The Sexy Side of Pregnancy

Time: 8:30 p.m.
Day: Saturday
Location: The couch
What: Sleeping soundly making little piggy-like snores.

I post this picture as proof that I did eat something besides ice cream sandwhiches and Chex Mix during pregnancy. In case the resolution on your computer is not high, that is an orange peel in front of my face.

Hot, I know.

This Is How We Roll

This weekend marked a significant shift in our household. As first time parents, there is a fair amount of suspension of disbelief about what is actually happening. I think that may be another way of saying that, sometimes, Jeff and I are in denial. I will speak for myself. Sometimes when I crawl into bed, laying on my side, I can see this belly and I wonder, is there a baby in there or is that just the aftermath of 17 weeks of eating exactly what I want. But now that I am feeling little flutters, which are so dear as to practically break my heart when I feel them, I am significantly less confused about what is in my burgeoning belly.

And, it's probably no coincidence that Jeff pulled out his Hanukkah present this weekend. Yes, I got him a shirt that says, "World's Greatest Dad," on the front and "That's How I Roll" on the back. We are not fighting the cheesiness of parenthood either, apparently. When I finally get on board with something, I like to go big. Very big. And, it's not a surprise that I usually start the ball rolling with clothing. As I like to say, you must dress your way into right thinking.

I am officially entering the joy phase. Yesterday, Jeff came with me to the Gap, and after finding some decent maternity clothes (on sale, no less), I felt such surges of joy about the whole damn thing. The morning sickness, the flutters, the fears, the unknowns. All of it. I have wanted to be a mom for a long time. That desire became truly ardent in June 2004 when I was in the delivery room with a friend when she had her second son. It was the second most life-altering day of my life. I remember taking a nasty cab from the Evanston Hospital back to the city after the baby was born at the crack of dawn. The sun was coming up and Lake Michigan on my right was still and partially lit. I can remember thinking to myself, "I really want to do that. I must do that some day." I also thought, "I better get a new boyfriend," because there was no way I could picture going through birth, much less actually raising a child, with the man I was dating at the time. Needless to say, nothing was the same in our relationship after that moment of clarity.

And, four boyfriends later, all equally improbable candidates as Mr. Tate (or as the father of my children) for various reasons, such as sexual orientation, already married, raging ED, and a wee cocaine habit-- here's where I landed: the long, lean, tall glass of water that is now stuck with me for the rest of his days.

Dreams

Last night I had one of my first pregnancy dreams. Actually, it was a post-pregnancy dream. In my dream, Jeff and I were shopping in J. Crew -- which is funny because the morning of our wedding I walked to J. Crew by myself to try on chinos, so it's a place where I go during major milestones. I walked in front of the mirror at J. Crew and lifted up my shirt to see my stomach. I was surpised at how flat it was considering I had just given birth. The feeling was utter joy and amazement that I ever got my pre-pregnancy body back. Then, I went to find Jeff in the men's section and, on the way, I saw a little baby in a stroller and started crying because I wanted to get back to my baby.

This is full of good signs.

First, I am very happy that somewhere deep in my subconscious I am willing to walk away from shopping to be with my baby. Sure, I always hoped that would be in there, but it's nice to get some confirmation from my very own psyche.

Second, I am not aware of any conscious fears about my body, but they have to be there right? I am an American woman after all and it would be statistically impossible if I wasn't worried about my weight. But, it's not a conscious worry. I am only aware of wanting to give Peppermint whatever the little one needs and avoiding the substances that would bring any complication to the process. On the pregnancy chat rooms there is a great deal of "chat" about losing baby weight. I am happy to be free of that. Right now, I don't care what happens to MY body during this process. Frankly, I am much more focused on what is happening with Peppermint's body. I just assume if my body is capable of making a human being with a little input from Jeff's body, then I am pretty sure that it will find it's way to an appropriate weight come about August 2009.

I guess there is more faith inside me than I give myself credit for. That is another VERY good sign.

Another good sign is that I project that my future does include clothes at J. Crew. While conscious fears about the SIZE of my body are buried, there are very real fears about what kind of woman I will be after the experience of pregnancy and full-blown motherhood. Will I wear sweats and elastic waist bands all weekend long? Will I still have any taste or will I just shop the Sears Spring collection on-line? Will I be so tired/harried/busy that showering will appear lower on my daily priority list than, say, number 7?

Because I don't know what I will look or feel like when this is over, I sometimes try on different flavors of mother-style. Will I be wearing high heels and 7 jeans by Labor Day ... of this year? Will I be carrying around my 6-month old baby in cute Lulu Lemon outfits or will we wear matching Lily Pulitzer outfits?

I would be lying if I didn't say that I liked the idea of Jeff accompanying me to J. Crew and wandering into the men's section on his own. I can totally see him as a metrosexual dad. I think I may be able to lure him there once I show him the extensive SALE section.

On another note, I think I am feeling the baby. This is slightly ironic because I sent out an SOS call to my new mom friends asking them when their first felt their kids. Both of them said not until 20 weeks. I am only 17 weeks and 3 days, but after all that crying and hand wringing, I realized that there is another senstation I started feeling last Sunday that is not GI business, but may seriously be the Pepps' going all Mia Hamm in my belly. When I lay down on my left side, and breathe with my hand on my belly (actually below my belly button, which I am told is actually NOT the belly-- whatever, I am a lawyer, not an anatomy expert), I sometimes feel this little jolt and feels sort of like a ripple that sends a sensation from my belly all the way to my heart. It's a weird feeling. Honestly, it feels a little like butterflies. It just kills me that I have been crying about not feeling the baby all week and despite all the evidence I didn't realize I actually was. This is so me. Vintage Christie. I literally have to be smacked in the face all week long, go through my little "I'm not as good as other mothers" process, and then I realized that I had what I was looking for all along. Could this be any more Wizard of Oz?

Dear Peppermint...

Dear Peppermint,

You mom really wants to do a blog entry right now full of rants and witty observations about the insane "advice" that people give pregnant women. Suffice it to say that it would be insightful, scathing and humorous. But, I decided to lean to the other side of my emotions-- away from the rages (hormonal and otherwise)-- and towards the love and tenderness I hope to share with you in equal measure with the rage and terror that you will no doubt see in me early and often in your life.

My number one priority in my relationship with you is to be a real person. And this real person has very intense feelings about any number of things, situations, people, memories. These intense feelings sometimes scare me and I often think about whether they will scare you too. Your dad does a good job of being mostly amused by my intensity, so I am hoping you'll have a good role model for detachment in him and a good role model for intense emoting in me. We are going to have a long and intimate life together and there is no use pretending, now or ever, that I don't feel things deeply or that I don't have extremely strong, fire-like reactions sparking almost all the time. I do. I am learning to love those parts of myself and when I see them in others. I actually can't wait to see them in you. The upside of emotional intensity is that I feel really alive and present. And, as for the downside, there really isn't one so long as I don't tell myself (or you, God forbid) that emotions of any flavor or intensity are "bad" or "wrong" or something to be ashamed of.

Another gift I would like to share with you is creating a home where you can see and experience your parents in a very happy, real, and loving marriage. Your dad sent me flowers on Tuesday with a card that said, "Happy 17th Week," referring of course to you! My vision is to be explicit with you about my love for your father and my commitment to our marriage and to our family. I believe that you will be enriched for being cared for by parents who love each other. Sometimes your dad and I fight and experience anger or loneliness or fear in our relationship, but that is part of having a real relationship. The best news of all for you is that you don't have to take care of either one of us. We actually take care of ourselves and one another so we can take care of you. I will have a very different relationship with you than I do with your dad, because he is my partner and you are my child. It's a good thing that I have certain emotional needs met by your father and that I believe my role is to meet your emotional needs. I promise to work on my relationship with him one day at a time so that you don't end up playing a role that an adult or a parent should play. I really love your dad and when I feel angry in our relationship, I have a lot of places to discuss and process that anger. I don't think that anger should be shared with you, because you deserve to develop your own anger and feelings both in your relationship to me and in your relationship to your father.

Also, I have no idea how to do any of the things I am visioning and promising to you. I am sure hoping it's a good start here at 17 weeks and 2 days to express my hopes and ask other parents how they do what they do. I think it's ok if we don't know what we are doing. Either one of us. I hope I can teach you to ask for help, which actually may be more important that really knowing what to do in the first place.

There is more to say about all of this, and I surely will stay in touch with you and myself and my world to get greater clarity on how to parent you and take in all that you will offer to me in my life.

I sometimes feel like I am holding my breath, literally, and perhaps holding back the intensity of my attachment to you until I see you again on the next ultrasound or see you in person. It's not working that well. You see, regardless of what I see or learn on the next ultrasound, you are mine and I love you and I am preparing for you like I have never prepared for anyone in my whole life. I am already utterly changed by you and your presence in my body and my mind and my heart. Of course I want you to be healthy and have all your parts, and waiting for confirmation about all of those things is not a good excuse to withhold my love from you (or myself). It's not a test. You don't have to have the right sized head or the right number of digits for me to love you and welcome you into my life. I love you no matter what and it scares the shit out of me.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thank you.
I welcome you.
I love you.

Love,
Mom

PS: This is so much better than a rant, but I will confess that it hurts my heart to be so in love and so vulnerable.

PPS: And, still, for all that, I wouldn't have it any other way.

17 Week Bump

Morning sickness has officially worn off so there has been no more french onion dip at 3:00 a.m. or quesadillas for breakfast. It's kind of a relief to feel like I am no longer being stalked by nausea, but it's a little bit disorienting to just be flat out hungrier, watching my body expand.

We hit 17 weeks on Tuesday, which is super exciting. We peeked ahead and found out that Peppermint is the size of a turnip. In my mind, isn't an avocado bigger than a turnip? Come to think of it, I know next to nothing about turnips. This is about the time that some women start to feel baby movement. If I have ever wanted to be an early bloomer, now is the time! Last night Jeff and I spent a while trying to feel the baby, but if I was honest with myself, every gurgle and wiggle was really just gas. In the middle of the night, however, I was tossing and turning a lot and at one point, around 4:30 a.m. I was laying on my left side and I put my hand to where they tell me my uterus is. And I swear to Christmas, after about 35 seconds, I felt something on the inside. It felt like a little tiny mouse scurrying across the inside of my womb. The image I had was a little mouse on a harness scaling the outer dome of my womb just like that guy who was running on the roof of the Beijing stadium during the opening ceremony of the Olympics this summer. It lasted less than a second. I think that was Pepps' debut as a kicker. They say the early flutters are called "quickening" and feel like popcorn popping or butterflies in your stomach. It's completely fantastic and making it seem like someone is really in there, not just the remnants and legacy of my unorthodox eating habits of late.

I have a hearing at work today and finding a suit that fits has been a real challenge. I am sporting the "Bella Band," a black tube top looking article of clothing that allows women in my condition to put their pants on as far as they will go and then slip the band on to compensate for the fact that the zipper won't zip and there ain't no way those buttons are getting buttoned. I have never worn it before and I am thinking I should have done a test run before a day in court. Every time I sit down I can feel the zipper inch down a little further....and it doesn't have that far to go. I am trusting this little band to keep me from being found in contempt of court for losing my pants in front of the Judge. I console myself with a considerable up side if my pants fall off: Our case has some weak facts that would be overshadowed by my public nudity. Come to think of it, this is really just good lawyering. If only it weren't 8 degrees outside, I could get a little more excited about the whole potential lack of clothing aspect of the day.

Really, I can't wait to come home and lay on the bed and wait for my little mouse to scurry across my belly some more. How, oh how, can I figure out how to get paid for laying in bed?????

Snack Attack!

Being pregnant has made me very popular. Mostly because hungry lawyers looking for snacks know that I have a not-so-secret stash of mostly carbohydrate goodness in my office. Most of these snacks were items I just had to have at one point during the first trimester, but once I had a single serving, I moved on to other starchy goodness. When I think back to the first 14 weeks, I remember feeling so overwhelmed at the direction to eat at least every two hours, especially in the afternoon when nothing sounded good except for a dark room and a cold pillow.

So, if you are carb loading for an upcoming road race or training for the Iron(w0)man and find yourself in Chicago's Loop area without your wallet or a viable means to get some quick fuel, stop by and see me. I can for sure hook you up.

It's All Fun and Games

Jeff and I have our best moments right before bedtime. Well, I guess I should speak for myself. Whatever grumpiness or bad mood I have schelpped around all damn day seems to disappear when I finally have sight of the finish line: my super comfy bed with my five favorite pillows. I love it when the lights go out and there is no more striving or fretting or pushing to do. It's just me and the pillows and Jeff. I have a little habit of going manic for about 4 minutes before I fall into a deep, deep sleep. During those 4 minutes, I tend to laugh really loudly in Jeff's ear, or practice crying like a baby (I think I am confused about who will be the baby crying in about 6 months, but for now, it's me), and I push as many of Jeff's buttons as I can. Which means I have to do my daily search for any fat on his body. Apparently, it isn't comfortable to have someone pinch the three centimeters of skin covering your ribs. So he says. How the hell would I know?

I am not sure how I will curb my antics once Peppermint comes ashore, but I am pretty sure Jeff will have to tell me to be quiet about 20 times a night using the threat heard in millions of homes around the planet: "Shhhhhhhh....you're going to wake THE BABY."

But, as I said, for now, I am the baby, and the baby mama, and the baby daddy's wife, so I can be as loud as I want.

For example the other night, I thought my toothbrush smelled strange and wanted to see what Jeff thought about the situation, so I found him in the office and pretty much stuck the toothbrush in his face. The small drawback to the plan of having him smell it was that I was actually brushing my teeth at the time.

Something about the whole exchange made both of us start laughing so hard that I ended up spitting the whole thing on the floor in the office. My dearest Beloved, rather than help his incapacitated wife, who was quite possibly about to choke to her death on Colgate Cinnamon Toothpaste, opted to grab the camera and take pictures of the whole thing.

If this doesn't demonstrate how ready we are for parenthood, I really don't know what does. And when I get all weird, cheap, and coupon-clippy a few months into motherhood, I am going to remember that toothpaste is a good way to clean those hard wood floors. It will be one of my many "home remedies" designed to save money and time so I can start working on the home schooling syllabi.

Lord help Little Peppermint!