3athletejen

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, fr...

(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. ...

(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 m...

Well, it's been a while. But I have a good excuse. As of today, I'm officially 12 weeks so Husband and I agree it's okay to go public -- another Saab will be joining the family sometime around August 13. Yee-haw. Being pregnant is not really an excuse to take a blogging hiatus, but it does seem to take over a large amount of brain space. Literally the first thing I think every morning since finding out is "holy s*($, I'm pregnant." Usually muttered in an effort to get to the bathroom quickly. We are not an emotional family, so calling to tell my dad was awkward. My words, "I'm knocked up" were met by a long pause then a "Jennifer, you are not knocked up. You are with child. " Um, okay. Then my sister pointed out that you're knocked up when you're not married. Okay. I still can't say I'm with child. Another thing Husband and I agree on not saying is "we're pregnant." The reason is obvious. He will not be ga...

Here's my typical Sunday: Morning: 8am-master's swim practice or 9am-yoga or sleep in and let husband make breakfast, drink lots of coffee and embrace robe culture. Afternoon: Catch up on what I blew off all week which may include: grocery store, laundry, bill paying, house tidying and aggravating Trudy by not letting her sleep. Evening: Prep for upcoming week by getting lunch food organized, cleaning the gum wrappers from my purse, grouping workout clothes together, planning meals for the week and then stealing away to read a magazine while Husband watches a cartoon extravaganza of which I want no part. Besides noticing that I'm horribly Type A, you will also notice something else -- nowhere in the plan is a dinner party included. That is because Sunday night dinner parties suck. Please note that I am not saying the people at dinner parties suck, I'm saying planning crap on a Sunday night frustrates the hell out of me. Especially when it's thrown together last min...

Oh, sugar. I love you so. It’s been a magical last few days as your abundance was celebrated. At home, at work, even in my car. (That’s what happens when you open a bag of Hershey bars on your drive home.) My love affair with sugar started young and was heavily influenced by my father. Every lunch, dinner or spoonful of savory was followed by a little something sweet. Consequently, our house was littered with random piles of candy, usually purchased at a gas station since he traveled for work. He kept a stash of taffy in the living room clock, cookies behind the phone books and butterscotch candies in the drawer next to his bed. And yes, I sought them all out. (My giant appetite was the reason he had to hide food in the first place, but that’s another story.) Always the supporter of the underdog, my dad applied that philosophy to candy, as well. Really awful candy, my dad bought in bulk as if to say, “Don’t worry strange strawberry hard candy with a soft center, I’l...

The inevitable happened. Trudy's day care called on Wednesday and oh-so-kindly recommended she get more training before returning. So technically, she was not kicked out, but it may be awhile before she's welcomed back. While disappointed, this incident clearly indicates we're doing something wrong. Trudy is fantastic. It's fairly disgusting how much we love her and when you love a dog that much, it's difficult to discipline them. (All you with kids are saying, "duh.") We have not done a good job of positioning ourselves as the pack leaders, so she's confused. Therefore, her aggression comes out at random times. Coincidentally, she is more aggressive when she's regularly attending daycare. So no more day care for Trudy, which saddens me mostly because the burden then falls on us to wear this dog out. When Boyfriend's out of town, all three walks per day with some park time fall to me. While I enjoy this interaction with Trudy, sometimes you hav...