Phase #1

Hey Sports-Fans!
Here's a quick update from this morning's post.

After I finished my post at around 5:30am, I felt pretty gassed so I went to sleep for a couple of hours. The fact that I could sleep through my contractions meant that they weren't super fast and furious. I was feeling generally okay until about 7:30am. My Mom called and some work-dudes knocked on our door asking us to move our cars. We were up. My contractions had slowed to a dull 'once-in-a-while' pace.
At about 10am, we went to see Captain Steve for a routine appointment.
He checked me out and while I was there, I had a few more contractions but nothing worth noting as monumental. Apparently, he said that I could have just had a small leak and that my water was not completely broken. He sent us on our way and said he'd call at 2pm (12 hours since my "water" broke).
After a delicious Pizza lunch, we went home and I napped until Captain Steve called at 2pm. Still no major contractions or anything exciting. We discussed waiting 6-8 hours before I call the hospital again and we will make a call as to whether or not I will be admitted and induced. After I got off the phone with him, I stood up and leaked all over myself again. Ick.

Alex and I were going bat-shit crazy by this point so I paced around and did some yoga to move things along. When I get a contraction, I feel success is on its way. Unfortunately, we haven't been feeling much success tonight. I'm getting contractions once every 20-25 minutes and I'm not writhing in pain.
My parents came by and Captain Steve called again around 6:45pm. He told us to go to the hospital around 9pm to be checked out. If I have ruptured membranes then I will be induced and we will have our baby in our hands by tomorrow morning. If not, then we are home again for some more sporadic labour and hopefully some sleep.

Overall, today was painful (not physically) but emotionally. Both Alex and I are super impatient and we would love to move this along but if there is one thing we've learned its not to fuck with mother nature (unless you are medically trained!).

If I'm home tonight, expect an update. If not, I'll write you all on the other side when I have 'Peanut' safely in my arms. :)

What's that leaking down my leg?

This morning at 2am, I'm pretty sure my water broke. It's now about three hours later and yes, I've been having painful and consistent contractions. Lucky for me, once I calmed down and realized what was happening, the contractions calmed down a little too. I'm currently typing this at about 5am EST and I'm still home and okay. 

For all you loyal readers, this also means that I won't be typing my blog for a little while so I can get used to having 'Peanut'. Don't worry. I'll be back but I can't say when. 

I called Mt. Sinai to let them know that I made a puddle on my floor (not in the bed, thank God!) and they said to get some rest and call before I come in. I won't be going until these contractions are fast and furious. 

Who can rest at a time like this? 

First of all, BABY IS COMING! I have 12 hours from 2am until I meet 'Peanut'! Wooooo!

Secondly, when I do have a contraction, it feels pretty unpleasant. For my ladies out there who have not given birth or experienced this before, I can only describe it (at this point) as really really intense menstrual cramps that radiate throughout your entire pelvis, stomach, and back. They come as a wave so you know its coming and it hits a peak of pain, then it subsides. I have found that I can bring on a contraction by farting (which makes farts even that much funnier). Also, after my water broke, I felt like nine months of feeling bloated finally eased. I don't have to waddle so much anymore. Don't get me wrong, contractions are painful and although I sound nonchalant about the whole deal, you have to remember that I've had these before with two (not one...TWO) ruptured ovarian cysts and three years of consistent tummy aches; so my pain threshold may seem a tad bit higher than the average person. 

Finally, labour is physical work. Unless I was to be scheduled for a routine c-section, I have to fuel up before this marathon. I can't sleep or rest when I'm hungry so I went downstairs as made a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs. I figured that protein would help sustain me considering I don't know when the next time I'm going to eat will be. No one said not to eat! If this proves to be a bad decision, I'll know for the future. If this results in me pooping on the table while I deliver 'Peanut' then so be it. I don't have to be down there to deal with it and the beauty of delivering at the hospital is that someone else will clean it up. 

I perceive Alex and I will be heading to the hospital in the next few hours and then the grand announcement of "THUNDER CATS ARE GO!!!" will have gone viral. In the meantime, I'm home and happy. I will do my best to post pics and stories of the rest of my labour but for now, I'm going to call my parents before they leave for work and lie down for a quick rest before all the excitement begins. 

"Thunder Cats are GO!"

If you haven't seen the movie 'Juno', I highly recommend it.
Instead of a sob story about a knocked up teenager, Juno really enlightens the audience with her quirky personality and oddly kind heart.
I'm not Juno.
I'm by no means Juno.
Her baby was an accident and she intended to give it up for adoption right from the get-go.
My baby is mine. MINE! Keeping!

Even though Juno and I are not (by any stretch of the imagination) in the same predicament (other than the whole pregnancy thing), there are some clever moments that I have adopted from the movie to help me gain some clarity over the past eight and a half months.
The one I'm going to touch on today deals with informing the public that "IT'S TIME!!!".

I'm due next Wednesday/Thursday (Captain Steve and I really don't know what day exactly so I get two due dates).
Over the past few weeks, I can admit that I've been super duper uncomfortable. I'm unhappy in my ever-expanding skin (because even my maternity clothes are too small); I have to pee every five seconds; I can't bend over to pick anything up-which is a real drag considering I'm super clumsy and dropping stuff all over the place; and I'm having 'practice' contractions.

Alex has been a saint throughout all this. He gets frustrated with me when I forget stuff or drop things but overall, he's kept it to himself. I reckon that he looks at me and thinks to himself, "Geez, glad that cow standing over there crying over her dropped bowl of yogurt isn't me".
Regardless of the unpleasantness of the final weeks of pregnancy, nothing compares to the excitement that at any moment, it could be GO TIME.
Because we are both a little edgy, we've been calling each other throughout the day more than usual.
After my fender-bender, I realized that I calling Alex while hyperventilating and freaking out is not a good way to start any conversation, especially when my tone could be mistaken for signs of labour.

In 'Juno', Juno's Dad is a former Naval officer (or something army related). The script was cleverly written to include a code for IT'S TIME; ergo, when Juno's water breaks, she calls out, "Thunder Cats are GO!"

I like this. It makes sense to have a specific code for an occasion like this so that when I call Alex during the day, he can know exactly what's shaking. I figure that Juno's code is ambiguous enough to only mean one thing and it has already worked in a fictional setting so why wouldn't it apply to real life? (Ha ha!)
If Alex receives a text with "Thunder Cats are GO!" he knows I'm in labour and that he should come home and take me to the hospital.
We've extended this code to my parents (and my in-laws, who are hopefully reading this). If they receive a short call or text with "Thunder Cats are GO!", Alex and I have left for the hospital because I'm in active labour and there is going to be a BABY! They can do what they want with this information, like meet us at Mt. Sinai or go to our house and make sure Marley has food (or change my sheets because I will have inevitably had my water break all over the bed). Either way, my family does want to know if "Thunder Cats are GO!" so this will include them in the loop.

We are expecting 'Peanut' to make its debut soon. When that moment comes, don't you all worry, I will inform you when "Thunder Cats are GO!" too. :)

Pre-Pre-Pre Labour

It has come down to the middle of the ninth (38 weeks to be exact) and I am ready to evict 'Peanut' from my body.
I've had a nasty cold this week but that's not why I want 'Peanut' out. I'm ready to meet my baby and deal with the impending physical labour that I have to deal with.

Everyone has a birth story.
My mother tells the story of my arrival as if it was series of events. I know she's leaving out the nitty gritty details of pushing out a nine pound (yes, I was nine pounds) baby. Basically her story sounds kind of like this:
She was sitting around on a hot July afternoon while the rugs were being steam cleaned. She started to feel unpleasant and called the doctor. He told her to come down to the clinic. She and my Dad packed their things and went. After closer examination, it appeared that she was in labour. Off to Mt. Sinai hospital! After a few hours of discomfort, I was born at about 9pm. She was hungry after delivering me (duh! I was enormous). Some nurses found her someone's lunch and she ate some poor nurse's sandwich. The end.

I'm sure if she added more detail to remembering that day, my sister wouldn't be here. I'm both thankful and disappointed that there aren't more details. Trust me, I am going to want to forget my labour too so that I can (hopefully) do it again. I'm a tad disappointed because I've never experienced this and the closest woman I know who has, is my Mom. I can't blame her for not knowing all the details of labour and delivery though. My sister and I are in our mid twenties and no one's memory can recall every moment from twenty-some-odd years ago.

I've read and heard about other labour and delivery stories. Some are scary; some are funny; most are sweet and leave me tearing up.
I recently confided in Alex that I was beginning to get a little freaked out about giving birth. He calmly reminded me, "eye on the prize". I'm sure when the moment comes, he will neither be so calm nor will he want to offer any sage advice because I'll be screaming at him ten ways from Sunday (with the language only sailors should use).

So, that brings me to what the next three weeks are going to look like.
Well, there are many signs of labour and as I have learned from my freaky baby books, labour can begin early and be a very long process.
Even though I've been having mild contractions (to drop the baby down into "go" position) over the last few weeks this does not mean that I have started active labour. That will come when the contractions are consistent, unpleasant, and increasingly strong.
If I were to rewrite my pregnancy books and tell people the very early signs of labour, they would begin around week 36 and they would include more interesting symptoms than simply physiological ones.

Emma's guide to Pre-Pre-Pre Labour:
Very first sign of labour--> The realization that you have to push a baby out of your "business" in a few weeks. This is commonly characterized by the giant inconsolable crying fit and hyperventilation. To combat this symptom just accept that you have to do this and that everything is going to be fine (even if you don't believe it).
Next sign--> A burst of bizarre energy.
This is seen when mom-to-be starts making lists of impressive magnitude and manages to accomplish all of it. For the Dad-to-be, please remind Mom to rest so she doesn't get the rare, but possible symptom of the pre-pre-pre labour cold.
Next sign--> The pre-pre-pre labour cold. This one only happens to the unluckiest of unlucky moms-to-be. There is nothing you can do about this but buy lots of kleenex and keep a good supply of chocolate cake on hand. Mom isn't going to want to do anything but lie in bed and eat chocolate cake. She already feels like shit, the cake can't hurt.
Next sign--> Even if Mom has been suffering from the pre-pre-pre labour cold, she is going to get her energy back at some point. This is when she hits the "I GOTTA CLEAN AND I GOTTA CLEAN NOW!" phase. The bathroom will never look this good again. Make sure that after the bathroom, kitchen, laundry room, basement, and garden are all tended to that Mom has more of that chocolate cake. She might be a tad pissed off if she's the only one cleaning so the cake will make everything better...again.
Final sign of pre-pre-pre labour--> Getting excited over otherwise stupid shit.
Mom may be a bag of crazy at this point (thanks hormones!) but this one will be the most entertaining to watch. If Mom orders something over the internet and it arrives, be ready to celebrate this rare occasion like its a Bar Mitzvah. She will rejoice over the arrival of her new sneakers or laundry soap with a four course meal, a DJ, and of course, more chocolate cake.

After all these phases, regular labour can commence at any time.
I've been through most of these signs. Our bathroom looks amazing and now that we are out of chocolate cake (for the first time in about two weeks), the regular routine of physiological labour and delivery can commence!
I, personally, think that the pre-pre-pre labour symptoms are way more fun that what actual labour will be but then again, eye on the prize. Pre-pre-pre labour reward is chocolate cake; actual labour reward is alcohol...oh wait no, the baby (of course).

Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

It's back.
The common cold has struck me down.

After last week's series of unfortunate events, the only thing to top it is a cold.
As mentioned in my last post about the pregnant cold, this is no fun. Before, when I was sick, the weather was a bit nicer and I could at least go outside and get some fresh air. Now that we are into mid November, the sun has stopped warming and lighting Canada, and only comes out as a tease; to remind us that for the next five months, we are going to be uncomfortable and cold.

Now that I've reached 38 weeks, I've hit that point where I'm uncomfortable without illness. I can't really move or sleep well, and every time I blow my nose, I'm afraid my water is going to break. I actually had a mild scare today. It turned out to just be pee. (It still made a mess and it still freaked me out a bit).
Having a cold is never fun for anyone. For everyone else, who isn't pregnant though, you get to take drugs. I don't. Well, I was told today by the pharmacist at Loblaws that I can take Benadryl. Seriously?
I'm not going to take it (even though some relief would be nice).
First of all, I made it through my last cold without it and I'm going to do it again. For me, it is the principal of the whole thing. Had I known that I could take Benadryl, I would have drugged myself LONG ago. Now that I'm going through my SECOND cold of my pregnancy and only now I find out that Benadryl is safe, I refuse to take it. (I know I'm stubborn but just wait for reason #2).
Reason #2: Captain Steve told me to tough it out. I may joke that he's a shifty fellow but he's seen everything and if he says NO DRUGS, then NO DRUGS. :(
I get it that he's never been pregnant, so I do find it hard to take him seriously sometimes but I'm going to assume that he knows best (even without suffering first hand). I've trusted my care to him and I will continue to follow his advice (even if I end up suffering).
Finally, being sick is a drag but excellent communication on behalf of my body. If I went for the drugs, then I worry that I wouldn't be able to actually understand what my body is telling me. For example, the Benadryl would knock me right out. I'm a lightweight when it comes to medication and I know that NOTHING would wake me from my Benadryl coma (not even pee). I would inevitably wake up to Alex shaking me to get out of a wet bed. He wouldn't know if I had peed or if it was "go time", and this would freak him out. At least if I'm not drugged, I can shake Alex awake and tell him that I peed and that we need to change the sheets. He would be pissed (ha ha!) and less freaked out to wake up in a puddle that I can explain.

So what have I been doing to get some relief from this awful cold you ask?
Well, my sister was kind enough to give me a Nedipot and show me how to use it. If anyone has tried one, they know that this is the BEST thing ever! Yes, you are going to have a nose full of saline solution but it is totally worth it and awesome. Basically, you blow warm salt water up your nose and everything (seriously, EVERYTHING) comes out. This relief lasts for about three hours (enough to get you to sleep comfortably) and it contains no drugs. I've already done it three times today and I plan on going for a fourth "blow" before sleep time tonight. It doesn't hurt and it really isn't as unpleasant as getting water up your nose at the swimming pool. No burning, just snot.
I've been given the okay for Fisherman's Friend lozenges. WHOA! Those are strong cough drops! They also work really well. If you are preggo and have a cold, I would go easy on them because they make your tummy a little uncomfortable because they are so strong but they will clear you up good! Also, they are made of menthol which is not amazing for moms-to-be but if you can't breathe and you are waking up your partner in the middle of the night because you are gasping for air, then these will work in a pinch.
My final sickness solution is old fashioned rest. I sounds simple but your body is working hard at doing two things: 1. Growing a baby and 2. Fighting a cold. Curl up under a warm blanket with a cup of lemon tea, a good book, and your kitty cat and take a real sick day or two. Try not to let being sick get the best of your spirits even though it will bum you out.

So, being sick and pregnant is a pretty unpleasant combination but not unbearable. The good news is that both conditions are temporary and I'm almost at the end of both. :)

Preg-Tastic List Of 'Awesome' Things To Do

As you may know, I haven't had a particularly decent week.
The fender-bender was a drag; the work-dudes on my street have been a headache; and my poor sister (and her new kitty) aren't feeling very well. If you are chums with Wendy, I'll let her tell you her story. I'd rather not go into it any more than I hope she feels better and that her kitty feels better too.

So, you may be wondering how I'm doing. Or, you're not because you don't give a damn. (But seriously, if you didn't give a damn then you wouldn't be reading this blog now would you?).
I'm doing great.
Against all odds, I'm feeling really good.
As weird as it sounds I have never felt better. I have oodles of energy and I have actually accomplished a lot in the past few days. I've managed to exercise, train most of my clients (sorry again about today, Jess), deal with my insurance company (and the very strange collision-fix-it place), go to the doctor (twice!), and make 36 cupcakes for my friend's son's fourth birthday party. This is not normal for a woman in her 37th week of pregnancy. We all knew I wasn't normal from the start but this is borderline insane.

At this point, my pregnancy tomes have advised that I get as much rest as possible. I personally feel like I've slept through my entire pregnancy and now that I feel good, I should use this energy to get as much 'awesome' done before the baby comes. This doesn't mean that I'm going to run out every minute of the next three weeks. Basically, it means that I'm going to try and enjoy this energy and freedom right down to the second.
I feel that I should be living like this anyway but when you are feeling like crap, its hard to get out and make the most of your life. Now that I feel good, I'm going to do it all (like get all the stuff I need to get done...done).

Here's my preg-tastic list of 'awesome' things to do before baby:
1. Christmas shopping--> As apart of the 'tribe' we Heebs don't usually play Christmas. My in-laws do and even though they are getting a baby, I don't want to forgo the excitement of Christmas pressies just because I'm having that baby. I love my in-laws and they already do so much for both me and Alex. I can make them happy by not disappointing them on Christmas morning. I will brave whatever mall I have to brave (or order necessary items online) and have them wrapped and ready to go!
2. Waxing--> I'm well aware that at the moment, I'm not going to care who's looking at my 'woman-business' when I'm pushing 'Peanut' out of there. There is just something about cleaning yourself up before an event that makes you feel special. Who knows when the next time I'm going to be able to leave my house for an hour to have this done without worry? Alex will obviously play Daddy-Daycare for occasions like this but I still want to get it taken care of. Also, now that I can't reach my legs to shave them, having someone else wax them is a good option. Even though I can't see it, I'm sure there is plenty of hair there.
3. Seeing friends--> I have a baby shower this weekend for my friend Emma (not me!). I told her I wouldn't miss it for the world. Well, in reality, if this baby makes its debut early then I'm going to have to deliver the sweet gift I got her another time. I'm still going and I'm going to have a riot. I'm also seeing my cousins this weekend and my awesomely amazing friend Andrea. Andrea and I are always laughing our guts out so there is a pretty good chance that she is going to induce my water breaking by simply cracking a witty comment or telling me a hilarious story. Be ready for Sunday folks!
4. Cooking--> My parents keep telling me that I should make some meals and freeze them for easy access. I hate frozen food. This is why I'm just going to cook large meals and hope that I go into labour with plenty of left-overs in the fridge. If someone wants to volunteer their services by cooking Alex and I delicious Gluten Free dinners for a few weeks, we would greatly appreciate it. :)
Either way, I've been baking cupcakes like they are going out of style. I'm not eating them all; don't worry. They are for others.
5. Go to the liquor store--> I plan on breastfeeding. I know I'm not supposed to be liquored up to do this but after nine months, I'm ready to stock up before the holiday rush. I also want to pick the Champagne I plan on drinking after I deliver. Yes, its going to be pricey. Yes, I'm going to make Alex buy it. Yes, I plan on drinking it as quickly after I deliver as possible.
6. Alex--> I'm going to just leave it at that. (My family reads this).
7. (Lastly) Rest--> I know I just pulled a full 180 on you all but in-between all the excitement of getting my list done and getting ready for 'Peanut', I do still need some rest. I can feel it in my feet at the end of the day and realistically, I need to look after myself as best I can right now. I will (inevitably) soon be #2 and my own rest and comfort will soon be second chair to a screaming, pooping, burping, bundle. If I don't schedule it, it won't happen.

Even with all these things I want to do, I'm not caught up in them. Everything is flexible (even the rest). This week, I learned that life will hand me lemons. Lucky for me, I love lemons and I'm fully capable of handling lemons under all conditions (and contractions).
More than the energy, the best part of reaching 37 weeks, it the positive outlook I now have on the next chapter of my life. Even with all the chaos of my week, I feel a boost of confidence that I have never had before. I still have the healthy fears like every new mom. I'm undoubtably terrified about pretty much all aspects of having a baby but after this week, I feel good about knowing that I am competent and work exceptionally well under pressure and physical discomfort.
Now for the hard part, waiting.

Pick Your Pimples On Your Own Time D-Bag! Watch The ROAD!!!

Before I begin telling you all about this day, I want to remind you that I am fine. Everything I am about to tell you really happened but I want you to all know that everything is just fine.
Now that I've scared the pants off everyone, here we go.

Do you ever get that feeling that you know your day is going to suck? Do you ever wake up in the morning and just sense it? I don't. I like to look at everyday as a new beginning and that even the most crappiest of mornings can still make the rest of my day great. Our days are what we make of them (to some extent).
For me, my day was not okay right from the get-go.
The Toronto Star sent us a note saying that they were going to be sending us free papers everyday for G-d knows how long. This is a tactic that they often use to gain subscriptions. By having copious amounts of newsprint in the house, I gain the headache of having to clean it up and recycle perfectly good paper everyday. Alex and I hate waste so we make an effort to read the paper before I dump it in the blue bin. Because Alex is often the first awake, he will run downstairs and open the front door to see if our paper has arrived. Today it had, and the slamming of the front door after the paper was discovered could have woken the dead. It did. I was up. Not a big concern in my opinion. I don't mind waking up and this way, I got to have breakfast with Alex. He sees it as a WIN but in my honest opinion, I could probably have used a little more beauty sleep.

So, Alex went to work and I puttered around the house until I decided to go to the gym. I thought it would be a nice gesture to volunteer to team teach with my friend Becky today. We taught Attack together last Friday and the stereo was broken. This was awful but we managed to get through with energy and enthusiasm. I figured that if (perchance) the stereo hadn't been fixed then she could use some support. (I'm pretty nice, eh?).
I got into my car and made my way to the gym.
Here are some things you should know about my car:
I drive a 2009 Saturn (Opal/Holden) Astra. It is THE BEST car I have ever driven in my life because it is one of the safest on the road and it is BRIGHT RED!!!!
Why did I want a car that's bright red you ask? Well, red is, in my opinion, the fastest colour on the road. Cops see red; I see red; EVERYONE sees red. It is no longer true that red raises insurance rates. In fact, both Alex and I drive bright red cars and our insurance premiums are quite reasonable.
Anyway, the point is that if you can't see my red car, you are either colour blind or not paying attention to driving. The latter scenario was the case today.
I'm driving up Coxwell, right outside of Toronto East General Hospital when I come to a stop behind a line up of cars at a red light. I look in my rear view mirror and I see a guy picking a pimple and not slowing down. I don't have much room in front of me so I just grit my teeth, push extra hard on my break pedal and...CRUNCH/POP!!!!!
F*CK!
I pull over. The guy behind me pulls over.
He's a 17 year old kid with his G2 (graduated licence permit- meaning that he can drive alone but is still a rookie).
First I see the front bumper of his car and it looks like he's done some serious damage to what I can only assume is his parents' Toyota Yaris. I turn and look at my back bumper and I have some minor scratches and a tiny ding. Not really a big deal. My Astra is a tank and I'm very thankful for that.
I look at the kid and he's shaking. He's piss-scared. He looked at my belly and really freaked out. He had not only bumped up his car (and scratched the candy apple red paint off my rear bumper) but he had committed a cardinal sin by hitting a pregnant woman. In all honesty, I was fine. I had a small headache and I was pissed but nothing worth getting my already tight panties in a twist over. I was stationary before he hit me and he wasn't going very fast so there wasn't much physical damage to me that he could do.
At that moment I knew his parents were going to give him hell for bumping the car.  I didn't want to be the one to loose my sh*t on him so I asked him if he had his information (insurance, licence, phone number, name...). He was still in shock so I got his name, phone number, and licence plate number and sent him on his way. Although unlucky to have hit someone, this kid was hell-a lucky he hit me (even pregnant).

So my poor little car has some boo-boos. Again, I'm fine but my day was on a slippery slope downward.

I got to the gym and sure enough, the stereo hadn't been fixed. This meant that Becky and I had to teach using a tiny boom box and no microphone. A woman at 37 weeks still teaching Attack and doing it without a mic is crazy. This was a spectacle for sure. For anyone interested, I'll be doing it again on Friday. Hopefully on Friday no one will hit my car.
After class, Becky thanked me profusely and I drove her home.
I was scheduled to train my sister-in-law so I made my way to my in-laws' house to meet Jess.
There is something about Jess. She has magical powers. She can ALWAYS make me happy (even if I'm in the most sh*tty of sh*tiest moods). I was so happy to see her.
I told her about my morning and she asked me questions about my kitty. We giggled and I had forgotten all about my car and the stereo. I even forgot that I was ravenous hungry from my morning workout. It was bliss...until we got home.
Jess wanted to see where my car had its boo-boo so I showed her. Just as we leaned down to look at the scratches a bird swooped over our heads and blasted my car with what I can only describe as the WORST bird diarrhea I have ever seen. We both stepped back (thankful that neither of us were shat on), and went into the house to finish exercising. They say that getting pooped on by a bird is lucky. We were luckier not to be pooped on but I really could have used all the luck I could get today.

You'd think that at this point of my day, I would have been ready to loose it. Nope. I was cool. After lunch with Jess, I went to pick up some groceries for dinner and get my car washed. I could no longer tell what was scratch and what was poop so I figured that a car wash would cheer me up and make my car look better.
It felt better to have a clean car. I could actually see the scratches and bump and knowing where they were and how bad they were gave me some comfort. There is no big damage. I can touch everything up with some paint and after someone really smacks into me, then I will replace my bumper.
I decided that now was a good time to head home; while I was on a high note.

My car (although it had a rough day), looked like a shiny red candy apple. I was feeling hungry and tired but generally okay.
As I turned onto my street, the final hurdle of my day was upon me. There was a tractor and a giant dirt truck blocking the street. Fine! I drove around the block only to find that there was no parking anywhere.
That's when I lost my cool.
Picture this if you will, my car is blocking an intersection, a very pregnant woman gets out of the car and throws a monster hissy fit at the gentlemen in the truck and tractor. The two men just looked at me while I whaled on them. "I'm 37 F*cking weeks pregnant! I haven't eaten anything other than a granola bar since 8am...!!! I have four summer tires still in the trunk of my F*cking car that I need to move into my shed and I AM NOT GOING TO PARK ANYWHERE BUT RIGHT OUTSIDE OF MY F*CKING HOUSE...YOU HEAR ME????!!!!!"
The men politely moved so I could get my car in the spot I wanted. They were speechless.
I didn't apologize. I just grabbed my groceries, gym bag, purse, Emile Henry lasagna pan (that was at my in-laws house from Sunday night dinner), and I waddled into my house.

So my day sucked. There are going to be lots of days that suck.
I also have a lot to be thankful for intertwined into my sucky day. The main thing I would like to get across is that I am so thankful that my car is as safe and sturdy as it is. Although Saturn is no longer a car company (hence why we got mine so cheaply), I am proud to say that Alex and I couldn't have purchased a more reliable and safer car. I feel good knowing that I'm going to be safe in my tank with 'Peanut'.
I forgot to mention that I've been in a major car accident in a Saturn before and it saved both the lives of me and my Mom. The car didn't hold up so well but my Mom and I walked away from the accident with bumps, bruises, a perfectly broken nose (right on alignment), and a little PTSD (that wore off once I got my license). The accident was pretty severe and the fact that my Mom and got away from that experience with just bumps and bruises says a lot about the safety of our vehicle. It sacrificed itself for us and my hat goes off to Saturn for building not one amazing car for me but two.

The next time you see my little red tank, you should know that like its owner (and the baby inside her), although we may look small we are exceptionally resilient and tougher than we seem. We can handle the bumps and bruises of a sucky day but please don't present us with people working on our street. That's where we draw the line.

Been Formally Granted the Right to Eat Everything in Sight!

So, as you all know, I LOVE to eat. Eating is probably my most favourite activity...ever.
I understand the consequences of overeating (being a personal trainer and all). For my pregnancy, I'm embracing the idea of doing what I love to make me feel good. And I feel like eating.

My pregnancy books tell me that near the end of my pregnancy, I may loose my appetite or be unable to manage large meals because of the lack of space in my abdomen. At 37 weeks, this has not yet presented itself as too much of a problem. I can't eat TONS of food all at once, but over a longer period of time, I can manage a plate full of lasagna followed by salad, ice cream, pie, and rice pudding. Om nom nom!
The good thing about this is that I stopped feeling ravenous at weird hours and I'm managing to pack away enough calories to fuel myself and 'Peanut' through the last few weeks of our intimate time together.

I am also eating much more frequently which is holding the heart burn at bay and allowing for lots of variety. It is always recommended to eat smaller, more frequent meals for any and all cases. This way, ravenous hunger never takes hold and one has less of a chance of over-indulgence.

My biggest problem, these days, is the actual quality of food. I've clearly had too much sugar and I know it. Sugar is all my body wants to eat. I just want to carb-out on anything sweet and cakey.
This is where the celiac disease come in handy. Instead of sending Alex out to get cake, I actually have to commit to making cupcakes or buying overpriced, Gluten-Free goodies. Candy is not something I have been craving either so the task of satisfaction gets much harder to fulfill.
My parents have been sympathetic to my cravings and so GF/Vegan cinnamon buns and GF cherry pie has been hoovered with great success over the past few weeks. Alex, on the other hand, has been quiet (GOOD) but skeptical about the goodies. He's taken the approach of "Please do not feed my wife sweets unless she is holding you up at gunpoint!"
It's not about my weight. It's about the 'Crazy!'

When my sister and I were little, my parents, limited our sugar intake. People would offer candy and chocolate to us and we would politely decline with, "We can't...it makes us crazy".
For the most part, my parents were right. Sugar does make kids crazy. It still makes me cry and this is why Alex tries to help me limit my intake. To this day, I'm thankful that my teeth are as lovely as they are but by not having the opportunity to gorge ourselves on candy until we barfed, we were denied a rightful passage into common sense candy/sweets moderation. Both Wendy and I LOVE candy and I LOVE cakes an cookies. In my pre-exercise days, I had been known to eat an entire batch of cupcakes over the course of an evening. For the record, I was in University and feeling pretty shitty about myself so 12 cupcakes seemed like an easy fix. This emotional eating was replaced by masochistic exercise. (Also occasionally harmful but allowed for me to eat so it isn't all bad).

During pregnancy, I have found that the ups and downs of my emotions have fuelled justification for cookies and cupcakes. For my sake, I have tried to be cautious about over-indulgence and adhered to a very strict exercise schedule. I find that if I work the sugar out of my body with exercise, then there is less of a chance for 'Crazy'. The endorphins work as a counter balance to the 'Crazy'.
Thankfully, I've been feeling good enough to be able to balance my munchies with some endorphins and a good sweat.

Now about the weight:
I've gained 30lbs of baby-weight.  I will probably have it just like everyone else. It will be a struggle to loose... also, just like everyone else. The way I see it is a bit different than how everyone else does. I have plans to try and get back into shape after my pregnancy for my sanity rather than my body.
Physically being my former self is not something that I need to aspire to be. I am about to be a new mom. I will have done the greatest, most amazing miracle with my body. I will have given the gift of life!
If I have a few extra pounds as a permanent side effect, so be it. My body will never be the same. I will have done the ultra-maration of labour and birth. Physically my body may look a bit deflated and puffy and my "woman-business" may never be the same; but psychologically, I will have a whole new tolerance for pain and patience.

So, I like to eat cake. So, it made me a little rounder. I know that before I begin my birthing journey, I'm proud of my body for all the neat things it does and has let me do. As long as I am healthy and comfortable in my skin, weight is immaterial. Anyway, confidence is way more attractive on me than any pre-prenatal outfit and I'm hoping to sport it for many many years to come. It's not what I look like on the outside, it's how I feel on the inside. Right now, I feel like I could use another slice of cherry pie.

Either My Arms Are Too Short, Or My Belly and Ass Are Too Big

It took eight months to look like this; I can only expect that it will take eight months to not look like this. 

This morning I realized that I am officially having trouble doing simple tasks. I already know that tying my shoes is tricky and that getting up and down from a seated position on the couch involves help (or a prying stick). These are small potatoes compared to the harsh reality of not being able to reach your own ass to wipe it. 

As many of you may recall, in an earlier post about Braxton-Hicks contractions, Alex was almost summoned for the unpleasant "Dooty" of having to wipe my rear-end. 

I figured that it would be a one-time thing and that I would be able to get through the rest of my pregnancy without ass-wiping assistance. Well, it looks like those days have come to an end. I still haven't asked him because I still don't want to ruin his life. I'm going to push on through and find a way to do this without help (or falling on my face). 

Cats are great examples of how to manage independently. They are agile and they can solve pretty much all their problems instinctively. They don't have opposable thumbs so grabbing toilet paper and wiping their rear-ends is out of the question. Instead, they use their tongues as toilet paper (which is out of the question for me for more than the fact that I can't reach). 

When cats have something stuck to their rear-end fur they do this little scoot across the floor and use the momentum of their bodies to wipe their asses across any flat surface. Although gross and a pain to clean up, this method is VERY effective for Marley and he can get anything out of his ass with enough scooting. 

For me, this would probably cause Alex more emotional and psychological harm to see than coming over to the washroom and politely wiping my ever-so-hard-to-reach bum. The image of me wiping my bum across the floor is a good one though and I hope you all enjoy that!

Ass-wiping aside, other simple tasks have become tricky; such as picking up the MANY MANY things I clumsily drop and even getting in and out of Alex's car. 

Everyone I see asks me how far along I am. I proudly say I'm at the top of my ninth month. With that response, most people react by saying, "Oh, you're so small!". SMALL! ME! 

I can't be small. I have a 6lb baby inside me. There is nothing small about that! I can't see or reach my toes! 

In all fairness, there are many women out there who look way bigger than me, but I can only assume that they were bigger from the start. I'm not that big a person. Without the watermelon in my tummy, I measure in at about 5'4 and close to 140lbs (of solid muscle!!!!). I have short arms and legs that, although mighty, have made it possible for me to have all my pants altered and the need for me to constantly roll up my sleeves. The short limbs haven't changed in my pregnancy, which is mighty unfortunate. At a time when everything seems to get bigger (even my feet), one would only wish that their arms would also engage super-human growth so that at least I can reach to wipe my own ass. But no. I am doomed to look like a snowman for at least another four weeks (and find a creative and functional method to wiping my bum). 

After that four weeks, I will be able to reach any and all asses that need wiping; especially the cute one on 'Peanut'. :)

Oh Mystical Marley, Tell Me When I'm Going to Go into Labour!

I think there is something wrong with my cat.
Don't worry! He's purrrfectly healthy and seems fine to the untrained eye. What I've noticed is that his behaviour has changed (ever-so-slightly). For the last two nights, he slept with me for what seemed like the entire night, both times. Each time I would get up to pee (which is fairly often theses days), he would come and snuggle or sit by my feet.
For most cat owners, this would seem like a lovely sign of kitty-cat affection. For me, this is strange.
As many of you know, Marley is not a nice cat by any stretch of the imagination. He bites and swipes. He also is known for chomping at both my and Alex's feet while we sleep. Marley is not an affectionate cat. He is a terror who believes that he is king of his domain and that his human, Alex, was put on this Earth to play and snuggle with him exclusively. I'm not his human. In fact, I'm his roommate. Sure we get along and often times I make sure that he has some food to eat; we chat too, but overall, my cat and I have a business relationship. I give food; he doesn't bite me. A win-win!

Having a business relationship with anything is pretty great. There are clear boundaries and no one gets hurt (literally with chomp marks or a smack on the head).
The only problem with a business relationship is when one party of the relationship decides to change it up. In this scenario, Marley has made the executive decision to take our relationship to the next level. I have been followed around the house constantly, slept on, and begged to be picked up (with howling cries).
Looking at this as strictly business, I would be wise to ignore these cat-passes and carry on. Instead, I have sent in a formal complain to the HR department of our residence, Alex. Like many HR departments, unless I'm filing a sexual harassment complaint, this complaint will go both unheard and ignored. Alex actually thinks that Marley's newfound affection for me is nice. I would too if Marley wasn't MY CAT. I'm on to him. He knows something I don't.

Last night, I was training with Sam (my friend and Alex's cousin), when I explained Marley's strange behaviour to her. She mentioned that animals often have senses that we can't detect and that maybe Marley knows that I'm going to have this baby soon. Good! Finally! Wait...uh oh!
'Peanut' isn't due for another four weeks and I have a few things to do before that (not a lot of things, mind you but a few things). One of those things is to move Marley to my Parents' house. If Marley can sense the approaching labour and delivery, maybe I want him around for a while longer? Do I believe that Marley can sense that? Should I pack my hospital bag and get my birth plan printed? Is the NBA lock-out going to last much longer? (Important questions that I should ask my cat).

In a previous post I wrote about my clairvoyance symptom of pregnancy. It would really come in handy now (that's for sure). It works for others but I have yet to experience the benefits for myself. Understanding Marley shouldn't be something worth looking into. He is just a cat after all. I could get him into one of those hamster balls and have a cat-ball that may be able to tell me the future when I look into it; but I suspect that if I did that, my future would be full of chomps, swipes, and angry meows (once he was freed from his captive magic ball of course).

As for me, the excitement of being a new parent is mounting and I'm sure I'm driving Alex crazy. Lucky for both of us, we still have a few weeks of calm before the storm.
I've done pretty much everything I ever wanted to do (without children), so I'm feeling pretty confident that the next chapter of my life will be fulfilling and rewarding.
People have told me that Alex and I should 'get out' and go to movies and do all the couple things that we aren't going to have time to do. Alex and I have been together for ten years. TEN YEARS! If we needed to get something out of our systems before children, I'm 100% confident that we have. We've both travelled (I even went to New Zealand for a month without him and jumped out of a plane and off a cliff-IN THE SAME DAY). I'm set. Our lives will change with the introduction of a new baby but all of this is going to be change for the best. We are both ready to take on this new adventure (but we still believe that no one is ready for what the adventure brings...like all that poop!).

I'm hoping that Marley can sense the goodness of the next chapter of our little family's life rather than the anxiety and imminent freaking out I plan on doing. If he's anything like Alex, Marley is taking his calm and 'happy kitty' cues from my spaz-like behaviour and is doing his best to calm me down.
Maybe my business relationship with my cat is evolving? Maybe he knows that now, more than ever, I need a cuddly friend? Let's hope.

I made it through 8 months of teaching Attack pregnant; now for the hard stuff!

So yesterday I taught my last Body Attack class.
As mentioned in my Facebook post for today, I am pretty sad to be giving that class up. The members were amazingly supportive and always happy to participate. Even when the workout was brutally hard, they kept moving and never complained.
For anyone who has never taken a Body Attack class before, you should know that it is NOT easy. It is a sports-based cardio workout that builds stamina and strength. There are moves that are extremely difficult for the novice exerciser and to top it all off, there is no stopping. Of course there are lower impact options so that anyone can do the class safely but even without the impact, the workout is hard.
To top it all off, the program directors of Body Attack have added strength tracks into the workout so you get a full body experience. There are push ups, lunges and abdominal work as the piece-de-resistance.
I have been teaching this program for about two years now. I'm trained to coach my members to help them achieve their fitness goals week after week. Throughout my pregnancy, it got really hard to talk and teach but this is what I have trained to do.
I've been really lucky to see improvement in many of my consistent members and I'm so proud of them for pushing themselves to achieve their fitness goals.
As for me, I honestly didn't think that I was going to make it until one month before my due date but I did.
I also achieved my goal.

People often find that they are most successful when they set goals for themselves. This rings true for fitness, education and pretty much anything. If you are dedicated to your goal, you will achieve it.
I understand that often there are hiccups/obstacles that stand between us and our goals but they are apart of the journey to accomplishment.
Sometimes the journey is wonderful and often times, the journey is a drag. Either way, we all need a path to get us to where we want to be.
My journey, for the last 8 months has been a mixed bag of emotional and physical stepping stones that I have both enjoyed and despised. For example, being pregnant has been great for writing about. There are endless topics I could dote over (some icky but most funny). On the flip side, pregnancy has also been a harsh realization that my body doesn't work the same way it used to and my ever-expanding-stature makes me very uncomfortable physically (I can no longer tie my shoes).
I've been told to enjoy it. I try to. Every time 'Peanut' kicks, I admit that I get excited thinking about the end product of my pregnancy; baby. My baby.
Eye on the prize.

Lucky for me, my prize is due in exactly a month. I have four more weeks of waiting and then I will have my world turned upside down for the best.
I would like to say that I'm ready. I'm ready to evict my womb-squatter and tie my shoes again but is anyone ever ready for their first child?

Last night, Alex and I were discussing our neighbour's new arrival and how the baby was born a few weeks early. Alex admitted that their situation hits close to home (duh, I'm having a baby soon too). What he meant was that we could go to sleep, the two of us, any night in the next four weeks and by the following morning, we could be parents. I think he was a bit freaked out by the notion that we are so close to a lifetime of responsibility that we could never imagine. The good news is that we are in this together.
Whatever our journey has in store, neither of us are going to be going at this alone.
'Peanut' is our ultimate goal. The journey to get to 'Peanut' (although coming to a quick end) has been rocky at times but overall healthy and entertaining to say the least.
Where we are about to achieve one goal of a healthy baby upon delivery, our new journey as parents is about to begin. Time to set some new goals.

The pregnancy symptom the books will DEFINITELY not tell you about: Psychic Powers!

I would like to begin this post by formally congratulating our next-door neighbours. They welcomed their second child this past weekend. :)
He was supposed to be born the week after 'Peanut' but as we all know, this is an exciting world and he couldn't wait to come out and enjoy it.
'Peanut', on the other hand, is going to have to wait.  Once 'Peanut' comes out though, it will have an instant friend who lives just next-door.

The 'Peanut' update goes as such:
I'm in my 36th week; today is my final Body Attack class before I go on Maternity leave; I'm SUPER uncomfortable doing everything except eating; and I'm psychic.

Over the last couple weeks, I've been training two wonderful women who have been waiting the unfortunate news of their friend's mother who was in palliative care. While I was training Erika, I asked if she has heard any news on her friend's mother. Just as I asked, her cell phone rang and sure enough it was Jacqui (the other woman I train) delivering the heart-breaking news that the mother had passed away. I felt creepy for asking about her just a moment before but Erika was glad I was there for support and hugs. My condolences go out to both of my clients and their friend's family.
This strange psychic power didn't end there.
Believe it or not, I predicted that our neighbours had had their baby on Saturday night.

Alex and I were hanging out in the living room and watching the neighbourhood activities when we saw the neighbour's car pull into a parking spot without them in the car. The woman driving looked like one of their parents and I said to Alex, "they had the baby". He was skeptical. The parents' could have just been borrowing the car for the weekend. It wasn't until I saw the neighbour's daughter with her grandparents that I was 100% sure that (not only did I have special powers) but that the baby was born.
I get it. The whole scene did look obvious to me but it definitely didn't to Alex. He didn't think we needed to analyze the scenario that deeply. Who said anything about deep analyzation? I just made a prediction THAT WAS TRUE! Spooky.
Alex left me a note this morning confirming that the baby was born and THAT I WAS RIGHT!

Psychic powers are not (in my opinion) reliable or even something that I would strive to hone as a skill. Please don't ask me when you are going to die or what the future has in store. I feel like if my predictions are wrong then I will be lying to you and I don't want to do that.
Also, as weird as the last few days have been, I have no other explanation than to describe myself as psychic (even though I know I'm not).
If I was really psychic, then I would be able to predict 'Peanut's' arrival. I'm forecasting December 11th but I doubt it will be true (it better not be! I want this baby out NOW!) If it is, then you can come to me with your questions about the future and I will gladly bust out my crystal ball and let you know when the end is nigh.

Here we are at week 35!

Good news everyone!
By the end of next week, I will have made it to 'full term'!

Doctor's say that 'full term' is categorized as 37 weeks. Personally, I feel like I was at 'full term' ages ago.  I understand that 'Peanut' isn't quite cooked yet, but one would think so after the nightly acrobatics show Alex and I get to watch.
My stomach has distended (but not to the point where I'm enormous). We can see kicks and rolls and begin to identify parts of 'Peanut'. Last night we saw a foot and an elbow. I know it sounds like a scene from "Aliens", but its actually kind of cute.
My stomach on the other hand, is not cute. I don't have stretch marks but I do have a weird dark line bisecting my entire abdomen. On top of that, being part monkey, I have a serious line of dark hair to cover it up. Yikes. The worst part about it is that I can't see past my belly button so I have to rely on the mirror to show me the reality of my tummy. I've actually been standing, looking in the mirror, and wondering if the mirror just needed a good clean or if my tummy actually looked like that. I cleaned the mirror and yes, my tummy does look like that.
No one tells you that your stomach is going to look as weird as it does but they do tell you that the dark bisecting like (linea negra) goes away. Fine. I doubt the hair will disappear but that's what wax is for.

At 35 weeks, the weird looking belly isn't what's got me creeped out. I admit that it is different and definitely something to get used to. What really gets me are my feet.
I have never understood the reality of cankles until last week. Also, my little piggies have decided that they want to bust out of their casing and I have over-cooked sausage toes.
I'm aware that most of this is the result of water-retention and over-exertion but man do my feet feel weird.
After 35 weeks, I've seen my body do a whole lot of bizarre things and I know that it is just going to keep getting stranger but having swollen feet is (for me) by far, the most unpleasant thing to happen. I don't even mind the lower back pain or the cramps, the swollen feet have to GO!

I tell my clients that they should always be wearing sensible shoes and train in really good running shoes. Everyone should have at least one pair of shoes specifically fitted to the needs of their activity and foot-type. I change my runners every 3 months. Yes, 3 MONTHS! It gets expensive, no doubt, but physio is also expensive and I have no patience for injuries as a result of improper footwear.
Being pregnant has slowed my shoe shopping down a little. I still bought myself new runners two weeks ago to get me though the next month and the beginning of my postpartum adventure.
So far, I'm still suffering from puffy toes and swollen legs but at least the shoes are fun and the fit over any and all swelling.

As for the rest of me, I'm still feeling good. I could nap anywhere and at any time but I was like that even before I was pregnant.
The official countdown is on!

Alex, your wife is one tough bitch but would you mind rubbing her feet?

I know that Alex has been more of a secondary character in my blogs as of recent.
He doesn't do all the funny things that Marley does; like use his tongue as toilet paper or chase his tail.
Just because he hasn't been a focus in my writing, doesn't mean that he hasn't been a huge part of this pregnancy. After all, I wouldn't be in this situation without him (we all know how it works).

Being married to me can't be easy. Being married to a pregnant version of me is more akin to a prison term.  Unfortunately this sentence will neither be overturned nor will 'good behaviour' pardons be granted.
I'm whiny by nature. Ask my family! They can attest to the fact that I will not hide my complaints. "I'm hungry, I'm crampy, I'm grouchy..."
The problem is that people who know me best (i.e. my family), know that I'm whiny and often prickly when I don't get my way. Everyone else sees a side of me where I'm all sweetness and light.
Until recently, I've been cool with this arrangement. Alex has put up with my bullshit whining and we've managed to deal with all of my pregnancy symptoms without any major hassles or issues.
For example, my hormones are responsible for making me crazy. One evening I decided to watch "Knocked Up". The basic premise of the movie is that some low life dude knocks up some woman on a one-night-stand and he tries to prove himself useful enough to be in both her life and the life of his soon-to-be-baby. Because this movie is a Romantic Comedy, one would think that I would be laughing my guts out. No. I sobbed though the whole thing. Alex came into the room to find me sitting in bed under a mountain of kleenex, hyperventilating. We rationally came up with the "no more pregnant films" rule to discourage a repeat performance.

Luckily my hormone craziness is limited; however my masochism (as I have learned) is not.
As you all know, I've been exercising like a maniac. This has nothing to do with my body image but more to do with the fact that the endorphins make me feel amazing. Feeling amazing is rare at 34 weeks and if there is anything I can do to generate any feeling of awesomeness, I will do it.
So, needless to say, I've overdone it. All my muscles hurt and I'm exhausted...but HAPPY!
People in my classes see me do some pretty crazy things and (like the stink-eye-lady) do little to hide their opinions of disapproval. I don't care. I feel good and I'm taking advantage of the endorphins and the TIME I have now to do these things at my leisure.
Regardless of what they think, what they see is one tough bitch pumping/attacking/stepping with gusto through her final few weeks of pregnancy. I admit, it does look a little crazy to see an eight-month pregnant woman bouncing around for an hour.
During the classes, I'm tough; once I get home, I'm puffy, stinky, and STARVING.
Alex gets to see that version of me.
I'm the sexy wife who, after making a trail of sweat puddles on the floor (yes, sweat; not pee), runs to the fridge to eat EVERYTHING out of it. After the fridge is nice and clean, I take a shower and hop into bed for a well-deserved snooze. All this occurs before 10am.
Once I've risen from my beauty-sleep to go pee 1000 times, my muscles are sore.
The image of the tough pregnant babe is long gone and I revert back to my whiny self (with swollen feet).
This is what our Saturdays (and Sundays) have looked like since the beginning of my third trimester.

I tell Alex that growing a baby is hard work and then I go and exercise like I would before I got pregnant. Basically, Alex is married to the world's largest hypocrite (literally).
This doesn't seem to phase him too much. He's happy if I'm happy and apparently I'm only happy when my feet turn into hippo hoofs and I fall asleep in my breakfast cereal.
More than anything, Alex deserves lots of credit for dealing with my crazy. I'm so happy to be married to someone who understands my illogical logic and supports me though it.
If any of you see Alex in the coming few weeks, give the guy a super high-five or a hug. He's already dealt with a lot and he's about to deal with a whole lot more.

I did it! One Swaddled Cat Coming Right Up!

Considering I posted just last night, today's post isn't going to be super long.

When I was younger (not much younger, mind you) my friends/sister and I would zip ourselves into our sleeping bags and cozy up like nylon burritos for camping trips or youth group events. At youth group events, we would often make a game out of this cozy situation and wrestle in a game we would call "Slug Wars". Even though there was nothing more reassuring and safe-feeling than being wrapped up in your sleeping bag, "Slug Wars" always ended with someone yelling "OW!! ENOUGH!!!". This was mostly due to the fact that someone had landed on your head or you were being pinned to the floor.

I grew up loving my sleeping bag. It was a small, safe space just for me. I figure that my love for this type of close coziness stems from me being swaddled as an infant.
All infants are tucked into a small space in utero and when they come out, the world is big, cold, and scary. I still think that the world is big, cold, and scary and that there is no where I would rather be than wrapped up in my comforter in my bed. My bed is safe and warm (unless Alex and Marley are in there. When I have company in the bed, I'm in danger of being bit or rolled onto).

Because, like all mammals, cats also come from a small cozy place in utero, I figured that Marley wouldn't mind being a test pilot for my swaddling skills.
I'm pretty sure you are all aware of the basic differences between a baby and a cat:(cat=teeth/fur/claws/squirmy; Baby=soft/slippery/okay to lie down on its back).

Last night, after I finished posting my previous post (and cleaned myself up from my chocolate pig-out), I found a cozy orange towel that would work perfectly for swaddling the cat. I didn't cut Marley's nails yet and I was hoping that he wouldn't take a swipe at my face. Luckily, he didn't.
Alex and I were lying in bed chatting while the cat was perched on Alex's chest receiving some pets and purring when all of a sudden, Alex was the victim of a vicious chomping. I figured that there was no time like the present to mellow Marley out. He sat down on the edge of the bed while I ran to grab the orange towel. I lay the towel down and Marley immediately sat on it. I picked him up and tried to lie him on his back. Funny, cats don't lie down on their backs very well. Marley rolled over and gave me the "I'm going to pounce on you and chew your arm off" look. I reset the towel.
This time Marley lay down on the towel. Before I could get my wits about me, I fiercely wrapped the cat up in any method I could think of, as tightly as possible. I left his head and tail out of the wrap. It worked!
I even had a little flap to cover his ears and head.
Immediately, he mellowed out. There was no fighting, no mauling, no meowing. I was worried that I had wrapped him up too tightly but as it turned out, he was fine.
I held him in my arms for about five minutes and he began to purr. His eyes narrowed and he started to look sleepy. I couldn't believe that this worked. I loosened my grip and he hopped out and walked away. Presto! One docile cat coming right up!

Unfortunately Marley's temperament is such that his mellowness never lasts long. He was up in the night licking plastic and meowing. This morning he puked. I still have yet to find this mystery barf but as we all know, once barf comes out, it seldom moves from one spot to another (unless someone steps in it). I'll find it and clean it up (hopefully before I step in it).

As for my swaddling technique, I'm going to find a teddy bear or something that will lie down on its back without moving to practice. At least I can now say that I have swaddled my cat with some success!

Pregnant at Halloween= WIN!!

I know I promised all of you a story about how I tried to swaddle my cat. I honestly haven't tried it yet. There were a few factors keeping me from swaddling Marley today.
The first excuse is long and complicated so I'll narrow it down by saying that I've done a LOT of exercise this week (yes, I know its only Tuesday) but my fat little feet aren't moving so quickly to chase after my fur-ball of a cat. I'm best suited for a horizontal position at this juncture. I've done 3 Body Attack classes (taught 2) and a Pump class. I've also trained many of my clients and I'm amazed that I can even sit up.

The second excuse works with the first because I haven't cut Marley's nails this week, yet. Again, I blame my feet for not wanting to chase the cat and hold him down to cut his nails (a necessary precaution when you are in for a vicious mauling).

The final excuse is that after doing a couple thousand loads of laundry, I don't really want to fur-up my clean towels so fast. Marley sheds when he gets stressed. I wonder if Alex would mind coming out of the shower and towelling off and being covered in a coat of cat fur? I suspect he would. I think it would make him extra fuzzy and cute (like the cat), but I'm sure he'd be pretty pissed off if he was expecting to get clean from taking a shower. That is the purpose of bathing; isn't it?
I'll get there. Don't you worry. Marley will be swaddled and he will hate it. My face will be attacked and my arms will be chewed up but in the end. If I can swaddle MY cat, I can swaddle anything.

And now for something completely different!

Halloween is nearing! Woo-Hoo!
Every year Alex and I carve a nifty pumpkin (except last year when there was a great pumpkin shortage and we didn't get one in time). When we were living in Halifax, Alex and I carved super pumpkins. We had a Pac-pumpkin which had Pac Man eating some dots; and we also carved a puzzle pumpkin with puzzle pieces. They were great.
This year we are planning on carving a pumpkin again but we are at a loss for ideas. If anyone has any good ones, let us know.
(Side note: the barfing pumpkin was done by my parents' last year [I think] so that one is out of the question).

Pumpkins and dressing Marley up in a sheet or a tutu aside, Halloween is best known for CANDY!!!!! YESSSSSS!!!!

I love candy! There are a few types that I really like that are guaranteed Gluten Free. Sweet tarts, Maynards berries and Reese Peanut Butter cups rank up there for my top 3.
I've never been worried about eating as much halloween candy as I can and I'm not about to start now (especially now). So I look a little rounder come November. Big deal. This year, I will be guaranteed to look rounder come the beginning of November no matter how much candy I hoover. Good thing I don't have gestational diabetes. That would be my only deterrent from celebrating probably the BEST Hallmark holiday ever!
Delicious (and totally worth it) weight gain aside, I love the idea of a variety of little candies all in one box. Every time you stick your hand in there, its a surprise! This could also backfire if you have a box full of disproportional amounts of candies that you may or may not like (like the starburst/skittles box. You could end up with lemon Starbursts every time you reach in for a treat. Fail).

Last year we had over 100 trick or treaters at our house. Alex had to make a candy-run to the local Shoppers Drug Centre just so that we didn't have to turn kids away. I admit, I ate some of the candy last year but Alex has a sneaky way of making sure I won't eat all of it; he buys the stuff I don't like and the stuff I can't eat. Coffee Crisp, Kit Kat and Smarties are on my 'don't eat' list. Alex loves them. Luckily, they are all in one easy box with Aero bars. I like Aeros but not enough to crack open the box.
So today we bought a box of 'Emma death candy' and a box of Hershey's chocolates. Well, the Hershey's chocolates do NOT stand a chance of making it to halloween. The minute we put the groceries away, that box was open and two caramel chocolates were in my tummy. I would like to say that I was satisfied after this, but no. The rest of the evening turned into a chocolate-fest as 'Peanut' and I gorged myself with Hershey's finest.
Here's the visual: Emma lying on her bed with her sore and swollen "piggies" (feet) on a pillow; tummy and chest covered in chocolate wrappers and face covered in chocolate. I'm a sexy thing!
If I keep this behaviour up, this will be not only our first child but also our last.
I told Alex that if I ate all the candy, I would replace it for the kiddies. We don't want to turn away trick or treaters so I'll close the box, brush my teeth, have a cold glass of milk and call it a night.

For any other preggos out there who, unlike me, are being careful about their weight gain and are abstaining from enjoying this time of year;  eat the damn candy and enjoy it. You don't have to overdo it but remember that this is your body and it is doing amazing things already. It can handle halloween and some indulgence.
From a personal training standpoint I would have to say that so long as you are getting 60 minutes of exercise every day, halloween candy consumption should not be a concern.
Finally, pregnancy can be restrictive. We preggos have given up drinking, unpasteurized cheeses, honey, and other amazing forms of fun. Remember to take time for yourself and don't kick yourself for making decisions that you think will make you happy (even for the short term). Be good to yourselves mentally and physically now and always (even if it means attacking a box of mini chocolate bars just to make your night awesome).

Strapping the Cat into the Carseat

Don't worry,
Marley was way more excited with the box the carseat came in.

That being said, we bought a car seat today (duh!).

Because of our dumpster-inherited Bugaboo Cameleon, we only had a few options for an infant seat that would be adaptable to the stroller. We went with the Graco Infant Snugride 35, in boring black. I like it!
I originally registered for the 2012 version of it but we had a realization today that made the car seat seem a little more urgent.
(Side note: The 2012 version is currently backordered and may not be in by the time this baby arrives).

This morning I went to a Body Attack class. No biggie. I teach Attack and I'm still feeling good about it. Today's class was a little different. I wasn't teaching and I felt really good going in so I think I may have pushed myself (and poor little 'Peanut') a little too far today.
At the end of class, I was sweating from places I didn't know I could sweat from. My eyeballs were sweating; the inside of my nose was sweating; and (best yet) the "new" crease under my bum was sweating. I was soaked from head to toe. As you all know, this sweat had to come from somewhere and it doesn't take a doctor to realize that I was oozing whatever water I had in my body.
I got home and felt okay. I had about a litre and a half of water (chased by an Emergen-C) and a shower and I was good to go.
Alex wanted to wash his car at my parents' house so we went up there. My Dad has a collection of nifty car-care lotions and potions that Alex likes to take advantage of. There is also a pressure washer there that cleans the shit out of pretty much everything.
Once we got to my parents', I was feeling a little crappy. Not any more crappy than usual but I was having strong Braxton-Hicks contractions, OFTEN.
For anyone who is new to pregnancy (like myself) I will best define a Braxton-Hicks contraction as a practice-run for the real deal. They are relatively painless but they make your tummy and uterus all hard and funny feeling. They are harmless but often brought on (for me) from dehydration and exhaustion. They are usually a 'once-in-a-while' deal but today, they were coming on frequent and fierce. Instead of panicking, I just got up and walked around a bit. They tend to go away if you are moving (sometimes). These weren't going away but I wasn't phased. There was no consistency to time them so there was no real need to panic. This doesn't mean that they weren't uncomfortable. They were and I was having low back pressure; which is a warning sign for the beginning stages of labour.
My parents came home (from wherever they were) and we snacked. All of a sudden "PRESTO!" no more contractions. I knew chocolate was the cure for everything! Good thing there was lots of it to eat at my parents' house. Om nom nom!
I had relieved myself of my afternoon discomfort but still worried about "what if that had been the real deal?"

Alex wasn't phased by my afternoon discomfort but he figured that if this was the real deal, we should be prepared with the one thing that we need for this baby, a carseat.
We booked it (in Alex's freshly washed car) to the nearest Babies-R-Us and bought the carseat. As we walked out of the store Alex said, "You can have the baby any time now". :)

I was talking to some of the other women on my Body Attack team and they had their babies at 32 and 35 weeks. I'm coming up on week 34. Technically, I have six weeks to go. Realistically, this baby could come at any time between now and December. I was curious as to why the other women had their babies pre-term. They are models of good health and they aren't any older than I am. Although the notion of having a pre-term baby does freak me out a little, I can find solace in knowing that at least the hospital would let us take 'Peanut' home now that we have this snazzy carseat.

For the record, we aren't going to strap Marley into the carseat but stay tuned for swaddling lessons learned from the fury of the domestic house cat. That's next week's adventure.

You know you are having a craving when...

...what you craved tastes like it came from the land of mythical deliciousness; where everything tastes like unicorn tears mixed with hallucinogens.
Trust me, this is better than a food-gasm.

So I've approached my 33rd week and I've just started to crave funny things. Nothing too funny like pickles mixed with ice cream. I think that's a pregnancy myth. The idea of mixing pickles with ice cream will guarantee a moment of acid reflux from me. BURP!
Today's craving is oranges. I know it doesn't seem that funny considering what the Toronto weather looks like today. Its cold, wet, and dark (perfect sunshine food day).
I went to the local grocery store and bought a bag of organic oranges (a special treat...I know, aim high Fox). When I got home, I could hardly wait to crack open the bag. I cut one up, turned on some 'My Morning Jacket' and started to drift into a food-high incomparable to any blissful feeling I've ever experienced. 'Getting off' on food is not something normal people do (unless they've laced their baked goods with drugs). The good news is that during pregnancy, no drugs are required to take you to a heightened sense of your self. True bliss. Even chocolate doesn't compare. An orange dipped in chocolate though...maybe later.
I know, all this from a single orange.
I'm making pregnancy sound awesome. For moments like this, it is.

An orange craving is pretty easy to handle. Oranges are always ample at the grocery store and as the weather cools in the Northern Hemisphere, Orange season is underway in southern climates. Alex and I have a miniature orange tree and its just starting to bloom. It lives inside (obviously). Oranges are not native to Canada and with our many months of brutal winter are evidence of that.
Christmas time is a great time for citrus (clementines, oranges, grapefruit...). We are getting closer to that time but first we have to eat all these nice juicy fall apples that the grocery stores are pushing on us with their discounted prices and pretty displays.
This post isn't about oranges; even if after completing my orange, I could probably rant about how much I love them for about 50 pages. This post is about cravings; so I will take you back there.

As a celiac, cravings can often be more difficult than simply buying a $4.99 bag of organic oranges (I know it looks expensive but I got about 8 oranges in the bag and they are simply heaven. This is still cheaper than most GF treats so I think $4.99 for anything is a bargain).
Last week, I had a hankering for oatmeal cookies. This was not an easy task. If I didn't have celiac disease, I would have made a bee-line to the grocery store and bought a box of cookies. Instead I had to ask myself if making GF oatmeal cookies was worth the effort. After 20 minutes of deliberation, and a hunt around my kitchen for the appropriate flours and ingredients, I was baking two dozen oatmeal cookies. It was a lot of work and totally yummy but was it worth it? Kinda.
By the time the cookies were made, I was tired and grouchy. I really wanted to just eat a damn cookie and not have to worry about the hassle and mess. I also only wanted one cookie and I was sitting on 24! Alex, Andrea and my family helped scarf down the rest of them and there were no complaints.
A few days later, I was emailing back and forth with my Aunt Bonnie and she mentioned something about baking in her email. She sent me a link to a company for GF flours. Everything on the website looked amazing! I immediately wanted pie. I had to have pie.
Again, I found myself in the GF predicament: if I didn't have celiac disease, I could go buy a pie. I can't just go buy a pie. I went downstairs to look for ingredients for a pie. I didn't even care what kind of pie I was going to make, I just wanted some pie. Sure enough, I didn't have ingredients for pie. Uh oh!
Instead, I made pancakes. It didn't really satisfy but it was a quick fix and I dipped them in cranberry sauce for that pseudo-pie effect. Again, this didn't really suffice but it held me. I make pretty good pancakes so it wasn't a complete bust.

Celiac disease has not hindered me from doing many things I love (including eating). I'd be willing to bet that the care I take in my diet has resulted in a very healthy and manageable pregnancy. Some days I wish that I could run to Tims and have a donut but the reality is that I can't and I know in the long run, this is for the better.
For all my GF moms-to-be out there, I feel your pain. It's a bit of drag that we can't eat a bucket of fried chicken our adorable partners run out and get us at 3am but think of it this way, your pre pregnancy body will be back in action sooner than you think and because you are already conscious of your diet, you and your baby are probably off to the absolute best start possible.
Don't stress. Have an orange!

Stink-Eye? Really?

So many preggos, like myself, are constantly judged by society. Apparently 'Pregnant' is latin for "Your business is everybody's damn business". I never took latin so you could imagine my surprise when I came face to face with a judging soul.

Everyone thinks that they know what's best for the average pregnant woman these days. Although I've been exceptionally lucky that my pregnancy has been going really smoothly, I understand that this is not the case for many women. Now-a-days, women are having children later in life (between 25-40 rather than the standard 16-25, 100 years ago) and because of this we babes are bombarded with new knowledge of the many ways that we could be killing our fetuses. Apparently we aren't supposed to be sniffing gasoline and drinking lighter fluid. Who knew?
In the 50s and 60s, pregnant women drank and smoked. I'm sure this trend carried on right up until 1985, the year after I was born. My Mom wasn't drinking or smoking through her pregnancies- WAS SHE MOM?!?!?!?!
I've noticed a trend in current mothering styles that are less relaxed about the 'small potatoes' and more concerned with including the idea that 'smother' can't be spelled without 'mother'. The worst part about this is that even now, its everyone's business. I would just like to say that even the village that raises the child has an idiot or two.

I love advice. As mentioned in previous posts, I will take any and all advice into consideration. I am jumping into the deep end of a pool without knowing how to swim. Please don't stop giving me helpful hints and ideas for the many thousands of ways to raise a healthy and happy child.
What I am saying is that I don't want to be judged for the choices I make throughout my pregnancy or motherhood. I can't be THAT bad a parent. Alex and I live about five doors down from a bad parent and I don't look like that. (I know, I judged but hear me out; I don't think that screaming at my children and the other children on the street is really the best form of communication. Also, hiring strippers while you are on welfare is not a phone conversation that the entire neighbourhood needs to hear about. There!).

So, here's where the story comes in.
Yesterday, after a horrible night's sleep, I decided to remedy my fatigue by attending my friend, Lucie's, Pump class. As mentioned a few posts back, I've learned to love the Pump (also, I love Lucie so it makes the 8:30am start time that much more pleasant).
I grabbed some nice light weights and set up my bar. A few of the other women in the class were concerned that my step looked wobbly. I assured them that it was supposed to be that way so I didn't have to lie flat on my back for the chest presses. They thought I was brilliant. I thought that was just the way it was supposed to be done so I could breathe. The ladies were very nice and happy to see me pumping.
After the warm up, we loaded our bars with our heaviest weights of the day for the squat track. Mine were pathetic. I didn't mind. Power squats hurt even without weight so I knew my legs were going to scream regardless.
As I went down for the third round of squats, I looked in the mirror at a woman who was staring at me. Not just staring, 'Stink-Eye' staring. I wondered if she just had a sour-puss but then I realized that she was shaking her head 'no' at me. I calmly shifted my gaze and continued to squat. Was this really happening? Was a woman in my fitness class really disagreeing with my decision to exercise?
She should have been at my previous two Body Attack classes that week and seen really scary things in action like me jumping and bouncing.
After class, as we were putting our equipment away, she looked at me again with the same stink-eye. Lucie came up and made mention that I was also an instructor and this lady finally softened her gaze.

First of all lady, if you have a problem with me, tell me. If you think that I shouldn't be doing Pump, grow a vagina and tell me!
Secondly, I wasn't doing crack. I was exercising. If you were my doctor, you would probably give me the okay. He did.
Lastly, even if I was doing crack, your stink-eye of judgement was uncalled for. What do you care what I do with my body? I got myself into this amazing situation. I'm sure I have the where-with-all to handle it.

I would also like to add that I have obstained from alcohol for the last eight months. I had to dry out after New Zealand and getting pregnant was a good excuse. Although I haven't been drinking, I will always taste something alcoholic and I will also consume small amounts of caffeine. 'Peanut' is fine.
The only judgement that people should be concerned with is that of medical professionals. If Captain Steve doesn't like the way I'm doing something, he'll tell me and so far, I've been a model preggo.

On Being A Pregnant Celiac- Feeding My Babies

My original plan for this blog was to address the issues surrounding being pregnant with celiac disease. After many many posts about exercise, my family, my frugal methods for scoring a super stroller, and generally unimportant issues that everyone faces during their pregnancy, I felt it necessary to reroute the blog today and write about being a Pregnant Celiac.

Well...

There isn't much to say about it except that I'm dealing with it the same way I did before. I still eat Gluten Free foods and I continue to exercise. I feel generally good. I want to go to Tim-Ho's and have a donut but I don't. I also don't feel badly about it. Why should I? The crap I would eat if I didn't have celiac disease is the crap I shouldn't be eating anyway.
I've embraced lactose because it doesn't seem to bother me anymore. Trust me, this is a blessing.
Alex and I have been planning our meals and eating really well for the last few weeks (full fat lactose included). I've gained a healthy amount of pregnancy weight (due to, I'm sure, the amount of dairy we've been consuming) and overall, there are no major concerns. I'm sure I'm actually getting the required amount of calcium I need for both me and 'Peanut' so this is actually pretty great!

I know I'm exceptionally lucky.
A lot of women who struggle with their celiac disease to get pregnant, often have complications during as well. My biggest complication is that I have to wait another eight weeks for this baby to come out. I'm not very patient but I know that the longer 'Peanut' lives inside, the healthier 'Peanut' will be on the outside.

I'm sure you are all wondering what is going to happen with 'Peanut' for feeding time.
I am planning to breastfeed exclusively as long as I can. This seems all fine and good except aren't my antibodies supposed to prepare 'Peanut' for the world (with Gluten)? Well, in short, yes. 'Peanut' will not be consuming Gluten for the first year or even first three years (this all depends on what 'Peanut's' Grandparents feed it when I'm not around). I know that Grandparents are great at feeding babies. I trust that after feeding my cat for occasional visits, my parents will have at least figured this out by now. This was not so a few years ago.

At Christmas of 2005, Alex and I went to Australia for two weeks with his family. I left Marley with my parents (my Dad specifically). My Mom was on her way home from Taiwan after a three month contract and our planes would cross in the night. I would have to trust that the instructions I was to leave for my Dad on feeding the cat would be concise and easy to remember so he could pass this info off to my Mom and they could share the responsibility. Feeding a cat is not rocket science but something was lost in translation. At the time, Marley was still a kitten and we didn't know what his feeding capabilities were so he was only being fed 3/4 cup of dry food plus 1/4 can of wet food once a day. I told my Dad that Marley should be okay on that diet and to be careful that he doesn't try jump on the dinner table and eat people food. I asked if I should write these instructions down but got a sour, "No!" so I didn't.
After two glorious weeks in Australia, Alex and I came home to a very skinny cat. Marley is a small cat to begin with but he was awfully thin and when Alex picked him up, he immediately licked all the salty plane air off his neck. Marley was hungry.
I asked my parents if Marley had been eating and they said that when they fed him, he hoovered his food. He was ravenous and after he cleared his bowls he would pull at the pants of anyone in the kitchen begging for more food. This seemed bizarre to my Mom so she would top up his dry food for him. Apparently, Marley also attacked the chicken liver pate my parents had put out for dinner one night. I asked if they were feeding him based on my instructions. My Dad said, "ya, 1/4 cup dry food and 1/4 can wet food". Um, no. No wonder he was so hungry and skinny.
After that, we made sure that Marley had lots of food and water available for him all the time. He now eats until he's full and comes and goes at his leisure. Luckily, we don't have a weight problem with Marley. He gets exercise and lots of fresh water. If anything, he's healthier than the rest of us.
I appreciate that my Parents are there to feed my cat when I need them to. Marley is actually moving in with my Parents at the beginning of December. Dealing with a cuddle-whore of a cat and a screaming newborn is not my idea of a good time so Marley gets shipped off for a month vacation at Chez Fox.
Maybe while he's visiting my Parents, he'll attack the liver again. He doesn't get that here!

The fact that my Parents botched Marley's feeding schedule does not worry me in the least about feeding 'Peanut'. They raised Wendy and I and we eat just fine (except for Wendy's aversion to foods that are orange-except sweet potato fries with chipotle mayo and my dislike of any boiled meat). Also, if they have the resources to feed 'Peanut' gluten, all the better to expose 'Peanut' to gluten seeing as though I can't. I draw the line at a constant feeding of sugary snacks but knowing my Parents' track record for feeding, I'm sure this won't be a problem.
Hopefully, Alex and I can get away with having an allergy-free baby. This would be wonderful but we are prepared to do anything necessary if life throws us that curve ball.

As for Marley, he's fine. He gained the weight back almost immediately because Alex and I were feeding him can after can of wet food and lots of cat treats. As for my Dad, he's also fine. We didn't make too much of a big deal about him starving my cat. After easing Marley's feeding schedule to 'food on demand', the instructions are a lot easier to follow and the two of them now get along very nicely.

32 Weeks and Ready to Run a Marathon

This past weekend, my sister sent me a great article from the Toronto Star.
A woman, in her 39th week of pregnancy ran the Chicago Marathon and gave birth after crossing the finish line to her second child. Holy Moly!
The best part of the article explains how her husband stayed by her side throughout most of the race but in the end, she kicked his ass upon approaching the finish line (while in labour).

This crazy bitch is a prime example of the crazy bitch that I aspire to be.

I went to see Captain Steve today and I asked him if it was okay for me to continue to exercise at the level I have been accustomed to. He said, that so long as I'm not overheating or feeling awful that I can go for it. Okay! Done and Done!

On Sunday I went to my first Body Pump class since I was in New Zealand (that would be about nine months ago). Other than the feeling of grand accomplishment, I realized what drew so many preggos to Pump. First of all, there is no jumping. Sometimes when we 'Sea Cows' go for those plyometric lunges we either fall on our faces or struggle to lift off the ground fast enough to switch our foot position.
Secondly, when you are pregnant at Pump, you don't have to feel guilty about the amount of weight on your bar. All other times I went to Pump, I felt like I should have been challenging myself more with more weight and getting lower into my squats and lunges. As a preggo, I feel guilty even lifting the empty bar. How glorious!
I do admit that I had a bit of a sore bum on Monday but nothing to stress over. 'Peanut' liked it. There was lots of kicking and not a lot of discomfort from the 'Peanut' gallery.

The other interesting thing I would like to say about the fitness classes I have been going to are that although they push your limits, the painful repetitions always end right when you want them to. You could be doing 1000 bicep curls and right when you don't think you can lift your bar one more time, you don't have to. I'm amazed at how bang on this is. I thank Les Mills for this but wonder how much research went into this. Also, if every one has a different "breaking" point, how do they know that this is it? Even after I went to New Zealand and talked to the developers of these programs, I still don't know how they do it. Magic!

I'm hoping that my Labour Marathon is like this but because there is no real choreography or music to accompany the process, I figure that I'm going to be pushed to my limits (and then more). Luckily, at the end of labour, I get 'Peanut' (and a sore bum). At the end of Pump class, I also get a sore bum but no 'Peanut'.

Pregnancy: The Best Time to Walk Around Toronto With Your Pants Undone

Have I got a story for you:

Alex, (Peanut), and I began our weekend at my Aunt and Uncle's house for a lovely Shabbat dinner. There was so much food. Alex rolled me home. I needed serious help getting up the stairs when we got home. I was expanding in places that I didn't know I could expand. It was an amazing dinner and I thank my Aunt and Uncle and all my cousins for making it such a good time. Alex and I really enjoyed ourselves and we are still munching down on leftovers. Apparently 'Peanut' loves Bubba's gefilte fish as an in-utero snack. Good thing I have so much of it.

After eating so much on Friday, I came to the realization that I am going to need bigger pants. The Lululemon pants I have been currently wearing are all fine. So fine in fact that I am pleased to say that I plan on wearing them up until the big day and afterwards.
I've been neglecting the idea of buying maternity pants because I'm cheap. We've already covered that aspect in previous posts. You all know I'm cheap...hello, I dug my stroller out of the trash!
Anyway, I really wanted to wear my yoga jeans. They are almost as nice as my Lulu pants but they come with the dreaded button. Booo!
If there was no button, I could wear them zipped with no problems. Truth be told, I can still button them up but I can't sit down, eat, squat, or breathe while wearing them. This problem needed to be dealt with as soon as possible.
I found out that BBbuggy (a trendy baby 'shoppe' in Yorkville) was going to be having a sale on everything in honour of their relocation to a more trendy location on Yorkville St. (Note: For all of you who don't know Toronto, you should know that Yorkville is probably the most expensive place to breathe in and out in all of Toronto. It's where the movie stars hang out when they come to T.O. so the shops are all really pricey and everyone is beautiful).
I put on my jeans and did them up the best I could. I wore a long shirt and hoped that no one would notice that I was actually riding the subway with my pants undone. I'm sure I wasn't the only person. The TTC has been known to transport some of the most perverse voyeurs around. Just to set the record straight, I'm not one of them. I held onto those pants with both hands and waddled through Bay Station, up Hazelton Avenue and over to Davenport. When I arrived at the store, it was packed with other preggos and new moms; all with their metrosexual partners. I don't know why the men in Yorkville come across as metrosexual to me? They seem very well put together and have much better groomed eyebrows than I do. (I'm glad if mine don't grow together or suffer my lousy waxing track-record; re: getting waxed off completely. It took a while for ol' lefty to grow back). But I digress.
Just because you are male and look much prettier than me does not mean you are metrosexual. If you are male, well groomed, and LOVING (I mean LOVING) being stuffed into a tiny store picking out onesises that are "just darling", then you may be metrosexual. I heard the term "just darling" too many times to take the whole experience seriously. With tears in my eyes from containing my laughing fit, I grabbed a Bella Band.
For those of you unfamiliar with the Bella Band welcome to the world of non-invasive preggo girdles. Basically, the Bella Band is a nylon tube that you wear over or under your pants for mild support of your ever-expanding tummy or to hold your jeans up. The band will cover the fly of your pants so you can wear your old jeans undone without the worry of them falling down or having your 'bits' on display.
You can wear the Bella Band discreetly or as an extension of your outfit. Mine is brown and very plain. It looks nice with my jeans.
So, I grabbed my Bella Band and waddled over to the cash. The desk was COVERED in a still shopping mom-to-be's supplies for her entire nursery. The sale was good but not THAT good.
I waved my Bella Band over the pile of stuff and the tiny woman behind the cash helped me pay. In order to access the VISA pin pad the counter had to be cleared. The woman at the cash moved the pile of swag onto a neighbouring Bugaboo stroller and the mom-to-be who had claimed that stuff nearly had a fit.
After her partner calmed her down, she decided to take the stroller too. This whole scene was too bizarre. I didn't even ask for a bag for my purchase. I ran into the bathroom, changed into the Bella Band, and ran out of the store screaming. Forgive me, I pushed my way out of the store with only too much effort and breathed a sigh of relief when I finally escaped the madness.

I waddled around Yorkville for another hour, sporting my new Bella Band and, for the first time in a few months, confidence. I felt so much better.
Because Yorkville is not a place I venture to often (for obvious reasons like #1: I'm not loaded and #2: I'm not 'Yorkville' beautiful-->just the regular kind), I enjoyed the rare treat of shopping at Whole Foods. Yum!
In the U.S., Whole Foods is Gluten Free Heaven. Here in Canada, its okay but way overpriced and good if you are trying to find something specific (like 40 types of organic, grain fed, human massaged cow cheese). I wasn't looking for cheese (especially if the cow needed a stress relieving massage). I like the cheap stuff at Loblaws. I wandered the aisles and got thirsty. As I approached a case of very expensive drinks I found myself standing next to Peter Mansbridge. WOoooo! A celebrity sighting in Yorkville! Go me!
(Peter Mansbridge- for all the non-Canadians reading this- is the lead anchor of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. He hosts "The National" which I'm sure EVERY Canadian has seen. He is a middle aged bald guy who kind of looks like a glue stick with a very engaging voice. My personal favourite 'Mansbridge Moment' would be when he was commentating on the royal wedding back in April. My sister and I are 100% sure he was loaded. He really is a classy guy but you know that behind that 'Order of Canada' pin he wears, he's probably lots of fun at a party. Done. I'm going to personally invite him and his lovely wife to my next shin-dig).
So, as mentioned above, the Bella Band helped me gain come confidence. I felt good. I was feeling so good, I was going to say 'Hi' to "The Mansbridge" but just as I grabbed my cherry soda, he turned and walked away. It wasn't until I went to the bathroom after consuming my soda that I realized that, yep, my pants were undone and my Bella Band was a little askew. More than that, to Yorkville standards, I looked downright homeless. I fixed myself right up and hopped the subway home.
The wardrobe malfunction was not so terrible that it would have scared away 'The Mansbridge' but you could obviously see that I was walking around with my pants undone. I'm sure 'The Mansbridge' has seen way stranger stuff working for the CBC and living in Toronto. He's interviewed our Prime Minister on many occasions. I'm sure Prime Minister Harper has had a few interviews with 'The Mansbridge' with his pants undone, beer in one hand, and a plate of poutine in the other. Everyone's a shlub. I just happen to be one in Yorkville.
Goodbye confidence!

That being said, I tried the Bella Band again today and I figured out how to wear it properly, without any zipper mishaps or exposed undies. I felt much better and I'm really happy to be wearing my old jeans.
Confidence regained? Yes. I can do this. :)