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!
Monday, July 18, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, July 11, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, July 8, 2011
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. :)
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. :)
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, July 1, 2011
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).
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).
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