The Good Side of Hormones

It has been about 21 weeks now and I figured that there was no time like the present to reflect on what I have learned about myself as Preggo-saurs Fox. (That is my official title. I'm doing away with the Emma and just calling myself Preggo-saurs Fox). <-- Just kidding. Please continue to call me Emma, Em, Foxy, Fox, Emshkies, Emmy or, what Alex calls me, "HeyEm?" (Yes, its one word). 

Over the past twenty weeks or so, I have learned a great deal about my body and myself. Most of these snippets of wisdom have been shared with you over the past two months in my blog. I'm delighted that so many of you enjoy reading it. I've heard tons of super feedback and so I'll continue to try to make you all smile. 

There is some wisdom that I have to admit that I have kept to myself (like 'Peanut's' sex, the daily bowel movement report and the really uncomfortable moments that my Mom considers apart of my whiny nature. I assure you all that I am whiny; however if you had the feeling of 1000 knives stabbed into your lower back, you'd be whiny too). 

As for the more general wisdom, I'm going to continue to keep it public. I believe that if I can share my experiences with you, regardless of whether or not you are planning to have children, have children or never want children, you can both celebrate and empathize with me about the miracle of childbearing. 

Over the past many weeks, I've griped about the hormonal takeover that has plagued my body and soul. Although I have a beard (which I have recently waxed) and become the poster-child for Proactiv acne products, there are some hormonal side effects that have made me smile. 

#1: I glow. 

My skin doesn't but the hormones are responsible for making me walk around like at grinning idiot even if I'm in a terrible mood. Luckily, this wears off and I can go back to being my usual grumpy self in the comfort of my own home. (Lucky Alex!)

I am generally happier as a whole. I don't know if I can blame the hormones for this but I will give them the benefit of the doubt considering the other crap they dish out. Could I still be excited about being pregnant? You'd think with the back pain that it would have killed any excitement by now; hence my hormone theory. 

#2: I have grown to LOVE (seriously) LOVE animals. 

I want dogs, cats, bunnies, fish, hippos, giraffes, squirrels and anything else animal like around me. Time to go to the zoo! 

Lucky for me, I have a cat. He's a pest at best. As mentioned in previous posts, he is truly a handful and with the baby coming, he is going to quickly learn his place. After last week's kick in the bits, Marley has already learned a good lesson from 'Peanut' and he will continue to be taught (even if it means that he is going to have his tail gripped or whiskers pulled). 

This weekend I moved Marley in with his 'Grandparents' (My Mom and Dad) while I cat-sit for a friend of mine. I'm sure my friend was super excited to have me help her out but I'm sure she didn't know she was that leaving her cat with a couple who is 1. Crazy in love with animals from hormones and 2. So excited to love something that they want to play and cuddle with it all the time. Lucky for all of us (cat included) this arrangement has worked out well. Alex is super in love with the cat too. Maybe my hormones are contagious?!!! Oh no! There is only space for one vagina in this relationship and I call it! He's probably just happy not to have his hand bitten off every time he leans in to pet the cat. (Ya, that's it...).

#3: The food. 

When you're hopped up on hormones that are there to make you gain weight, food tastes amazing. Ontario peaches are in season and I could eat the entire basket. The juice drips down your chin and all over your arm to make a delicious, sticky experience that can only bring tears of joy to your eyes. 

Even simple things like Friday night dinner at my parents' house last week was incredible. We had tacos. Seriously, tacos. The meat and veggies were a symphony of flavours in my mouth. 

I'm sure you are all wondering about my cravings. To that I answer, what cravings? I like everything (except super sweet things and ice cream. I know, weird). 

I'm not craving anything major. I've always liked pickles so no shocker there when I run down to the kitchen before dinner and have a late afternoon pickle on occasion. 

Overall, food is good any time but when you're pregnant, food is fantastic! 

Another good note would be that I haven't yet put on a crazy amount of weight from my love of food. I'm keeping it healthy and not indulging (except for last week's cheese fiasco-NEVER doing that again. I promise). I'm also exercising like my usual maniac self so there is a good chance that my preggo weight will come off after 'Peanut's' grand arrival. 

I'm sure my feelings towards my hormones will change by next week but because they make me feel like I'm on really strong anti-depressants, I'll give them some credit for making my life somewhat pleasant among the discomforts and aggravations of pregnancy. 

Lactose tolerance-intolerance

During pregnancy, many women experience hormonal changes ranging from extreme PMS to uncontrollable acne to even vision changes.
Lucky me. I've experienced all of the above symptoms.
The good news is that even though hormones are responsible for making my body into a three ringed cicrus, it has also changed some otherwise irritating symptoms for the better.

A couple of weeks ago I started craving cheese. I've always loved cheese. Even with my lactose intolerance, I have always loved cheese. Alex and I started buying lots of cheese. We bought the lactose free stuff because we knew it was safe and I didn't have to take lactaid pills with it. After a while, I got tired to eating only Gouda. The other lactose free cheeses aren't particularly good because their primary ingredient is rubber. (Rubber is hard to melt and never tastes particularly good on anything).
We bit the bullet and bought mozzarella cheese. I love mozzarella cheese. It's salty, mild and melts into a gooey mess that is best enjoyed when you have to scrape it off your chin.
After a few pizzas and a mitt-full of lactaid pills, I realized that my tummy was not reacting well to the cheese. I was bloated and constipated.
This was so disappointing.
I figured that I was so lactose intolerant that I couldn't even enjoy cheese with lactaid pills. Because I wanted to eat the rest of the cheese, I upped the anti. More pills!
After the soft-ball sized cheese was finished, I thought I was going to die.
I'm a veteran to stomach pain, trust me, but this was more aggravating than anything. My stomach wasn't hurting nor was I any more gassy than a teenage boy, but I seriously thought I was never going to poop again.

If you were wondering, yes, I drank my weight in water, ate fiber and fruit and veg and I exercise like a mad-woman. I did everything right and still couldn't figure out what was plaguing me.
I finally gave up. I tossed my lactaid pills aside and started eating cheese. I felt so liberated even though I was sure that this was a bad idea. At any minute, I could have that tell-tale cramp and have to run up the stairs to the bathroom.
Nothing happened.
I waited for a few hours and went to bed.
I had a series of "cheese dreams" (when I was little and ate cheese too late at night, I used to have scary or wierd dreams). This was nothing out of the ordinary.
When I woke up. I had to go to the bathroom. This was routine, however I always dreaded the experience because of my previous constipated outcome.
"PRESTO!"
Everything was back to normal.
This was so bizarre. I suffered for weeks before this and all of a sudden I felt great.
I called Alex.
He is never as excited about poo as I am but he was relieved that I was no longer uncomfortable and that we didn't have to buy lactaid pills anymore!

This story could end here but of course, the maniac inside me decided to test my newfound lactose tolerance-intolerance.
On Wednesday, I went with my friend Steph to visit her aunt up in Aurora. We thought a day by the pool would do us each some good. We were right about the pool part but wrong about our snack choices. We bought veggies and dip and a cheese tray.
It is never a good idea to put a pregnant woman next to her craving. I attacked that cheese tray as if the cheese was melting before my eyes. Yum!
At the end of the day, we packed up our leftovers and hopped in the car for the ride home. My tummy was a little sore but nothing awful. I knew I had eaten too much cheese but figured that it would digest and that would be that. I was wrong. I had a whole night of "cheese dreams" and a full day after of no 'results'. I also felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach. 'Peanut' was dancing on my guts all day yesterday and that didn't help my queasy cause.
I am feeling much better today and after a week of eating crap, I'm pledging to eat better. Nothing like a hangover to make you swear off driking for the rest of your life.

Like normal people who know this, I have yet to learn that I too have limits (and not a cast iron stomach). I have sincerely learned my lesson and I don't plan on going 'cheese-happy' for a while.
The good news is that I can eat cheese. I have to limit the certain kinds and obviously the amount. For example, Havarti (which is high in cream and milk fat) is probably not as good a choice as old Cheddar.

As for 'Peanut', its doing fine, cheese and all. It's been moving all around and often poking me in places in my body I didn't know existed. I guess with an all access pass to my insides, it can do what it pleases. At least 'Peanut' isn't stupid enough to eat copious amounts of cheese and expect the world to be sweetness and light. There is still time to teach you the idiotic ways of your mother, 'Peanut'. Consider yourself warned.

Housing a soccer player in my womb

For many proud parents, the day when their child dresses up in their soccer uniform and runs screaming onto the field is a day of much celebration (and hilarity). I love watching kids play soccer. One kid kicks the ball while everyone goes chasing after it. The poor bored kid playing in net has become so despondent that she has sat down in the grass and started picking a dandelion bouquet for her parents for after the game. The ball gets kicked again and this time it goes right into the net. The goaltender is nowhere to be seen because she ran off the field, with dandelions in hand, to find her Mom to take her to the bathroom.
Little kids have many ways of making us smile.

From before birth, our babies make us smile. Every time we go have an ultrasound, we get beautiful images that often make moms-to-be so happy they weep. I haven't yet cried in any of my ultrasounds but the image of the little monster inside me never ceases to make me grin.

Up until about two weeks ago, I couldn't feel 'Peanut' much. I thought I felt it but it turned out to be gas. Last week, the feeling of movement in my guts got stronger (whereas my gas levels stayed the same). I finally had confirmation that my baby was moving!
I immediately made Alex feel my tummy and he agreed that 'Peanut' was doing backflips in there.
Now every time 'Peanut' kicks, there is much excitement. I know this excitement will eventually wear off and the novelty of having something kick me in the guts will become not only tiresome but nauseating. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy it. I can't say the same for my kitty cat.

Yesterday morning, Marley decided that he wanted to eat my chin. I suspect that he saw that I was growing a beard and thought it needed grooming. (What it needs is waxing).
He lay down over my chest and sat his legs and bum over my tummy. Marley and I have a mutual agreement that this is the most comfortable position for both of us because his pointy paws aren't digging into any part of my chest or stomach and he can sit comfortably without me shooing him off.
Marley then went to town on my fuzzy chin. After about fifteen licks, I felt 'Peanut' start to move. All of a sudden, Marley jumps up on all fours and bolts off my tummy. He was officially spooked. I suspect that 'Peanut' started kicking and hit Marley in what's left of his man-cat-bits. I was right. I got up to find the cat and he was sitting in my desk chair giving himself a hearty lick.
I could not contain myself. I laughed for about twenty minutes and when I told my sister-in-law, we both laughed for another half hour.
Marley's kitty cat pride has been taken down because not only was he kicked in the bits but he was kicked in the bits by something that he can't see to retaliate the guesture. Hypothetically, he could maul my stomach but he would get another swift kick in the bits by my ever growing feet.

Poor cat. He has already learned the hard way that he is no longer the king of his domain. For us, we get to enjoy every minute of this journey (even if it diminishes our cat's dignity).

Never tell a pregnant woman that she looks huge!

My first piece of advice would be to not dish it out unless you can take it. As for the expectant mother, she can really dish it out so be extra careful with what you say to her.

Hormones are responsible for about ninety percent of my craziness when I'm not pregnant. The other ten percent crazy is genetics (Thanks Parents!). During pregnancy, I have found that my moods have been relatively pleasant and that I've toned down my craziness but upped my sensitivity factor. For example, instead of screaming like a banshee at Alex for not running the dishwasher (a bizarre behaviour that would otherwise be seen during any other time of my life), I would simply run the dishwasher and move on. An example of the sensitivity factor can be seen when I plop myself down in front of the 'Women's Network' for a Sunday afternoon RomCom and cry the entire way through. Let me tell you, there is something about Kate Hudson that makes my eyes water every time! I understand that this is strange, hence why I'm writing about it.

The sensitivity factor of my hormonal roller coaster is responsible for the ways in which I can handle what people say to me and when. Generally, I'm pretty cool. I wouldn't consider myself a particularly sensitive person. I can laugh at myself and I have enough self-esteem to handle a good teasing at times. Alex is thankful because he accuses himself of often having a "prickly" demeanour. He does, and that's why he gets TOLD when the dishwasher isn't run or the kitty litter isn't fresh. We have an understanding about each other's personalities (after ten years we'd only hope we understand each other), and we never take it too far.
Even pregnant, I still laugh at being the butt of many jokes. These jokes are usually directed at my personality and mannerisms. These jokes are never about my body because even not pregnant, joking about someone's body is tasteless. Yup, this topic is automatically too far.

(Author's note: You can laugh at the upcoming paragraphs about my body. I wrote them as entertainment. I'd rather be laughed with than laughed at. So enjoy!).

Recently, I have been feeling like my body has been slowly morphing into hippo-like proportions even though if you ask anyone (other than my mother), I look great. Having a little monster live inside you shifts your hold world, literally. I nearly fell on my face yesterday while picking up a shopping bag. My balance is completely off and it makes even the simplest tasks like getting out of the car or bending over to tie the trash seem like a dangerous move, unless you want to face-plant into the ground. (Yum! Dirt!)

As a developing hippo, I feel like gracefulness is no longer a characteristic of my body that I need to worry about. Although, this sets me up for the comments from on-comers about how I'm waddling down the street; or holding my back (because it hurts); or, (my fav) that I'm huge.
HUGE! HUGE!
I don't yet weigh 150 lbs, and my baby tummy doesn't quite stick out. I look round and by breasts are bigger but there is nothing about me that screams huge. If you want huge, wait a few months. I'm only half way there and I can not only see my toes but I can touch them too.
I get it. Maybe I'm over reacting because of the hormones. The last time I checked, no one wanted to be called 'huge' even if they are huge.

Recently my Mom told me a story about how my sister dealt with a situation where she was being spoken to in an unfavourable manner and she calmly responded with, "If what you are really saying is...".
I think my sister is brilliant and she handled that situation beautifully.
To take a page from the book of Wendy, I will respond to the unpleasant comments about my body by simply saying, "If what you are really saying [when you tell me that I look huge] is that I look healthy and beautiful? Then yes, I am."
My sister's way of dealing with situations like this are very cool and calm. Just a warning to everyone out there who dares comment on the epic proportions of any pregnant woman, we are not cool and calm. We are freaking out because we are always hot and dreading the day when we have to push our little monsters out of a very tight space.
If a pregnant woman responds to a comment about her ever-expanding-size with a comment from the book of Wendy, consider yourself lucky. But don't say I didn't warn you when you get the harshest verbal bitchslap of your life after telling a pregnant woman she has her own gravitational pull.

Roasting 'Peanut'

As many of you know, Toronto has been undergoing its hottest weather on recorded history. Yesterday we hit 37 degrees and with the humidity it felt like 48 degrees.
Children, people with compromised immune systems and the elderly were advised to seek shelter and take extra precautions against the heat. Being pregnant, I'm included in the formal warning against the heat.
I must have consumed 20 liters of water and sweat out 24.

As a summer baby myself, I love the heat. I never let it slow me down. This year is a little different. 'Peanut' does not like the heat.

Two days ago, my 27th birthday, I went with my friend Steph to my 20 week ultrasound. It was an hour of someone pushing on my lower abdomen with a wand going ooh and ahh over the little person in there. Luckily Steph was there. Otherwise I would have had to pee the entire time and not been able to see anything. We looked at all of 'Peanut's' organs and all its fingers and toes. Everything is there and everything works. *Cue sigh of relief here*.
We also found out 'Peanut's' sex. I mentioned at the beginning of my blogging that I wasn't doing to disclose that information on the blog. If anyone wants to know, message or email me. This way I can keep it a surprise for everyone who either doesn't care or wants to be surprised in December.

Anyway, the heat.

So, after the ultrasound, Toronto was literally melting. The tar on the roads was bubbling and the people walking the streets were soaked in sweat. I was starting to feel a little awful. No worries, nothing two liters of water could't cure. I was right.
That night, neither Alex, nor 'Peanut' nor I slept. Our air conditioning works but our room was still 28 degrees.
Yesterday was worse.
So after a restless night, I got up to train. Luckily, there was a breeze but it was 6:30am and the temperature was already reading 34 with the humidity. My client was a rockstar. If she's reading this, she should know that she's a real trooper and I'm so proud of her. :)
I came home, tried to nap and left to train again. After I finished my second session of the day, I was feeling a little bizarre. I had plans to meet Steph again and we were going to go to the beach.
While I was waiting for Steph at the subway station, I consumed an entire liter of water and sweat it out. I don't think I've ever been so hot in my life. 'Peanut' started to kick. I wasn't feeling good. Steph showed up and I drove like a mad-woman to the lake. The five minute ride felt like an eternity. I parked the car and waddled as fast as I could into lake Ontario. The minute the cold water hit my feet, I felt immediately better. It was strange how quickly the water affected my enitre body. 'Peanut' must have liked that too. No longer was 'Peanut' being roasted but slightly chilled in the previously toxic lake. Hopefully, the Internet and population of lake swimmers are right and the lake is safe to swim in or else 'Peanut' is going to grow a third arm.
I felt so good. Getting out was not as nice but the water had refreshed me in a way that nothing else could have. (Someone probably dumped auto coolant into the lake and we are all still enjoying that cooling feeling).

Last night, still feeling great from my swim, I went to team teach Body Attack. It was great. I felt so good. I did end up crashing after dinner last night because I was so tired but I generally felt good.

So, why is it that the water has such an effect on me (or anyone else for that matter)?
Well, science says that if we cool our cores, we will feel cooler. All our major organs are cooking in there in extreme heat and once you cool them down, you are doing your body good. Cooling 'Peanut' is my biggest concern. Preggo's are not supposed to get too hot because they can cause brain damage to their fetuses. If that is the case, then how do women in the Middle East, Africa and India manage to have healthy babies? I guess they go swimming and drink water?

After a fantasicly hot week, Alex and I have decided to go to the cottage (to be close to our own lake). This should keep all three of us cool and happy.

Also, as a follow up to the swimsuit post, I found my diving rash guard and a running skirt. The rash guard works perfectly because I bought a boy's size so it's long and it also covers my shoulders to prevent burning. The running skirt is comfortable and dries quickly.
My mother said that I would always find a way to swim. She was right. No expensive maternity suit necessary. I would have run into the lake naked if I had to. Lucky for everyone, I didn't have to.

To My Baby Daddy...

As many of you know, Alex and I share many things. House, Cat, Cars, and the best two days of the entire year, the 19th and 20th of July.
We are exactly one day apart in age. This makes for a week full of festivities! We started the week last Friday with an intimate party for friends and family. It was a hoot! I made Tapas and Paella. To top the night off just right, my parents brought both Blueberry and Cherry pies. Yum!
It was a super celebration.

Today is Alex's 27th birthday (insert old man jokes here).
Aside from being my spouse and soon to be father of Peanut, he is really so much more.
Alex is my best friend. He never fails to make me smile and he knows exactly what to do when I'm at my grouchiest.
Over the weekend, he took me on a romantic date to the South Street Burger Company for a sunset dinner at a sticky table next to the overstuffed trash cans. (He really knows how to treat a Lady).
While we were sitting at our not only sticky but wobbly table, the music coming from the plaza speakers began blaring a steel pan version of the 'Little Mermaid's" 'Under the Sea'. This made us laugh. The music is funny, yes, but what made me laugh were the memories I have of Alex singing 'Under the Sea' to me while I was resisting my PADI certification.

In 2006 Alex suggested that I get certified to dive so that I could accompany him and his Dad to Belize for a Dive Trip in the winter of 2007. Although a water lover by nature, I put up a huge resistance. I didn't want to dive. It was expensive and I hated the idea of relying on my (potentially) faulty equipment to keep me alive at 60ft. There were many tears shed over the idea of dive lessons but I eventually signed up to do it.  I really wanted to go to Belize and if my PADI certification was going to take me there, then so be it. Just before my first class, I was nervous. What if I hated it? What if I freaked out and drowned in the pool? That would be the last way I would want to go considering that I'm a pretty good swimmer. I loathed the idea of being uncomfortable near the water and my attitude clearly reflected it.
Just as I was leaving the house for class, Alex started singing 'Under the Sea'. I started laughing. First of all, for those of you lucky enough to hear Alex sing, its pretty amusing. Secondly, he NEVER sings unless its a big deal. I was flattered and realized that he was just trying to make me smile and calm me down. I immediately felt better. I sang 'Under the Sea' in my head for the rest of the night and occasionally giggled at the notion that this silly song was actually making me happy to learn to dive.
The dive course turned out to be great. I met some really neat people and it turned out that my swimming skills were an asset. I used less oxygen and I swam faster than everyone else. I was also very calm and comfortable in the water. Alex knew all of this and instead of expressing it in an ego-coddling way, he chose to sing; an act of true love and the only way he knew I was going to listen. (I'm such trouble!). As for the equipment, I inherited my sister-in-law's equipment and it's great stuff. I've had some replaced due to the fact that my luggage got lost on the way home from the Bahamas a few years ago, and the new stuff is even better. I've learned to trust my dive gear but more importantly, through Alex, I've learned to trust myself. He knows me better than I know myself.
(Note: Now when we dive, I ALWAYS sing 'Under the Sea' in my head as we descent. It calms me down and it is really the most appropriate song to sing when you are literally under the sea).

For Alex's 27th birthday, I wish him all the best and more. I hope that I have made his life as wonderful and fulfilling as he has made mine. I am truly blessed to be married to such a wonderful person and I am so excited to wake up next to him everyday (even if he has Dragon-Monkey-Stink-Breath). The next chapter of our lives is going to be a wild ride but I can't think of anyone I would rather share it with than him (singing and all).

Born to Run...Or Swim, or Push My Body to Its Limits

When I was a baby, my Dad owned a running store on Bloor Street. It was called 'Born to Run'. My Dad was an avid runner in the late 70s and through the 80s. He named the store after the Bruce Springsteen song and to this day my parents and I are passionate Springsteen fans. Another wonderful passion my Dad passed on to me was his love for physical activity and pushing his body to its limits.
He ran marathons. I have never run a marathon before however I swam competitively, participated in triathlons, gone on difficult canoe trips and I still teach Body Attack. (I understand that I am a maniac to keep teaching throughout my pregnancy but if my body can do it, it will).
Although it may not seem like a long list of hard-core accomplishments, I would like challenge anyone to try them if they can. All of the above activities have made me strong both mentally and physically. Even if no one else shares this view (except my Mother), I believe that I am a fighter.
True I have fought through physical and emotional discomfort in my athletics, but I have also fought through my celiac disease as well. For anyone out there who is suffering from celiac disease, you know what its like to fight for your body and health.

Being pregnant is a different type of fight. For the first time in my life, I'm fighting for my health to benefit both me and someone else. Trust me, this is the most challenging fight of all. I'm used to embracing my physical pain and strict gluten free diet in hopes to make myself stronger and healthier. Also, gluten free diet aside, I love the feeling of accomplishment when I've pushed myself to a point I didn't even know I could reach. I get it, I'm nuts!
In pregnancy I have to fight my conditioned mentality to hold back and think of the little person now sitting in my tummy. I can't push through my limits and my diet is more important now more than ever. Cravings are hard because all I want to eat is cheese and I'm just going to have to fight it in moderation. Moderation? What's that?

The good news is that after my 9 month pregnancy marathon, I get the opportunity to strut my stuff and literally "push" myself to my limits again. Labour.
As an athlete, I would mentally prepare myself for a specific athletic event. Truth is that I don't know how to prepare myself for labour. I know they teach us how to do that in prenatal classes. I'm of the school where I have complete control over my body and I tell it what to do. Thanks to my pituitary glands releasinng hormones to signal labour, my body is going to help coach me though what I am genetically designed to do. This is a feeling I have never experienced in my life. How are you supposed to visualize and prepare yourself for a completely new experience?

Here's are three ideas that I would use before any athletic event. For me, the key is to remember them when the time comes. I hope they're useful and transfer over to labour.

My first idea would be to remain positive. Labour is painful. Pain is no fun. The good news is that although it may seem like it goes on forever, labour does end...WITH A BABY no less! BONUS!
My second thought would be to try and stay as calm as possible. Yes my body is about to turn itself into a birthing machine and who knows what scary symptoms that will bring but again, millions of women do this everyday and they are strong and beautiful like me! Relax, what happens happens and again, at the end...BABY!
Lastly, eye on the prize. Visualizing beating Alex repeatedly with a 2x4 is not productive to the cause. Funny though! He didn't do this to me (technically yes but) it was a mutual decision and this show is all about me and the baby. Right, BABY!

At the half-way point one would think it would be premature to think about labour but any good athlete knows that its never too early to visualize the biggest event in their athletic career. For me, this is the biggest even of my womanly career and I don't anticipate anything but truly world-class results!

My Life as a Sun-Fearing Pregnant Vampire

For those of you who know me well, you know that over the summer months in past years, I've always greeted fall with a new skin colour. This colour is not because of a disregard for sun safety, it's just what happens to my skin.
One summer I came back from teaching sailing at summer camp and I was full out brown. I looked like a completely different ethnicity. I was truly beautiful.

Since then, I've been enjoying the sun in monderation. I don't tan (outside or in Tanning beds), I wear copious amounts of sunblock and I try to stick to the shade whenever possible.
I've graduated from my golden years and become a full out Vampire.
So much so that I now stay indoors on days where the UV index is moderate or high and I keep a reserve bottle of sunblock in my car.

My Vampire days began with my sister. I love her to bits. She always knows how to stay safe in all scenarios and the sun is her true enemy. Wendy is white. She is even more pasty than I am which puts her at a much higher risk for sun damage. She wears sunblock all year (even in the dead of winter where all you can see is her nose, you can guarantee that it has been slathered in cream containing SPF and protects against UVA and UVB rays). I've since learned from her example and I won't leave my house without covering my skin in a greasy sheen of my Spongebob Squarepants sunblock.

Toronto has been absolutely beautiful over the last couple of weeks. We have had tons of sun and hot weather to warm all our Canadian souls after a hard spring and long winter. I have spent my summer enjoying the heat (to the best of my abilities) and occasionally walking around in the sunshine.
This means that I have been going through bottle after bottle of sunblock (and the stuff I buy ain't cheap. Well, the Spongebob stuff was technically free from my Dad who after buying it realized that it smelled like bubblegum. Buying something with the word 'block' in it is pricey).

So I'm sure you are all asking yourselves, "If Emma lives in Canada, she always covers up and she is terrified of the sun, why is this such a big deal?"
Well, this morning I noticed the ultimate pregnancy symptom. I have the "Mask of Pregnancy". Luckily, it's most noticeable in the morning but I look like I have a raccoon tan over my face. The mask of pregnancy is completely hormonal and goes away after I give birth. As for the pimples, I am going to be cursed with those until the day I die.
Anyway, as directed by all my pregnancy literature, I should always stay out of the sun, especially if I want my ski mask to go away.
Apparently the rise in my estrogen levels makes my skin extra sensitive to sun damage. What I would also like to point out to all my readers who are on the birth control pill is that this can happen to you too. The mask is all me but the permanent damage you can have from not being careful while your estrogen levels are elevated is and more often than not scary.

For me the choice is clear. I will continue to be a Vampire and embrace the greasy sunblock and ugly Tilly hat if it means that I can prevent harming my body. Now that my body is shared and will be depended on for years to come, it is my responsiblity to prevent any kind of harm to it.
For you, take a lesson from my brilliant sister and please be careful. Your body is important and if you don't look after it, it has the potential to disappoint you in ways you can't even imagine.

The Time Has Come! (No, not baby time yet...Maternity Clothes)

As many of you know, I exercise for a living. I am always sweating (even without pregnancy hormones).
During the past twenty-six years I spent not being pregnant, I always bought good clothing to accommodate my lifestyle. Luckily, it all still fits. Spandex is a wonderful thing and since the twenty first century, it's not unheard of for a pregnant woman to show off her baby bump and curves through the miracles of a comfortable stretchy polyester blend. I can't imagine wearing dresses that resemble the curtains and hang off me like I'm a human blimp. This isn't to say that I can't reserve some modesty about my ever-increasing stature however, it just means that I have more flexibility in my day to day outfits than pregnant women did twenty six years ago.

Although the Spandex works wonders for comfort and style, it can't protect me forever; nor can it be worn to all occasions. For example, parties, dinners, date night (not at the South Street Burger Company) and synagogue all require me to bust out of my Spandex and don a presentable outfit. I have a few dresses that I can pass off in the summer months as comfortable maternity-style wear for these occasions. Come fall, I may need to expand a little; but this is not the outfit urgency I am talking about today.

I need a decent swimsuit.

After raving about the wonders of Spandex on my pregnant body, one would only believe that finding an appropriate swimsuit should be a breeze. Not so.

In my younger days, I was truly an athlete. I swam competitively. I have worn some of the most high-tech Spandex inventions known to humankind. I am not afraid of looking naked under my suit, nor am I concerned with the dreaded wedgies my previous swimwear would inevitably cause. I don't even care if my back fat pokes out because my suit is too tight! I care about simplicity and function.
As a swimmer, aside from my flamboyant training suits, I always competed in black. In fact, my current swimwear is mostly black. Almost all my workout gear is black (except some yellow tops I reserve for Body Attack occasions). I love wearing black.
For a swimmer, it was a source of pride to wear black. No distractions from my technique or leaving the competition in my dust. It was just me and my black suit. It was always simple and it was always flattering (back fat included).

This past week, I was scheduled to meet one of my clients at her condo pool for a private aquafit session. I always go in the pool with her. It has been so hot in Toronto and I love the cooling feel and the chlorinated skin I get from a successful swim. She loves it too.
As I was about to leave my house for her appointment, I realized that I had to grab some swimwear or else I would be left cooking on the side of the pool (not a good idea for Preggos!).
I dug through my old Speedos. They are technically training suits, designed for longevity. They are made from an itchy polyester and are not as stretchy as the normal Spandex suits most people wear. I pulled it on to see if it fit. I got it over my hips and just up to my belly when I realized that I would have to permanently crouch in a hunched over position in order to get my pregnant breasts into the suit. Even then, there would be no guarantees that I wouldn't pop out or be able to take the suit off.  I wrestled to get the suit off and dismissed it.
I quickly grabbed a bikini top (which didn't quite fit), the matching bottoms (that left most of my bum hanging out) and some tried and tested dry land workout wear. I layered the workout gear overtop the bikini and managed to get away with a relatively uncomfortable swimsuit. The bottoms were great (lined running shorts) but the top was an issue (yellow Body Attack see-through singlet). Needless to say, I was relieved that my client and I were the only ones in the pool that day; otherwise any other patrons would have had a free show.

Although the suit did what it needed to do for the day, I have to buy new swimwear. I can't go on for the rest of the summer in my makeshift swimwear. First of all, I look ridiculous. Secondly, it doesn't follow my rules of simplicity and function. I can't get comfortable with my boobs and hanging out all over the place. I know everyone will eventually get a free show when I start nursing but I reserve that privilege until I have a hungry infant in my arms.
So I did what any desperate person would do, I resorted to the internet to solve my problem. It didn't.
All the maternity stores I found that carry swimwear are flouncy with ugly patterns. The worst was what I would call the "tent-kini". Whoever designed this should be shot. It is a regular tankini except the top extends out to make the expectant mother look like she could shelter a family of four in a rainstorm. The worst part about this "tent-kini" was the fabric. It was teal green with BIG ugly floral prints stretched around the belly. BLACK SPANDEX PEOPLE!
Even the black Spandex swimsuits were unflattering.

I understand that not everyone shares my perspective on boring practical swimwear. I admit that I own some funky bikinis for the beach and they aren't black. They are purple and orange and green. The one I wore most was black though. Even then, the standard cut of ALL my funky (Old Navy) bikinis are a modest bottom with a halter top. I can no longer comfortably wear a halter top. I can't stand the pulling on my neck. Apparently that's the trend for almost all the suits I saw today. Is there a rule out there that says that pregnant women must wear everything as a halter? Tell me, how am I supposed to flip turn with my breasts being held in by a tiny knot and the grace of God?

If Speedo Canada is reading this post (please please be), can you send me a decent maternity swimsuit made from the regular Spandex in a size 34? I have laps to swim, aquabellies to attend and most importantly, my dignity to uphold.

If anyone else knows of a good place to find a comfortable, modest maternity swimsuit please don't hold out on me.

Marley & Us

As many of you know, we have a kitty cat named Marley.
After watching the movie 'Marley & Me I have come to realization that our Marley is similar to the dog Marley in almost every way (except our household destroyer is a cat and the book focuses on a dog).

We got Marley in the winter of 2004.
Our flat had been broken into and I wasn't sleeping well after the incident. I needed something to wander the house and make some background noise. Marley was a surprise to all of us. A good friend of mine had a friend in her program at school whose cat had kittens. These kittens needed homes and a snap decision was made that we would adopt one. By the time we went to pick our kitty, there were two left. There was Marley, the kitten who climbed into Alex's size 13 shoes and immediately chewed his shoelaces; and a very cuddly, fuzzy orange cat. I was concerned about the amount of cat hair left in our small flat so I picked the short haired, grey and white, tuxedo terror. We stuffed him into my little backpack and brought him home. We had food and water set up for him. He sat on our blue couch all night without uttering a peep. Neither of us slept that night. We were worried that he would fall in the toilet (which he actually did a couple days later), or not make it into his litter box.
After the first week Marley, Alex and I boarded a plane home to Toronto. He mewed the entire way home. He was only eight weeks old when we got him and at nine weeks he was already a worldly traveller.

After countless ripped up rugs, scarred wrists from 'love' bites and the occasional poopy accident, Marley is finally going to be a 'big brother' (so to speak).
Over the almost seven years he's lived with us, we have always lavished too much attention on him. I blame Alex eventhough I am probably most to blame. I like to cuddle him and buy him nice toys and yummy food.
There is no doubt that both of us are nurturing by nature but Marley is truly king of his domain as a result of our kitty coddling hands.
I fear that the introduction of a louder, more labour-intensive creature is going to cramp his style.

For the first few weeks after 'Peanut' arrives, Marley is moving in with my parents. They love him but can also attest that he is a very bad kitty. My mother is concerned that Marley is going to do something horrible to the baby. Alex and I are not worried about the safety of the baby but rather the adjustment period for Marley to realize that he has to come second.
I figure that once the baby can grab his tail, Marley will realize who's the real boss in this house.

People raise children with pets all the time. Hopefully Marley will find whatever type of compassion he has in his blueberry-sized brain and embrace the idea of a new baby. He doesn't really have much choice now does he? So long as he doesn't feel that he has to compete in the poop department with 'Peanut' we should be good.

If you want free stuff and acts of chivalry, just get knocked up!

I love summer time for many reasons. First and most obvious being that my birthday falls right in the middle of the summer (July 20th if anyone wants to buy me presents).
Secondly, the food. All the summer fruit is in season and perfectly ripe right from the grocery store. I live to eat even when I'm not expecting. One of the jokes about being a fitness professional is that I only do this so that I can eat fatty cheese and cupcakes. I exercise because I love it but the cheese and cupcakes are always a bonus: (I'll get to more about cupcakes later).
Finally, I love the warm weather fashions. We can exchange our long coats and boots for Birkenstocks and summer dresses.

Summer fashion is always a hit or miss in Toronto. Because I like to believe we are the center of the Universe, we often attract alien ideas as to what is appropriate to wear out in public. Yes, I'm pretty conservative when it comes to fashion and I think that shorts that display the under part of your rear-end is unexceptable. (God help me if I have girls). Anyway, the reason I bring up summer fashion isn't because I want to bitch about the outfits women are wearing around that I can no longer wear because of stretch marks or varicose veins, its because with less clothes on, people can tell I'm pregnant. Finally.

I've found that this works to my advantage. People move aside on the sidewalk for me; they hold doors for me; and I get free stuff. It seems hard to believe that by sheer virtue of carrying a little life within me, people want to give me stuff. It actually doesn't seem hard to believe at all. For all the queasy mornings and other unsightly side effects, pregnant women should get everything for free (but that's just the hormones talking).

Anyway, today was a great day to be pregnant!
It started out like any other cottage packing out day. I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get laundry, toilettries and food organized. I even managed to water our dying orange tree and feed the cat. En route to my parents' house (where we ALL depart from), I stopped at my favourite bakery for some gluten free bread and snacks and sandwiches for the rest of the crew. I spent under $40. Its not uncommon to walk out of there with day old bread or a cookie for free but today was different. I was wearing a pink, slender tank top and loose linen pants (fitted just under by belly). I was sticking out as either a fat girl with weight gain only around her middle or the obvious, a preggo. The woman who owns the bakery saw me, smiled and packed up a giant cupcake. It was delicious. I can't possibly look like I'm under fed but to top the whole thing off, she packed up a giant rum ball as well. I don't quite understand the rum ball but hey, the price was right. Alex will eat it. Rum aside, I prefer cupcakes and even then, too many sweet things give me heartburn.
I figured that the whole order for free would have been a little excessive and I didn't come in looking particularly pained so I'll gladly except the cupcake and rum ball as a token of kindness.

So I could write a whole post on how I scored free treats but that wouldn't WOW you, right?

Well,
When I went to the grocerey store to pick up some last minute fruit, the place was a zoo. I don't know if those people think that that particular store is the only gig in town selling food but it sure seemed like it. I only had a few items so I got into the express isle with my basket. The basket wasn't heavy. It had blueberries, bananas, apples and a cucumber in it. I had to walk it home in a bag anyway but the kind man in front of me in line looked at me and had pity on me. Why? He looked barely strong enough to hold the apples alone. Not that I'm complaining about good old fashioned chivalry, but he didn't have to let me go ahead of him in line all the while holding my basket. I am pretty sure he wasn't hitting on me because a pimply pregnant woman is not what I would call and interesting fetish and he was about 100 years old. I thanked him profusely and wished him a happy weekend.

So are you WOWed yet? Didn't think so. No worries.
All this excitement in one day. My own husband (God bless him), doesn't even hold things for me even when I ask him. He IS sweet enough to buy me a cupcake but we both know that freer is always better. :)

Hard Boiled Eggs: Must be Road Trip Time!

Before I begin this post, I would like to take the time to thank everyone who has been following my blog. I really hope its been entertaining (if not crudely written). I have had a lot of positive feedback and I really appreciate the support. Thank you!

This weekend Alex and I are headed up to the Crandall family cottage with my parents. The whole mishpucha (family) will be there, except for two of our sisters. We will miss you guys. I'm so lucky to have such a great family. It is such a treat that my parents and inlaws like each other so much. I can't wait to be with all of them this weekend.

Every time I go to the cottage I pack food. I have to! Being a Glutard, I can't count on there being gluten free chow up there for my convenient snacking or nighttime cravings. The one thing we can count on being at the cottage is beer. I can't have that even when I'm not pregnant so I better pack wisely.

When we went up to the cottage in May, I made the mistake of asking Alex whether or not we should peace out or stay for lunch on the final day. He chose to stay for lunch. I didn't have enough food. Alex had himself a "new one" torn for him when we realized just how hungry and cranky I could get without lunch. We both learned valuable lessons that weekend: 1. I should always over pack food and 2. It doesn't matter what Alex thinks, I'm calling the shots when it comes to pretty much everything food. He's not pregnant, nor is he a Glutard. The poor guy can't win this one.

This weekend is extra special because my Mom and Dad are coming up with us. They are also pro food packers. They always have snacks at the ready and know the horrible wrath of Preggosaurs Emma when there isn't enough chow. My family has a saying that we truly live by, "it isn't a road trip without hard boiled eggs!"
To this day, I can't remember a road trip with my family that didn't include hard boiled eggs.
I personally believe that eggs are the perfect food. They are full of protein and you can eat them without the use of any utensils. For everybody else, hard boiled eggs on a road trip seems downright bizarre. Eggs often require salt and once you crack open the container, everyone turns to each other and immediately denies creating that awful fart smell. "It was the eggs, I swear!"
For this trip, we are bringing them! Of course we are!
Alex is the only one in the car who doesn't like them so we plan to stink him out. Poor guy. Unfortunately, we are taking his car. There will soon been a permanent egg funk that only a dead skunk can rival. Just so you know, I'm really not trying to make him miserable. I plan on picking up a yummy sandwich and other munchies for him so he doesn't have to worry about eggs. I was thinking Hummus and veggies might combat egg stink with garlic stink. Also, everyone knows that chickpeas have a future effect that can often smell worse than the eggs. He'll get me back for this one. He knows my fart kryptonite. Also, being pregnant can make one exceptionally gassy. He really doesn't have to try that hard.

If anyone is looking for a nice gift to get Alex for his birthday, I have a few options. 1. New wife and inlaws who won't stink up his snazzy car with egg or 2. Air fresheners.
I think the second option is a better fit. He could get a new wife and inlaws that won't egg up his car but I can't guarantee that they will appreciate the humor of the folks that do.

There is No Prize for a Perfect Pregnancy or Being a Perfect Parent

The reward is the baby.

My second trimester has proven to be alright. I'm still uncomfortable in a few areas and my body never ceases to amaze me by its ever malleable shape.
As a Mom-to-be, I understand that parenting is an activity shared by me and my partner. The pregnancy is all me. Much to my relief, Alex doesn't experience sympathy pregnancy. I couldn't imagine the 'man-version' of this. I complain and grump but I'm sure Alex would take this to a whole new level. Trust me, I've tended to the infamous (and apparently life-threatening) 'man-cold'.
That being said, he is not whiny by nature and I am forever fortunate that he is as wonderful as he is.

My pregnancy is not in any way special. I am simply following in the ancestral footsteps of my biology and continuing to procreate. This doesn't mean its not miraculous. Every pregnancy is miraculous just not particulary special.
As I experience the hormonal roller coaster, I recall that this can't be so bad; cave people did it and our species still drinks Diet Coke and invents nifty time-saving gadgets like the Slap Chop.
Well, in a world with Diet Coke and the Slap Chop, shouldn't everything be easier?
It is.
Alex doesn't have to endure a the firey wrath of grunts because he didn't kill a buffalo for dinner tonight, and I don't have to sleep in fear of someone stealing my cheetah pelt "maternity" dress.
By having all the luxuries comforts of the North American Twenty-First century lifestyle, shouldn't pregnancy be a breeze?
It isn't.

Nowadays we are having children much later in life and we are technically living in a toxic utopia. I am included in this categorization. In cave people days, at 27, I would be a grandparent and yes, my 100 year old house still has Asbestos somewhere.
More than playing roulette with Mother Nature and filling our homes with cancer-causing chemicals, we, as women, have created an even more toxic environment for ourselves. This is what I believe is the smug persona of the "perfect mother".
It begins in pregnancy (around the 17th-18th week). We have successfully graduated from the first trimester with confirmation that we are actually creating somewhat healthy, human spawn. Apparently, while we continue to freak out on the inside about all the things that can still possibly go wrong, to our peers and family, we present a phony facade that we are indeed doing the best for our babies. We have decided to eat only organic food; we have thrown out all chemical cleaners in our house; and we have decided to sacrifice our monthly pedicure for fear that the formaldehyde in the polish will make our babies stupid.
This image of self-sacrifice is awful and in my opinion completely anti-feminist. I'm not going to go into the feminist discussion of this post but I'll humor you with the rest.

Why do we care what other people are thinking about our pre-parenting skills?
So my kid eats worms, they won't kill him and he looks so cute. His poops late might be a fright but he is following his instincts and protecting himself (or soon learning to protect himslelf). Also, there are way worse things he could be eating (like your favorite untouched nail polish you were hoping to get painted on your toes after he was born but haven't had the time or sleep to endure the appointment).

Trust yourself and your doctor. I have. Again, CAVE PEOPLE DID THIS! I AM NOT THE FIRST MOTHER EVER NOR AM I DOING THIS WRONG!
I am doing what I can to stay sane throughout my pregnancy and I truly hope that 'Peanut' will learn by example. Yes, that includes taking Tylenol for unbearable headaches, pedicures for my ugly feet and eating anything and everything (so long as its gluten free).
Generally, children learn by example. They learn what appropriate behavior is through their parents. Alex and I care about our health and happiness. We make decisions based on logical reason (and at times, ravenous hunger), and we have already created a safe and happy home.
Not that there's a prize for it or you care or anything.
To all the pregnant women out there who feel the need to "keep up with the Crandalls", don't bother. We want you to have healthy and comfortable pregnancies; aside from that, we don't give a damn about your organic lifestyle or how you raise your kids (so long as they aren't bullying ours in the playground).