you can officially stop asking

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Okay. I finally have a craving. Ready?

Sourdough English muffins.

You’re welcome, everyone who has ever asked me if I have any crazy pregnancy cravings.

…of course, being me, I don’t want to just buy them. I want to make them. Then I look at what it takes to make actual sourdough English muffins and then I said, nope, not going down that rabbit hole, not this late in pregnancy (8 months, 31+1 weeks), not with a mother-in-law about to move in, not with a baby shower on the horizon, not with all the other crap I need to get done.



Still deciding.

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Dealing With It

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First, some links for you:

  • “You Should Be” by Pamie – Honestly, I haven’t experienced this much, or maybe I just ignore it better. Things I have heard: concern over massages, concern over manicures/pedicures, concern over my food choices, and one concern for a glass of wine coupled with unconcern for cigars (I drank the wine, and declined the cigar). Still, it’s a funny read.
  • My OB Said What?!? – Does what it says on the tin. I don’t have many of these either, though I have a friend who most certainly does.

We have moved to that point in the pregnancy where I am watching birth videos and ordering breast pumps. I still crack up when I see the photos of women in handsfree bras pumping at desks like LA LA LA LA I AM A WORKING WOMAN. Which reminds me: I need to get some bras that unhook so I can use one of those handsfree brastpump bras.

Birth videos…I’ll be honest, they freak me out a little. Not the laboring. The crowning. I’m staring at a lady’s baby bits and she’s pushing and I’m thinking, “There is no way that — OH GOD HOW DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?” It’s like a friggin’ Transformer or something.

And while that’s neat and all, it’s still a little unnerving.

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In Which People Think We’re Crazy

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It is inevitable in this day and age that when you tell people you’re planning on having a drug-free childbirth outside a hospital, the response is often mixed.

There are the people who high-five you or say something like, “Right on!” and you know those are probably parents who have done or planned to do the same.

There are the people who nod and sincerely wish you well and you know those are people who weighed the options and decided it wasn’t right for them.

And then there are the people who look at you and say, “Lady, you are nucking futs.”

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CPCs, Or a Lack Thereof

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Based on my limited experience, the number one question I suspect every pregnant woman in North America gets: “So have you had any Crazy Pregnancy Cravings?”

After seven months of this, you’d think I’d have a better answer other than a sheepish, “…no?”

Okay, true, I did catch myself at a Sprouts with a pint of ice cream and a jar of pickles in my checkout cart, but it wasn’t because I wanted to combine them. My intent was to use the pickles in a homemade Thousand Island dressing, and the ice cream…was for shoving in my piehole. Preferably while eating pie.

Though I had bouts of morning gagness in the first trimester, at no point did beef, pork, fowl, fish, broccoli, kimchi, cheese, milk, or chocolate smell/taste better or worse than any other thing. Alcohol, early on, did make me queasy if I smelled it. So much so that for a while on Fridays, when my office rec room turns into a den of boozy iniquity, I’d have to circumvent it to avoid triggering my gag reflex. But alcohol isn’t exactly something pregnant ladies should be consuming much of anyway.

The thing is…I’m a weird eater. I will try almost anything once, and my idea of comfort food (chicken livers, for instance) is probably not yours. Dinner tonight? Fish and kimchi. Which sounds like “zomg a CPC!!” unless you know me and know that if I’m staring into my fridge and trying to figure out how to perk up my pan-roasted fish, I’m going to reach for the kimchi. Because why not? It’s tart (like lemon, which we put on fish) and spicy and crunchy and packs a ton of flavor in a very small package. Could be good. Let’s try it.

(Sidenote: it was good. I’ll probably eat it again for lunch tomorrow. But then, I look for any excuse to put kimchi on things, and I make a batch once every few months. My coworkers from South Korea appreciate this.)

I’m not saying that I’m every woman, or that women don’t get cravings during pregnancy, or don’t develop food aversions. I think I’m trying to say: I wish I had something clever to answer this question with because everyone — from coworkers to my massage therapist — is set on asking it.

Instead, I’m sitting around my house, digesting kimchi and fish and carrots and coconut water, thinking about the chicken livers I ate last week, and looking forward to the pho I’ll have tomorrow. And if you think of a better answer for the inevitable “what are you craving???” question…please. I’m all ears.

Drowning in Onesies

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Last month I spent an epic weekend just washing baby clothes. I then promptly took all those clean and dry adorable little outfits and dumped them on the bed in the nursery. Every now and then I’d poke my head in and look at the pile. Then my brain would melt into a gibbering pile of gray matter, the words NOPE NOPE NOPE repeating over and over in my head until I shut the door again. It was like gazing upon the face of an Eldritch Abomination. No amount of reassuring myself that it’s just a pile of wee baby clothes would help.  Because it’s not just clothes.  This is more than clothes.  This is a disorganized universe, and I will bring order to it, BY THE HAMMER OF THOR.

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Being Tired

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Yesterday was full of energy.  Today is full of yawns.  Unfortunately, my sleep has been interrupted by a mixture of heartburn, leg cramps, and a bladder the size of a walnut. I’m going to see if taking warm baths before bed help with the leg cramps, and I’ve started leaving Tums on my nightstand, but there’s not much I can do about the bladder when nubbin decides to lurk in the lower half of my womanly pop-up camper.  Adult diapers?  Don’t laugh.  If it would get me an uninterrupted night’s sleep, I’m thinking it might be worth it.

Tonight is our first Bradley class.  Will it be worth the time/money?  I guess we’ll know in a few weeks.  (I am optimistic, of course.)

Aaaaand tomorrow is 28 weeks.  Holy jeez, two months to full term, and 10 weeks to the start of my maternity leave.  Speaking of which: I owe a post on the delightfulness that is Cigna.

Of Research and Wendigos

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Spent most of last night research breast pumps and trying not to laugh too hard at this video.  I know.  I’m eight years old.  But seriously, it had that SNL shorts quality to it (I’m thinking “Mom Jeans” or “Annuale“).

Found here:

Speaking of Mom Jeans…

And today I’ve scheduled a February consult with a pediatrician.  And I wrote our Bradley instructor to make sure we’re still on.  And looming over all this is the “so when are you going to start maternity leave” question, which is currently complicated due to Reasons, and a ranty ranting post all in and of itself but let’s not turn this into a pretzel, shall we?

Last week marked the week that I stopped being able to eat normal-like, what I’m referring to as the “Baby Lap-Band”.  I’ve basically gone from a 13-gallon tank to more like 7- or 8-, and if I go over I feel gross and bloated and gasoline spills out of my mouth.  Something like that.

I also realized I’m going to be wearing the same. six. shirts. for the next. three. months.  And while that’s an incredibly minor complaint, I still may wind up going out and buying new shirts because otherwise I might go slightly insane…r.

Sleep’s still good, though half the time I wake up with no covers on.  This is a reversal of thermal fortune; normally I’m the one burrowing into Mike for LIFEGIVING HEAT and now it’s more often him clinging to me.  The other morning he wrapped around me like a squid and whispered, “Warrrrrm so warrrrrm.” and I had to make sure he wasn’t one of the undead or a wayward wendigo.  Spoiler alert: he wasn’t.

Oh, and the wrist brace is working.  It’s not what I’d call perfect, but I haven’t woken up with a frozen hand since I started using it, and that’s a win.  Bonus effect: it gives people a safe way to ask me what’s up without out and out asking ARE YOU PREGNANT?  Because I’m pretty sure some people are still weighing the question.  I mean, the holidays did just go by and I am known to be fond of cookies.

24-ish Week Checkup

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Well, 23 weeks and 5 days according to my midwife’s charts…but 24 according to my calculations.

The good news is that I only gained a pound since my last visit, and the wrist brace is definitely helping with the numb/stiff fingers in the morning.  The bad news is…there is no bad news, actually.  Everything’s going great.  Let’s keep it that way.

Next visit is the diabetes screening.  I’m not really looking forward to gulping down the Stuff.  I’ll also be getting my TDAP vaccination which apparently you can get while pregnant.  Fancy that.

My work gives us a week and a half off, and today is my first day back.  What did I do over the holidays?  I slept, cooked a ton, cleaned a little, played Borderlands 2, and enjoyed the relative peace and quiet.  This time next year won’t be so peaceful or so quiet, so I’m filling up on serenity while I still can, and pondering how I’ll reclaim it once the wee one’s around.

No deep thoughts at the moment.  Just happy to be having a relatively peaceful and easy pregnancy thus far, and going to continue doing what I’m doing to hopefully keep it that way.

In Which I Eat

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First pregnancy, I tried to eat Very Healthy Breakfasts by my standards.  Which meant eggs, even though eggs are not exactly my favorite.  And when I say “not exactly my favorite” I mean…I really do not enjoy eggs the way most people enjoy eggs.  The best I can do is hard-boiled eggs, which I can eat quickly and with minimal fuss and gagging.  But I don’t wake up, jump out of bed, and yell, “Eggs!”  Unless there are ninjas on my ceiling throwing eggs at me, in which case yes, I would do that.

I digress.

Second pregnancy went a little different.  I started out eating eggs and bacon from my company’s cafe.  And then at some point, this morphed into cultured dairy and nutbutter.  With the exception of weekends and special days — days when Mike and I eat out, or days when I’m sick and don’t feel like eating — that’s been my breakfast.  Yogurt with nutbutter and two drops of stevia, or Nancy’s cottage cheese and nutbutter (no stevia).  And yes, I specifically eat that cottage cheese, because the one time I thought to just use a regular brand it was so bland and nasty I threw it out and went and bought a carton of Nancy’s that night.  Don’t judge.  I’m pregnant.

A while ago I bought a few Hachiya persimmons and waited patiently for them to ripen.  Four weeks later, they finally did.  So now I’ve been squeezing them into my cultured dairy (along with the nutbutter) and it’s amazeballs.  I’ll miss them when there are no more, but that is the glory of Hachiya persimmons: they exist for a few weeks, so that we cherish them.  “Food mandalas“, as I call them, because they’re beautiful while we have them, but then they’re gone.

And then there’s my no-grains policy, which…well, here’s the thing.  Most of the time, I eat paleo, which is to say: meat and veggies with some cultured dairy, and probably lower carbohydrate than your average pregnant woman.  I’ll bend that for special occasions, and certainly at times it seems like part of November and the entire month of December is a special occasion.  But here’s what I found when I started eating wheat/rice/corn for special occasions: heartburn.  Lots of heartburn.

And I immediately wanted to bang my head on a keyboard because what diet do they recommend to pregnant women when they aren’t feeling right?  Oh, right, this happy bullshit.  Half of which would give me massive heartburn if I ate it, the other half of which would have me crawling the walls with hunger.

I am blessed with an appetite.  Really, I am.  At no point during my pregnancy has protein stopped looking appealing to me.  It’s shifted — I ate a ton of seafood in the first few months, then slid back into my much-loved cow meat — but I’ve never woken up and said, “Dear heavens, I need to eat nothing but potatoes and crackers today.”  I’ve heard some horror stories about women who can’t even be in the same room as a cooked or raw protein, and I feel for them.  This has never been my problem, though.  At some point, the steak looks good.  The steak always looks good.

I do wonder how many pregnant women would find immediate relief from their heartburn if they dropped grains and excess sugar.  I mean this as a completely idle observation, and because I think it’s a valid suggestion.  I am also aware that it scares the crap out of most normal, free-thinking folk.  No pasta?  No bread?  No rice?  Are you deranged?  Probably, but it works for me.  And every time I look at a piece of bread or a mound of rice, I weigh the risk/reward: which would I rather have, a mouthful of noodles or an entire afternoon chewing on TUMS and feeling like crap?  Hm, yes, hard choice.

Which is why I am now going to tell you that today, for lunch, I am treating myself to noodles.  Because…I want noodles.  I have been wanting noodles since October.  Stir-fried noodles, even.  I know.  After all this blahblahblah about how grains leave me feeling bloaty and burping fire, I’m going to go and break my own rules.

Well, that’s why I’m the adult with her own car and bank account.  I get to make these choices, and live with the belchy consequences.

And let me tell you: I will enjoy the hell out of those noodles.