Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Fear and Loathing

I've signed up for a weekly pregnancy progress email, but they're using scare tactics to get you to pay for additional services. For example, they sent a list of things a pregnant woman should never do:

* Carry more than 5 pounds - who do these people think they're dealing with? Even during my first pregnancy I did this regularly--I lifted weights until I got tired of the former frat boys at the gym making comments about how fat I was getting. Besides, what about anyone who already has kids, or buys a gallon of milk (7 pounds)?

* Eat soft cheeses or salad - yes, expecting French women are dropping like flies from this one. Okay, okay, I do understand the risks of listeria (talk about finding too much information) or other food-borne illnesses, but is giving up SALAD ever really a good idea?

* Cut her own hair - So this wasn't on their list, but it's good advice for any woman. However, with my recent too-short haircuts, I've been trimming my own hair. Here's hoping I don't give myself a cut like I did my senior year of high school--let's just say I needed the time between the initial senior photo shoot and the retakes.

Monday, December 20, 2004

My belly now protrudes farther than my bust, and I consider this to be a significant milestone. The next major milestone will be when I can no longer see my shoes. I am now officially out of my regular clothes, low-waist stretch or not. My "fat" clothes have taken me far, but they are geared toward more of me, not for two. Elastic or drawstring waist is another story--as long as I can deal with the up-and-over or down-and-under, I'm still in those.

My cravings this time are a bit different--do I chalk it up to having a girl? With Conor, I wanted beer--and not just any old beer, but cheap, light beer. (I suppose that *is* any old beer.) This time, I'm craving champagne. And doughnuts--but I'm sure I craved doughnuts last time, too. I seem to take pregnancy as a license to eat sweets. When I was pregnant with Conor, my sister-in-law Beth sent us a gingerbread house kit. I never assembled the kit, but over the course of a couple of weeks I ate every bit of that kit except the frosting mix. (Straight powdered sugar--I had *some* pride.) Kevin would come home and find me on the sofa mowing through the bags of candy, and, finally, eating the gingerbread roof and sides of the house. For the record, gingerbread houses are much easier to eat before they are assembled. I know this because Conor insists on making a gingerbread house every year, and eating it.

I have passed my gestational diabetes tests, so the only danger is to the nutrients I am depriving myself and my daughter of. My New Year's resolution will be to eat more like a pregnant woman, and less like a four year old.

Thursday, December 02, 2004

The reactions from people have been interesting. Those that know I was sick are happy for me, but curious as to the medical wisdom of getting pregnant. Actually, they probably aren't curious, I'm just a bit defensive about getting pregnant so soon. (And the comment from the oncology nurse about irradiated eggs didn't help.)

My reactions have been interesting, too. Hormones are fun! Lust, pure animal lust, will strike. (How I empathize with teenagers.) As my eyes move across the room to give Kevin a smoldering look (the "let's put a video on for Conor and go upstairs" look), I'll notice a dirty dish on the coffee table or a molecule out of place and instantly I am smoldering for the wrong reason. If I'm lucky, I can restrain myself from saying something *completely* rude and from nowhere, but generally I can't because *everything* is irritating me at that point.

Dot is moving--a lot. The first few flutters were fun, and for a while it was new enough that it stopped me--I had to figure out what that was! It took me a bit to figure out what it was the first few times--you remember those late-term kicks, not the early, tentative movements. It's great reassurance, and makes it much less exciting to hear heartbeat at doctor's appointments. Now she is getting a lot more insistent--sit up straight! Don't cross your legs and lean forward!

We're halfway there!

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