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.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
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!
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!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
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).
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).
Sunday, October 23, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
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!
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!
Sunday, October 16, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
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'.
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'.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
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. :)
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. :)
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