mama monday: Week 31

Going through old post drafts, I came across this one from Week 17.  PROOF THAT I MEANT TO BLOG THROUGHOUT SECOND TRIMESTER.  Despite being a little outdated, the list entitled Stuff I Didn't Know still stands as a reminder of how weird all these pregnancy symptoms can be.  

*          *          *

Here we are at Week 17 already!

Baby Gaz is approximately the size of a pear, I look more like I'm carrying a watermelon, and feel like I'm carrying a wine barrel.  I have a few friends who are also due in November and, although their due dates are a few weeks later than ours, I feel like Anoine de Saint-Exupéry's elephant in a boa next to them.

Now that I'm comfortably settling into second trimester and able to put into words some of what pregnancy has been, I figured I'd treat you all to a segment I'd like to call Stuff I Didn't Know.

1. Feeling Excited
   In fact, for most of the first trimester, I didn't.  Other than the day we found out we were pregnant (a story I realize now might make for an interesting blog post - stay tuned), and a few weeks after that, when I would laugh uncontrollably to myself like a crazy person because of the wonderful ridiculousness of it all.  I was pregnant.  Me.  With a human inside me.  A baby that will look partially like me and partially like Andrew.  And we'll have to look after it.  Shouldn't we be screened or something?
   
   Other than the laughing fits I felt terribly underwhelmed when anyone squealed at me, inches from my face, "AREN'T YOU SOOOOOO EXCITED?!"  Other than wanting to point out that they had taken all the excitement and there was none left for me, nay, for anyone else for that matter, I was surprised by internal response: "No." and, secondly, by the one I actually said out loud: "Of course."  Because both answers were true, but the latter didn't seem true - yet.
   
   It's kind of like asking someone who is battling influenza, amnesia, PMS, sleep deprivation, loss of bladder control, and abdominal swelling whether or not they are excited about attending the Oscars over half a year from now?  Well, yes, they suppose they are excited now that you mention it but mostly they're mapping out the nearest garbage pails in case they're struck with the urge to vomit, the nearest soft surface in case they pass out, and the nearest bathroom or thick hedge because they'll have to pee as soon as you'll let them stop talking about the Oscars.  There isn't a lot of energy left to be excited with.
   
   
2. Mood Swings
   You may be familiar with my occasional day trips to Crazy Town but they spaced themselves out at least a month apart and were, more or less, understandable.  As understandable as Crazy can be.   Pregnancy leaves allllll those episodes in its dust.  Not only are pregnancy mood alterations unpredictable but they bypass premenstrual ones in both height and depth.
   
   Conveniently, I live with a man who is as patient as he is wise which means that he knows when to attempt to "fix" the situation and when to let things run their course.  And follows up any particularly hard day, headache, or cry by drawing me a bath and giving me a massage.  I know.  I win.
   
3. Feeling Tired
   I can nap like a champion, and frequently do, but pregnancy has given me an entirely new outlook on fatigue and sleep.  Many parent vetrans will see us and advise, "Sleep now while you can!  You have no idea how tired you'll be once the baby arrives."  I haven't entirely completed my research on the subject but I'd be willing to bet that sleep is not one of those quantifiable substances that you can stock up on and use later, like toilet paper.  Not only that, but no one informed me that the sleeplessness begins LONG BEFORE BABY SHOWS UP IN PERSON.
   
   Andrew has developed a love-hate relationship with the body pillow I now sleep with (love, only because it aids me in sleeping...so it's mostly hate).  The pillow, in combination with my bulbous shape, increasing weight, inability to sleep on my front, inability to sleep on my back, multiple trips to the washroom to pee, and inexplicable wakefulness between the hours of 2:00 and 4:00 a.m. make it quite difficult to get a good night's sleep at present.  Which is why I'd like to take those parent vetrans by the shoulders, shake vigorously, and inform them that THEY AREN'T HELPING.

wifercize wednesday: hormones and hand sanders

Andrew has been such a dear in keeping up with his hormone-flooded wife.  The downsides have included fits of frustration (generally nesting related or sleep deprivation related) followed by a gush of tears.

A few months ago I decided to tidy the first floor of our house.  AND I HAD TO DO IT RIGHT.  NOW. Coming across a few pairs of Andrew's shoes in the hallway, I asked him if he would like me to put them in the front closet or upstairs in the bedroom.  He told me to hold on one moment, as he was busy paying a bill online.

I waited a moment.  I waited a moment more.  Still answerless, I abandoned the shoes and stormed off to complete some other equally-as-pressing task until Andrew tracked me down and asked me if I was OK (the banging of objects tipped him off).

"Yes.  I'm fine."  (I wasn't.)
"Reeally?  You don't seem fine.  Are you mad?"
"No.  I'm not."  (I was.)
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know."  (I didn't.)

About 10 minutes after this futile discussion Andrew was back on the couch and I furtively joined him.  I sat as close as I could manage with my bulky abdomen, put my head on his shoulder, and started crying.

"Are you crying?  What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry."  (I was.)
"That's OK.  For what?"
"I don't know."  (I still didn't.)

Andrew has been wonderful at decoding (or, rather, lovingly disregarding) many of my extreme ups and downs and for this I am grateful.  The truth is that, most of the time, I truly don't know why I'm upset.  In the past week alone, the answers to "Are you crying?  What's wrong?" have included "I'm tired.  And you're nice." to "This movie is too sad."  Both legitimate answers.  To me.  At the time.

Another behavioural development has been a slightly unhinged desire to refinish furniture, as mentioned on Monday.  The first of which was a stool.

I spotted the stool on the side of the road the day Andrew and I were parking near St. Joe's hospital for an ultrasound appointment.  It was a painted (chipping), white (yellowing), wooden stool with a slab of the seat broken off.  I thought it was marvelous.

After my dad reattached the broken seat with carpenter's glue, it looked a little something like this:

After a generous sanding with my handy Black & Decker GelMax Mouse Sander and Polisher with Touch Zone Technology, it looked like this:

And after two coats of black CIL semi-gloss latex interior paint (primer included!) it looked exactly the way I wanted it to:

You might remember that I've been working on this little plot of the house ever since I designed my own wire hooks to display decorative French cheese plates on the wall:

Since it's completion, I am happy to report that it is the first DIY project that Oberon approves of.  In fact, he approves of it so much he almost exclusively owns property rights to it.

"How handy," he told me when I placed the finished stool in the kitchen.  "You've finally given me the throne I so rightfully deserve.  From here I shall survey my kingdom and all that transpires throughout."

mama monday: +

That's right, my patient little pumpkins: all the missed posts and writer's block can finally be explained.

I happen to be quite knocked up.

Oh yes, there is much more to the story.  Too much for one post so I'll have to keep you coming back for more over the next few weeks.

I'd have thought announcing our pregnancy to the world would feel more glamourous but it's hard to feel glamourous when meat makes me nauseous (MEAT, of all things...Andrew thinks that it's hilarious that his "little velociraptor" of a wife is a temporary vegetarian), I'm on a strict diet of beige - and occasionally green - food items, I'm experiencing bouts of insomnia for the first time in my life, and I now take sudden and unexpected trips to crazy town.  Oh, and my bladder is the size of a ping-pong ball.

Speaking of size, however, Baby Gaz (who will be debuting on or around November 12th of this year) is now the size of a salted cashew:

Mmm.  Salted cashew.

I most definitely ate the stand-in for Baby Gaz after this photo.

At this point, my favourite thing to announce is that no gag reflex, no sleepless night, no hormonal surge,  and no inconvenient pee schedule could possibly dampen my excitement and joy.  We've been waiting for Baby Gaz for a year and a half, and we don't mind waiting a few months more.

wifercize wednesday: volatile soup

Women, you're going to get a lot out of this: especially if you aren't familiar with why you operate the way you operate. Men, don't tune out: this information might one day save your life.

First: men and women are different. You might recall this image, forwarded internationally in LOL-postscripted emails:

Second: a quote I originally read on my husband's blog (before he was my husband...but after I wanted him to be), which I love:

But women are built like nuclear reactors. We're constantly marinating in a volatile soup of hormones that's poised and ready to form a new, living, breathing human in nine months flat. Think about having that kind of power under your hood. It's awesome, and it sucks.

I was speaking with a male coworker who was outlining some of the differences between his girlfriend and himself, namely spending habits, budgeting habits, decorative preferences, and desire for shiny things. He also mentioned that her cleaning habits were odd, and ran like clockwork. "Her apartment will be a disaster for almost an entire month and then, over two days, she'll go on a cleaning frenzy. Everything. The bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom. I figure I might as well have her over to my apartment during those two days..."

What he is unknowingly describing is a phenomenon that many men are only vaguely aware of and, sadly, women are only a little less vaguely aware of. I found this helpful chart on a website called The Venus Week (don't worry, it's not half as new age as you might think). Dr. Rebecca Booth, the author of the website and book by the same name, explains that women experience what she describes as "The Venus Week" which is, essentially, ovulation. Women look and feel great because their bodies are casually hinting HEY, IT'S TIME FOR ME TO MAKE A BABY. Happens every month.

The interesting part about the constantly rotating (I prefer "rotating" over "raging") hormones in our systems is that they casually hint other things. All the time. And we're, more or less, quite subservient to their demands. Such as HEY, IT'S TIME TO NEST WHICH MEANS THAT ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING IN YOUR IMMEDIATE SURROUNDING MUST BE TIDY AND CLEAN. Happens every month.

These pages (click on each hormone to learn more about them) were vastly helpful as I began to research the hormones that rotated (see?) through my system on a monthly basis. And guys, if you're still reading, keep the eye-rolling to a minimum. If you think the lady in your life is irrational now just wait until oxytocin hormone joins the "volatile soup" in the weeks leading up to birth. I'll leave you with this quote from The New York Times on the subject:

With hammers pounding and drills whining in the background, Ms. Kinsey, speaking by phone, said she is having her kitchen “completely gutted” to make way for new cabinetry, flooring, appliances and countertops. Next, she wants to repave the driveway, finish landscaping the yard and enlarge some windows to let in more light. “I got up at 4:30 in the morning the other day and looked at the windows and thought they were too small,” said Ms. Kinsey, 36, whose baby is due in May. “Is that nuts or what?”