Boobies!!!

I have a new hobby. A hobby that lifts my spirits, brings a smile to my face and can consume many hours out of my day.

I call it boobie watching or cleavage gazing. And, the most amazing part of my new hobby? The boobies and cleavage I'm ogling are mine! I can't get enough of them. I now make wardrobe selections based on what will display my newly enhanced breasts best. And, I unabashadly encourage Mr. Oh to stare, touch and do whatever else he wants with them.

I'm so proud of my boobies that I wasn't bothered in the least by the several strangers I've caught staring at my cleavage. Hey, I'm fully aware my new mounds are temporary. So, why shouldn't everyone enjoy them while they last?

Why the fascination? Well, I never had much to look at before. So much so, that when I was about 17, I was at the mall with a mixed group of friends and decided to stop into the lingerie shop to buy a bra for a bridesmaid dress I was forced to wear. To save time, I approached the saleswoman to help me find a strapless bra. I was never one for modesty, so performing this task with teenage boys in tow was not a big deal. That was until I noticed the saleswoman assessing my real estate, after which she very loudly announced to everyone within earshot, "Honey, don't waste your money. You don't have very much for a bra to hold."

Well, there's a whole lot to hold now!

I tinkled!

I have this vivid memory that stretches back to the first grade. There I was, sitting in my child-sized desk listening to the teacher when I hear this faint sound of water dripping. I remember turning my head and watching a yellow puddle grow beneath my neighbours desk.

As the rest of the class turned to stare, tears welled up in her eyes and her lips began to tremble. Without being asked she whispered, "I tinkled." I remember laughter being sounded in the background, but for me I was mortified for Jenny - the urine girl - and wondered if there was a more humiliating that could happen to a person.

This feeling of humiliation I supposed Jenny must have felt has engrained this event in my memory. Every since I have hoped and prayed that I'd never have to experience such public humiliation.

Well, today I tinkled.

I was on the elevator on my way up to my office I sneezed my regular three sneezes, each one progressively stronger than the last. I felt a tiny leak spring after the first sneeze and quickly clenched my legs closed. By the third sneeze, no matter how tight I squeezed, there was no stopping the flow. I didn't produce a puddle beneath my feet, but I did feel a moisture - and not the good kind - where one shouldn't when not in the vicinity of a toilet.

Although I didn't have a ring of six-year olds laughing in the background, I finally felt the humiliation and utter disgust that Jenny must have felt oh so many years ago.

Of course, I did a quick Google search and it seems that leaky bladders are common among pregnancy. Really?! Again, I must ask, why is this news to me? Why haven't other pregos spoken about this - at least as a warning to others? Do pregos actually forget that these things have happened to them or are they conspiratorially trying to hide such embarrassing side effects, so as not to turn off other women from supporting the birth rate?

Whatever the answer, I'm going to have to pack an extra pair of panties to take to work with me should this ever happen again! (Oh please don't ever happen again!)

Prego Mr. Oh!!

Mr. Oh is prego. At least that's what his mind is telling his body.

Don't believe me, do you? Here's a list of some of the "symptoms" he's experiencing. Judge for yourself!

• His intake of ice cream has increased at least 10-fold
• His urination patterns have risen in frequency
• There are days he eats as if he won't see food again
• He's gained weight around his mid-section (shhh don't tell him I said so)
• He experiences severe indigestion
• In our first trimester he was exhausted and slept constantly, but he seems to have regained some of his energy

What is most humorous of all these complaints, they usually occur shortly after I've begun to experience (nay complain) them. For example, on my recent trip home to Toronto, my grandmother and I indulged in a bowl of fresh ricotta. Although a favourite of ours, dairy is no longer my friend. Since I don't get such quality time with Nonna, I threw caution to the wind. Within a couple of hours, Mr. Oh stood by me as I winced and moaned about the incredible pain I was experiencing.

After lunch the next day - yes the VERY next day - Mr. Oh complained he wasn't feeling well. He followed this with a serenade of bodily noises. I asked what was wrong, his response accompanied with a pained expression that begged for pity, "Indigestion."

While I try to find the comical underlining of his "symptoms", there have been more times than not when I've wanted to choke him Looney Tunes style. He's not a center-of-attention kinda guy, so it's not that he's after the attention. I think the issue comes down to mind over matter.

See, Mr. Oh is a hypochondriac, a true germaphobe. In the time I have known him he's suspected he has had at least 50 different cancers. At times, he goes to extreme lengths to prove his health, and doctors - in search of a reprieve from his incessant inquiries - have provided him with placebo diagnoses. After experiencing a slight pain in the tummy, he went to the gastroenterologist. Initially, the doctor said it wasn't Irritable Bowl Syndrome (IBS) and so he underwent a series of increasingly invasive tests. With nothing showing up as irregular and with no further tests to perform, the doctor diagnosed Mr. Oh with a mild version of IBS.

I have used this fear of illness as a way to stave me from doing him harm. Since becoming pregnant I've become more intimate with the toilette, visiting it at least once an hour to relieve my bladder. It's truly one of the most annoying side effects I've had to deal with and I complain about it constantly. After yet another visit to the porclain throne, Mr. Oh confesses that he, too, has a greater need for pee. After privately rolling my eyes and heaving a heavy sigh, I welcomed him to my world. Then, with an expression of sheer concern, I told him he just might have an urinary tract infection. The panic showed immediately on his face and he asked what he needed to do. Holding back my giggles, I prescribed cranberry juice and a visit to the doctor. According to Mr. Oh, he consumed several litres of juice while at work and felt better. There was no need for a doctor, I guess.

For years I've explained to Mr. Oh and those who pity him that his illnesses, or rather suspected illnesses, are caused by his mind and not his body reacting to any real invasion. I guess, I've finally proved my case!

Now, I wonder if I invent aches and pains, will he experience them too? Hmmm... now that'll be entertaining!