Monthly Archives: December 2010
Luckily for me, I still live in The City of Angels so Mexi food is not hard to come by. Every street corner has a taco stand or an old lady selling tamales or a boozy Mexi restaurant with red vinyl seats. One of my roommates even brought home some “extra” homemade tamales. He said they were a bit dry. Funny, but I didn’t notice at all. Two days before, the father of the little monster was in town for business and on the way home from the airport we stopped at one of my favorite cheese and more cheese Mexican places for lunch. The chips and salsa were the best. I ate two baskets. Somehow, I’m not gaining weight. This is the second time I’ve done this in the last two weeks. Two baskets of chips and salsa followed by a whole entree. A whole, cheesy entree. I had already had toast with peanut butter and a piece of toast with a poached egg. It was barely noon.
A few hours later, while watching “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant,” we both decided we wanted Chinese food. So, I guess it’s a little bit of a fib that all I want is Mexican. I really only enjoyed the hot and sour soup though. I discovered I don’t like pork unless it is in bacon or ham form. Kinda sad because I used to really love the BBQ ribs at this place. The soup and the insanely horrible decorations inside the place made up for it though.
Yesterday, after dropping him at the airport and going over to my friend and amazing photographer’s house we went to another friend’s place to let her dogs pee while she is on holiday. The girl who lives in the house thoughtfully left snacks there. Lucky for me, there were several varieties of salsa and chips and bean dip. I polished off almost the entire jar of bean dip. She lives quite close to a Taco Bell and I considered getting a burrito or maybe a burrito and a taco and maybe the Nachos Bell Grande, but I thought better of it. I was getting sleepy and I still had to get home and feed the dogs and take them out to pee too. I still kinda want it though.
Maybe I’ll go to central market and pick up a pastore taco later. Yeah, I probably will. Or, maybe I’ll drive up to Hollywood and get a fish taco or four at Best Fish Taco’s in Ensenada. Maybe both.
Thirteen weeks along. Officially, the little monster is the size of a peach or a baseball or as one site put it, a large prawn. I like to think I have a beady-eyed little prawn floating around in an amniotic sac filled with burre blanc, it’s little tentacles feeling about and tickling my uterus. In a few weeks, it will be strong enough for me to feel the gentle little tickles. Baby prawns don’t have very strong tentacles right now. They must calcify before they can be felt. Maybe as it gets older, a cajun spice mix will show up. Oh, god. That would be so good. I’m suppose to have pot roast at a friend’s house tonight but maybe I’ll see if anyone wants to go to the Boiling Shrimp.
My latest time waster on the internet has been gender prediction quizzes. I only get one answer. One answer from the Chinese Birth Chart site, one answer from the Western Horoscope site, one answer from the palmistry site, one answer from the symptoms checker and one answer from the old-wives tales site. The answer? A boy. It’s going to be a boy.
I won’t find out if it will be a boy until either January 4th or February 14th. Why the difference? Well, at the County Hospital that I had gone to for my first appointment, they don’t see any reason to do an ultrasound at every appointment. The also don’t seem very happy to give the print out of the ultrasound, which I find very strange. I switched to another hospital though. This time it’s a clinic that is associated with a much nicer, private hospital and they do all sorts of fun stuff and they do it every time you go in. I’m pretty happy about that.
Crap, I just realized I missed an appointment this morning with the good clinic. Shoot. I can’t go now because it was fasting labs. Man, what a stinker. On hold now. I guess I can try to do it in the morning tomorrow. Shoot. Shooooot!!
I need to stop reading articles and books on pregnancy. I just read and article in Time onLine that indicated it is not the just the things I eat and do, but also the things I feel and think that will determine my offspring’s ability to handle stress, work through word problems and even if they will be prone to heart disease. No pressure or anything. At this point, I think about what the earliest part of my pregnancy was like. I didn’t know I was pregnant until I was 10 weeks along. That is a lot of drinks. A lot of sushi. A lot of cigarettes. What sort of damage have I already done? I know that has sort of become a theme here, but hey, it is sort of the theme I think most women have to their pregnancies. Well, most women like me.
I’m 12 weeks 3 days now. Finally, I am starting to have more energy, although last night I did crawl into bed around 8 pm, but that was mostly because I was bored and it was a little cold in my warehouse. I am no longer taking a nap around 4 in the afternoon till around 10 at night and then going back to sleep around midnight till 5:30 am. I guess that is progress. I’ve spent the last few days going through my wardrobe to see what I will be able to wear for the next few months. Luckily, most of my clothes involve Lycra so they can do double duty, for a little while at least. Also, I’m really glad almost everything in my closet is black. I have had to make some dresses into shirts and I ,for sure, must wear tights or at very least fishnets with all of my skirts, but hey, it’s winter anyways. My incredible increase in size seems to have settled down a bit. I had gained 12 lbs by the time I was 11 weeks. I was a little underweight, I suppose. For Los Angeles, I was the acceptable weight for a girl about town, but my mother insists I had no body fat. I have twice assured here that I did, in fact, have some body fat; even enough body fat, as clearly I was still menstruating. Was. I’m not anymore, obviously. After dealing with nearly monthly cycles for 20 years, it is kinda pleasant. Alas, that is neither here nor there, on with the post.
I have been holed up in my room for the last month or more. I don’t feel weird about being out or anything like that, I’m just tired. But, I had a birthday party to go to at a fancy lounge above Besso Tuesday night and I didn’t want to miss it. I had announced my case of the babies to my little facebook world Sunday and some people were at least curious to see what had become of me. Like when you slow down for an accident. I had 7 pm dinner reservations, and it would take me 30 minutes to get from downtown to Larchmont at that hour (if I were lucky, but I always count on luck to move traffic along for me, which may be why I’m always late for things.) Normally, it takes me 45 minutes to get ready but I hadn’t done the whole make-up and hair thing in at least a month so I gave myself a little more time to do it. I had a new pair of lashes to size and put on as well and even when I am current with my make-up routine, that still takes some time. I added an extra half an hour. I found a dress that was a bit too big when I bought it and was fitted, sort of. It was a little more fitted on the butt than I would have liked but it had an empire waist and was comfortable enough. It would do. My boobs were a little big for it, but they were not smooshed like Elizabeth Hurley likes to do, so I went with it. No one will complain that my boobs look too big. Not in my crowd. I found a pair of fishnets that were not “ruined” and then slapped on a pair of heels. It was okay. I looked good. I looked pregnant, but good. After fussing with my hair, who’s cut I still am not sure about, I was out the door. It was 20 till 7. So much for the extra time I budgeted.
Dinner at Girasole was excellent. It was a whole lot less boozy than dinner with my girlfriends normally is, but it was still fun. Because I’m following the Weston Price Foundation diet for pregnant and nursing women, I got the pasta with clams. Pasta doesn’t really fit, but at least it was made in house, but the clams do and it was loaded with them. I wish I had known the chef loved garlic so much before I ordered that though. That turned out to be a problem later. After a leisurely dinner filled with talk of babies and stretch marks and speculums, I bid Sharon adieu and headed to the party.
I got there early, of course. Ten on the nose. The birthday girl was happy some people showed up at the beginning. I was happy to get a chance to chat with her early on, so she would remember it and I would be able to slip out after a reasonable amount of time. Because of the garlic, I would be leaving much earlier than I had thought I would. As the lounge filled, I was having a hard time finding a discrete place to blow my garlic burps so as not to offend anyone’s olfactory nerves. It was killing me. By 11, I was yawing and starting to get a headache. My friend was being annoyed by some man who smelled like tempera paint and modeling clay and was wearing payless shoes and a poorly fitted suit. He was clearly snorting the good stuff and not sharing with my friend, although she didn’t ask. Probably a good thing. She had to work in the morning. After 11.30, we were able to find everyone knew and say goodnight. We were in the car by quarter till and I was home by midnight.
Going out without drinking is nothing new to me. When I had a shoot, I wouldn’t drink a drop for two weeks before and my social calendar never lets up so I had to go out anyways. I would just order water with lots of lemon or lime and call it good. It was new to me to be leaving the party before midnight though. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I guess it’s being responsible. I guess it’s being a mom and having someone else to think about. It’s not though as much as I would like to think it was something reasonable like that. I was because I had a headache and because I wanted to go home and take those fishnets off and let my belly expand and burp in peace.
It’s been 10 days since I saw the double pink lines in the 99 C store pregnancy test I had reluctantly purchased.
I hadn’t had my period for a couple months, but that was THAT odd, it did sometimes happen. Not usually to me, but there were plenty of stories from women (on the internet) who skipped periods for nothing more than a slight hormonal problem so why not me? Maybe I would get lucky and have an ovarian cyst that was stopping up the works. Huge tender breast can come from a cyst right? Right. I checked it on every medical website around. They totally can. Moodiness happens from being premenstrual so that was covered, I was very premenstrual. Cravings can come from that too.
The night sweats were harder to explain. I immediately assumed that as a 32 year old it was perfectly reasonable to add pre- menopausal to my list of possible ailments. I looked it up, it can happen at 32. It can happen younger for Pete’s sake, so why not? Well, at least if I was about to enter menopause, at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the ovarian cyst any longer. I could get used to the hot flashes.
Sleep disturbances are totally normal for me, so I wasn’t even really trying to figure out why I wasn’t able to sleep till 8 am and why I was sleeping till 5 pm. Those were pretty close to my normal hours anyways. The only thing was I found myself too exhausted to go out. This is truly a shocking development, as for the last few years of un or under-employment I had become almost a professional partier. But now, I couldn’t even be bothered to take a shower. I would be on the guest list +2 every night and all I wanted to do was layabout and read and nap. I had become a house cat. It was this that led me to believe I had sunk deep into depression or maybe I had Chronic Fatigue. The CF self-diagnosis was convenient because the diagnosis is so vague anyways.
I always have to pee so that also wasn’t such a concern. I drink tons of water, but that is mainly to deal with the tons of bourbon I (used to) drink. The only nausea I experience was when I was my bartender friend poured me a shot of Wild Turkey because I was in the bar dressed as a turkey. Yeah, that’s a long story.
Alas, I was beginning to not fit into much of my clothing. I was eating like a manatee after all, so that would make sense. But, really it was more than that. I may have been in denial, but I’m not stupid. I knew what it all added up to. I just didn’t want to know. I was hoping my patented Immaculate Intervention method would work for me and if I didn’t really confirm it, I could miscarry and not be sad about being a poor vessel. Once I knew, for sure, I would have to make a decision.
Abortion seemed to be the obvious answer. A single, 32 year old, party animal who lives in a ware house with three guys and four dogs and is living by the seat of her pants is not exactly what one thinks of when they think of a good time or person for motherhood. I’m not at all pro-life. I mean, sure, live. But, I’m not even pro-choice. I would say I’m more, well, not pro-abortion, because that just seems wrong, but pro-planning and pro-doing the right thing for all parties involved. This was not how I had “planned” my journey into motherhood starting. God, “journey into motherhood” sounds so ridiculous. But, what is this? My abrupt transition? My sudden realization that this is what is going to happen? My one thing in life I can’t procrastinate about? Fuck it. I don’t know. It is what it is.
Maybe adoption was the way to go. After searching around the internet for a bit, I knew couldn’t possibly let some bible-thumping weirdos from Temecula or Salt Lake City raise my child. Oh no. Not this kid. I decided it would have to be a nice gay family. I had a lot to choose from. I read hundreds of stories. I read their websites and looked at their pictures. I was the first time I cried about my pregnancy. Reading the stories of how they met and how much they wanted to raise a child together made tears stream down my face. I felt for them. I really wanted to help them, but it made me feel so callous. I was carrying this one thing that so many people would be willing to mortgage their houses for or fly around the world for and I was going to just give it away. Actually, that’s a lie. I was hoping to make some money on it. Trade it for a new car. Yeah, I know, it’s horrible. I’m not proud of myself for that, but like all of this, it is what it is.
It was that experience, the looking for adoptive parents experience that made me realize I was an ass. Here I was, at the perfect age for child rearing, carrying a child that would no doubt be beautiful (as I’m a looker and so is it’s dad) and smart (daddy’s super smart and I’m pretty bright) and it was here. It was healthy because it was still there. After 10 weeks of partying it was still there. After the hot tubs, the smoking, the drinking, the coffee and being cinched into corsets it was still there. I was even lucky enough to have relieved myself from my very high pressure, high stress job a while ago and had learned to cut my expenses and live cheaply. I no longer needed to make tons of money, I could be even happier with less. I was at least in a good situation to have a child and actually get to raise it myself instead of plunking it in daycare or with a nanny.
I decided to do it. To keep it. I notified the father via text message. I quit drinking. I quit smoking and I switched to half caff. Those double pink lines had just changed everything.