Category Archives: pregnancy

27 weeks

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I can’t believe this is the final week of my second trimester. Next week I will begin the final stretch. It’s absolutely insane! And it might be a little early to be saying this, but I kind of can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore. Like everything else about pregnancy, it’s a mixed emotion—I’m elated at the thought of being able to bend and twist my body any which way I choose, sleeping without 45 pillows propping up various body parts and maybe not being in pain when doing so, enjoying a cup of coffee and a caesar salad (perhaps not together though), being able to run instead of waddle. But, of course, I know I will also feel a twinge of sadness when the journey is over because there is something tremendously special about being pregnant and being thisclose to my baby girl at all times. Part of me feels like the minute she leaves my body she will be leaving for college the next day and that…..well, it makes my heart hurt.
But, really, the end of pregnancy is not the most comfortable of times. Something shifted in my body last week and I reached a new stage in which I like to exclaim “I’m just too pregnant!” followed by some sort of animal-sounding grunt that could only escape a pregnant woman’s mouth. This usually happens when I try to lift myself off the couch, get into bed at night or dress myself. So I’ve been wondering why there isn’t a manual every pregnant woman receives that is filled with practical how-to’s and solutions. I don’t mean the standard “you’re going to feel like throwing up. When this happens eat some ginger, munch on crackers, never leave your stomach completely empty.” I’m talking about “you’re not going to be able to put on your own underwear, pants or socks. When this happens find yourself a pair of tongs with extra long handles and use these as an extension of your own arm to pull those suckers on.” Really, the list of things you can no longer maneuver is quite extensive, I think it’d make good sense for someone to come up with some solutions. It’s just not practical to assume I have someone following me around all day putting lotion on my legs for me, picking up everything I drop on the floor and cannot retrieve, or spoon feeding me because I cannot reach my plate at the table. I mean, I nearly severed a toe attempting to cut my own toenails the other day. That doesn’t seem fair.
It seems unnatural to transition into a sappy pregnancy sentiment after everything I just said, so I’ll leave it at that for the week:)
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26 weeks

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I’ve reached the rapidly expanding phase of pregnancy (two thirds of the way there, baby!)—my pants look/feel like they were painted on, the double chin is in full effect, my once mid-thigh length shirts now barely cover my belly, and trying to put my own socks and shoes on is not only painful, but a job I have to outsource many a day. This is it, the end is barreling toward me. I had the realization the other day that I could give birth in just 10 weeks with my midwives (36 weeks is the cut-off, before then is considered premature). That is just crazy. And it set my mind racing with endless lists of things still to be done before this little peach arrives. This is not helping my insomnia.
The nursery is STILL not done on account of yet another list of unforeseeable hiccups in the reno project. This fact is killing me softly. The house is piling up with baby gear and my nesting hormones are relentless. Please Universe, stop putting obstacles in our way so I can get this frickin’ room done!!! I will say, though, that I am pretty excited about the design I’ve put together for the room. More on that soon.
I cannot say how accurate mother’s intuition is, but I do know that I feel it all the time. I’ve mentioned that I often feel like I know so much about this baby and her personality already. I get the sense that she is so ready to live life. She constantly remains at the bottom of my uterus, as close as possible to her exit route. I can sense her independence even though she’s still completely reliant on me at the moment. She is strong and has an incredible presence about her. She is stubborn. She knows what she wants. She is driven.
As is evident from my completely transition-less writing today, my mind has become a scattered mess of thoughts punctuated with passing anxieties. Everything feels so urgent at this point, everything. I realize that is biology doing its thing, coaxing me to prepare for this monumental event, but that fact doesn’t erase the urgency. I’ve also been worrying that the heightened sense of urgency coupled with baby girl’s zeal to live life means she’s coming early. Gulp. Of course, that could also be because my sister-in-law put that idea in my head, followed by her 3-year-old prophet-of-a-daughter (the same one who told me I was pregnant the day after I conceived) told me the baby was going to come out now (then again, she also told me the baby would be born April 27th at night). I suppose only time will tell, so in the meantime I’m going to go attack my house with non-toxic furniture polish and make about a billion lists of to-dos, color-coded by priority level.
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the bond of pregnancy

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Pregnancy is a funny thing. In one way, it is a very isolating experience given you are the only one who can go through it. No one can join you in all the aches and pains, the worries and fears that keep you up at night, the months of nausea, the magic and bonding between you and your unborn baby, the bizarre sensation of all your body parts stretching, moving, and morphing into a completely new arrangement, the crazy impatience and excitement, or the intense odyssey that is childbirth. Sure, you can look to others to emotionally support you through all of that, you can find hands to hold and shoulders to cry on. But, ultimately, it’s all yours.

 

At the same time, pregnancy bonds you to others in a profound way, a completely unique way, an ever-lasting way. You may feel more connected to and appreciative of your own parents. You may feel closer than previously possible to the women in your life who have children. You may feel a deeper kind of affection for other people’s children. And then there is your spouse. This is the person who is in the trenches with you, the one who shares those hilarious/gross/surprising/troubling moments when your body does something unexpected, the one who witnesses the ebb and flow of your insane hormones, the one who brings you a glass of water after you regurgitate your supper, the one who hears that tiny heartbeat for the first time with you….the one who has given you the gift of half their DNA, the one whose love melted with yours to create this little being that only the two of you can share a similar experience of.

I was reflecting back on the experience of conceiving and being pregnant with my husband the other night as I prepared to leave for a 4-day trip up to Saratoga (as I was run out of my house by an insanely invasive construction project that made this a completely unmanageable environment for a pregnant lady). But, it was so hard to leave. My hormones were shouting “don’t leave your nest!” and my heart was aching in a way that felt familiar, yet somehow entirely new. The whole time I was away I needed to hear my husband’s voice on the phone 3 times a day in order to remain sane.

 

My husband and I have been ridiculously attached to one another since our very first date. We admittedly don’t like to spend much time away from one another and have a rule to never be apart more than 5-7 consecutive days, which honestly very rarely ever happens. And when we are together at home, we can usually be found holding hands, hugging, snuggling or the like at constant intervals (this is, of course, broken up by us spending time alone doing our own thing because, ironically, I would go nuts without my space and time alone). But, since I’ve been pregnant, the dynamic has shifted. I seem more detached, less affectionate, more introspective and less talkative to my husband. The interesting thing is, though, I’ve never felt more attached to him. I may act more aloof, but I need him in ways I cannot explain. He is the only one who has seen the cumulative experience, the one who understands (as much as is possible) my current (yet constantly changing) emotional state, my needs, and my limitations….and more importantly, he doesn’t pass judgement on any of it. He is the one who talks to this baby as much as I do, the one who knows what my pregnant body looks like naked, the one who cooks my meals and rubs my back, the one who has become so protective of me and his unborn child.

My trip away last week brought me back home to my husband. It was a chance to reflect on this journey, and realize that we’re doing all right despite the craziness that is our life. Things have changed, for sure, but we are in this together regardless of whether we fall asleep spooning or with me pushing his arm off of me because my pregnant body needs space. And we love each other in a way that we couldn’t before all this began.

Relationships change when you have a child. That I knew. But, what I’ve experienced is that they begin to shift and change from the moment you decide to try to conceive. Every relationship I have now feels different—it’s a wonderful, confusing, life-altering, surprising thing. I feel as if my life and environment are being stretched, moved and morphed into an entirely new arrangement along with my body parts. And somehow, I just know that all of these changes are setting the foundation for a new life to begin—not just the life of my unborn baby girl, but the life I was meant to live. My relationships with others will never be the same. Nothing will ever be the same. This is the beginning, and I wouldn’t want to have anyone other than my husband by my side.

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25 weeks

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I was never very good at sharing food. I could probably blame it on my crazy high metabolism, which requires a constant stream of fuel….but, I think I’m just selfish with food. And now I’m pregnant. This means my husband has to really watch his step when entering the kitchen. I know sometimes I’m irrational, but there are pregnant ways of being I can’t ignore, like the fact that the scent of fresh pineapple is the most intoxicating scent to me right now and I NEED to consume an enormous bowl of it every morning and I  WILL notice if even one piece is missing from my stockpile in the fridge. The list of food in the house that my husband is not allowed to touch extends far beyond pineapple at this point though. It’s pretty insane for me to expect him to ask my permission every time he has a snack, but what can I say….it’d be nice. I thought he had learned his lesson after the Carmel Greek Yogurt incident, in which he got reamed out so badly for indulging in a few of “mine” that he drove 30 minutes out of his way to buy me 3 cases of it the next day. But, I guess he forgot that lesson learned, because I just sat down with a nice cup of tea to accompany the one oatmeal raisin cookie I had waiting for me in the cabinet…and it was gone. Unacceptable.
Another fun change concerning food is the fact that my belly has become a food catching device. I can’t figure out if I have always dribbled water out of my mouth when I drink and lost pieces of my meal while I eat, and just never noticed because there was nothing to stop its fall before. Or, have I just become a more slovenly eater since I’ve been knocked up? I’m not sure, but I seem to always have water drips and food stains down my front these days. Lovely. I guess it’s preparing me for motherhood though, when I’ll always have some form of spit-up, food, snots or pee on my clothes at any given time.
All that aside, I am euphoric these days with every reminder of the sweet reward that will come at the end of this crazy journey. I constantly have dreams about giving birth and holding my baby girl, and it’s exciting every time. Holding her in my dreams somewhat satisfies my impatience. Ahhhh……15 more weeks!
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ch-ch-change

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It’s amazing how quickly and drastically things change when you buy a house and get pregnant. Our focus has completely shifted, our conversations revolve around previously foreign topics, our weekend activities reflect a totally new lifestyle. And unlike the first three years of our relationship (during which changes happened gradually), these changes happened overnight.

I will state this as a disclaimer: we are both beyond thrilled to be having this baby and wouldn’t trade her for anything. We cannot wait to meet her and smother her with love. Now that I’ve said that, I can admit that I’ve spent a great portion of this pregnancy trying to catch my breath, trying to find a comfortable place…a place that makes sense…amidst all these enormous life changes. I like to have to remind myself constantly that this has all been more intense given there is so much on my plate—living in our first house, trying to navigate the many repairs/projects/financial sucks that go along with being homeowners, living in a new state, trying to become part of a new community/find friends, being pregnant, trying to figure out what to do with my career. But, the fact is it all happened at once. It doesn’t help to daydream about simpler times or imagine what life would be like right now had our “perfect plan” actually come to fruition. The simpler times are gone, and the universe discarded our plan and handed us what we have today. So, I am here, trying to digest this little by little and iron out the chaos.

As a side note—we thought Alex would have his pick of jobs because he always has. We planned on moving to a boarding school where we would be given a free house to live in with virtually no bills to pay for years so we could save up tons of money to eventually buy a house and support our family. We’d raise our babies in a close-knit/built-in community without the stress of commuting, daycare, or bills. It’d be no problem for me to stay home with the kids during their early years. I could slowly build up my art career without the pressure of needing to bring home the bacon. Doesn’t that sound perfect? It did to us.

There are several cliché phrases you hear about pregnancy—”there is no right/perfect time, you have to just go for it if you want children,” “nothing can prepare you for what you’ll go through when you experience pregnancy/become a parent,” “having a child changes everything.” As cliché as these phrases are, they are absolutely true! They are true in a way you can’t understand until it happens to you and you suddenly find yourself saying “oh crap! This is what they meant.” You can devise a “plan” all you want for attacking trying to conceive, pregnancy, and becoming parents, but it will all shake down the way it’s going to shake down.  You cannot control it (something I have had to repeat to myself a billion times over the last year).

My experience: I read everything ever written on conceiving a child, ate a perfect diet, took all the right vitamins and supplements, had weekly acupuncture, kept myself calm with yoga and meditation, exercised, charted my Basal Body Temperature every morning, peed on ovulation predictor strips…and it happened on its own, when I didn’t feel like I was “trying.” Next up, pregnancy. I always imagined I’d love being pregnant, that I’d feel healthy and vital and charged to get things done, that my life wouldn’t change all that much until the child came…but EVERYTHING about my life has changed since I was only 7 weeks pregnant. I hated being pregnant for the first four months, and even now that I’m feeling better and love this belly, I’ve still never felt weaker or less productive and other than writing this blog, I struggle to find any small piece of my life that still feels like it is mine. Then there’s becoming a parent—I already feel and act like a parent to this little girl, but I have yet to experience actually having a baby in the house 24/7 that I am completely responsible for, so I can only speculate…but I’d wager my “plans” and visions will only be laughed at once again.

Don’t get me wrong, this is an incredible experience, one that I am certain is shaping me into a better version of myself than I’ve ever been, but there is more truth than most people share. Or maybe it’s just that when we hear veterans tell us stories, it doesn’t reverberate inside us the way it would if we could grasp the intensity of the situation from personal experience. Either way, it’s felt more like a string of surprises than anything I could have prepared myself for. But, I guess that’s what life is, isn’t it? The trick is being able to surrender to it all, to accept things as they come rather than create anxiety by trying to predict them (not a strong suit of mine). The trick is being willing to let go of everything you’ve known before so you can become something new, because life is not going to stop changing on account of your resistance.

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24 weeks

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It’s interesting to look back at the evolution of my New Year’s Eve celebrations the last few years. Four years ago, I had only been dating my husband for two weeks—there were lots of drinks involved, people throwing up in the bathroom, and I had to serve as our designated driver. Three years ago, I was newly engaged—we turned down an invitation to go to some newfangled rave club in NYC that featured naked women with mermaid tails swimming in large fish bowls suspended from the ceiling…and instead went to see Avatar at the IMAX 3D theater, came home and had one drink each. Last year, I was newly married—we spent the evening with a 2-year-old, no drinks. This year, I was pregnant—although I had a friend over during the day who kept mentioning New Year’s Eve, it didn’t click that it actually was New Year’s Eve that night (I kept thinking it was days away). Neither my husband nor I realized it was NYE until 5:30 pm! We discussed how boring the holiday has become for us over the years as we placed our hands on my growing belly and shouted every time our tiny dancer kicked. We caught up on this season’s Office episodes and were in bed by 10:00 pm. Life is clearly changing.

The most exciting part of it being 2012 is that this is my baby girl’s year! Soon enough she will make her entrance into this world and a new chapter of life will begin. I am growing incredibly impatient for that day to arrive—with every kick to the belly, I am crazy yearning to pull her out and into my arms to cuddle. As much as I want to slow down and enjoy these last few months alone with my husband, the last few months our lives will ever be this quiet, it’s hard to do when I think about this little being I’ve waited my whole life to meet. It’s quite similar to how I felt before I started dating my husband—so incredibly difficult to wait for my soulmate to arrive.

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23 weeks

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The holidays were a whirlwind, which is why I haven’t been posting (I thought I could do it from the road, but that didn’t happen). We had a lovely time visiting both sides of Alex’s family though. I found it especially interesting to note all the changes from this year as opposed to last….my goodness life moves fast! At least it does in our case, most of which I attribute to being in our 30’s when all of life’s big events tend to unfold. At any rate, this year I was carting around a pregnant belly for everyone to gush over and touch while last year I strolled in fresh off my honeymoon, tan and entranced in a bubbly, gooey-eyed love fest with my new husband (I distinctly remember my father-in-law telling us to relax on the PDA). This year also felt more like a baby shower for me given baby girl got more presents than her parents (with the remainder of the gifts being for our new house, another change).
Every year Alex’s dad puts out little Christmas teddy bears that represent our family (so cute). They are each dressed in different outfits and have our names written on signs tied around their necks. It’s so amazing to watch the clan grow! This year there was a new little bear wearing a homemade cloth diaper for my niece Olivia who was still in my sister-in-law’s belly last Christmas. Looking at that bear was one of those moments where it hit me that this hungry being dancing in my belly will soon be an actual member of the family. Next year she will have a bear with her name on it, she’ll be crawling around in the wrapping paper and stealing everyone’s hearts. 23 weeks in and the reality of this is still NUTS to me.
Also nuts, our house has officially exploded in baby gear. On top of our Christmas haul, we received a huge carload of baby clothes and baby necessities from my wonderful sister-in-law (lucky us we are having a girl, which meant lots of hand-me-downs from our two nieces!). Having our house taken over by piles of teeny tiny pink clothes, car seats, boppy pillows, breast pumps, and nursery decorations really seems to bring home (literally) how much our immaculate Pottery Barn lifestyle, complete with millions of small, swallowable trinkets decorating every room will soon be a thing of the past.
Meanwhile, the belly is picking up speed. I am amazed at how quickly it’s growing now—it was such a slow process before. Over Christmas there was literally a night that I went to bed and when I woke up it was evident to everyone in the house that I had grown overnight. Insane. I stepped on the scale when we got home after the holidays and suddenly realized this baby is for real, and she’s growing like a weed now. This is happening!
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the other side of the bump: swing construction

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This post was written by my husband, Alex. We are going to try to have him post a semi-regular series: the other side of the bump. Men’s and women’s experiences of the same event are drastically different, and I’m fascinated by these differences. When it comes to the topic of parenting and pregnancy, I’m especially curious to read his thoughts. I hope you enjoy the series! 


I put together a swing last week.  More specifically, I assembled the Bright Starts ™ Cradle and Sway Swing from the InGenuity collection, model I-56, offering comfort Recline adjustable positions, Whisper Quiet Operation (for peaceful rocking), True Speed sustained swinging speed, and touting Bella Vista snail/ball/bumble bee accessories and the efficient hybridrive™, meaning, of course, that excessive battery use is no longer a problem.  Apparently, this device will someday swing my child.  I haven’t met this child, but I am told that when they do come to exist, they will need some swinging.  That was where I came in to the equation.      
 
The swing came tumbling out of the shipping box in an overwhelming mass of plastic parts and jingling hardware one evening several weeks ago.  Luckily the instructions were written in six languages.  As I sought one familiar to me, I told myself this would be a valuable experience for me.  It did seem vaguely fulfilling, like the civic satisfaction of voting in an election, despite having no knowledge or interest in the candidates that will one day take an office I know nothing about.  Well, at least my wife will be happy with me anyways, I told myself, leafing through the monstrous manual. 

I had done this type of work for her before.  I had assembled an impressive portfolio of particle-board achievements: bookcases, polyester coated lounge chairs, you name it.  I had Philip’s head screw-drived and mini-alan wrenched my way into the annals of home furniture construction.  I enjoyed the challenge, I told myself, somewhat convincingly.  And yet, this was different.  For one, it was gray plastic, cut into strange curvy angles I was unfamiliar with.  And more importantly, it came with many unanswered questions.  What would the final product be?  What purpose would this serve in my life?  Why should I spend several hours callous-ing my hands, cursing distant and perhaps non-human manufacturers, and puzzling together part L with hardware number 20043?  For what tangible reward?  I needed more information.  I looked to the picture of the swing on the box for answers, and into the eyes of the model baby in the swing on the cover, sporting a look of mixed satisfaction and confusion.  The child in the picture seemed as befuddled as I.  “Why am I in this strange swaying chair,” he/she/it seemed to say, “When will I be getting out?  What do they want from me?  I guess I’m happy here, but I really have no context to judge this experience by.”  Comforted that someone, albeit a stranger in a picture likely under the age of one, had similar feelings about this swing, I looked at the swing itself on the cover as a guide for my labors.

The assembly itself was mostly painless at first.  I blew through the first seven steps.  The wily European manufacturers only required that I snap a few pieces of plastic to each other.  They clearly had experience with the chronically inept, I thought to myself smugly.  But then came step eight…  Simply screw a long screw into place, the directions instructed, matter-of-factly.  What they failed to impart was that you needed to hold three different heavy plastic parts in precise alignment while you screwed in this screw.  How many able parents did they think our imaginary, soon-to-be-real, child had?  For the next hour I cursed as I failed with the screw several times, tried it backwards, failed again, looked at the child on the box again for answers, failed again with the screw, looked at the child on the box under better lighting, shared another moment with he/she/it, and then finally succeeded.  With the infamous step eight complete, the only remaining challenges were with how to set up the accoutrements for my soon-to-be child.  There was the seat cover, the velvety bumblebees to circle above the child’s head (didn’t sound comforting in theory, but I guess these were a different brand of the feared stinging insects, they were smiling…), and a snail and box of the same material to attach to the provided tray.  After I attached each of these pieces, I called to Alexa to look at the swing and get her reaction.  Of course, every time her reaction was the gooey smile and cooing that all women, particularly in child-bearing years, seem to get, even at the mention of a baby.  But somehow I needed this reaction to keep on going.  Finally, when the whole of it was put together, I put in the batteries and turned it on.  It played songs or alternatively, babbling water to ease this soon-to-be-not-hypothetical child.  So I pushed the swing and played the song to congratulate myself on a job well done, and for more gooey smiles and cooing. 

And now, every so often, I turn on the swing.  I give it a push and turn on the song.  I leave it to gently rock in the corner and play its magical music in the subtle background.  I look back at the swing and try to picture a girl in there sleeping gently, but I cannot.  In the attempt to create the image, it melts from my eyes like a fading dream.  So I turn back to my computer and continue reading about the Patriots, but the song continues lightly behind me to the gentle sound of swinging.  
           

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22 weeks

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I think I have an acrobat or tap dancer living in my uterus. I know it’s normal, but never having experienced it before I am shocked by how crazy my baby girl’s movements have become overnight. I had been feeling her gentle flutters and pokes for weeks, but the day I turned 21 weeks she suddenly felt like she had grown considerably in both size and strength. It’s exciting for Alex to be able to share the experience now that you can feel her on the outside of my belly, not just the inside, and it’s amusing for me to watch my shirt move as she practices her gymnastics. I just can’t believe such a small being, weighing just a little over 1 lb. can kick with such force. Insane. Also, it makes me a little nervous for what’s in store the next few months as she gets bigger.

I had my first experience of being pregnant in public this week. It’s been cold outside ever since my belly popped so normally when I’m out in public the evidence of my uterine contents is buried under a large puffy jacket and scarf. It was a different story when Alex and I went to his work holiday party on Friday—it was the first time I had people gathering around me (mostly women), staring at the bulge, asking a million questions. And it was my first experience of someone coming up to me and asking “are you pregnant?” It may not sound like an overly exciting experience, but for me it was. It was as if I was being ushered into the secret club I’ve heard about, but never been allowed to step inside of—the mother club. It’s really incredible how your relationships with women change when you are pregnant (and I’m sure even more so when you give birth). Suddenly complete strangers can understand your ecstatic joy and your character-testing pain without words. It’s an incredible thing.

On the nursery front….so frustrated. We (and by we, I mean Alex) finally got to the painting stage after agonizing hours of wallpaper peeling and wall patching….and I hate the paint color. Sigh. Alex was not very pleased with my reaction and utter disgust when I walked into the room (or the money we tossed down the drain by not first buying paint samples). But, I had envisioned very light khaki-colored walls with crisp white trim and instead we ended up with a hideous flesh color. The hormones in me are now going bonkers because I feel this great sense of urgency about the room….like I need to move furniture into it and have it ready for the baby NOW.

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