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!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
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!)
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!)
Friday, June 19, 2009
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!
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!
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
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!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Maternity fashion gone awry
I have a big bone to pick with the fashion industry. Why is it that as a pregger you're reserved to peasant tops with big, bold flowers; khaki-type slacks that make your butt look like it's about 4 times its actual size or matching outfit sets that compare to the clothes I used to crave from Smart Set when I was 9 years old?
And, why - and I really want an answer - are these maternity clothes made not only with enough room in the front for your growing belly, but with enough room in the rear to safely store a stroller? Let me remind you I'm not a petite pea by any stretch of the imagination. I've got a healthy layering of flesh on my bones, but obviously when you're prego you're immediately expected to quadruple the size of your ass.
I have visited just about every decently priced maternity shop in Manhattan (which aren't many) and have scoured the web, trying to find clothes that are reasonably-priced and stylish enough that won't have me regretting my new shape. I haven't had any luck.
So, I decided to get creative. Since loosey-goosey seems to be the trend this summer, I decided to head back to the regular shops and try to find trendy clothes that would also fit my body. I've actually had a few hits - H&M offers cute summer dresses and tops with empire waists that have ample room for my growing belly. The only issue is that the front of the garment will slowly rise up as my girth increases. I can totally live with that!
So, to continue with my hunt, I stepped into Banana Republic, who has a great selection of loosey-goosey. As the men's wear department was near the entrance, the greeter was poised to direct me to the women's department. But, as she began her guide routine, her eyes fell onto my belly. With her hand in mid-air pointing to the back of the store, she was at a loss for words. A little more than 4 months along it no longer looks like I've eaten too many Hostess cupcakes. But, I'm not huge - not by any stretch of the imagination!
With a quizzical look, she tried to form words in her mouth. Embarrassed at her ogling, I finished off her sentence with the words she was so desperately seeking: "Women's?" She nodded her head without taking her eyes off my belly.
I got several other looks in the store, but alas no one was willing to help me. Even the three women standing by the counter talking about how the recession is affecting their sales, didn't bother to try to scoop a sale with me.
So, not only am I forced to ignore my fashion sense, but when I try to recoup at least some style into my wardrobe I'm then left to be ogled and ignored. Lovely!
And, why - and I really want an answer - are these maternity clothes made not only with enough room in the front for your growing belly, but with enough room in the rear to safely store a stroller? Let me remind you I'm not a petite pea by any stretch of the imagination. I've got a healthy layering of flesh on my bones, but obviously when you're prego you're immediately expected to quadruple the size of your ass.
I have visited just about every decently priced maternity shop in Manhattan (which aren't many) and have scoured the web, trying to find clothes that are reasonably-priced and stylish enough that won't have me regretting my new shape. I haven't had any luck.
So, I decided to get creative. Since loosey-goosey seems to be the trend this summer, I decided to head back to the regular shops and try to find trendy clothes that would also fit my body. I've actually had a few hits - H&M offers cute summer dresses and tops with empire waists that have ample room for my growing belly. The only issue is that the front of the garment will slowly rise up as my girth increases. I can totally live with that!
So, to continue with my hunt, I stepped into Banana Republic, who has a great selection of loosey-goosey. As the men's wear department was near the entrance, the greeter was poised to direct me to the women's department. But, as she began her guide routine, her eyes fell onto my belly. With her hand in mid-air pointing to the back of the store, she was at a loss for words. A little more than 4 months along it no longer looks like I've eaten too many Hostess cupcakes. But, I'm not huge - not by any stretch of the imagination!
With a quizzical look, she tried to form words in her mouth. Embarrassed at her ogling, I finished off her sentence with the words she was so desperately seeking: "Women's?" She nodded her head without taking her eyes off my belly.
I got several other looks in the store, but alas no one was willing to help me. Even the three women standing by the counter talking about how the recession is affecting their sales, didn't bother to try to scoop a sale with me.
So, not only am I forced to ignore my fashion sense, but when I try to recoup at least some style into my wardrobe I'm then left to be ogled and ignored. Lovely!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Forgetfulness
They say that preggers become forgetful during their term. Perhaps this is what is affecting me.
Earlier today, I was talking with a woman at work about a project we were working on and out of no where, she says. "Listen, li. I'm going to give you some advice that I give every pregnant woman who has come up after me."
A successful professional and mother of now teenage girls, my ears should have perked open to her sage advice. Instead, I said "What?" And, my face, which has an unpokerlike quality and expresses every thought that crosses my mind, looked confused and concerned.
For what felt like a few moments, but was more like a split second or two, I couldn't understand why she was ready to tell me something that she tells preggers. What did I have to do with that?
And, then it dawned on me: Oh yeah, I'm prego! Duh! Of course, this awareness also displayed on my face, which caused for quite the awkward moment.
This definitely wasn't the first time I've forgotten this itty bitty fact. Perhaps I'm just a horrible mommy-to-be. Or, maybe, I'm the same gal I've always been and I haven't let the nugget take over my life?
Earlier today, I was talking with a woman at work about a project we were working on and out of no where, she says. "Listen, li. I'm going to give you some advice that I give every pregnant woman who has come up after me."
A successful professional and mother of now teenage girls, my ears should have perked open to her sage advice. Instead, I said "What?" And, my face, which has an unpokerlike quality and expresses every thought that crosses my mind, looked confused and concerned.
For what felt like a few moments, but was more like a split second or two, I couldn't understand why she was ready to tell me something that she tells preggers. What did I have to do with that?
And, then it dawned on me: Oh yeah, I'm prego! Duh! Of course, this awareness also displayed on my face, which caused for quite the awkward moment.
This definitely wasn't the first time I've forgotten this itty bitty fact. Perhaps I'm just a horrible mommy-to-be. Or, maybe, I'm the same gal I've always been and I haven't let the nugget take over my life?
Monday, May 11, 2009
Should you...?
I must preceed this entry with the statement - I love my hubby more than life itself, but the dude can drive me crazy.
Mr. Oh knows me very well and as a result knows not to use certain phrases in my presence. For example, any phrase that starts off, "You can't..." results in me doing the absolute opposite of his statement as a way of waving the one-finger flag at the world and shouting "Oh, yes I can!".
As a work around, he's plagued me with the incredibly passive aggressive question that starts off with "Should you..."
Should you still be exercising? Should you be drinking wine? Should you be eating that? Should you be working late? Should you be playing Wii? And the list goes on and on.
For the most part, I've let his questions roll off my back. As annoying as they're becoming, I know they're coming from a good place. But, I've found, others don't have the virtue of patience I was granted (I say this sarcastically as I have an incredibly short patience fuse).
The other night we went out to celebrate with some friends - I'm a Grad graduate (yea). And, to honour the momentous occasion I wanted a Prosecco Bellini. After confirming with the bartender that the only alcohol content was the wine-based Prosecco, I placed my order. As she prepped my drink, I stepped away.
When I returned Mr. Oh shared with me that he tried to tame the bartender, asking her to go easy on the Prosecco. As an explanation, he then "whispered" to her that I was pregnant (you know, because pregnancy is something like crabs or other socially-crippling disease that it should be whispered!)
Her snarky response: "Yea, I know" and continued to let the Prosecco flow. My hero!
Mr. Oh knows me very well and as a result knows not to use certain phrases in my presence. For example, any phrase that starts off, "You can't..." results in me doing the absolute opposite of his statement as a way of waving the one-finger flag at the world and shouting "Oh, yes I can!".
As a work around, he's plagued me with the incredibly passive aggressive question that starts off with "Should you..."
Should you still be exercising? Should you be drinking wine? Should you be eating that? Should you be working late? Should you be playing Wii? And the list goes on and on.
For the most part, I've let his questions roll off my back. As annoying as they're becoming, I know they're coming from a good place. But, I've found, others don't have the virtue of patience I was granted (I say this sarcastically as I have an incredibly short patience fuse).
The other night we went out to celebrate with some friends - I'm a Grad graduate (yea). And, to honour the momentous occasion I wanted a Prosecco Bellini. After confirming with the bartender that the only alcohol content was the wine-based Prosecco, I placed my order. As she prepped my drink, I stepped away.
When I returned Mr. Oh shared with me that he tried to tame the bartender, asking her to go easy on the Prosecco. As an explanation, he then "whispered" to her that I was pregnant (you know, because pregnancy is something like crabs or other socially-crippling disease that it should be whispered!)
Her snarky response: "Yea, I know" and continued to let the Prosecco flow. My hero!
Friday, May 8, 2009
Big ol' butt
Why is it that the moment you break the news that you're "expecting" do all the women in the office feel they have the right to comment on your physique???
I broke the news at work this past week. In truth, I should have done this 2 weeks ago, but I've been so busy that I didn't get a chance. So, as a result many had strong suspicions. Kindly, no one said anything; however, I was given enough knowing looks in the halls.
So, as I started with my telling. I got a nod, then a knowing smile, following by me asking the question "You suspected?" And it was at this point that they'd share "how" they knew. Here's a smattering of the comments I received:
"You just weren't yourself. Your skin was so sallow and dull." (so I'm damn ugly)
"You weren't dressing the same. You used to always come in tailored outfits." (so I guess I'm just a big, ol' slob now)
"You have this svelt, fit physique. And, well, lately you just weren't." (wow, backhanded comment or what?)
"The tell was all in your face. Honey, it just got so big." (the very previous day, after a long consultation with my mirror, Mr. Oh and I agreed that I had yet to gain weight in my face! I guess I can't trust him anymore!)
And, my favourite that literally broke my spirits and had me wondering if I was just another disillusioned woman who claims "I just gained it in my belly" when in truth you'd think they were carrying a second child in their backside.
"Oh, honey, do you think this is news to me. I've been watching your big ol' butt walking past my desk for weeks. It just gets bigger every day!" (This, after weeks of speed walking on the highest incline on the treadmill, doing squats daily, and sitting in Utkatasana (chair pose) whenever I get a chance!)
For the record I have gained a whopping 4lbs, which leads me to wonder, what will they say - to my face - when I'm up 35lbs??
I broke the news at work this past week. In truth, I should have done this 2 weeks ago, but I've been so busy that I didn't get a chance. So, as a result many had strong suspicions. Kindly, no one said anything; however, I was given enough knowing looks in the halls.
So, as I started with my telling. I got a nod, then a knowing smile, following by me asking the question "You suspected?" And it was at this point that they'd share "how" they knew. Here's a smattering of the comments I received:
"You just weren't yourself. Your skin was so sallow and dull." (so I'm damn ugly)
"You weren't dressing the same. You used to always come in tailored outfits." (so I guess I'm just a big, ol' slob now)
"You have this svelt, fit physique. And, well, lately you just weren't." (wow, backhanded comment or what?)
"The tell was all in your face. Honey, it just got so big." (the very previous day, after a long consultation with my mirror, Mr. Oh and I agreed that I had yet to gain weight in my face! I guess I can't trust him anymore!)
And, my favourite that literally broke my spirits and had me wondering if I was just another disillusioned woman who claims "I just gained it in my belly" when in truth you'd think they were carrying a second child in their backside.
"Oh, honey, do you think this is news to me. I've been watching your big ol' butt walking past my desk for weeks. It just gets bigger every day!" (This, after weeks of speed walking on the highest incline on the treadmill, doing squats daily, and sitting in Utkatasana (chair pose) whenever I get a chance!)
For the record I have gained a whopping 4lbs, which leads me to wonder, what will they say - to my face - when I'm up 35lbs??
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