Wednesday, October 29, 2014

What 39 Weeks Pregnant Really Looks Like

First, a confession.  Forgive me, reader, for I have sinned.  I am guilty of posting pregnancy pictures of myself exclusively on those rare days when I have done my make-up (as if) and my hair (puh-lease) and have put on my cutest maternity clothes and when the best, most natural lighting served my purposes.  I have taken many shots and carefully selected the ones that best portray the glory, beauty, and absolute ease of pregnancy.  And this, of course, is all a lie.

What pregnancy really looks like is not pretty.  When a kind friend posted the following comment on one of my pregnancy photos, I knew I was guilty of fraud: "You make pregnancy look good!"

I need to rectify that because if you lived with me or if you have ever been pregnant, then you know the real truth.  Pregnancy is really, really hard.  It is not graceful or pretty.  'Want proof?  Watch me try to get to a standing position after sitting on the floor.  Or a chair.  Or the couch.

What pregnancy really looks like can't be seen in a picture.  See that big belly up there?  Let's talk about that.  Sure, sure.  It looks cute now in proportion because it's baby-filled.  What you're not noticing is my hugely pregnant butt and the massive expansion happening in my thighs.  But guess what?  In about a week or so, that baby is coming out and when my belly is smaller, that butt and those thighs are going to gain prominence.  Pregnancy is not about having a shape.  Pregnancy is about having shapes, plural.  And those shapes are not fun to dress.  

Pregnancy looks like an unbalanced woman running to the bathroom ten times every hour with an urgency that should only be present when lava or gunmen are chasing you down.

Pregnancy looks like winces and sounds likes gasps with every uncomfortable, competitive move with a baby who has an idea she should go this way when you want to go the other way.  It looks the worry of, "Damn, did I just squeeze her foot between my rib cage trying to get up from this couch?"

Pregnancy looks like a wandering pillow moved under this leg, beneath that knee, behind that back and thrown across the room with an, "Oh, did I just hit my husband?  Good, now he's uncomfortable, too."

Pregnancy looks like emptied Tums, Omeprazole, and Zofran bottles - also probably thrown across the room.  Maybe at someone.

Pregnancy looks like late night, panicked trips to the hospital because did we feel the baby move today?

Pregnancy looks like slumped shapes watching tv on the couch, half-open eyes on Taylor Swift's tiny little body - a body that has no idea the sort of stretching and tiredness and absolute impatience it is capable of.  (Insert funny shake-it-off aside.  I'm too tired to come up with a good one).

Pregnancy looks like twelve tabs open on the computer all detailing sketchy ways a woman at 39 weeks might induce labor.  

Pregnancy looks like me bitch-slapping someone who sing-songs, "Sleep now because you won't get much sleep when the baby gets here."  (Seriously, everyone, stop saying that.  Just stop.)

Pregnancy looks like I have to get off the computer now because sitting this long is hugely uncomfortable because that foot is stuck in my rib cage and seriously, I think when they try to take her out, they are going to have to yank because seriously, I think that foot is truly caught in my ribcage.  

Friday, October 24, 2014

Another Awesome Parenting List from Jason Good

Raising Your First vs. Your Second Child 
By Jason Good, father of two

First Kid: All homemade in special baby-food processor. Quinoa! Spinach! Sweet potatoes!
Second Kid: Crackers.

First Kid: One hundred percent organic cotton. Some even made of bamboo?
Second Kid: His brother's old clothes.

First Kid: In our backyard with a piƱata hanging from the Japanese maple.
Second Kid: Pizza on the floor.

First Kid: Every night in a special bathtub that's just the right size. Hand-washed with a soft cloth or silky sponge.
Second Kid: Twice a week. Swimming pools count.

Nighttime Routine
First Kid: Swaddled in a Miracle Blanket. "Baby Beluga" sung to him. Asleep by 7:30pm.
Second Kid: Falls asleep on the sofa mom's bad.

First Kid: All handmade out of wood. Mostly Swedish.
Second Kid: The boxes his brother's toys came in.

TV Rules
First Kid: PBS/Sesame Street only. Two 23-minute shows per day.
Second Kid: Has his own Netflix account.

First Kid: Something European with an umlaut in its name.
Second Kid: Old muddy shoes with faded umlaut and missing sole insert.

First Kid: A wonderful woman named Sarah, whom he loves and will cherish for the rest of his life.
Second Kid: Doesn't have one. We never go out.