Tag Archives: Pregnancy

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The Real First Sign of Summer

And that sign says “Tag Sale”.

I love this time of year. Not because of the beaches or water parks, I hate being out in the sun because the sun hates me. Sunscreen wasn’t really made for the pale complexion of the Irish. I hate the heat, and admittedly am a baby when the temperature hits higher than 75 degrees. Okay, maybe the baby in me complains if it’s over 70. My allergies make this time of year miserable for me, and I’d rather stay locked in the air-conditioned house. I do enjoy my son’s little league baseball games, and more with the portable fan my husband bought me because I’m more of a baby about the heat now that I’m 7 months pregnant. BBQ and bonfires may make this time for me, except I dislike most BBQ food.

So with the long list of things I hate about Summer, you’re probably wondering why I started off by saying “I love this time of year”. Really, I only like that this seems to be tag sale season. I’m notoriously cheap, and that’s being nice about it. I love shopping at thrift stores and tag sales, and this love has increased with my pregnancy. I remember how expensive all those diapers and bottles are, and how expensive necessities like onesies are for how easily they get ruined and the baby grows out of them. This is exactly why I like tag sales.

My neighbor from across the street gave me notice that over the weekend, there was going to be a tag sale, and her friend was bringing by a ton of baby boy stuff. Score, this was asking for me to wake up early and go crazy stalker and eye her house from my front window for me to pounce out and get dibs on the good stuff. I ran across the street, with a $40 budget in mind, and was disheartened that the person with the boy’s stuff hadn’t arrived yet. I did get a gorgeous and warm knit blue blanket and a couple of white onesies for $3. I looked for a blanket just like the one I had bought and found one very similar for $25. I was told to spot a specific car for the baby boy stuff, so I proceeded to go back into ninja stalking mode. Right after my start, the car appeared with boxes upon boxes of stuff. Soon, I noticed a brand new vibrating and music bouncing chair and a nice infant car seat. I struggled with being too “creepy stalker” and rushing over to stake claim on these items. Unfortunately, I’m notoriously cheap and that won the battle. Fortunately, the brand new bouncy chair was only $20 and the car seat was $10. The bouncy chair at the mall was about $150 and the infant seat at about $120, and neither item looked like they had been used. Add in a giant bagful of assorted sizes onesies and footy pajamas, and I had used my $40 budget. The approximate mall price for the items? My guess was $300 worth of new items, as most of the clothes still had tags on it and the bouncy chair I had gotten had no sign of use at all unlike the other one she had put out.

My point? Embrace tag sales. Sure, I wouldn’t buy things like teethers or cribs at one. If you’re smart and know what is safe to buy at a tag sale, they are a fantastic place to go to get great things. Rules like most cribs should be bought new, as safety rules for cribs are constantly changing and infant car seats shouldn’t be more than 3 years old and never have been in an accident. Also, keep note of certain areas of the town with tag sales. My neighborhood has a lot of hit or miss sales, but my mother-in-law lives in a fancy neighborhood where you can always find nice things. I also find the richer areas have more brand new stuff they tag sale, so new the tags are on and aren’t damaged. Plus, look at another benefit other than saving money: the exercise you get walking around the sales and carrying the stuff home. I’m not saying go hoarder and buy everything, but if it’s tag sale season and there’s something you need, I say go for it.

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You Know It’s Too Big

One hilarious thing about writing is tricking your audience into reading an article based on a provocative title. I know what you were thinking, silly people but this is at least a PG-13 blog. It’s my “blessing in my belly making my stomach stick so far out” that has gotten to a point that may or not be “too big”. It’s all relative, I suppose. I might find my stomach to be too large, and my body giving out on me seems to agree. It’s more than aches and pains, it’s the hilarious ways it affects your life in the most vain and unimportant ways.

Recently while showering, I went to shave my legs only to find out this might be harder than normal. As if not cutting my leg open isn’t enough of a task shaving, I found my stomach made this more difficult that I had hoped. I did it, barely, while sitting down in an awkward position determined not to be that woman who makes her husband do it for her. I think I’ll go amazon chic before I allow myself to lose that sort of independence. I haven’t decided if having him paint my nails is the same idea, but on principle I’ll go without certain vanities. I bet I’ll give in though, I don’t think I could allow myself to go 3 months with hairy legs, especially with summer on my heels.

Yesterday, I wanted to eat popcorn while watching Game of Thrones or as I call it “the highlight of my week”. This doesn’t seem like it would be overly difficult. I go to the cabinet where the popcorn was and as I reached up to grab the popcorn, I realized that my stomach stuck out so much that I couldn’t reach to grab my popcorn because I was too far away to just grab it. Normally when this happens (a common occurrence when you’re barely 5’2″), I climb onto the counter to reach what I need and gloat how I don’t need my 6ft husband to reach things for me. Stupidly, I attempted to climb, but quickly realized that climbing wasn’t an option either. Not just because my husband looked on disapprovingly with a lecture ready, but because my fat little body was no longer as agile as I was 6 months ago.

So as I waddle around with my fan/spritzer combo to cool me off, I complain about the discomforts of the miracle of life while looking about how large I am in my head. The bright point is every kick I know I’m doing something right and in a few short months there will be a child here that everyone can fawn over and will be there to make me smile and forget about everything before. Then I’ll forget enough to go through it again.

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And Now It’s 3 months

I was sitting in my living room, indulging in a nice salad and rice because that’s what my crazy fetus enjoys. It then hit me that in almost 3 months time, I’ll be sitting in that same spot with a swaddled newborn. It wasn’t the idea of the newborn that sent sudden waves of terror and anxiety in my body, it was the idea that there was only about 3 months left until he appeared. I had only 3 months and a lot less time to get things accomplished than I had hoped.

I looked at my bedroom, which I had destroyed in a fit early on in my pregnancy when I realized nothing fit. Where was I going to put this bassinet? What happens next? Do I baptize him? Who do I choose to be his godparents without offending everyone else? Will I be a terrible mother this time around, knowing that I wasn’t that great my first time? I couldn’t help to think “well with all those kids in foster care or the state’s care, I’m sure it could be worse.”

Then, I cheer up. “I’m sure it could be worse for him.” No that’s not what cheers me up, I’m not that awful. What comforts me is that in 3 months time I won’t have to pee every hour and all these aches and pains will vanish. I’ll have this little life staring at me wide-eyed and excited for what the next day will bring. That’s the best part of being a parent: realizing that you can open this new life’s eyes to something better than what’s actually there. Children are innocent and unaware if you don’t feel like changing out of your pajamas. They don’t care about anything other than whether you love them and are there to take care of them.

Maybe 3 months is perfect time. Time enough to focus on getting everything done and time enough to enjoy it while it lasts. Time enough to prepare for everything, and realize that all the preparation in the world won’t help for all the unknowns parenthood brings. Maybe 3 months isn’t perfect time, mostly because there’s no such thing as perfect time for anything.

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It’s All In Perspective

Parenting brings out different ideals and morals in a person. You see things in the way you hope your child will see them and are more aware of the things you say. With my first child, I definitely learned to watch my language at least in speaking out loud. You also learn that every action you perform, they learn. They learn everything from you, but I think that mostly you learn from  you children.

With my new addition growing inside, I notice that I’m more aware of certain issues this time around that I didn’t need to worry about with my first. My first son is a majority, a white male. My son waiting to enter the world will likely have more challenges we’re both going to have to walk through for the first time, since this society is still a society that struggles with race issues and people who are different. My unborn son will have to hold his head high while slurs are tosses at him because he’s Asian. They’ll hold the skins of their eyes and make a squinty face to imitate him, and mispronounce words because that’s what they see on TV.

Even more, I think about the internment that took place in World War II. I think about the terrorist attacks and how that made our country view Muslims. I get scared thinking about those things, because it makes me wonder what happens if we end up in a war with North Korea. I worry that my children and husband will be taken away just because their lineage is Korean. I worry they’ll get thrown down stairs, have eggs tossed at them, have our house vandalized because we live in a closeted xenophobic society. And by closeted, I mean hidden as well in the closet as Clay Aiken was.

More logically, laws similar to the one being discussed about immigration in Arizona and how if they become widespread how that will affect my family. I would’ve said before who cares if they want to pass a law they think will work though it will probably make racial profiling acceptable. Now I sit there and think, “how do I feel that a law like this means that my child can be pulled over just because he’s Asian and needs to prove that he’s American. Do I need to make him carry around his birth certificate so some tough guy cop doesn’t bully my child?” Lawmakers say that it won’t increase racial profiling, but that’s like saying it just seems like anyone with tan skin and a beard gets stopped more at airport security.

I hope for the sake of my children that I’m being skeptical and paranoid. Maybe things will change between now and then, and maybe I don’t have to worry about the cruel world I’m bringing them into. I can hope that I raised them well enough to not retaliate violently and stand up for themselves in a positive way. Mostly, I can hope that the world is a little more tolerant in the future.

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There, I Closed My Eyes

Every month, I find myself sitting in the doctor’s office waiting for my turn. I would list this as one of the biggest annoyances of this pregnancy. I understand the point of it, it’s a precautionary act to make sure everything’s fine. Well, logically I understand the point. I’m a normally bitter and sarcastic person, and this act though necessary tests every bit of my core. For me, in my irrational and angry mind, this isn’t only unnecessary but it’s also a waste of time. I hate wasting time.

It’s nice to be there so often that the receptionists know my name and I can just sit down in peace. It’s not nice to be there having to use the bathroom but being unable to because you need to pee in a cup when you get in there. It’s definitely even more uncomfortable to shift positions and realize that you can’t sit comfortably in any of those chairs and you know that even though your appointment is in 10 minutes,  you’ll probably be sitting in that chair for another half hour at least. Or if you’re lucky, they’ll let you sit in the exam room in uncomfortable silence on an uncomfortable and cold table. Then, you go through all that to have your physician say “are you feeling ok? Any bleeding or fluids leaking?”. Then when you respond with a simple “no”, they say you make your job easy and lay you down to hear the heartbeat. I almost feel like this could be easily accomplished with a video conference call while I stay home in my pajamas with my lovely Boppy. That’s not even the worst part for me.

I’m like every other woman on the planet, I have issues with  how I look. All these flaws I build up in my head only get worsened by the pregnancy. Pregnancy glow doesn’t exist, it’s not a compliment when people say you have it. It’s really just oil building up that’s going to end up in a horrible rash of acne. There’s nothing exciting about it. Then, there’s the weight thing. I’ve never been large, even though I admit I’ve always thought I was bigger than I actually was. That changes when you’re pregnant; you really are large. At my recent visit, I even admittedly refused to look at the scale while the nurse weighed me. She didn’t judge, which made me happy that I’m probably nowhere near the only one who just didn’t want to know. Now today, I’m scarred by the number. In my head, I look like I’m about to pop and will never lose this weight. I know it’s illogical, but I can’t  help but to be obsessive about how “big” I am.

I share this story because I know I’m not the only pregnant person in the world that takes one look in the mirror and doesn’t feel a joy but feels an insecurity. Honestly, it’s tiring reading about how awesome it is and I don’t think enough people come out and admit that they feel a certain way. I’m not saying I’m not happy about this bundle of joy, but don’t make us feel like bad people because we don’t “glow” the way you think we should. Pregnant women should be able to come out and say it’s not always peachy without fearing what people think.

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Pax East, day 1

I learned something important today. When you’re 5 months pregnant at a huge convention, a problem exists: you’re 5 months pregnant. Toting around swag and walking for hours straight doesn’t feel so great. After only a couple of hours, my feet and back feel like they want to run away from my body. Don’t even get me started on my OCD and public restrooms. This made me realize how I should approach my weekend special for Pax: no one talks about being a parent at a gaming convention nor does anyone mention being pregnant and walking around swarms of people.
This is mine and my husband’s 3rd year here. This year, we decided our 9-year-old was old enough to appreciate this experience. This posed a problem for us, as now we had to adapt a new plan and accept that there were certain things we would have to miss that we enjoyed. (I miss you “Make a Strip” panel.) Certain things aren’t kid friendly.

I just rocked the old people's socks off.

This gave us a new perspective on this event. We kept our eyes opened for things our son would enjoy. Then, we saw the “Paint and Take” booth. Perfect! My husband and our son sat there together painting happily together. When they were completed, they proudly showed off their work.

My figurine is awesome. This is my proud face.

Look what I can do!

We also remembered a joy when our son discovered the Classic Console room. While we proudly showed our old age talking about how “the NES was our first game system as kids” and explaining the evolution of games to get to the Wii and Xbox he enjoys today. We showed him how Golden Eye 64 was far more awesome than his Wii version, and then watched him beat us at it. Yes, we were proud. I have a feeling we’re going to spend a lot of time there this weekend.
Another room was also a place of great awe and amazement for our 9-year-old adventurer: the ACAM too. It was filled with classic arcade machines that were free to play. The room was dark, with laser stage lights like arcades should look like. With a backdrop of 80’s music, our son looks at this pinball machine like he’s never seen one in real life, asking “wasn’t Tommy a pinball wizard?” My poor husband’s knee though, he crouched down using his legs as a step stool so our short son could see the screens. This is another place we’ll probably end up spending our weekend.
The agenda for tomorrow is simple. First, we must track down Jonathan Coulton so our son can get an autograph and meet his beloved JoCo. Then more family friendly activities including another visit to the painting booth and classic consoles. Finally, the Saturday night concerts so we can enjoy Video Game Orchestra and Jonathan Coulton.
For you expectant mothers, I do have advice: granola bars or the like are your friends, as are bottles of water. Also taking breaks as often as possible makes you not feel so dead, you know your body. Lastly, a pair of comfortable shoes and airy clothing prevents the overheat and just makes you feel less discomfort.
For now though, we’re calling it a night. My feet have swollen up to a freakish size and my muscles feel like giving up. Tomorrow I’ll know better. Have fun Pax people who are still partying down.

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You know you’re _____ when ____.

Just a quick reminder to keep up with me and my family while we’re enjoying the sights of all that is geek at Pax East next weekend. Follow me on Twitter as well for up to the minute musings of the weekend as well.

My first comment getting into the core of today’s post brings me to a man getting arrested for reading the bible aloud in public. I don’t care that he was reading it loudly in public and I won’t argue whether he should be arrested, because honestly I don’t know the entire story and the news never tells us the whole story. My quick comment to this is that I bet if it was a Muslim reading from his holy book, he’d be lucky if he was just arrested. The more more likely consequence for him would be a one way ticket to Guantanamo with a terrorist label and a public cry of sleeper cells in Smallville. You know you live in an hypocritical and racist society when that is the first thought that crosses your mind.

Last night, I had two very weird dreams, which I’m told is a common side effect to being pregnant. Lucky for you, I’ve learned something from both, so you get to read about both of them. My first dream has me at Home Depot, waiting in line to buy one item. Behind me is no other than Republican Nominee Mitt Romney, who proceeds to try to cut me in line. I know, first hint it was a dream was that Mitt Romney would never be inside a Home Depot. I ended up calling him an unpleasant word, and he said “That’s why I never wait in line behind a Roman Catholic.” I then pointed out “Then how come Santorum keeps beating you?” You know you’re watching too much political “news” when you have dreams about the candidates.

The hilarious dream seems to fall into a series of interesting food dreams. Last week, I had a dream that I went out for ice cream, and the Glee cast were the servers. A few days ago, I imagined waking up to an unlimited buffet of Chipotle tacos. Last night, the dream lead me to dreaming of pickles, glorious and delicious pickles. I remember very vividly how delicious all the treats were and remembered how I didn’t care the Glee staff served me ice cream, I just remember how awesome the ice cream tasted. You know you’re fat and pregnant when you dream endlessly of various types of food.

So keep those interesting stories in your mind to laugh at me for later. Also remember, Pax East next week.

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The Lies They Tell

As I put on my new maternity clothes, finally accepting the fact that you actually get bigger while pregnant, I commented the evil comment all women blurt out. I said “I look fat in this.” “You’re not fat, you’re beautiful and pregnant”, my husband responded with a kiss. It was that moment I realized something I hope all women realize: of course they lie to us, they don’t want the evil wrath of an angry woman. I don’t understand why we get mad for lying about the silly things to make us feel better, and mad if they don’t lie. Poor men can’t win.

I don’t mind if he lies about the silly things, I appreciate hearing the lies of “the most beautiful girl ever” and the like. I don’t like the “do I look fat in that?” lie, I don’t want to go out looking fat and stupid. Luckily, he tells me the truth and it works out well. If you want to go out looking terrible because you’d rather be lied to, have fun with that.

The real point is, we love our partners because they are willing to lie to us about certain things so we don’t feel down about ourselves. We want certain lies to make us feel good about ourselves, and we shouldn’t get mad at them that they love us enough to lie. Sure, he’s right that I’m not fat and it’s just a baby, but that doesn’t make it any less sweet that he’s willing to say that. Even though, let’s face it, I really do look fat. (You have to love that awkward stage where you look fat, not pregnant. I’m definitely going to mess with people.) I feel sorry for those men who can’t win that fight. Appreciate them for being willing to bite their tongue, because we all know sometimes it’s hard for them to be quiet when they should. Maybe, you can turn and lie to them and see how they feel about it. “What bald spot, sweetheart?”

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If You Think You’re Going Near Me With That, You’re Crazy.

Too often, I use things I see on television on either commercials or looking up from my book and seeing a reality show on. This leads me again to comment about those reality shows I come across. Let’s face it, some reality shows are more entertaining than most sitcoms because they are more bizarre than some of these screenwriters can even come up with. Like who would every dream up a storyline like the Carrot episode of “1000 Ways to Die”, which I have to say was one of my favorites.

My first case in point leads me to My Strange Addiction. I think they should rename this show to “Natural Selection At Its Finest”. I’ve seen commercials where someone will drink nail polish and another where someone drank gasoline. Does my first thought when I see this make me feel empathetic to the person who’s addicted to it? No, it really doesn’t. My first thought ends up at “something really bad needs to happen to that person for being so dumb”. I proved that point when I did watch and episode where someone used to sleep with a hair dryer on, and her daughter picked up on that habit. That’s what I call “inherited stupidity”. That’s why its natural selection, if you’re dumb enough to drink something like gasoline or nail polish, I hope for the sake of children everywhere that you don’t reproduce. Yes, I’m aware how judgmental and insulting this sounds, but also note I’m aware that I’m writing this with a sarcastic snicker and I don’t care.

Next brings me to these birthing shows I’ve had caught my eye more now than before. Thankfully, they reiterated a point today I’m standing by. First note: I’m not opposed to pain medicine during labor. To be graphic since the harsh language is appropriate in this case, that shit hurts. You should be a saint doing it naturally, trust me I know. They had an up-close shot of a woman getting an epidural and I thought “holy crap, if they think they are getting near me with that, them people are crazy.” It reinforced that having a needle stabbed in my spine that could paralyze me is something I will pass on and allow someone else to get it. Seriously, one slip and bad things happen, I’m not risking that because I have crap luck as it is. I don’t judge if you want it done, you can have it. I’ll just take my chances.

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Where Did They Go?

There comes a moment in everyone’s life where they hit a realization that they have dreaded. They deny it, but denial only gets you so far. You could try to fight it, but somehow it always wins. Or you could make a huge joke about it, and let everyone laugh with you.

The other day, I sat in front of a 5lb. container of pretzels I had recently opened. I looked at this container in horror as I saw that it was almost empty. I shrugged off my feelings of “holy cow, where did they go?”, and rationalized that everyone else had also been eating them and it was a week or two ago since we bought them. That was the denial stage. I looked down at my growing stomach in sadness of what I had just done to myself and thought that maybe I should avoid the snack aisle just in case. I suppose you could call that the “fight it” phase.

Then, there was the realization that it’s just easier to laugh about it. Like when you open a large jar of 20 pickles and the next thing you know your husband is laughing because you just ate them all. Yes, this is where we all laugh. At first, I wanted to cry. I couldn’t help it; I just needed to eat them. You always get further laughing about it though, and I laughed that maybe the baby just really loves them. Ok, maybe this could be considered denial by passing blame off to a fetus that can’t defend itself.

I’ve said it before; you never truly understand the feeling of “feeling fat” until you are either pregnant or morbidly obese. When I get back my skinny but to pre-baby size, I vow never to utter the words “I feel fat” ever again. Yes, I will work out every little hour of the day I can because I will get back to it. Until then, I will eat all the jars of pickles and pretzels I want. And I will enjoy every laugh second of it, because I’m pregnant and I can.