Category Archives: pregnancy

33 weeks

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Did you know that a woman’s brain cell volume actually shrinks while she’s pregnant? I am well aware of that fact. I thought I was forgetful and easily confused earlier in my pregnancy, but woah, this is a whole new level. I’m shocked I can still write an entire blog post in full sentences, because it sometimes feels impossible to communicate my ideas aloud. Words escape me, ideas escape me, what I did 5 minutes ago escapes me. This is particularly frustrating for a woman who, previously, had an iron clad memory. I will normally remember conversations and events in their entirety, even 10 years after-the-fact. I remember faces forever and what you wore last Monday. And because of this, I am the one in charge of being on top of important household information—when the bills need to be paid, birthdays, appointments, when my husband’s clothes last made it to the dry cleaner, finding all missing items, scheduling maintenance. Now, I cannot even be trusted with the grocery shopping. I go in with a list in hand, which seems like it’d be enough given everything we need is written out right in front of my face. But, no. So, I took to circling, starring and underlining critical items or items that I’d forgotten to pick up last time. But, no. I black out halfway through the aisles. I go back because I know I forgot something on the absolute opposite side of the store. I don’t know why I’ve gone back. I waddle, holding my heavy baby belly, to the other side…..damn it…..what am I doing? And then I give up and leave with whatever made it into the cart. I love this baby, and want her to cook as long as she needs to, but damn, I cannot wait to have my brain back (amongst other things)!

I’ve been in bed for the majority of the last week. I am also someone who, previously, detested naps. Seriously. I would not take them, even if I was exhausted. I had all the time in the world to take naps then—no one was dancing on my bladder to wake me up, my aching body didn’t get in the way of falling asleep, I didn’t have a million things on my brain that needed to get done in what felt like a ticking-time-bomb-of-a-situation. But, I hated to sleep, refused to waste my daytime, found it pointless. Now, I live to sleep. My previous self is unfortunately still tucked away somewhere inside me, screaming and flailing her arms, appalled at all this sleep going on, but she is no match for a pregnant woman in her third trimester. So, I pull on my sleep mask, pretend it’s a reasonable time of day to sleep, and hug my body pillow more than I hug my husband. The real problem is my boom and bust way of life. I need to sleep for an entire week because the week prior I barely let myself sit down. I’ve noticed I need a solid 2.5 days to recover after one day of activity. Oh, pregnancy.

Time is certainly starting to pass by at an alarming rate. I had to check my own blog last night to confirm that I was, in fact, 33 weeks, because it felt impossible to be that far along. I am now just 3 weeks away from what my midwives consider “safe to deliver” with them. It’s not technically full-term in the medical world, but it does mark the beginning of the window in which I may deliver normally (and the way I want to: with my midwives). Meanwhile, that thought is frightening. There is still so much to do and my mind needs a little bit more time to prepare. My body, on the other hand, is plenty ready to get this baby OUT.
It’s strange being so far into pregnancy that it feels like it’s become the new “normal,” as if this is the way I’ll always feel and function. One would think those other 30 years of my life would outweigh these 10 months, but at this point I honestly forget what it’s like to be inside that non-pregnant body. I forget what it’s like to be able to run down the stairs, skipping every step but 3, not holding onto the railing. I forget what it’s like to sleep through the night….an entire night, from the time I hit the sheets until it’s time to get up, never opening my eyes in between, never wincing in pain in the wee hours, never wondering if I just peed myself. I forget what it’s like to pack my days with as much activity as possible instead of trying to schedule what used to be one day’s worth of activities over the course of an ENTIRE month, because that’s all I can physically handle before my feet give out, my uterus tightens in one Braxton Hicks after the other, my back feels like someone’s shoving knives down my spine and I will just fall asleep wherever I am. I forget what it feels like to be skinny, to wear bikinis, to not need a bra, to be the big spoon while spooning with my husband, to have abdominal muscles. I forget what it’s like to be wild, to stay up all night doing things I’d probably be better off not doing, to dance until I am dripping in sweat, to wear mini skirts and backless halter tops, to not have a 5-year plan.
I can’t believe in a matter of weeks I will begin my journey back to my former body….well, a slightly altered version of it at least. But, my life, will be forever altered and those other some-odd 30 years will remain a distant memory that no longer feel real.

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32 weeks

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Baby shower repeat.
I am running really low on energy
(and clean clothes:) right now so I haven’t
taken my weekly photos.
At 32 weeks I find myself…nervous. I’m sitting here on the cusp of two experiences that are so completely new and intense—childbirth and parenthood—that no amount of preparation could possibly alleviate all my nerves. Sure, I’ve done an insane amount of “preparation,” but how can you really prepare for such things? You can’t. They happen the way they’re going to happen, unfolding as unique experiences that no book or class or friend who’s been through it can predict with any certainty. I can visualize labor and birth all I want, but the actual sensations and emotions of that day will remain a mystery, a guess, a theory, until I’m in the thick of it. And my husband and I can daydream all day about what our little girl will be like, what our life will look like with her in it, how we will handle this enormous transition, but in the back of my head I know the reality will be much different than what I anticipate. So, I’m nervous.
I also find myself clinging to my husband in our final months as a twosome. As intensely as I already love this baby, it’s hard to imagine sharing my life with more than one person. I’m so used to my husband, our dynamic, our routines, the messes he makes. I really can’t wrap my brain around all of that changing. I look over my shoulder to the backseat as we drive to the grocery store and try to imagine a wiggly little person in a car seat…..I look around the restaurant on date night, trying to imagine my child sleeping in her carrier or wailing in the middle of the main course….I listen for the cries of the future that will interrupt every attempted kiss between my husband and I. Meanwhile, somewhere beyond all my nerves, there is a voice that assures me that I will be in bliss when this crazy journey finally begins.
All I can do at this point is try to be present, to live one day at a time, which is an interesting thing to attempt when you feel stuck between two worlds.

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baby brunch

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We had our pre-baby brunch this weekend and I couldn’t feel any more blessed right now. We enjoyed the afternoon with the most lovely, small group of family and friends, eating scrumptious food and insane pastries. I’m truly overwhelmed by how much effort and love was put into this shower…thank you to everyone who pitched in to make the day absolutely perfect! The interesting thing is, Alex and I feel better prepared for parenthood after this event. Not just because of the generous gifts, but because we felt so much love and support, so much shared excitement and joy for our new little addition, and so much guidance from all the veterans in our life (thanks for the long discussion on potential nipple ailments and the cloth diapering demo, ladies!). xo 

Adorable craft project for guests:
have people cut out little creatures
from cloth and affix them to onesies.

Never thought I’d see my father enjoy an afternoon
of baby crafts. So cute.

The baby wearing the t-shirt made
for her by the ever-creative
4-yr-old Zella.

Gluten-free spice cake with buttercream frosting.
Amaaaaazing!

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31 weeks

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My father came to visit yesterday. He hasn’t seen me since I was about 8 weeks pregnant given he lives in California and was recovering from knee surgery for months and couldn’t travel. Needless to say, I look pretty different than I did when he saw me back in September…..different than the little girl he sees in his head when he looks at me. And it was exciting and emotional to share this version of myself with him.

All the conversations my father and I have had over the past 8 months about
baby girls, pregnancy, and parenting have bonded us in such a new way. My father can’t help but constantly tell stories of holding me in his arms the day I was born or carrying me everywhere he went in the baby sling….and I can’t get enough of hearing them. As he anticipates his first grandchild, it is as if he is anticipating the rebirth of the baby that he had to let go of so long ago. And for me, the emotional transition from individual to mama and falling in love with the little one that squirms inside my body, has deepened my appreciation for my father and shifted my perspective on his reluctance to let me go (all my life) from annoyance to understanding. I’ve yet to hold my own baby girl in my arms, but I can tell you emphatically that I know I will not want to let her go. Ever. I cry at any mention of kids going off to college and my baby hasn’t even left the womb.

There is a quote painted on the bathroom wall at my midwives’ office that says: “Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” That about sums it up.

It’s an interesting experience, becoming a parent in your own parent’s presence. I sometimes feel as though I want to simultaneously jump back in time and forward. In fact, that’s exactly how I feel right now as I write this, sobbing, thinking about my father….thinking about how hard it is for him to be 3,000 miles away from his children, thinking about how heartbreaking that would be for me if this baby decides one day that she has to give the west coast a whirl too…thinking about how quickly the phase of parenthood/childhood that my father is reliving and telling tales of right now slips past you. But, that is life. Wonderful, beautiful, emotional life. All I can do is hug my father when he’s here and try to live one day at a time with my baby girl (when she finally arrives), giving her all the mama love I can while she lives and grows up just down the hall from me. Could I be any more hormonal today?!?!

On a lighter note, I found one of my pre-pregnancy hippie shirts at the bottom of my drawer today…mysteriously tucked in beneath the heap of large, elastic maternity shirts, wondering where its former, slender, hipper roommates have gone. Before I put it in my someday-I-will-fit-into-these-again storage box, I thought I would see if I could get the sucker on….mostly because I miss my free-spirted old style, but also because I thought it would be funny to see my rotund belly peaking out of the slit down the front that used to be sexy….used to display flat abs and low-slung skinny jeans. My how things have changed…

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a note from zombieland

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I feel like a COMPLETE zombie this week. Is this how it’s going to be for the next 10 weeks? I hope not. It’s more than exhaustion though, and that’s what is killing me. My brain has just shut off…out to lunch….or maybe longer. I’ve read it’s normal and part of the end of pregnancy, but damn! I find myself just sitting and staring off into space, not even realizing it’s happening until a good hour or two has rolled by. Breakfast has turned into lunch and I can’t quite recall what’s happened in between. I mentioned in my last post that I really have no idea what I’m saying/writing as I’m saying/writing it these days and it’s the truth. That is why I’ve (sadly) shied away from blogging this week. I sit here every morning, gazing at the blank screen, half forgetting what to do with a blank screen and computer keyboard. I do this for awhile until I realize it’s just not happening. All of my body’s resources are currently being rerouted to my uterus and the growing human being there. This last part of pregnancy is all about her brain growth—it’s supposed to almost triple in size from now until she’s born. And she seems quite happy about it. I can sense her happiness in the way she moves. The way I move is sluggish and involves a lot of grunting and sighing. Not that I’m complaining….I guess I’m just trying to figure out how to exist and be semi-productive without the use of my brain. Is that what motherhood is?

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30 weeks

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I’m the big 3-0 today….yikes! It’s crazy that the last time I was a singular person, walking around without a passenger, it was the middle of the summer and now we are nearing the end of winter. It’s even more crazy how much we’ve been through as a little family these last 30 weeks. The seasons have changed, our address has changed, jobs have changed, daily activities have changed, my body has definitely changed….all while a ball of cells took up residence in my uterus, miraculously growing into one of the loves of my life.
The day our little one’s life began.
We started our hypnobirthing classes last week, which was a strange experience. I felt nervous, or like I wasn’t really supposed to be there. Being pregnant is so surreal that the first time it happens to you it really is difficult to accept that it’s legit. I took three pregnancy tests to confirm that it was a reality 26 weeks ago, and even after all those double lines and the two tests given to me at my midwife’s office, I still didn’t completely buy it until week 13 when we saw our little bouncing bean on an ultrasound. I also had this strange feeling every time I went to a prenatal appointment for the longest time, almost like I was an impostor, just some silly girl that wished she was pregnant but wasn’t really. I still feel that way sometimes. Then I look down at the huge bulge in my midsection and the tiny elbows and knees that are protruding from the bulge, and I realize this might be real. It was that feeling of “this is too surreal to swallow” that left me feeling strange in our hypnobirthing class. There we were, sitting in a circle surrounded by other big bellies, swapping stories and talking about our vision for childbirth, our faithful partners by our sides, rubbing our backs and exchanging smiles with hands held above our dancing baby’s womb. That’s about as real as it gets. That moment triggered the shift in our attention to the reality that is quickly approaching us.
The conversations in our household have become focused on the big day—when baby girl is going to arrive, how it’s going to go down, childbirth, the adjustment to sleep deprivation and a tiny new body in our bed. We find ourselves talking through a billion scenarios, “well, if she comes early then x, y, z” and “if she waits til May then….” This conversation wasn’t helped by the fact that our hypnobirthing instructor mentioned that more babies are born on the 3 days surrounding the full moon each month, a fact we became obsessed with when we got home (we were disappointed to discover that there isn’t a full moon directly near baby girl’s due date, she’d either be really early on April 6 or late on May 6).
Then there was our first doula appointment. We spent hours talking about different strategies and preferences, what we might do with the placenta, Alex’s plan to catch our baby when she emerges, the birthing tub, how messy it’s going to be, what we’re going to go through in the days immediately after the birth. That long talk made things really real. Suddenly all those decisions we’ve discussed in theory or as if they were so far in the future, are decisions that have to be made….information we need to know….birthing techniques we need to practice. I feel my body preparing, my mind preparing, my baby preparing. I feel the strong, powerful mother inside me emerging, intensely focused and accomplishing all she needs to accomplish though the weight of her belly and her growing exhaustion do all they can to slow her down.
So, that’s where I’m at. Meanwhile, all my thoughts trickle out of me at such a sluggish pace these days that I’m never quite sure if anything I’ve said (or, in this case, written!) makes any sense or follows any sort of direction.
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29 weeks

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I mentioned last week that I had an emotional meltdown in a hospital lab and found myself sobbing all thanks to a Martina McBride song. What I didn’t mention was that later on that same day I also burst into tears when I paused for a moment on an episode of A Baby Story (something I normally refuse to watch because it does not depict the kind of birth I’m hoping for). But, this episode featured a home birth and at the moment I breezed by it I heard the midwives saying to the mother in labor “it’s ok, let your baby out.” That phrase sounded so beautiful….such a nonthreatening way to tell a woman to push. I then cried an hour later when I made Alex watch said episode with me, because I felt the need to record it after being emotionally moved. And then an hour after that I cried as I tried to explain to Alex why I love him. It was a big day for me and my hormones. Welcome to my third trimester…I sometimes resemble a mental patient….or actually, an infant (how fitting).

I must say, my due date has felt so close for much of this pregnancy, mostly because the idea/reality of having an actual baby in our house is so intense that it happening in any amount of months feels like it’s tomorrow. I simply cannot put that feeling into words.

Now, we are just 11 weeks away, and I oscillate between feeling like this is happening tomorrow and like this is happening a year from now. Intellectually, it’s like “holy @*!% only 11 more weeks of life as a twosome; only 11 more weeks to finish this gigantic list of to-do’s; only 11 more weeks until I can no longer spend 45 minutes smelling soaps and candles at Whole Foods; only 11 more weeks of getting 10 hours of sleep every night….I think I need a little more time!” But, physically—and that’s the part of me that’s getting difficult to ignore—it’s like “OH. MY. GOD. 11 more weeks of being pregnant?! But, I am stretched out as far as I think I can be. I’ve been carrying this baby around for what, like 2 years now, right? But, I don’t want to grow any more chins…I’m overwhelmed by the number I currently have. I’ve already had to buy 3 sets of bra sizes and you’re telling me these puppies are going to grow 2 more times?! But, I miss not wearing a bra. Do you know what it feels like to be literally punched in the bladder? This baby is going to double or maybe triple in size in the next 11 weeks….how will I ever keep my urine in?”

These dueling mentalities are accompanied by bouts of me holding my belly and tearing up because I can’t handle the love I feel for this little being…and I simply cannot wait to snuggle her.

Oh, the waiting game.

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in my daughter’s eyes

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I was sitting in a hospital lab this week, having my blood drawn, when I suddenly burst into tears. The lab had a radio playing and “In my daughter’s eyes” by Martina McBride came on. I had never heard the song before, and admittedly had to google Martina McBride when I got home to figure out who she is (I’m so removed from popular culture it’s frightening), but found myself listening intently. As far from my taste as this song sounded, I could not help but get emotionally wrapped up in it. As the lab technician filled vials with my blood, I was lost in a daydream of motherhood and sobbing (this is far from the first time a song has made me cry while pregnant—here’s an example, and another). The woman looked up from my arm confused and I blurted out “Do you hear the words to this song?! Oh, I can’t handle it! I’m pregnant with a baby girl right now.” She was understandably stunned by the whole thing and awkwardly patted my shoulder and asked me if I was okay. “Yes, I’m fine. I just have more hormones in me right now than an entire bus full of high schoolers.”

Hormones aside, I really was moved by the sentiment behind the song—the realization that your daughter will look at you in a way that makes you want to be a better person, that her love for you will inspire you to become that superhero/woman she’s put up on a pedestal. I often wonder what will become of me as an individual when I become a mother, and I like to think that I will find more strength, success, and fulfillment when I have a little girl watching my every move. I want my daughter to see a woman living a brilliant, passionate life. I want to inspire her the way I know she will inspire me. As Martina says “I see who I want to be in my daughter’s eyes.”

It’s an enormous responsibility to be a parent. All of a sudden you have a 24-hour audience watching you, learning from you, modeling you, and ultimately being shaped as an individual by you at every moment. That’s huge. And I admit, it makes me nervous because it’s the most important job I will ever take on….one I can’t wait to start. 


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28 weeks

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I am officially in my third trimester! The countdown begins, the hypnobirthing classes begin, the doula appointments begin, the nesting is out of control and I basically live at my midwives’ office. It’s an exciting time and one of great focus. I’ve gone from being a mostly sedentary pregnant creature, to a fury of activity, insanely needing to accomplish a list of to-do’s every day that feel supremely important and vital to me….most of which leave my husband scratching his head and questioning me. For example, the other day I needed to take out the nontoxic wood polish and scrub every rung on our banister, every stair on the staircase, and every inch of the railing. I felt so much better prepared for this baby after doing that, meanwhile my husband stood cursing in the nursery while he tackled “real” necessities like giving the baby a room of her own. It’s funny how I can feel like I’m making progress when my house still looks like a disaster area, all because I know all 29 of its windows have been washed, I’ve organized the tea in the kitchen cupboard, and 12-months worth of hand-me-down baby clothing has been washed twice, rinsed an extra time, folded and arranged by size. You gotta love nesting!
I have been having dreams about this baby basically since I conceived, but this past week I started having visions while awake, as if I can see imprints of the future in otherwise empty rooms. I woke up the other morning and when I opened my eyes I had such a clear vision of my baby girl lying next to me on the bed—her cherub-like face, her soft blonde hair, her rosy full lips, and her big eyes looking up at me. I could see in her eyes that I was her mama, her world, her favorite place to be. Although it was just a vision, it was the first time I had experienced a child looking at me that way and it was one of the most intense feelings I’ve ever experienced. It took my breath away. I can’t believe that will soon be a daily reality. And, as hormonally charged (read: crazy) as my husband thinks I am when I emotionally speak about things such as having baby visions, I was able to describe a vision to him of the first time he holds baby girl that brought a tear to his eye….so I don’t think I’m alone in the overwhelming anticipation of this child’s arrival.
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against the grain

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I make unpopular decisions. I always have. I’m sure part of it is due to my independent nature. I recently read that it is also a quality shared by most introverts (which I definitely am) thanks to our ability to tune in to our inner world to reflect on what we are feeling and experiencing, then think things through thoroughly and independently. Either way, it seems I rarely make decisions that are easily accepted by the masses (or those around me). I listen to my gut instead of to others, it’s that simple and it doesn’t feel like a choice. I feel physically ill and my sanity threatened when I don’t make decisions that are in line with my true desires or what is really best for me—it’s a blessing to be that sensitive to my world, but it’s not easy.


The deeper into adulthood I climb, the more important my decisions become, the more I’ve realized how independent my thinking is and unpopular my decisions are. Expecting a child and making decisions about how to be pregnant, how to birth, and how to parent is probably the best example I have of this. There are so many decisions to be made from the time you conceive, each one defining who you are as an individual and mother, and what kind of environment and experience you want to create for your child. And I take my decisions very seriously. I’ve done an insane amount of reading, I’ve listened to other women’s stories, I’ve asked a lot of questions, I’ve reflected on my childhood experiences, and I’ve talked with 9 different midwives, 2 OBGYNs and 1 doula since I began the process of conceiving and expecting. 


I’d say my decisions are pretty well-informed. They are absolutely the right decisions for me and I deeply believe in the parenting practices my husband and I intend to utilize. But, I’ve had to endure the onslaught of disapproval, criticism, judgement, unsolicited opinions and sometimes borderline outrage over my decisions that is so common during pregnancy and parenting. As common as it is, I am still deeply offended by it. Could there by anything more personal or intimate than your uterus, your vagina, or your flesh and blood? Why our society has become so warped in the way we interact with pregnant women and mothers is beyond me. Why we do so little to support this sacred, beautiful transition and honor the unique ways in which each woman would like to experience it is beyond me. And the fact that pregnancy and birth have been so taken over by the medical community that most women are completely resigned to listening to doctors, disconnecting from their bodies, and ignoring or not even attempting to tune in to their own wisdom, is such a tragedy in my mind.


I will step off my soap box now. I just find this issue has become more and more intense as I approach the end of pregnancy. I am exhausted by the questions, the prying into my personal decisions, all while I am trying to maneuver this completely new and foreign experience the best I can. This is a time I would so love to have my wisdom regarding my own body, my child and the family my husband and I are creating respected. It’s a time that I’d so love to be able to talk openly and freely about how I’ve decided to do this, but instead must protect my experience and unpopular decisions from anyone outside of the birth support circle I’ve been lucky enough to create for myself. The silver-lining to all this is that I’ve never felt more confident and strong in who I am so, in a way, I thank all the authors, groups and people I know who have voiced their disapproval. Having to make decisions of this caliber and defy the direction the current runs has made me into the kind of mother I was hoping to be. Now I just have to survive the next 18+ years of unsolicited critiques of my parenting. Piece of cake:)   

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