Okay, so I don’t know if I told you guys or not. But I’m pregnant. I know. It is shocking. Don’t worry though, internet, this pregnancy isn’t nearly as bad as my last one. When I was pregnant with Baby L, my world was a pretty dismal place. It was a world where people, including MB, could NOT POSSIBLY have understood how uncomfortable I was. Or how much peeing I was doing on a daily basis. Or how painful getting up to make it to the bathroom to DO all this peeing had become. With the back pain and the hip pain and the headaches and the giant belly, my life was hell. And I was SURE that if I left the house, some stranger would tell me how fat and hideous I looked and that I would either burst into tears and vow never to leave home again or punch them square in the neck…Or both. Because I was a total lunatic. And I make no bones about saying it. But I was miserable. And I needed a drink.

This time around, I have experienced heartburn and back pain and headaches. And I have avoided mirrors on certain days for fear of slitting my wrists at the sight of myself in this state. But I have fared pretty well here. I mean, I have been violently and deathly ill on FOUR occasions and have thought that I might never be able to eat anything again. (These illnesses weren’t your run-of-the-mill, pregnant lady morning sickness illnesses either. They were BRUTAL and lasted DAYS.) But once these days passed, I was able to go back to semi-normal, feeling like a regular lady instead of one who is baking a baby. You know, because if you avoid the mirror and there are no real pregnancy symptoms, it is really easy to pretend that none of it is happening at all. And I was blissful in those moments.

Over the past few weeks, my belly has started to take over my house. It has grown quickly and with a fury that I could not have expected. And I can no longer ignore it. I am the size now (at least, in my head) that I was when I delivered Baby L who was full-term. (I don’t really know for SURE that I am the same size, just that I FEEL it.) I can’t see my feet anymore. And those lovely comments I got during my last pregnancy about how I looked 5 months along the whole time…well…those aren’t coming this time. So, I have accepted that I look like a pregnant lady. And today, internet, I tried on clothes. Like, in a store. Under terrible lighting. And a few days shy of 8 months along. And to top it off, these were NOT maternity clothes. AND I HAD TO TAKE PICTURES OF THIS EXPERIENCE. (That’s really another thing altogether but the long and the short of it is, I did a “Sample and Share” Market Research study, wherein I had to try on some clothes, take pictures and have a friend do the same, and then we got the clothes for free…but maternity clothes were not an option.)

I don’t know when this happened, internet, but I am GIGANTIC. And now there is photographic evidence. TWICE IN THE SAME WEEK. (you know people didn’t even refrain from photos at my SPRINKLE?! THE NERVE!) And now, here I am, wondering if I could make it the next two months without actually ever leaving the house in order to spare myself the shame of possibly not fitting inside my Volvo. (Yes, I drive a Volvo. And this should give you an idea of how large I am. Or at least how large I feel. Because I drive a tank.)

What’s a girl to DO?

(Interested in getting some free “Sample and Share” goodies? You can sign up here! It’s free…and sort of awesome!


The One Where I Rant About Maternity Clothes

Oh my GOD, you guys. I am so pregnant all of a sudden and I am not sure how this happened!

I went, about two weeks ago, from wearing all of my pre-pregnancy clothes (from before Baby L), RIGHT back into maternity pants. It, like, happened overnight! As did my cravings for all things chocolate. I am not a fan.

Since I hastily sold all of my maternity tops as soon as that shit was over last time (like, before I was even discharged from the hospital, it was all on eBay, you guys), I had to go shopping for new stupid pregnant lady clothes. And I ventured back into that dreaded “Motherhood Maternity” store where I had spent a small fortune just a freaking year ago and reluctantly dragged my huge pregnant ass right back into the changing room of death and stood under flourescent lights to examine my ever-growing BUMP.


And then I puked all over the sales lady.

Okay, that part isn’t true. But I seriously wanted to do something equally gross to get her to leave me the eff alone, you guys, because I HATE MATERNITY CLOTHES. (Except for maternity pants, because I still feel like women should wear them always…which is why I still have mine. You know, in case I want to eat a lot of food one day.) I hate that they insist that pregnant women should wear HORIZONTAL STRIPES. Why in hell would we want to make ourselves look WIDER?! I am a firm believer in stylish clothing for those with-child but I am also a firm believer in making those same women feel like HUMAN BEINGS. Not giant, striped TRUCKS. Because yes, I feel like I am the size of a truck. And I am 22 weeks pregnant and have only gained 4 pounds. So…you can imagine how I will feel when I get bigger. And bigger. And bigger. And my only clothing options are horizontal striped tunics (read: mumus).

I am not really sure what this post was supposed to be about. I think I might have had something to tell you guys. I guess it will have to wait. I have to find some chocolate.


The Bump

Well, ladies and gents, it is official. I look like a giant, pregnant beast.

Over the weekend, MB and I decided that, on our way back from our lovely day of “playing tourist” in nearby St. Augustine, we would stop by the outlet mall on the way home. I had no idea how many baby stores there are in that place! I guess when you don’t have any reason to pay attention to baby stores, you don’t really notice that they even exist. And I definitely, before now, have never wanted anything to do with these places. Anyway, we bought about 300 little outfits for the wee one and one of them actually made me BURST INTO TEARS. Yes, I cried like a bitch at the mere SIGHT of an adorable little newborn outfit. And then I wanted to thrown myself into traffic. I did not. I, instead, put the item back on the rack and exited the store as fast as my gigantic body could do so.

Then we went into a maternity store.

I was super excited at the idea of possibly finding some semi-stylish clothing that might actually flatter my baby bump rather than making me look like…a house. I tried on 23 pairs of jeans, each one fitting stranger than the last, and ended up leaving with a bra the size of the entire Pacific Northwest, and a pair of those jeans that come up to your neck.

I was overly body-conscious many times in my life before becoming pregnant. And I am no stranger to being totally disgusted with my reflection, but generally, I can recognize that most of this insecurity is in my head. I do know, intellectually, that I am an attractive person. Big ass or not. (As it turns out, lots of people like a big ass!) I have naturally blonde hair and big, blue eyes. I have cute-ish freckles on my nose and cheeks and my eyelashes go for days. I am physically pretty. And on many levels, I know this. I KNOW IT, but I don’t always SEE it.

Being pregnant has made it harder to recognize the things about myself that I have always appreciated. Sure, my blonde hair is thicker and feels fantastic. And my cheeks do sort of glow with that tell-tale pregnant lady rosiness. And even though they make me FEEL a bit bovine, my boobs look pretty damn fantastic. But I can’t help but just feel huge. Huge and unattractive and anxious. I think that, having had body issues my whole life, adjusting to this weight gain and shape-changing has been more painful for me than anything else. My anxiety about being in public grows with my belly. I tend to feel that, without MB, who constantly tells me that I am the most beautiful thing in the world, I cannot brave the world outside. I don’t want strangers to stare at my midsection or try to touch me (because, unpreggos, it is NEVER appropriate to touch strangers’ bellies, I cannot stress this enough!) Up until now, I could convince myself to be confident all on my own. Now I sort of just want to shrink away until this baby is out. OUT!

Yesterday, I cried while I got dressed. And I may have just been having one of those over-emotional pregnant lady days, but it definitely felt like my chest was about to cave in. I am hoping that I start to make progress on accepting my body the way it is. Because I really do INTELLECTUALLY know that the worst is yet to come. The belly is going to continue to grow and the pants will continue to stretch and then, in what seems like years from now, I will finally get this thing out of my abdomen and hopefully start my journey back to my, slightly overweight but pretty damn adorable pre-pregnancy self.

All of this crazy is the main reason that, up until last week, I wouldn’t even take a picture of myself because I couldn’t bear for there to be photographic evidence that this is what I look like. In attempt to get over myself, here I am Internet. Baby bump and all. (exhale……)


Panic and Maternity Pants

My Beloved and I decided to go ahead and share our news with our family and friends on Thanksgiving. You know, because, everyone is thankful for the upcoming opportunity to change diapers and get puked on for a couple of years only to be rewarded with more and different things such as, “the terrible twos” and the realization that you may never eat in a restaurant again. Oh! And germs! And paying for college! I digress. Anyway, yeah. Thanksgiving.


We decided that, since no one is really making a big to-do about the holiday this year and my mom is out of state for a funeral (and, already knows and is buying massive quantities of unisex baby gear), we just would “bring dessert” to dinner on Thursday. We’ll bring a pumpkin pie with the words “we’re pregnant” written on top and then present it to his mom and watch her spaz for a while and then I will gorge myself with turkey (or said pie) and then take a nap. That’s the plan. I then plan to Facebook bomb everyone else because if  I have to say the words one more time, I might hurl myself off a bridge. This way, everyone can react from the privacy of their own homes and will, hopefully, not feel the need to call and discuss it with ME. Because, as previously discussed, I am not sure I can handle the oohs and awwwws. I am queasy enough, people. Besides, if you are a person I would allow oohs and awws from, then you didn’t find out about it over Facebook. Duh.


The only person in my family left to tell was really my dad, because my mom has opened her big, fat mouth to everyone else, although she keeps insisting that she hasn’t but when my grandma said, “So, am I hearing rumors about you or not?” I sort of figured it out.  I was waiting for a time to actually speak with him, (he is fairly hard to get on the phone because there is a 16 hour time difference) but finally decided that, if I didn’t want him to find out on Facebook too, I’d better send him an email pretty soon. I did that yesterday. I feel that my dad is going to be a big, sappy mess when I talk to him. And that makes me uncomfortable.


The anxiety is slowly lifting for me, though. I have been able to speak openly with several of the women in my office but have asked that they are respectful of my privacy and so far, that seems to have worked. As we near Thanksgiving, I am starting to feel more and more comfortable with the idea that people will know and I can just move on with my life, panic free! (And believe me, I am aware that it may seem ridiculous the amount of panic I have about this but I am uber-private and having the kind of news I cannot hide takes away a bit of my control and makes me feel…well…naked. And the thought of myself as a naked, pregnant lady, disturbs me…)


On an entirely different note, I have learned that, while the mere thought of maternity clothes sent shivers up my spine just a few short weeks ago, they are delightful. I can’t speak to the tops yet, as I have no need for them at this point but I would like to share with you that I have purchased 5 pairs of maternity pants on eBay and I am having trouble with the idea that, after I have this baby, I will have to go back to wearing regular pants. Seriously. Do I have to? It seems to me that I should get to be comfortable and not feel like an overstuffed sausage, like, all the time. Not just when I am knocked up. I think ALL women should be wearing maternity clothes! Down with non-elastic waists!


That’s really all I got.