Monthly Archives: April 2009

>Put the gun down and back away (Getting trigger happy at Babies R Us)

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There is nothing that will evoke fear out of a grown man faster than when his bride-to-be or wife-with-child says, “honey, we need to register.”  *Dun-dun-DUNNN*  Upon remember the painfully long 2 hours Jake and I spent at Bed Bath and Beyond to complete our wedding registry, I vowed that I would never do that to him- or myself- ever again.  So when it came time to register for all things baby, I took it upon myself to get the job done.  After all, he wasn’t ever going to have an opinion on what color nursing pillow I register for.  And what does he care what kind of nipple we use?  In fact, when I found myself standing n front of the “wall o’ nipples” at our local Babies R Us, I started to wonder what do I really care about what kind of nipple goes on our bottles? Nipples are nipples, right?

Wrong.  So wrong.  I have never heard a person talk about these little rubber sucking devices with such fervency as the sales associate did that day.  Holy mother of God.  Apparently it does matter, and there is in fact, something called nipple confusion.  So what did I do?  I got trigger happy.  I scanned anything and everything that looked like it might be “Top Rated” or “The Safest” or “BPA free” or “Less Colic.”  I am convinced now more than ever that in America, we are paralyzed by options.  Go down the freakin’ toothpaste aisle at your local Target and you’ll see what I mean.  And if you think that’s bad, go look at nipples at Babies R Us.  It’s truly eye opening.
I realized that I had neither the time, energy or comfortable shoes to spend an hour in each aisle over analyzing baby products.  Luckily, I had done some online research of certain baby products and gear ahead of time, so I was able to move rather quickly through the process.  The bigger items like the travel system, pack-n-play and swing were checked off quickly as I had already determined which styles I wanted.  Surprisingly, the smaller items like bibs, washcloths and hooded towels proved to be more time consuming.  All the while, I’m thinking, they’re going to get bodily fluids on them, why should I care so much whether they start off being mod or retro inspired?  However, registering for gender neutral items is not as easy as it might have once been, and I was constantly checking myself to make sure my choices didn’t provide any clues as to baby’s gender.  By the time I made it to toys, I was randomly scanning bugs that played musical tunes, farm animals with mirrors and shapes affixed to their bodies and anything else that looked worthy of drool and baby teeth marks.  It didn’t matter.  Check and check.  
I have no idea what shape my registry is in right now and have only gone online since then just to make sure there were no duplicates of anything.  I walked out of Babies R Us that day and had no inclination whatsoever to look back.  I spent a relatively short amount of time with the scan gun, but this is not to say that I didn’t put some thought into a lot of the selections.  It’s just that at some point insanity encroaches, you find yourself wanting a chocolate chip bagel from the Panera next door and your feet are screaming obscenities at you.  When all is said and done, you leave with a whopping 157 things on your registry and think how the hell did that happen? 
I didn’t look closely enough, but I’m guessing that at least 38 of those 157 items are nipples…

>"Baby Got Back" (pain)

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For the record, I’ve got more than enough “back” these days…I’m just not “little in the middle” anymore.

I sincerely believe my body is staging a coupe once this baby is in the outside world.  It is going to take back all that once rightfully belonged to it.  My pelvis will no longer be floating, and my hips will decide that they want to fit into my size 4-6 jeans again.  My legs will stop resembling Redwood tree stumps, complete with bulging veins and cellulite that could make an orange peel look smooth. I will have a waist again- perhaps with some extra skin and flab to tone up, but Pilates will take care of that.  I will no longer have the telltale “pregnant face” that leaves people wondering, “is that swelling or does she just like to treat herself to Dairy Queen every night?” (And the answer to the latter is no….I only have it about once a week).  And I will have my back back.  
There are some days when it simply does not matter what position I sit or lie in, how much prenatal yoga I have done or how much I plead with Junebug to please move to a different position, my back just hurts.  I was able to alleviate some of the lower back pain by sadly packing away my heels *sniff-sniff* for the Summer.  I now wear flats, but mostly flip flops (regardless if the weather is 40 degrees).  The pain from my lower back, however, began to radiate up to the middle of my back- almost between the shoulder blades.  I know my ribs have been spreading, which I’m sure doesn’t help, but I was also told by my doctor that the pain I was feeling was due to my posture and overcompensating as my belly grows and shifts my weight from the back to the front.  That’s good to know, considering he has a uterus and has done this before.  I love my doctor, really I do.  But I also love that doctors will tell you why something hurts, and then stop there, as if that in and of itself is enough to make the patient feel better.  It’s not like I was going to hop up from the examining table, all cheers, and immediately be able to correct my posture.  Believe me, I’ve tried “sucking it in.”  It takes me from looking 8 months pregnant to about 7 1/2.  At this stage in the pregnancy, nothing short of crawling out of the exam room on all fours would have helped the pain (and for a split second, I considered it, but more because I thought it would just be funny to see peoples’ looks).  I guess that was just his kind way of saying, “I’m sorry your in pain, but your sh**t out of luck.”  I found this has been a recurring theme when you’re pregnant…
Driving is the absolute worst.  Just sitting in the car is bad enough as a passenger, but lately I’m the one driving because I find I’m still pretty sensitive to motion sickness, even this late in the game.  I figure I’d rather have my back kill me, than have my back kill me and be nauseous.  If Jake is with me, no more than 15 minutes will go by before I’m begging him to please rub my back as I hunch over the steering wheel (as much as I can “hunch” these days).   Some days I open my car door and I’m just not sure I have it in me to hoist myself up and out onto the pavement…so instead, I stare out at the open air and sort of “will” myself to levitate out of the car.  I used to laugh and poke fun at those commercials with the old people riding around on their motorized “Little Rascals” or whatever the hell those things are called.   That has never sounded more appealing to me.  I have all but considered taking a few items of baby gear off of my registry and replacing it with one of those….I wonder if people would notice?  
I’m not the kind of person who likes to ask for help but getting to this stage of pregnancy has required me to do so at times, and I’m having to learn to be okay with it.  Preggo sympathy is not an entirely bad thing, after all.  Generally, people have offered to help me without me having to ask: loading and taking my groceries to the car, letting me go in front of them in line at a store or fast food restaurant (maybe I look that hungry?) and overall just seeming to pay special attention.  It’s really not all that bad.  I just hate feeling like an invalid and have to come to terms with my own limitations on a daily basis.  I cannot clean the entire house in one afternoon like I used to or move slightly heavier objects and I can expect to be out of breath if I try to.   I can’t shop for baby clothes and other fun items with the same gusto and enthusiasm that I used to and there needs to be a comfy bench or chair nearby.  After 2 Easter services, a big family lunch and too much time in the car on Sunday, I was in tears at the end of the day as Jake worked out the knots and kinks in my back.  My lesson: I can still function with achy feet, throbbing varicose veins, heck- even small bouts of nausea and heartburn, but my back will not negotiate.  So I may be shuffling around for the next 6 weeks, but I’m trying to look on the bright side.  At least I’m not shuffling around and wearing a muumuu.  

>The "B" Word…

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Jake and I returned home yesterday from a relaxing weekend trip to Virginia beach.  We left Friday morning, stopped for lunch at our favorite restaurant in Williamsburg and made it to our hotel in time to still enjoy some good daylight on the beach.  The weather hovered in the mid-70′s for the entire time we were there- absolutely beautiful.  We knew we would splurge on a couple of nice meals, but packed some snacks, wine, chocolates and other indulgences “just in case.”  There was no agenda except total relaxation.  This was our last trip as the two of us- to celebrate just that: the two of us will very soon be the three of us.  It will never be *just* the two of us again, so why not take full advantage.  If the term “babymoon” has popped into your head, bravo!  That’s what most people these days would call it.  Jake, however, thinks the term sounds pretentious and almost refused to go if that’s what I insisted on calling it.  Whatever.  You want a long weekend getaway to celebrate the impending birth of our child and the closing chapter of our life as a two-some?  You got it.  Just don’t call it what it really is.  Therefore, the only “B” word you will hear me refer to in this post is the beach. *wink wink*

And not only is the beach fun, but I also found it to be very educational.  There were a few things I took away from it, besides unwanted sand in my bra and a little sunburn.  Here are a couple of little nuggets:
1.  Sand hurts.
Bad.  Especially when it gets into crevices that, as an 8 month pregnant person, I can no longer see or reach.  Despite the 70 degree weather and sun, the wind gusts were pretty strong down on the beach.  Which meant sand in my mouth, sand in my shirt and bra (my boobs are going through enough as it is, thank you very much), sand in other fun and surprising places.  Some of this might have been avoided had I actually packed beach towels.  (See #2).
2.  Beach towels and sunscreen are *kinda* important.
Why this wasn’t on my radar, I have no idea, other than to blame my stupid preggo brain.  I’m the only person I know who packs for the beach and leaves behind sunscreen and something on which to actually sit at the beach.  *Picture me and Jake toting our small, inadequate bath towels from the hotel down to the dunes.*  Obviously, I’m not one for keeping up with appearances when it comes to “necessities.”  Sure, I packed 2 cute maternity sundresses, 5 tops, 3 pairs of pants. 4 pairs of shoes (we were there for 2 days total) and 3 different hair styling products, but no beach towel.  I still hold my head up high.

3.   Once you sit down on the sand, you should plan to stay there for a while.
This was only complicated by the missing beach towel problem from #2.  Obviously, if towels weren’t on my packing radar, then any kind of foldable beach chair certainly wasn’t either.  (We’re gluttons for punishment, what can I say?)  So I plopped down on the sand and then proceeded to flop around like a fish out of water (or more like the kid brother Randy from the movie A Christmas Story) until I found a somewhat comfortable position.  Jake continued to read and write in his journal, clearly deep in thought and completely tuned out to my grunts and groans.  I kept my mind off of my aching hips and pelvic region by feeding the local seagulls, much to his annoyance.  Had Jake not been there to ultimately help me to my feet, I would probably still be lying there on the beach, doing what I consider to be a great impersonation of a beached whale.
4.  It’s good to slow down (and not just because of my lower back).
It’s finally begun to sink in that the days of just being the two of us are numbered, which brings about some mixed feelings on my part.  Although I’m anxiously counting down the days until we meet our Junebug, I sometimes want to be able to freeze moments of our lives together right now, so that we can always remember them for what they are right now: lazy mornings in bed, going to dinner at the drop of a hat, a leisurely weekend trip to the beach before packing up the stroller and diaper bag…
I’m more aware than ever of how quickly the time is moving now, and although I’m at the point where I’m ready to not be pregnant anymore, I don’t want to wish away this time either.  We will never get it back and we will never be expecting our first again either.  Truly a time to slow down and cherish all that’s good…