Friday, February 24, 2012

"Would you like a cookie with that?"

After ordering a sandwich, lemonade and chips the lady at Einstein Bros. Bagels asked if I would like a cookie. I paused. When - especially as a pregnant woman - do I want a cookie? The answer is always. However, considering my limited pants choices right now, the correct answer is no. I reluctantly shook my head, but did gaze lovingly at the cookies letting them know, it's not you, it's me. And my ever expanding ass.

Pregnancy has not brought about my finest culinary choices. Last week I stopped at the CVS at the corner of Linwood and Prospect because I needed strawberry pop tarts, stat. I barely had the car door closed before I tore open that shiny foil. No need to toast them; they're just find cold. The urgency of these cravings is shocking.

I heard a story about a pregnant woman who just craved ice and fruit. Really? Who is this woman? I would like to punch her. My cravings swing from pickles (yes, I'm a cliche) to Houston's hamburgers, onion rings to bacon, frozen waffles to lasagna. Sadly, fruit and ice just never seem to be atop the list.

I made the mistake of perusing the internet about what's happening at the beginning of the second trimester. It said, "At this point, you may have gained two to five pounds."

Cherry shake sprayed across the key board. What? Hell, I'm chalking up five pounds alone to holiday weight gain. I work in education which everyone knows is a dessert mine field. In December, a co-worker even brought in a different batch of cookies every day. Like I can pass that up.

On a positive note, there was a three day window during week 14 when I felt great. Energy was up. Workouts were strong. The urge to pee was manageable. Then the crud that is sweeping across town came to rest in my lungs. Much coughing, nose blowing and napping has followed. But I am still buoyed by the myth of the feel-good second trimester. I just might feel normal again. Someday.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

The Bin of Broken Dreams

(January 18, 2012)

Around week ten my wardrobe became a problem. Deciding what to wear to work became less of a decision based on preference and more dependent on what would actually button. My previous "big girl" pants were now fitting snugly. My expanding chest (which needed no help to begin with) was difficult to contain in my normal tops.

As I would stand in front of my closet, getting increasingly frustrated that what I wanted to wear was not a possibility, I decided the only option was to put the too tight clothes in the basement. Husband brought me a large plastic bin and left me to the task.

It was more emotional than I had anticipated. (Or maybe I'm just more emotional in general.) I felt the need to have private goodbye conversations with various pieces. My favorite going out jeans, party dresses, work pants and finally, the short skirts. The skirts were particularly hard. Since I'm knocking on forty, the skirts had limited shelf life anyway. But throw a pregnancy on top and by the time I lose the weight (hopefully lose the weight) the ship will have most likely sailed unless I want to end up on What Not To Wear.

Husband checked in to find me longingly staring at the full bin.

"What is this?" he said. "The bin of broken dreams?"

"I was thinking the long goodbye, but broken dreams is better," I said.

Then I laughed until I realized laughing makes pants even tighter. So I switched to smirking. There will be much more smirking until August 13.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Define Huge

(This was written January 12)

I met with my new OB/GYN today. While I had a perfectly lovely gynecologist for the last ten years, her location is no longer convenient, especially when I may be in labor. So after asking around for referrals, I settled on Dr. L.

Dr. L is a sweet, grandpa type. Admittedly, there were some nerves about going to a male doctor. My first experience in the OB/GYN world was in high school and included a Dr. Hyman (seriously), a med student and a nurse. It was horrifying and I've made sure to have a female doc every since.

After starting the appointment with an ultrasound (175 heartbeat, woo hoo) I met with Dr. L in his office to discuss family history, health issues, etc. One of my major concerns - besides how much weight I'm going to gain - is how big this baby is going to be. The conversation went like this:

Me: I was a huge baby and heard that is hereditary. Is this true?

Dr. L:
Well, I've delivered more than 5,000 babies so we may have a different definition of what's "huge."

Me: Over ten pounds.

Dr. L:
Yes, that's huge. How big are your parents?

Me:
Average. 5'6 and 6'.

Dr. L:
Let's not worry about it now. It's difficult to determine the baby's weight in the womb, but absolute worst case scenario there's always a cesarean.

Me:
Is it too early to schedule that?

Dr. L is slightly appalled, but chuckles. Next I move to the pain management discussion.

Me: For the record, I'm pro-pain management and embracing of the epidural.

Dr. L: I would be, too.

Me: And don't worry I'm going to change my mind and become one of those women who want to feel everything. I want to feel as little as possible. If there is an option to knock me out and wake me up once the baby is here, I'd be okay with that.

Dr. L.: That's really only an option if the situation is very bad, but I appreciate you letting me know.

Me: Do you need to record this somewhere in my file? You have a lot of patients. You may forget.

Dr. L: I won't forget. Plus, we'll probably meet a few more times before the baby arrives.

Me: That's true. And I'll be sure to remind you.

Dr. L: I'm sure you will.

Also, because I'm 39 my pregnancy is labeled a "premium pregnancy" which is much better than the previous "high risk" and "advanced maternal age" labels that were thrown around. Premium pregnancy makes me feel like really good ice cream.

Yum... ice cream.