Thursday, December 30, 2010

PregnaNazis

Well we survived Christmas again.  All six of them.  It makes me feel like Reese and Vince in that movie "Four Christmases" were wusses.  They only had four Christmases to go to and they snuck off to tropical destinations year after year.  Not me and my husband.  We put on our big girl panties (literally - you try eating six Christmas meals in twenty four hours) and face the music.  We hit all six Christmas festivities with a jolliness not even Santa can pull off.  Speaking of which, Santa can bite me.  He just swoops in, drops off a few gifts, and leaves.  Not me.  I bring presents, casseroles, and small talk.  I bring sonogram pictures and gift receipts (because we both know you are returning that scarf the day after Christmas).  Heck, I even bring my husband and my two dogs.  Now that I am thinking about it - I am way more useful than Santa.  People should collect figurines of me to decorate their mantel.

As I went through this Christmas I thought about my favorite things of the holiday season now that our family unit is expanding by one.  And I came to one major conclusion: my favorite thing about Christmas is house trailers with colored Christmas lights and inflatable decorations.  Always has been and always will be.  There is nothing that can change that, and I just hope my kid has a fondness for the delightfully tacky like me.  But I also enjoyed getting gifts for Peanut.  And, here it comes...wait for it....second sentimental thing I am saying on this blog about this baby - I get it, in a very small and seemingly unimportant way, what they mean when they say parenthood makes you a selfless person.  I was more excited about receiving gifts for someone I have never met than I was for my own presents.  Those little stuffed animals and pacifiers made me just a little impatient for Peanut to make his/her grand arrival.

Now that that is out of the way, on to my new observations about this little journey I am on. ***Disclaimer: The following rant may offend you.  You have been warned and I mean nothing personal.  ***

I have discovered a new species of life that I am pretty sure has been around for ages but yet to be fully studied in its natural habitat.  I have named these people the PregnaNazis but you can call them whatever you wish.   These are the women (and men, see below) who read the entire series of What to Expect in between bouts of morning sickness and already have daycare, pediatricians, and childbirth figured out.  They have successfully memorized every list out there on what foods are now off limits and have probably added a few just to sound more self-sacrificial.  These are the women who openly gaze at you with disdain at the restaurant when you are lovingly enjoying your SINGLE glass of red wine while attempting to pick out baby names.  Now, note to self: perhaps picking out baby names while you comment on how great your pinot noir is isn't strictly PC.  But come on! I get like one glass a week, and I will not apologize for it.  I am fairly certain French women have been having an occasional glass of wine for hundred of years and they seem to turn out okay. 

These are also the same women who have an opinion on every facet of MY pregnancy.  Let me spell it out for you PregnaNazi woman at Old Navy.  I am simply here picking out elastic waistband jeans because I am worried my lower extremities are going to rot off from lack of blood flow due to the extreme tightness of my current jeans.  I am NOT by any means soliciting your opinion on lunch meat, epidurals, or organic baby bedding.  I, in fact, am already signed up for an epidural class so there will be no chance they can't stick that big needle into my back at the first sign of labor.  I also just finished a cold (gasp) turkey sandwich with soft, probably unpasteurized cheese (double gasp) and plan on having sushi and wine for dinner (OH M. GEE).  I have given up alcohol (with the exception of that once weekly glass of wine) caffeine, aspartame, smoking, any semblance of obtaining a flat stomach or losing that last ten pounds, and most of my social life.  Bug off - that's all I have to give.

As a side note, for the male PregnaNazis out there.  (And yes this is a true subset of the species - rarer but infinitely more annoying).  You are a man.  And unless you are a board certified OBGYN you have absolutely no right to tell me anything about pregnancy or child birth.  I don't give you advice on your prostate health do I? Some of you might think, surely not. Surely there are not men out there with the gall to tell a pregnant lady what to do or not to do.  But yes, there are.  And until your pee makes two little lines show up on a pregnancy test you may not, under any circumstances, tell me what to do for the next six months - or ever really but especially for the next six months.  Because while you may have convinced your wife that an at home water birth would be better for the baby, it will not be better for me, and I would prefer it if my child did not enter the world hearing its mother scream a litany of four letter words while cursing its father for ever being born.  And, on top of that, every time I pass our bathtub I would rather not think of what went down in there. Lets keep it clean and keep me at the hospital.

Whew, I feel better. Now, for a snack.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

My Daily Pregnancy Calendar

Dear Online Daily Pregnancy Calendar:

I do appreciate your daily updates regarding my impending motherhood.  Mostly because it satisfies my need for instant gratification but also because some of your posts are quite informative.  For example, your weekly updates as to Peanut's approximate size make me feel like we are actually working towards our goal - which is to gain ten pounds over the next seven months and then birth a ten pound baby. However, I must complain about a few of your posts as being less than helpful and also point out a few items of my pregnancy you might want to address.  Soon.

1. "Washing your face several times a day may help with skin breakouts."  Gee, thanks.  I went through puberty.  My mom bought me a tub of Noxema at age 12 just like yours did.  Besides, I wash my face every day anyways - you shouldn't have to tell people this.  What you should be offering is some kind of useful advice like what is the strongest, most potent crap I can put on my face that will not cause my child to have three ears.  Because obviously, just washing your face isn't enough. Why don't you do a little research and formulate a lotion/cream/wash that will literally strip all the skin off my face (including the places where it is peeling and the places where it is broken out and the places where it has decided to just change colors) and replace it with skin that is, at a minimum, not frightening to small children. Oh, and if you could make this wonder drug all natural and even organic, well that would be helpful too. 

2. "Sleeping on your stomach is likely impossible now.  Try sleeping on your side."  WHEW. Again, thank you so much for this post.  I had been planning on getting Robby to rig up some way to tie me to the door frame so I could sleep standing up.  Never had it occurred to me to just roll over to my side.  By golly, Calendar, you are a life saver.

3.  As for a post your might want to include: "You are likely a raving lunatic right about now.  This is natural.  And so is bursting into tears at any picture of a baby animal, any less than supportive word by your spouse, and at any other time you feel happy, sad, bored, worried, excited, or even breathe."  Then perhaps you could include a link to the closest place currently serving sausage and cheese platters with a side of apple cobbler and ice cream. 



This just seems helpful, but perhaps its just me?

Sincerely,

Ashley

Sunday, December 12, 2010

There is a baby in there, like a for real baby!

So I went to the doctor Thursday and all is amazingly well. I thought I was going to get to hear Peanut's heartbeat but even better - for some reason they did another sonogram (I was under the impression you only got a sonogram on your first visit and your 20 wk visit, but who am I to remind them I have already had one sonogram? Let them hash it out with insurance) and it was one of the coolest things I have ever seen.
I am sure most of you know that when you are pregnant, there is a baby inside you. Like that is the basic principle of pregnancy - you grow a kid, squeeze it out, and attempt to not kill it or give it too many "mommy issues" to work out with its future therapist. However, when they roll that little rolly thing across your stomach and you see this corresponding little alien life form jumping and flipping around and you know that is going inside your very own uterus...well, its pretty dang cool.
And there you have it ladies and gentlemen. I have officially made my first sentimental statement about my unborn child. And because I am getting all sentimental on you, I am posting our sonogram pictures. Just so you can be as equally amazed at my child's growth and perfection as I am. I am fairly certain he/she is the best looking, most perfectly developed fetus out there. But, hey, maybe thats just me...

This is Peanut at week seven. First doctor's visit. You can understand why I didn't immediately make the connection that I was growing a human. It looks like, well it looks like a freaking Peanut.





This is Peanut at week eleven. The first pictures are of the regular sonogram; the second two are the 4D. They are the really cool ones.





By the way, for those of you who are wondering. That is its umbilical cord its holding. It is not: 1) a sausage link - that just doesn't make sense; 2) a fishing pole - refer to reasoning in #1; 3) his male anatomy - sorry Rob, but if your son was sporting that as his already formed male anatomy he would be a freakshow; in a bad way. And yes, these are all three things people have asked me if that is. I hope the first two folks were joking. Knowing those who asked about the third option, they were only half kidding.
And finally, because I have to complain about something - its my own little coping mechanism after all, I have a simple plea to all the "grabbers" out there:
I think its offensive and creepy that people rub pregnant women's bellies. No one wants to be rubbed on - well in public anyways. But I mean I guess I can understand the draw - I mean its like a kid who just got a buzz cut: there is just the draw to rub on it. (Again, perhaps this is just me?) With that said, you can only even marginally be okay in rubbing a very pregnant woman's belly. Not mine. Now now. Not even if I just told you I was pregnant. We both know I am only eleven weeks prgnant. We both know women who are eleven weeks are not showing. So the logcal conclusion you should make is that the mound you are rubbing on is nothing more than the gullet I have become to lazy to suck in. I am not rubbing your muffin top or the dimples in your butt so why would you think its socially acceptable to rub my gut? Because there is baby the size of a sugar packet somewhere nestled deep within? I think not.


Friday, December 3, 2010

And finally....after two attempts...week ten

Yesterday I ventured into uncharted territory. Week Ten. Exciting for several reasons.

1. I am 25% of the way done. 30 more weeks until Raw Tuna, Wine, and Me have a wonderful and joyous reunion. Actually, if Peanut is on schedule (which he probably won't be knowing his father) 29 weeks, 6 days, but I mean who's counting?

2. This is farther than I have even been in my pregnancy. And yes, before you call me and give me a big duh, every day in your pregnancy is farther than you have ever been - kind of like every day you are alive is older than you have ever been, please allow me to explain. I thought I was nine weeks pregnant when I went to the doctor the first tme. But I was only seven weeks. So I had to redo weeks seven, eight, and nine on my weekly pregnant calendar (which by the way does not make me a dork, it makes me a Blackberry user with a lot of time on their hands while at work). Anyways, I had never made it to the mysterious Week Ten until yesterday. And in case you were wondering, Peanut graduates from an embryo to a fetus this week. Watch it, the kid is on a roll. He also begins producing testosterone if, in fact, he is a he - which I think really explains why men act the way they do. They honestly can't help it. All their faults have been with them since Week Ten. No matter if Peanut is of the male or female persuasion, he (or she) has begun producing urine. Which grosses me out to the infinite degree. I mean do I just have a bunch of urine floating around in there? Dis.gust.ing. If I would sit down and read my What to Expect book perhaps they would answer this question - I heard on TV somewhere at some point in my life that Baby Fetus drinks it or something equally as gross but I just can't even stomach that possibility.

3. On a lighter note Week Ten seems to have been the magic number in battling the naseau - I not only brushed my teeth without gagging last night, but also managed to floss. I also have regained most of my energy and feel almost human again. Do not fret though. I have not regained any desire to go to the gym. Perhaps I will make this a permanent change. I have also not regained any type of self control when it comes to the daily intake of worthless calories. I almost ran over an old lady with a walker yesterday in my rush to order my Phillip's Hamburger. For those of you unfortunate enough to not have had one of these let me paint you a picture: hamburger fully dressed, with two (maybe three) kinds of cheeses, ham, maybe bacon, and a whole lotta greasy love. It is amazing. I am still really into the whole apple craze. Had some apple juice and a sliced apple for breakfast. Which because it is a "healthy craving" allows me to spend the rest of my day daydreaming of chicken gyros, bacon cheeseburgers, and maybe even some Rotel cheese fries.

As a parting thought, my increased sense of smell has made me realize something quite embarassing. My feet stink. I apologize to all of you that have had to endure this.