What's with all the kicking, flipping, punching, and only God knows what else?
For days on end, the critter within hasn't given me a break. S/he starts before the sun comes up and I still feel it well after the sun has gone down.
Of course, in the early months, I was craving the little one to make its presence known. I've a very active imagination that lends to the mobid. Saying that, I spent most of my first and early-second trimester imaging horrible scenarios and preparing myself for the grave news that I was no longer with child when I visited my doctor.
The only thing that would calm these fears would be knowing that it was still in there, moving. Since I didn't feel anything, I'd force Mr. Oh's ear to my belly and ask him to report (and, at times, mimick) the sounds he'd hear. Most of the time he'd report "blurp blurp", an auditory sound that reminded me of blowing bubbles in gooey hair gel.
Then, finally, on June 1, as Mr. Oh listened to our babe, it gave a swift kick that knocked Mr. Oh off my belly. Up until a week or so ago, the movements have been sporadic and the kicks have been mere tappings. And, I've loved everyone one of them.
However, for the last two weeks, the movements have been non-stop and they've gotten progressively more energetic, more aggressive. I'm glad that the little one is alive and kicking - literally - but really, isn't enough enough?
I probably sound like a horrible mommy-to-be, but when you're awakened at 4:30am almost every morning and then kept awake until well after midnight, the novelty of movement starts to wane. In truth, it has only caused me further concern as what's it going to be like when it's finally born?!
Finally, yesterday, tired of being awakened before the cock crows, I had a chat with my belly. Not wanting to discourage the active lifestyle s/he has developed, I told it that I loved that s/he is having such a good time discovering its world. But, and I used a firm, mommy-means-busy tone, that sleep is something mommy cherishes, especially on the weekends.
I obviously didn't convince him/her totally, but we did make some progress as the knocking starting at around 5:15am this morning. A mere 45-minutes, but I guess I have to take what I can get!
Monday, July 27, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
I still got it!
So, I've been in a slump. After several days of feeling a burning sensation around my belly button, my stomach popped. One day I was able to get out of bed like I always did and then the next, I was trapped until I wiggled my way to the edge of the bed so that I could heave myself up.
Since that morning, I've looked more like an overly yeasted puff pastry than a woman. I can no longer see my toes when I stand upright. What's more, I feel heavy and as a result I lumber like a drunken ape, with my arms dangling at my sides working like oars to propel me forward when I walk.
As a result, I've been feeling pretty sorry for myself. That was until today.
In the mood for miso udon soup, I took the short walk from my office building to the deli about a block away. As I lumbered along, I locked eyes with a polished-looking guy. He then, very obviously scanned me up and down, locked eyes with me again and gave me a knowing smile. It wasn't a creepy once-over and I didn't get that skeevy vibe that creepy guys emanate. While I felt good for about a nanosecond, I shrugged it off, thinking it couldn't be as who, other than a mass murderer with an obscure fetish for pregos, would find me attractive.
But, before I reached the deli, I spotted another polished-looking guy (it seems there are many of these in mid-town Manhattan) - this time much cuter than the first and much better dressed - giving me the once-over. We were walking through a narrow and congested piece of the sidewalk, so I had some time to determine if what I was seeing was really happening or just a figment of my hormonal imagination. As I contemplated the likelihood that this could be happening I stared into his light-coloured eyes and he smiled a sweet smile. Embarassed and timid - come on, I'm married and pregnant! - I diverted my eyes, but as we brushed past each other he said, "You look great."
I was elated!
Other than a few oglers checking out my boobs or those so-called men who desperately try to avoid looking at me, so they don't have to give up their seat on the train, I haven't had any positive reinforcements from the male population in at least 6 months! And, today, within a couple of meters of each other, I scored the attention of two good-looking, non-creepy men, flirted with one of them and got a compliment that will carry me through the rest of the week!
Since that morning, I've looked more like an overly yeasted puff pastry than a woman. I can no longer see my toes when I stand upright. What's more, I feel heavy and as a result I lumber like a drunken ape, with my arms dangling at my sides working like oars to propel me forward when I walk.
As a result, I've been feeling pretty sorry for myself. That was until today.
In the mood for miso udon soup, I took the short walk from my office building to the deli about a block away. As I lumbered along, I locked eyes with a polished-looking guy. He then, very obviously scanned me up and down, locked eyes with me again and gave me a knowing smile. It wasn't a creepy once-over and I didn't get that skeevy vibe that creepy guys emanate. While I felt good for about a nanosecond, I shrugged it off, thinking it couldn't be as who, other than a mass murderer with an obscure fetish for pregos, would find me attractive.
But, before I reached the deli, I spotted another polished-looking guy (it seems there are many of these in mid-town Manhattan) - this time much cuter than the first and much better dressed - giving me the once-over. We were walking through a narrow and congested piece of the sidewalk, so I had some time to determine if what I was seeing was really happening or just a figment of my hormonal imagination. As I contemplated the likelihood that this could be happening I stared into his light-coloured eyes and he smiled a sweet smile. Embarassed and timid - come on, I'm married and pregnant! - I diverted my eyes, but as we brushed past each other he said, "You look great."
I was elated!
Other than a few oglers checking out my boobs or those so-called men who desperately try to avoid looking at me, so they don't have to give up their seat on the train, I haven't had any positive reinforcements from the male population in at least 6 months! And, today, within a couple of meters of each other, I scored the attention of two good-looking, non-creepy men, flirted with one of them and got a compliment that will carry me through the rest of the week!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
16 and pregnant
Have you checked out this show on MTV? I am not - by any means - an MTV viewer. To be honest, most of those real world-esque shows kinda annoy me. Yes, I'm showing my age, but whatev!
Now, while I'm not a regular MTV viewer, I've been sucked into the show 16 and pregnant. It's a pretty horrible show and it's become a guilty pleasure that I watch every chance I get.
Why the attraction to what are children from underprivileged, and at times, unsteady homes? Well, to be totally blunt, it makes me feel good. I'd never dare watch any of those other baby-themed shows - you know the ones with women who've had a calling to be a mom their whole life and now that they are having a child will finally realize their dream; or worse off, those shows with multiple sets where the women make managing 18 kids seem like a piece of cake. I already feel ill-equipped, I don't need television to further reduce my self-esteem.
Instead, I need a television show to show me how much worse my life could be. Thus, 16 and pregnant! I'm twice the age of a 16 year old, and unlike many of the featured baby mammas, I'm in a steady relationship, have a home to shelter the child and access to the finances to feed and clothe the babe.
As I've continued to watch episode, after episode, after episode, I've realized all the things I have are the superficial things. While important, they really don't matter. As a result my good feelings from watching the show have dissipated. I guess that's the crutch of guilty pleasures - they reel you in until you're addicted, but then leave you feeling empty and in need of an escape.
The truth is, even at the age of 16 or 17, with all their naivety, cluelessness and eternal optimism, these chicks have it more together than I. Yes, there was the cheerleader who told her friends she'd stay pregnant because she'd look cute and the couple who tried to move out on their own only to have their realtor tell them their monthly income wouldn't cover the rent check. As sad as they were, they lifted my spirits. But the real downers were the baby mammas who quickly accepted their fate, changed their priorities and said goodbye to their childhood so they could focus on building a life for their child.
How can I be twice the age of these girls and not even half my way to accepting my fate? Although the belly has grown and the child within makes its presence known regularly, viciously; I have yet to say hello to my new life. I'm left wondering if it'll ever happen.
Now, while I'm not a regular MTV viewer, I've been sucked into the show 16 and pregnant. It's a pretty horrible show and it's become a guilty pleasure that I watch every chance I get.
Why the attraction to what are children from underprivileged, and at times, unsteady homes? Well, to be totally blunt, it makes me feel good. I'd never dare watch any of those other baby-themed shows - you know the ones with women who've had a calling to be a mom their whole life and now that they are having a child will finally realize their dream; or worse off, those shows with multiple sets where the women make managing 18 kids seem like a piece of cake. I already feel ill-equipped, I don't need television to further reduce my self-esteem.
Instead, I need a television show to show me how much worse my life could be. Thus, 16 and pregnant! I'm twice the age of a 16 year old, and unlike many of the featured baby mammas, I'm in a steady relationship, have a home to shelter the child and access to the finances to feed and clothe the babe.
As I've continued to watch episode, after episode, after episode, I've realized all the things I have are the superficial things. While important, they really don't matter. As a result my good feelings from watching the show have dissipated. I guess that's the crutch of guilty pleasures - they reel you in until you're addicted, but then leave you feeling empty and in need of an escape.
The truth is, even at the age of 16 or 17, with all their naivety, cluelessness and eternal optimism, these chicks have it more together than I. Yes, there was the cheerleader who told her friends she'd stay pregnant because she'd look cute and the couple who tried to move out on their own only to have their realtor tell them their monthly income wouldn't cover the rent check. As sad as they were, they lifted my spirits. But the real downers were the baby mammas who quickly accepted their fate, changed their priorities and said goodbye to their childhood so they could focus on building a life for their child.
How can I be twice the age of these girls and not even half my way to accepting my fate? Although the belly has grown and the child within makes its presence known regularly, viciously; I have yet to say hello to my new life. I'm left wondering if it'll ever happen.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Here's a question for you...
Why, oh why, do women ask stupid questions to their men? Questions like "Do I look fat?", "Does my ass look big in these jeans?" and the like are irrelevant and put the men we are asking into very uncomfortable positions.
And, let's be honest, do we really care what their responses are? We've already formulated an answer in our head and no matter what he says - or how he says it - there will be little persuading us. If we think we look bloated, there's no convincing us otherwise.
As such, I've usually spared Mr. Oh such questions. That was until this past weekend.
We were having a wonderfully relaxed Saturday. Before settling onto the sofa for a movie, I excused myself to relieve my bladder (yet again). On my way back to the sofa, I glanced at my burgeoning profile in our full-length bedroom mirror. Disgusted by what I saw, I turned the question to Mr. Oh: "Do you still think I'm sexy?"
Now, this is not a question that I have ever asked of him - I guess I've never needed to. But, lo and behold, there the question hung in the air. While the question surprised me, Mr. Oh was stunned. It read all over his face as he tried desperately to first understand where the question came from and then how to appropriately answer. After some hesitation, he said "Well, yeah. But, different than before."
Really - the best he can do is "different than before"?! Is he kidding? For months he's watched me weigh myself daily and measure my girth weekly; wince as I squeeze into pre-prego clothing and howl that I have nothing to wear every single day. He had to of seen this coming. Shouldn't he have seen this coming? If not this particular question, something similar?
Was it too much for me to ask to have him say, with such resounding confidence that would make me weak in the knees, "Yes, li you are still the sexiest thing on Earth." As far fetched as that reality is - I know I look like I swallowed a bowling ball and my thighs make a sticky swishing noise when I walk - would it really have killed him to lie to me? I know he's lied to me before; why couldn't he do it now?
To make matters worse, instead of trying to take back what he said, he attempted to explain what he meant. Shocked and with tears welling in my eyes, all I could hear was the sound of dirt being shoveled as he dug himself deeper and deeper into sh!t. Without another word, I turned on my heels and retired to bed. Smart enough, Mr. Oh followed to witness my first full-fledged emotional breakdown. Yes, for the first time in my living memory, I cried myself to sleep for no reason whatsoever.
So, this is what hormones can do to you!? I just hope Mr. Oh is prepared for the next bout.
And, let's be honest, do we really care what their responses are? We've already formulated an answer in our head and no matter what he says - or how he says it - there will be little persuading us. If we think we look bloated, there's no convincing us otherwise.
As such, I've usually spared Mr. Oh such questions. That was until this past weekend.
We were having a wonderfully relaxed Saturday. Before settling onto the sofa for a movie, I excused myself to relieve my bladder (yet again). On my way back to the sofa, I glanced at my burgeoning profile in our full-length bedroom mirror. Disgusted by what I saw, I turned the question to Mr. Oh: "Do you still think I'm sexy?"
Now, this is not a question that I have ever asked of him - I guess I've never needed to. But, lo and behold, there the question hung in the air. While the question surprised me, Mr. Oh was stunned. It read all over his face as he tried desperately to first understand where the question came from and then how to appropriately answer. After some hesitation, he said "Well, yeah. But, different than before."
Really - the best he can do is "different than before"?! Is he kidding? For months he's watched me weigh myself daily and measure my girth weekly; wince as I squeeze into pre-prego clothing and howl that I have nothing to wear every single day. He had to of seen this coming. Shouldn't he have seen this coming? If not this particular question, something similar?
Was it too much for me to ask to have him say, with such resounding confidence that would make me weak in the knees, "Yes, li you are still the sexiest thing on Earth." As far fetched as that reality is - I know I look like I swallowed a bowling ball and my thighs make a sticky swishing noise when I walk - would it really have killed him to lie to me? I know he's lied to me before; why couldn't he do it now?
To make matters worse, instead of trying to take back what he said, he attempted to explain what he meant. Shocked and with tears welling in my eyes, all I could hear was the sound of dirt being shoveled as he dug himself deeper and deeper into sh!t. Without another word, I turned on my heels and retired to bed. Smart enough, Mr. Oh followed to witness my first full-fledged emotional breakdown. Yes, for the first time in my living memory, I cried myself to sleep for no reason whatsoever.
So, this is what hormones can do to you!? I just hope Mr. Oh is prepared for the next bout.
Friday, July 10, 2009
I NEVER thought...
As you go about life, there are certain products you'd never thought you'd have to buy or use. I remember having this feeling when I was a child watching Always commercials: why would anyone want to wear a diaper all day and why, oh why, is someone discharging blue pee!? Of course, as I grew into a woman I learned the value of such feminine hygiene products.
Well, I guess this same evolution is happening now that I'm prego. Here's a list of products I never thought I'd have to purchase, let alone use regularly:
Neti Pot: This tiny tea kettle like container holds a water-saline solution that you pour into one nostril, hoping and praying, it shoots out the one. The purpose? By flushing out your sinuses, it's a "natural" (although really how natural is shooting water up your nose?) remedy for allergies. While it's proven some relief, there is no replacing drugs - and real drugs - when it comes to allergies.
Gas-X: I've seen commercials for Gas-X, Beano and the like for years, and each time I just never understood why anyone would need or want such a product. If beans or peppers bring on the farts, well then, don't eat them, non? Being prego, I've realized it's not a particular food nor a specific food group - it's anything and everything, and it can happen at anytime. Finally a drug - really a magic pill - that brings the relief I need when I need it!
Baby Powder: There are many uses of baby powder and to be honest when I got preggers I figured it'd be something I'd purchase frequently to keep my babe fresh and dry. Never would I have thought I'd be purchasing the white stuff by the truckload for me! I'm the proud owner of my very own set of thunderthighs. By just taking a short walk, I conjure enough heat and electricity between my thighs to light Times Square for a day. Other than wearing pants - which is difficult since few pants still can actually be pulled over my massive thighs - I'm left applying powder religiously to my thighs to lessen the friction, swelling and pain.
Preparation-H: There I was enjoying my morning shower, when, OMG, what the F is that??!!My first chance I got, I quickly consulted Dr. Google only to learn that hemorroids were another lovely gift of pregnancy - yippee! Too embarassed to purchase the product myself, I finally confessed my sad state to Mr. Oh. Without needing to plead he purchased the product I needed to "shrink the swelling". Oy vey.
Well, I guess this same evolution is happening now that I'm prego. Here's a list of products I never thought I'd have to purchase, let alone use regularly:
Neti Pot: This tiny tea kettle like container holds a water-saline solution that you pour into one nostril, hoping and praying, it shoots out the one. The purpose? By flushing out your sinuses, it's a "natural" (although really how natural is shooting water up your nose?) remedy for allergies. While it's proven some relief, there is no replacing drugs - and real drugs - when it comes to allergies.
Gas-X: I've seen commercials for Gas-X, Beano and the like for years, and each time I just never understood why anyone would need or want such a product. If beans or peppers bring on the farts, well then, don't eat them, non? Being prego, I've realized it's not a particular food nor a specific food group - it's anything and everything, and it can happen at anytime. Finally a drug - really a magic pill - that brings the relief I need when I need it!
Baby Powder: There are many uses of baby powder and to be honest when I got preggers I figured it'd be something I'd purchase frequently to keep my babe fresh and dry. Never would I have thought I'd be purchasing the white stuff by the truckload for me! I'm the proud owner of my very own set of thunderthighs. By just taking a short walk, I conjure enough heat and electricity between my thighs to light Times Square for a day. Other than wearing pants - which is difficult since few pants still can actually be pulled over my massive thighs - I'm left applying powder religiously to my thighs to lessen the friction, swelling and pain.
Preparation-H: There I was enjoying my morning shower, when, OMG, what the F is that??!!My first chance I got, I quickly consulted Dr. Google only to learn that hemorroids were another lovely gift of pregnancy - yippee! Too embarassed to purchase the product myself, I finally confessed my sad state to Mr. Oh. Without needing to plead he purchased the product I needed to "shrink the swelling". Oy vey.
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