Sizing Things Up; or, Brand New Body

A changing relationship with our bodies (and body-image) is one of the central aspects of the experience of pregnancy, and yet I've written very little about it. Partly, that's because when I'm feeling down I don't want to come across as a whiner or as ungrateful and when I'm feeling up I don't want to come across as gloating. But there's a lot more to this evolving relationship with ourselves than just weight gain. A few recent events have highlighted that more than ever.

Two-thirds of the way through my second trimester (wow!), I'm feeling fairly strong and healthy and great. None of that first tri nausea, bloating, discomfort, and exhaustion. I wake up refreshed--even if I don't get enough sleep--and feel ready to physically and emotionally tackle the day.

It's hard sometimes to remember that I am under an unusual physical strain, and because of that, I often overtire myself. Last week, for instance, I decided it would be a grand idea to take a 30+ block walk from the restaurant where I met a friend for lunch to a midtown department store where I planned to buy new bras. To put this in perspective, 20 NYC blocks is roughly one mile. Being a New Yorker, I walk a lot and a trip of this length is really no big deal--I have frequently walked much farther than that, especially during the summer.

Of course, it was also mid-day and 98 degrees. Which feels like 115 when you're surrounded by pavement and bodies and glass buildings. Despite the bottle of water I diligently sipped during the walk, I was sweaty and exhausted before I reached my destination. And yet after that leg of my shopping trip was over, I continued running errands, hopping a subway down to the West Village to take care of ordering my sister's wedding gift and meandering around shady but circuitous streets for forty minutes. By the time I returned home, it was all I could do to crawl to the couch.

And about that bra-buying expedition: I'd put off buying any new bras until that point. I hadn't wanted to spend money on new bras at 15 weeks only to have to buy more at 24, so I was almost 23 weeks by the time I bought any. I'd been wearing my 34 B-cup bras on the widest settings for several months.

Turns out, I'm now a 36 D. After I picked my jaw up off the floor and selected a few cheap, comfortable, underwire-free bras in my new size, I was able to reflect on the fact that squeezing the girls into a bra two sizes too small probably had a lot to do with the massive red underwire welts that had start appearing on either side. No bueno.

Walking too fast, turning in the wrong way, or certain yoga moves all have the potential to set off a bout of sciatic nerve pain (which three weeks ago rendered me immobile for three days). I'm lucky enough to have never suffered a serious or chronic injury or dealt with long-term pain (something for which I'm newly grateful), and it's strange to have to be so physically careful.

Ultimately that's what this post is about: not that I worry I'm gaining too much weight or too little (both of which have applied at different points in the pregnancy) or that I feel I'm no longer attractive or am even more attractive (both of which I have also felt) or that I dislike being uncomfortable or love feeling physical proof that Smudgie is growing and that I'm pregnant.

Simply put, this is the first time as an adult that I've had to reacquaint myself with my body, and it's a disorienting and alienating experience. I don't like or dislike my new body--or rather, I like some things about it and dislike others. It's strange, both from the inside and the outside, to identify it as mine.

Obligatory Freak-Outs; or, My Reunion with LaWanda

I suppose it was inevitable I'd eventually make a freaked-out emergency call to my doctor's off-duty line. Maybe I should feel happy it took me 22 weeks to get there.

On Sunday I was having a lot of uncomfortable cramping. Nothing super painful and not accompanied by any spotting or unusual discharge, but strong and consistent enough to worry me. The cramping started around 10 am, and by the time we got home from our weekend out at the beach (about 5:30ish), it was still going. I didn't think I was feeling any contractions, but since I don't know what they feel like, it was hard to tell. And Smudgie was a bit less active than usual. My worry was ratcheting higher and higher with every ache (and--I have to admit--with every webpage I consulted after googling "signs of preterm labor").

At 6:30, feeling like a fool but too scared to stop myself, I broke down and called the answering service. A few minutes later I got to speak with one of the doctors at my practice (the only one I've yet to meet in person, actually), and explain what was going on. The doctor was understanding and helpful. He said the symptoms didn't sound overly concerning and that the pain was likely due to a growth spurt in the fetus/uterus that occurs around this time and that I should rest. He said he would contact the office to get me in for a cervix check and ultrasound just to give me peace of mind. With this news, I felt my blood pressure lower and was able to send LG off to his baseball game and settle on the couch to watch The Bachelorette.

I went in yesterday morning already feeling a lot better. The cramping had subsided and Smudgie was kicking away. Lawyer Guy had a work meeting, so I went alone, which was fine, though I had to silence that little inner voice that whispered this was when things were going to finally go wrong. Smudgie's thumps and bumps on the ride over helped.

So, after a glorious reunion with my old friend Wandy and a quick abdominal scan (during which I managed not to see any baby genitals, hurray!), the upshot is that my cervix is long and closed and the fluid levels look good and the heartbeat is good and everything seems positive.

Phew.

The doctor I met with after the scan said to keep an eye on the cramping and to not be afraid to call if something worries me again, and I will. Better to go in for no reason than to stay at home fretting or not go in when there is a reason.

In celebration last night, I ate my weight in sour gummy peaches and reassured myself that I'm not an anxious freak at all.

Maybe?; or, Hoping for the Sun

On days like today, when for some crazy reason I start to think I'll really be holding a living, squirming baby in my arms come October, I listen to this song and cry. A lot:



(Couldn't embed the original version, but I think Colbie is a good substitute).

Big Projects, Busy Weekend; or The Nursery, Part 1

How were everyone's Memorial Day Weekends? Relaxing, enjoyable, and full of sunshine, I hope. Mine was definitely the latter two though not so much the first because we were BUSY.

Busy doing what? Going to the movies and dinner with friends and family. Cleaning up our roof deck in preparation for summer planting. Attending baseball games. Dropping off donations at a local thrift store. And, oh yeah, two big things: Starting a Registry (!) and Beginning to Prepare the Baby's Room (!!)

We went to Gi.ggle on Saturday afternoon to check out strollers and cribs. We wound up choosing a different stroller than I had anticipated walking in after we compared weight and ease of collapsibility, but we're both excited about it. And we started our first baby registry, stocking it with little clothes and toys and a few decorative items.

We didn't actually register for or purchase the stroller and crib yet. One will be a gift from my MIL. The other apparently only takes four weeks to be delivered and we are nowhere near ready emotionally or space-/planning-wise to be setting up baby furniture yet. But I'm glad we looked at a few options and made some decisions.

I have to confess that afterward, as we ate lunch in SoHo, I began to completely freak myself out about what we'd just done. Even though we hadn't actually bought anything, I still started to worry about jinxing things by registering before 24 weeks. Right now, that's the magical safe point in my mind, even though I know rationally that a) it's not all that safe and b) I have no compelling reason yet to worry about reaching it. Something about this month (weeks 20-24) is really amping up my stress and fear, though, and I'm over analyzing every cervical stab, weird back ache, and uterine twinge. I ran to the bathroom at the end of lunch to check my tp for spotting-- and it was clean, as it has been the entire pregnancy, despite my conviction that I'd felt myself bleeding.

My anxiety's calmed a little since then, though, so much so that Lawyer Guy and I were able to tackle our second big get-ready-for-Smudgie project of the weekend: clearing out his giant desk in preparation for selling or donating it. People, we uncovered some real crap during the process. I'm talking about receipts for $15 sushi lunches we had TEN YEARS AGO! Credit card bills from 1999 that somehow made the move to two different apartments. Tax returns from 1997. Actual credit cards that expired in 2008. Not to mention dozens of weekly, two page response papers from multiple English classes I took as an undergrad. Altogether, we collected two giant garbage bags of paper, old batteries, dry pens, and corroded rubber bands to chuck and made a neat little pile of important documents and useful office and stationery supplies to transition to the new, smaller desk we plan to get for the living room.

Which leaves Smudgie's (hopeful) future room looking like this:


Yeah, it's a not so impressive Before picture (and yes, Bella is a permanent fixture of this room and will be less than thrilled when "her bed" makes the trip to the big furniture warehouse in the sky). But we made a start, at least, which is something. Over the next month we'll dispose of all the furniture in there, find homes for the books and CDs and knickknacks that clutter up the place, and then we can begin the real work: renovating the closest, painting the walls, and putting up the window treatments.

We'll get it done in time, right? Don't answer that.

A Smudgie Quickie; or 21 weeks

We had our follow-up anatomy scan this morning (21 weeks exactly). Everything looks good: all the things they wanted to check-up on are present and accounted for and Smudgie's growth is right on target (he/she is at 52% right now). Smudge was sleeping for most of the scan and did not want to be woken up, the little sweetie. Smudge sleeps the way I do--one arm flung over the head--and let out a big yawn at one point. Awwww.

I asked lots of questions of the doctor afterward: about some crazy awful pain I'm having in my tailbone, about my practice's policies for working with doulas and allowing med-free births (both of which I'm considering but haven't committed to), about movement and weight gain (too little?) and the like. The doctor gave me nice, thorough answers.

I have a lot to update about how I'm feeling and how things are going, but that can wait until after this holiday weekend is over. I wanted to let everything know that so far, things are holding steady. I go back in four weeks for another growth scan and my GD screen. Until I reach 24 weeks, I'm just going to try to hold onto the image of my sweet, sleepy baby.

Let's All Talk About My Uterus; or, Telling

Okay, confession time: I may have just passed the 20-week, half-way point, but I am still pretty anxious about this pregnancy. Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But I can tell that this week is going to be rough. Over a month since I've seen my Smudgie! And an anatomy scan on Friday! And despite the fact that I have felt his or her thumps and bumps with increasing frequency and vigor over the past few weeks, I still have my days when I worry I'm making it all up or Smudgie's less active days that freak me out.

And in the back of my mind is always the fear of showing up for the scan and not seeing a heartbeat. I can't shake it, not even when I have physical proof that Smudge is dancing a jig in there.

So this is all in the background, but not really what I wanted to write about today. Today I wanted to write about the "Telling."

To be quite blunt, I suck at it. There are still multiple close friends (that live in other parts of the country) that I haven't told. They've gotten busy, I've gotten busy, I lost my cell phone and a lot of my contacts, blah de blah de blah. I could send them e-mails, but I somehow convinced myself I would call them. And then I don't. So they don't know.

Or take my neighbors. Most New Yorkers wouldn't tell their neighbors something like this anyway, but Lawyer Guy and I live in a small, 5-unit co-op building (hmmm, how to explain co-ops to someone not in New York. We all own the building together but only have leases on our individual apartments and the co-op board has to approve all sales of apartments). In my building there's one family with two small kids, two young, married heterosexual couples without kids, a gay, single 40-something guy (whom we're closest to), and us. We've all lived here upwards of two years.

We've told our Single Guy neighbor (who was totally sweet and excited for us) but I haven't told anyone else. Not only that-- I'm actively hiding it from them! I make sure to wear this swing-shaped, loose trench coat I own every time I leave the house to cover the bump. Fortunately it's been raining constantly the past month, so this isn't as weird as it might be otherwise. But this is getting ridiculous. I'm almost into my 6th month! What the hell is my problem?

I just told all my academic advisors last week because I had to reschedule my oral exam date and they needed to know about my time constraints. I've told a few friends at grad school, but find it weird and awkward to tell the randoms. And because so many of my fellow students are in their early-/mid-twenties and not yet to the bumpwatching stage, they kind of don't figure it out on their own. At our end-of-the year party last week, there was a perfect opening to tell someone-- she asked what my teaching schedule is for next semester and I responded, "Oh, I'm taking a break from teaching in the fall." Fortunately, my close grad school friend (who's pregnant after IVF) was like, "Tell her why you're not teaching, dumbass!" in not quite those words.

I could recite similar stories all day. I find the whole "telling" routine really awkward and uncomfortable. Why should conversations suddenly shift to involve my uterus? Why should extraneous people be involved in my pregnancy, the most private and intimate and sacredly special thing I've ever experienced? Is it okay to let the belly speak for itself? Is it rude? Awkward?

I just don't know how to do this very well.

What's for Dessert Tonight?; or Milestones

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And a "Smudgie" tab with some belly pics to follow.