and violently beat it against a concrete sink until he went limp and then he proceeded to cut off his limbs. bloody. He then did this to another friend who came down the stairs. I ran upstairs to his brothers (he doesnt actually have brothers??), and told them to help me. Everyone remained calm, as if this was normal. He was always insane. As if he apparently resided in the basement and killed friends on a regular basis. It then occured to me that I had to have an abortion. I was carrying a part-monster child and the Boy would forever want to be in my life. As you can imagine, I woke up beside Him but wanting to be nowhere near him. Realizing it had been a dream I still had to confront him. He had to answer questions in a sleepy daze "would you ever kill anyone? Are you ever going to become violent? Would you ever hit me? Are you insane?" I'm sure he was begging the same question in his head, but as usual he patiently stroked my paranoia until I realized he was an okay guy afterall.

According to a Pregnancy Book my mother gave me, it is perfectly normal to have wild and vivid dreams. Part of the reason is hormones and part of the reason is that when your pregnant you have to pee so often that you never really fall into REM therefore you always remember the dreams you wake from. Apparently, it is also common to dream of having sex, vivid sex, with all of the people you have been with. No comment. This, according to the book, is because the woman is going through an important life change and is moving on; but she is revisiting these events in her dreams before she moves on. Sleep has become quite an event as of late. I have woken in the middle of the night screaming out "Did you lick my nipple?", "Why did you lick my nipple!" Or accusing my Boy of cheating, or of feeling that I myself have cheated. It all feels so real, I can't discern which is life and which is a vivid dream.

To top off my morning of paranoia and psychotic Boys, I wolfed down a quick bowl of cereal and jumped in the shower in a mad rush for work. I brushed my teeth, in the shower of course, and when cleaning my tongue (doesn't everyone?) I hit the back of my throat ever so lightly. Gag reflex. Puke everywhere. In the shower of all places, in the drain, on my feet, even stuck in between my freshly brushed teeth. I have come to realize that as a late person, being pregnant has placed a whole new set of boundries in my way to forever make it impossible for me to be on time.

Shock Value

I am ready to tell people. It's not that I haven't told people. If you have made eye contact with me in the past three months it is likely that I have disclosed my little secret to you, I can't keep a secret. But if perhaps, you are far away, or we have not had time to sit and chat, then you are still in the dark. Or were in the dark if you haven't caught on by now. Please do not be offended that you were not one of the first to know. You see, I think I informed people in a subconsciously deranged manner. First I told all of my good friends who I knew would support me. Then I told my friends who had kids because I knew they would convince me it was a good thing, then I told all of my other friends who I knew wanted kids soon or loved kids so much that they would be excited to be near a new kid. But those that I knew would talk some sense into me, I avoided. Those of you who would look me in the eye and really want to know how I was feeling: you are definitely some of the last to know. Because it has taken a long time to become comfortable with the idea of it. I have fluttered back and forth from yes to no, from travel to mother, from run to stay. But I am here. I am staying here. I am now ready to look you in the eye and tell you that I am excited. Not necessarily ready, but ready to try to get ready. Once I stop puking that is.

I am 13 weeks and 1 day pregnant. I am in my second trimester, but I am still sick. Since week 12 I have puked everyday. No more are the days of unproductive dry retching, now I am projectile vomiting. Today I was driven from Squamish to Vancouver by a friend and her husband. I tried bitterly to talk to whole way while shifting my feet nervously from side to side. Her car was starting to remind me of the open door helicopter I had puked in last week in Maui. I was prepared this time, however, I had an airplane puke bag in my purse. But I was able to hold it from Squamish all the way to the West end where we stopped to let her husband out and I proceeded to let out my entire breakfast and some of dinner as well. I puked into the little white bag that I had carried around just in case. I stumbled away from her car in broad daylight in the busiest area of all of Vancouver and puked relentlessly into a little white bag. My friend sent her husband after me and he awkwardly asked if I was okay. I tried to respond but didn't realize I was still heaving so I puke/yelled/heaved "I can't believe....huuuuuuh....that I am puking......huhhhhh into a bag.......huhhhhhh......outside!" He tried to get closer to me accidentally let my dog out of the car and they both started coming towards me. But you see, puking has become a bodily function to me. I am not drunk, I do not want my hair to be held, it is the same as shitting, I want you to leave me alone. So I stumbled away and he continued following me, I think he was nearly crying because he didn't want to help me but his wife had sent him after me. Eventually I sealed the bag and was shocked to have him, a squeamish, hungover, very stoned engineer, grab my puked filled white paper bag and apologize for me feeling so sick. I was shocked and impressed but kind of disgusted to see him walk away with my bodily fluid teetering on the edge of spillage before him. But then again, last week it had been a complete stranger at the heliport taking my fluids away from me. These are some of the things I have gotten used to in the past few months. These are the days of my life now.

After that episode I came home, puked some more, had a grilled cheese sandwich lovingly prepared by my Boy and proceeded to spend the day flat on my back sipping gatorade and nibbling pringles and pretzels. I also finally began the blog that I have thought about writing everyday since I saw that second stripe. But you see, its hard to write when you feel like puking, can't sit up, can't lie on your stomach and your head is throbbing to the point that you can't open your eyes. Creativity is nowhere to be found on those days. But the blog is now up, and my scribble will continue (and I will attempt to back date previous important dates in the past two months) for the next seven or so months. I promise you it won't be flowery. I have yet to see the beauty of pregnancy. I am getting fatter, I have more pimples than when I was 15, even on my chest. And the mood swings, I can't wait to bring you into this world of mine. I do hope you'll join.

PS I can't help but admit that I watched "Julie and Julia" last week and my secret desire to have a book published one day might fuel me to continue this blog. That and a purpose for each and every nauseating day.