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Pregnancy Week 23: When hormones attack

March 10, 2014

I have been waking up on the wrong side of the pregnancy pillow this week.

I am crabby and mean. But I am also needy and sad.

Within the space of five minutes, I complained to The Husband: I am so lonely. Nobody calls me anymore or wants to hang out with me. My friends don’t ask how I’m doing. They don’t care. Nobody cares. When I send pregnancy photos to my family, they don’t comment on them or say I look pretty. And the last time I sent a photo to my sister she said it looks like I’m about to cry. And why did I have to give up an hour this week? I want it back! With interest! And look — salsa fell off the chip and onto my big tummy and taxes are due AND OH GOD EVERYTHING, ALL AT ONCE.

Then I cried.

It is lovely being married to me right now, I’m sure.

Photo taken during the five minutes my emotions weren’t wildly ricocheting all over the place.

Are these hormones? Is that what’s happening here? Because fuck hormones. I hate feeling this uneven and irritable. This is not me.

On a lighter note, spring has waltzed into the desert, bringing crazy cactus blooms and pastel sunsets and letters from President Clinton. Those are good things, even though I feel a little too delicate to fully enjoy them right now.

Pen pals! This was the highlight of my week.

Little pricks.

You’d never know I was in a grocery store parking lot.

Here’s what else is up this week:

Baby: Supposedly the size of a grapefruit, but I no longer believe my iPhone app on this matter. So you’re telling me this baby is the size of a grapefruit? But he is also 12 inches long?

When’s the last time you saw a damn grapefruit that was as tall as a schoolkid’s ruler?

Never. That’s when.

Family portrait! The Husband, me and baby grapefruit.

Cravings: Tomato-based foods. Marinara. Salsa. Tomato-basil soup.

Body: Bigger. I guess this is what happens.

Also I am starting to feel the limitations of pregnancy, and that has been difficult to accept. Normally when a person works out each day, the reward is that the routine gets easier, your muscles take longer to fatigue, you feel the results. That’s one of the basic principles of physiology: The more you exercise, the more your body wants to be in motion.

Pregnancy is the exact opposite. For me, anyway. Lately I feel like I am fighting with myself. Each day the effort is more daunting, and laziness is more seductive. I want to rest. But also know that’s not what’s best for me or the baby — I need to maintain some level of fitness.

So I still walk 2-3 miles each morning, and I’ve been doing prenatal yoga. I took my bike out for a slow 10-mile ride. I went for a hike with my husband, even though I couldn’t make it anywhere close to the end; I had to admit defeat and turn back down the mountain, wheezing the whole descent.

The view from not-the-top.

Maybe in the coming days I’ll try to tackle that mountain again. Maybe this time I’ll even make it to the top.

Pregnancy Week 22: Fetus in Seattle

March 4, 2014

Baby went to Seattle this week! I went also, because it would have been strange and irresponsible to send a fetus on such a long trip alone.

This was my first visit to Seattle, and most of what I know about the city was gleaned from Sub Pop, Starbucks and the movie “Singles.” I also know Seattle as the home of the newborn vampire army in “Eclipse,” the sequel to “Twilight.”

Unfortunately, neither grunge nor vampires were to be found anywhere.

A whole big city and not a single sparkly man.

On a good note, I did find Starbucks.

“You know it’s an original Starbucks, because the mermaid is fatter,” said my friend Ashley.

I fell for Seattle immediately, the way you see a handsome stranger and can instantly imagine your life together. Over-caffeinated people, many slightly pale and dirty, shrouded in flannel? Restaurants that serve sizable portions of inventive, local food? Markets filled with freshly plucked produce? Mountains and pine trees and painfully blue, blue water? Yes! All of it yes. This city gets me.

Six blocks of yum.

The occasion for this trip was the annual AWP conference, the Association of Writers and Writing Programs, a gathering of 13,000 nerds for workshops, panels, a gigantic book fair, readings and evening events.

The conference squeezes all the experiences of going to school into just a few days. The first day is like a junior high dance, with everybody standing awkwardly in their own corner, looking at the wall. By the final day, it’s college. People have separated into cliques. They are bleary-eyed and weak, and their backs have been tweaked from carrying too many books. They skip workshops to meet friends or to tend to their hangovers. Or they skip the conference entirely to smoke pot in hot tubs.

AWP is a strange and wonderful world, but it was different to experience it sober rather than seeing it through a martini glass. Last year I was a social butterfly who hopped from bar to bar and the occasional hotel room, partying with questionable poets until 4 a.m. This year I was the pregnant lady who just shoveled pie into my mouth. But I spent less money this year. So there’s that.

Anyway, I did not take any photos of the conference, so here are some more pictures from Pike Place Market.

Spelling candy with a K makes it sweeter.

Warning: When a dead monkfish asks you to come closer, it’s gotta be some kind of trick.

Freshly chewed: The bubblegum wall in Post Alley.

Of course, the best part was that I got to spend a lot of time with one of my best friends, Ashley, and watch her give an incredible reading. Here’s the piece she read an excerpt from on stage.

MFA BFFs.

Here’s how everything else is going this week:

Baby: The size of a papaya. Yuck. This is the first week I haven’t liked the produce comparison, since papayas taste like feet and vomit.

Health: I had a full-on anxiety attack, because I suddenly couldn’t feel the baby move anymore. So before I left for Seattle, I called my doctor’s office and forced myself upon them until they agreed to let me come in for an appointment. My usual OB wasn’t there, and I was given someone with the bedside manner of a Pike Place Market monkfish. She listened to the heartbeat and said, “Well, it’s there. You’re fine,” before she ushered me out the door. It wasn’t exactly reassuring, but until someone invents a uterus porthole so I can peer inside myself and see what’s going on, I have no choice but to believe her.

By the way, can one of you invent a uterus porthole? Thanks.

Later, in Seattle, I ate some unbearably spicy Indian food, and the baby kicked up a storm. So he’s there. And I will eat tongue-shredding curry every day of this pregnancy if I have to, just to feel him.

Also, baby got his first piece of clothing this week! How sweet is this?

The onesie that said “Write like a motherfucker” was sold out.

Cravings: Everything, really. Although I still want slurpy noodles and dumplings and curry and sushi slightly more than usual. This conveyor belt of food at Blue C was a dream come true.

Sushi-go-round!

Strangers: This week two people confirmed why I don’t like to leave the house anymore.

1. My seatmate from SFO to SEA leaned over and whispered, “What flavor is it?”

ME: By “flavor,” you mean what?

HIM: You know. FLAVOR.

ME: Like, boy or girl? Ethnicity?

HIM: Democrat or Republican.

ME: Oh. Well, his parents are Democrats. But I hope to raise a critical thinker who can make decisions for himself.

HIM: Atta girl! So a Democrat.

2. Inside the AWP conference, a man sidled up to me on an escalator. Then he rubbed my belly.

HIM: So what are you doing tonight?

ME: Me? Sleeping.

HIM: I’m going to this boss party, and it’s gonna be off the hook. I’d love to get your number …

ME: Um, no. I don’t think so.

HIM: (groaning and running hands through hair) Ugh. Sorry. I drank too much boxed wine last night.

Belly: I think bathroom selfies are the ultimate in tacky, but I found myself in a bad place this week. And that bad place was the Westin lobby, with several hours to kill before my flight back to Palm Springs. I wanted to get my usual belly photo, but all of my friends were already gone and nobody else was around so … I selfied it up.

I realize the point of a selfie is to make yourself look good, but I decided to reject that idea by getting rained on, wearing no makeup and staring at my iPhone screen with dead, soulless eyes.

#badphoto

That is what Seattle Maggie looks like.

Pregnancy Week 21: The Cat’s in My Cradle

February 23, 2014

I ended up spending a lot of time at home the past several days, which is why this week has been all about my cat.

Kung Pao Kitten has always been loving and cuddly, but my pregnancy has made him even more so. Like, affectionate x 1,000. Every time I sit, he clambers onto my belly and makes it his home, as if he’s a hen on a nest, trying to hatch an egg.

This guy.

When I sleep, it’s with a cat slung across my middle. When I wake up, it’s with a cat in my face. And when I stand up, he leaps into my arms and sprawls out on my shoulders.

The purrfect companion. (Get it? See what I did there?)

This is why I think the baby will come out purring. It’s possible that my uterus is like Dr. Doolittle and can talk to the animals.

Oh. The dog is here too.

Also, I’ve had a lot of irrational anxiety this week. This is where having a logical, math/science guy husband ~~is frustrating~~ comes in handy. For instance, the other day I didn’t do any of my normal errands because I suddenly became scared and sad and didn’t want to leave the house. Then I told The Husband about it.

ME: Well, I was afraid the baby might fall out.

HIM: Fall out? Is that something that happens?

ME: I think it has happened to someone.

HIM: The baby just falls out?

ME: Yes. I’m pretty sure that happens. I read something online …

HIM: What are your sources? How often does this happen? What are the statistics on this? How often do babies just fall out?

ME: I mean, I don’t think anyone keeps numbers on that kind of thing.

I’m also leaving for Seattle this week. Normally I’m a girl who loves planes — I’m an Air Force brat, I love to fly, I even maintain a top five list of favorite aircraft — but I’ve suddenly become a nervous flier. So I told The Husband I am unsure about going to Seattle now.

HIM: Did the doctor say it was OK for you to fly?

ME: Yes. It’s just … well, I think the baby might explode.

HIM: Has a baby ever exploded on an aircraft? Ever?

ME: I think so. It’s something to do with cabin pressure.

I’ve also been obsessively following the pregnancy of JWoww, of “Jersey Shore” fame, since she and I are expected to give birth around the same date. We’re pregnancy twinsies! Frustratingly, she still seems to have abs.

See? She looks great.

It makes me worry that I’m getting too big or maybe I’m not using enough self-tanner.

Irrational fears aside, here’s how everything else is going this week.

Baby: 10.5 inches long. Depending on the pregnancy app, baby is either the size of a pomegranate or a small cantaloupe or a carrot.

Listen, I thought this comparing-baby-to-food thing was charming at first, and it certainly made trips to the market with my husband more fun — “Look, a lime! Awww, this is what our baby looks like! But not green or nubby!” But now it’s starting to weird me out. Especially when none of my resources agree about basic size. Or shape. Or even type of produce.

Exercise: I’ve still been walking, hiking and doing yoga, but pregnancy is starting to affect my stamina and center of balance. It’s not too bad yet — just something I’ve noticed.

Cravings: Lots of berries. Chips and salsa. I also ate my weight in homemade hummus this week.

Total weight gain: 10 pounds. That seems about right on track for a person who is not part of the “Jersey Shore” cast.

Belly: Big. I think everything popped this week. I can barely tie my sleepy-time shorts anymore.

Whoa, baby.

One of my pregnancy iPhone apps shows me what my body would look like if it were split in half, kind of like a dollhouse. To be honest, I should have paid more attention in health class, because until now, I wasn’t quite sure how everything fit together in there.

So this is where babies come from.

It’s starting to make more sense now.

HUSBAND: Felt the baby kick for the first time! He was very excited and didn’t quite know how to put the sensation into words. He just shook his head and muttered, “So cool! So weird. But so cool! Wow. This is a big deal.”

Pregnancy week 20: Halfway!

February 16, 2014

I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy hormones or the Valentine’s Day propaganda, but lately I am so happy and so goopy with love.

I know, it’s terrible. I’ve become one of those people. Snow White singing to birds in the forest. Chirpy Pollyanna playing The Glad Game. Cheerful and bouncy Tigger. Believe me, I know it’s annoying. I get it. It’s hard to be “Shiny Happy People” when I’m typically all “Love Will Tear Us Apart.”

I never thought I would be this way. I remember sitting cross-legged by the exercise trail at Ohio University, blowing angry cigarette smoke in the faces of the joggers — they were up early, I was up late. I was so jealous of the life and health those people possessed, the way they faced each morning with joyfully pounding feet and vigorously beating hearts. Back then I was so depressed, I couldn’t imagine purposely propelling myself forward into the day when I was just barely hanging on.

Somehow that changed. I don’t completely understand what mysterious fairy dust led me to this place, but here I am. Happy.

I guess I’ve been much happier for years, the product of good friends, good books, living in a place with abundant sunshine, lots of travel and seeing a big world outside of myself. But this big love I have in my heart right now, like THIS VERY MINUTE? I think it’s the pregnancy.

I just love being pregnant. Love it. If I were younger, I would even consider doing this professionally. I love the fullness I feel. I love waking up to my husband’s smile and knowing that I’m carrying something we’ve created. I love embracing how wonky and different my body feels. For once in my life, I have zero control over what’s happening to my body, and it’s liberating. I love how pregnancy is a lesson in patience, because I just have to trust that everything will be alright.

It reminds me of when I was an avid skydiver, the way I was happiest and most calm during free fall. Because in free fall, I didn’t yet know if I had a problem with my parachute. I just relaxed into the sky and relished the sensation of floating, and it was magic.

Here’s how everything has been going this week:

The Husband and I celebrated Valentine’s Day with alcohol-removed champagne that tasted less sad than it sounds and homemade beet and avocado sushi.

Like Chris Rock once said: No sex in the alcohol-removed sparkling wine room.

Beet: It’s what’s for dinner.

Baby also did his first 5K! I carried him the whole time, though, lazy bum.

We did the Color in Motion run, which involves people tossing packets of dyed cornstarch everywhere.

Like Holi, but for no particular reason.

I blue myself. And greened. And yellowed.

Here I am with The Husband and our friend Wendy, before and after.

We totally dyed out there.

Baby: Somehow this child has gone from the size of a mango to the size of a banana, according to my iPhone pregnancy app. How is that possible? Who knows? I don’t understand it either. But I like bananas, so I am ok with this development.

Food: I’m not having any cravings exactly, except that I want to eat everything spicy and everything Asian. This is 100 percent normal, though.

Exercise: Lots of walking, plus that Color in Motion 5K. And swimming! I’ve rediscovered how wonderful swimming can be.

We’ve had some 90-degree days here, and the water has been warm and luscious.

I did not intentionally match my toenails to the pool, but let’s pretend I did.

I didn’t even realize the impact my new, round belly had on my body until I lowered myself into the pool the other day. The cocoon of water cradled me, held me afloat, and I felt truly weightless. I just glided through the water, anchored to nothing. It was glorious.

The water did make my growing belly seem all wobbly though, which was strange and funny.

Like a bowl full of jelly.

It’s amazing. Who would have ever thought I could be so round and happy?

Pregnancy Week 19: Kicking but not screaming

February 11, 2014

Two things happened with my uterus this week.

The first is something I only know about thanks to the pregnancy app on my iPhone, which displays week-by-week drawings of what’s happening to my insides.

Apparently my womb has gone from a luxurious, four-star accommodation, as seen here in week 18 …

Week 18: Shall I order womb service?

… to something straight out of the Sochi Olympics in week 19.

Week 19: Is it hot in here?

Yikes! From spacious to squish in just one week.

Seriously, are my kid’s legs supposed to do that?

The other thing that happened this week: I felt my boy moving for the first time. It was wonderful! And weird! And at first I wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t just gas.

I’ve been trying to describe the feeling to The Husband. According to some of my friends, it’s a fluttery sensation, like butterfly wings. My friend Emily says it’s like a melon baller, scooping you on the inside. And I think it’s something more difficult to define. The shimmery oil slick on the surface of diner coffee? It feels the way that looks. It’s the pop of a soap bubble. The tug of a cool silk scarf against skin. Ginger ale carbonation and eyelash kisses and when one raindrop slides into another. All of those things.

In short, it’s neat.

It’s also a sobering reminder that there’s a living person in my body. One with ears, who hears the same things I do. I’ve started curating the music I listen to, trying to build a perfect baby out of Prince and the Pixies. At the same time, I now worry about the other things I’m exposing my baby to. What about the movies I watch? The TV shows? When I binge-watch a full season of “Dexter,” am I making him a serial killer?

I realize I probably don’t have as much power over this little life as I think I do. But just in case, I crossed my arms in front of my belly during the entirety of “12 Years a Slave.” Sure, I won’t be able to shield my son from the ugliness of the world forever, but while he’s staying in the Motel Squish? It’s my business.

Here’s how everything else has been going this week:

Baby: The size of a mango. A mango! And who doesn’t love a mango?

Me: My belly officially popped out this week. Like, for really real. There’s no doubt that I’m pregnant now.

Also one night I had the strangest feeling in my gut, like a sour cramp. I groaned and hugged my sides. The Husband was terribly worried and frustrated and finally snapped, “I wish you would tell me what’s wrong!”

But I didn’t know what was wrong, only that it was something I’ve never felt before. “It feels like I swallowed a Zippo,” I tried to explain. “Like a burning, right here by my heart and up to my throat.”

“Oh heartburn,” he said. “Just eat a Tums.”

So that’s how I learned about heartburn. Also, it sucks.

Otherwise, I’ve been feeling healthy and happy and calm.

Mango making a fabulous appearance! Though that sports bra is doing me no favors.

My exercise has included a little bit of everything this week. Walking, biking, yoga and hiking. Today I felt the baby kick as I was hiking down a mountain, and I thought, “He’s an adventurer already! He just wants to keep climbing!”

A hazy day in the desert.

But he also kicked when I was listening to “One Night in Bangkok,” and there’s really no excuse for that.

Wheel-y fun.

Husband: Somehow he’s developing the nesting instinct that I should have. The red needle has hit the panic phase, and he suddenly wants to finish every home project we’ve ever discussed. We’ve even pulled out the sewing machine. Stay tuned for how that turns out.

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