Monthly Archives: January 2011

Big News and Single-Nostril Breathing

My appointment for my ultra-special ultrasound was marred only by my inability to breath out of my nose.  My little kid is completely normal, there is nothing cleft or malformed or oddly shaped.  It’s little hear beats correctly and it’s little valves do their job of opening and closing perfectly well.  Also, it has two eyes. Somehow, I managed to create a totally perfect little child. I’m really relieved.  I had spent the nights leading up to it researching all sorts of things like neural tube defects and fetal alcohol syndrome.  I won’t say I was technically worried about them, I as just concerned and wanted to know what I was dealing with, if the scan showed either or those defects.

I did learn that I am carrying a boy. I’m relieved.  Being a girl, I can tell you, they are hard to raise. The door slamming, the screaming, the tears over boys who didn’t call.  I’m sure I would be find with those things, but I know that it is harder for a mother to deal with or a father for that matter.  Boys are just easier and as my friend C.P. pointed out, cheaper. Give a little boy a couple sticks and an old coffee can and he’s happy for weeks.  I feel like a dodged a bullet.

It’s time for me to get back to my sleep and loafing.  I figure one more day in bed and I will be fine. I hope. 

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Holy Hair! Day 13

The deodorant really looks gross.  Sorry about that.  I know that using anti-persperant/deodorant doesn’t really fit with many of my hippie-dippie beliefs but about 10 years ago, I started wearing a lot of cashmere and I can to the conclusion that I could either be a “natural” deodorant person or I could be a cashmere person and I decided to be a cashmere person and take my chances with Alzheimer’s when I get old.  It’s not like a use aluminum cans as pipes anymore so I think I’ll be okay.  Or not but then I won’t really notice, will I? Well, at first I will and then I will be off in LaLa Land for the rest of my life. Sorry kids of mine who will have to deal with me. I give you permission now to put me in a nice facility where I can sit in the garden all day and talk to the cute little fairies.

I know I keep saying this, but this project is gross.  I should stop but I can’t.  I got an angry e-mail from a pervert the other day because I had not posted.  I can’t have angry pervs out there, so I’ll keep it up. Enjoy!


19 Weeks

So, I’ve made it to 19 weeks. As my friend J.M. pointed out the other day, almost halfway! I think my pregnancy time should count by the time I knew I was preggers and it affected my life. Well, let’s be real here, the affects were real right away. I had no choice but to sleep as I had developed a mild case of narcolepsy for most of my 1st trimester. Anyhoo, it really should go by the 10th week, so with that rational, I will only be 30 weeks preggers at the end and that would indeed make me over halfway. No matter though, because I’m right about half either way. Tomatoes, tomaatoes.

And that is a really excellent segue for this section. The little monster can no longer be described as a prawn. It is way bigger than a prawn now, it’s the size of a very large heirloom tomato. 6 inches. That’s big. I’ve also read it described as a “cheese covered mango” and that actually made me a little ill.  I love mangos but now I will see them as cheese covered and intra-uterine and that’s just icky. Maybe this is emotional growth for me, but I can no longer think of anything in my uterus as good for eatin’. If I had a therapist, I would totally talk to them about this and I’m sure they would lower my dosage. Well, they would probably make a note to revisit my dosage in the next month or so.

I’ve mentioned this in an earlier post, but I really haven’t started to feel much as far as the kid moving.  This is not helping my self esteem because all the articles say if you are very thin you should be able to feel it sooner than others who are not thin. I was thin. I really was.  I wasn’t like rail thin, but I was skinny.  My bones protruded. That counts? Right???  I know the kid is moving. I saw it move on the ultrasound and it was all over the place. Like a little retarded monkey, but I didn’t feel it at all, much to the ob’s surprise.  It was cute, she was laughing.  I do have relatively strong abdominal muscles so maybe that is why.  I did spend eight years in the military after all and while military members are not necessarily the most fit people on the planet, they are, by and large, much more physically active and fit than the rest of the country.  I was also heavy into weightlifting so that may count too.  Also, walking from bar to bar while drunk in stilettos five nights a week is great for your core muscle strength. So, maybe that’s it.


Chubby Little Hands and Facial Massagers

While the little monster’s dad is dreaming of the kid every night, I’ve only had a couple dreams of the kid so far.  Last night, I dreamt of buying new make up and he dreamt of lounging on the bed with the baby on his chest.  This morning, he went into great detail of the kid’s squishy little face and what it’s hair looked like.  I can imagine that he got to feel what it feels like to have a breathing squishy little creature laying on his chest.  The warm little bundle, cooing in its sleep, maybe occasionally raising its chubby little hand up to its face to wipe its red little cheeks. I can imagine the father looking down and brushing the soft little hairs to the side and taking a deep breath of baby smell in and then kissing its warm little head. I wish I were having dreams like that. Maybe it would make it seem more real.

Don’t get me wrong here, the make up I was trying on in my dream from last night was really cool. It was a new kind of foundation and it was applied with this really neat brush. It was kind of like the new silicone basting brushes that came out a few years ago, but it seemed like the bristles were somehow stiffer and softer at the same time.  When I would rub the brush across my face, not only did the foundation cover perfectly but it also gave a tingly sort of facial massage that was really pleasant.  It really was neat and I’m happy for having that dream as it has stuck with me all day and that is a pretty fun way to start the day.

And yet, somehow, I feel like maybe I should be having dreams about the baby too. I had one the other night, but it wasn’t a baby I dreamt of.  It was a two year old. I got to see what my brain thinks the kid will look like. Super cute by the way.  I wish I was, even a little, skilled at drawing or painting because I would love to commit it to paper in a visual way.  It was a boy. I’m actually willing to bet I will be pooping a boy out in June.  I will find out on the 26th of this month, so we will see if that whole mother’s intuition thing is real or a bunch of mumbo jumbo. The little boy had sandy blonde hair with loose curls and green eyes. It had it’s dad’s nose, and that is totally fine as his father’s nose is not just serviceable but also very pleasing to the eye. He had olive skin and a cute little mouth and relatively high cheek bones. Like I said, he was cute. He was dressed in overalls and a horizontal striped long-sleeved shirt. I think striped shirts are adorable on little boys. I think horizontal striped shirts belong on little boys and nothing makes me want to vomit more than seeing an adult man in a bar wearing one. Usually, guys who wear that sort of shirt are also wearing too much of some horrible cologne. Something like Clear Water or something they sell at Abercrombie and Fitch and I hate them for it.  My little boy, provided it is a little boy, will be raised to not be like that. I realize that sounds crazy, but so be it.

I don’t know why I’m not dreaming about the kid or even really thinking about it all that much. I should be thinking about it more than the dad. Or at least it would make sense that I would be. I am the one carrying it. I see it every day.  I see how my huge midsection has made my legs look super skinny by comparison and I feel the skin stretching and the cantaloup sized growth in my belly. Shouldn’t that be seeping into my subconscious?  Am I blocking it out or is it because I do see it daily that I’m not dreaming about it of fixating on it. Does it make it less fantasy for me somehow? I read on all sorts of blogs and pregnancy sites that by 19 weeks, women are dreaming about their kids every night.  Some dream of mangled kids or their babies dying or car accidents or dog attacks or a million other horrible things.  Others dream about holding their kid and doing daily chores while running around with them. I don’t have any of that. I don’t even dream about shopping for the kid.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t really felt it move yet.  I did have two instances where I felt something but it surely wasn’t the fluttering, gold-fish swimming feeling I read all these other pregnant chicks talk about.  The first time was a couple weeks ago and I rolled over in bed really abruptly and I felt was could best be described as a thunk in my belly.  The next time, I had a really full bladder (per usual) and I also had a really strong desire for the juice of a whole lemon squeezed into a pint glass and mixed with water. It’s kind like lemonade but without the sugar. I’m not real big into sugar. I thought I would make my drink first and then go pee. Provided I didn’t sneeze, I would be fine. Why not sneezing? Oh, well, when I have to pee even a little and then I sneeze, I pee all over myself, like an old lady. Super.  Anyways, I was digging in the fridge looking for the lemons and couldn’t find them.  I had to bend halfway over and look on a lower shelf.  Just as I settled into looking position, I felt a dull thud reverberate through my uterine wall and my bladder. Joy! I ran to the bathroom to keep the pee from running down my leg and onto the floor. So there it was, a kick or a shoulder. That was a couple nights ago. I haven’t felt anything since and I didn’t dream of it that night or in the nights since. I have, strangely, dreamt of lemon water though.


Pregnancy and Little Corks

The amazing thing about pregnancy is that it doesn’t just affect the belly and general belly area.  Oh, no. The whole body is affected.  The skin thins.  All over the body the skin gets thinner. More blood also rushes through veins and capillaries and that is what causes the “glow” you’ll read all about with just a simple google search or two. This can also cause a little skin dryness.  I got it around my nose. Crusty, ouchy skin around the folds of my nose and I’m not like a Shar-Pei or anything, but let me tell you, it’s doesn’t matter the smallest little crease was painy. And red. Did I mention also a bit crusty? I’ve finally gotten that under control. I use the hippie oil that I bought for my stretching stomach skin on my face too. Problem solved.  You never read about that though. You never hear anyone say they needed to use their hippie oil all over their body, but there you have it. I use it all over my body, even on my face.  Amazingly, my skin has cleared. Totally cleared.  I’ve had problems with mild, hormonal acne since I was around 27 and had to use Retin A to get it to clear. Retin A also causes red, flaky, ouchy skin near my Shar-Pei folds, by the way.

Now, Retin A, my little life saver, cannot be used during pregnancy unless you want a retard kid.  Luckily, as soon as I got preggers, and I mean from the day the little monster became a splitting ball of cells, my skin started to clear on it’s own.  I can be a little bad about using my face cream.  Usually, when I forget to use it (Okay, I’m not going to lie. I don’t forget. I just don’t feel like using it because it makes my lips dry right after I apply it even though it doesn’t touch my lips and I have to wash my hands after I put it on and there’s the whole ouchy skin thing) I get about five days of clear skin and then a deep, horrible zit will start to form in some prominent place on my face and then I’ll start it back up again. This time though, I noticed nothing.  Not a single little zit. Not one raised spot. Not one extra black head. Super sweet.  I was wondering if I had finally fixed whatever hormonal problem I had been having.  Yeah, no. Well, I did, sort of. I’ve heard that the skin clearing can last after pregnancy and that would be super sweet.  I know it will stick around while I’m breast feeding so I may just breast feed forever. I’m a little freaked out by kiddos who can talk and walk up to the dairy bar and unleash a tit for lunch, but who knows.  If it keeps my skin clear, it might just be worth it.

I’ve been lucky so far not to have any problems with hemorrhoids. Thank god! I’m thinking I probably won’t have the pleasure of ouchy little grapes around my ass because I eat a whole lot of fiber. Like, a whole lot. Also, I drink tons of water and that helps.  Oh, and I take Cod Liver Oil capsules.  A little unrefined oil does wonders for the GI tract. In fact, a few years ago, long before I was knocked up, I was on a health bender and was taking Cod Liver Oil capsules.  The bottle said to take one or two with a meal.  It was a Friday night and I was eating alone because I was dating a Super Jew (should that be hyphenated?) who ate dinner with his parents every Friday and then went out drinking at the bar. That is the way young, hip Super Jews do it in LA. So, I ate my dinner, popped two capsules and washed them down with a glass or two of box wine and got dressed to go out. By the time he showed up to get me, I was starting to have little fish burps, but no matter! It was for my health. I was sure I could wash that down with plenty of bourbon and it would pass.  It did. Soon, I didn’t have the fishy burps anymore and all was fine.  The night was almost over and the bar had closed.  There were a few of us in the bar while the bartenders closed.  Just as my date and I were about to leave, I felt a small rumble in my tummy. A little gas slipped out. Normally, this isn’t a problem because I take a lot of probiotics and eat a really nice diet, so literally, my shit doesn’t stink.  Good thing too, but that was exactly what I had let out and it was dripping down my leg. Super! I ran to the bathroom and took care of that, I think without anyone noticing. Hopefully without anyone noticing. But, as I pushed the bathroom door open I noticed that the bar was completely dark! I had been locked in the bar! Shit!! I heard the gate screeching  back open just as I hollered “Hey!! I’m locked in the bar!” I wasn’t allowed to stay in the bar after close anymore after that. I haven’t tried in ages so I don’t know if that rule is still in effect, but I’m afraid the bartenders there have a pretty long memory. It’s just as well, I don’t drink that late in the night anyways, except water. So, moral of the story? Work up to two capsules. Take your time with it.

There are a whole lot of things you don’t hear much about though. I was in the shower the other day and roughing up my nipples as my mother suggested. It’s not as much fun as it sounds like.  Basically, when you start breastfeeding, your nipples can become like very chapped lips and start to crack and bleed and that is painful, obviously, so before you have a little monster latching on and ruining your nipple, you have to spend a few months roughing them up with washcloths or what have you. I think that may be the biological reason behind the constantly hard nipples. It makes sense to me. When they are hard all the time, they rub up against clothes all the time and that helps to toughen them up. Sigh, my nipples will never be the same again. They will now, forever, be tough. Well, at least I got years of enjoyment out of them first. There is something to be said for waiting till you’re in your 30s to spawn. The nipple roughing was going as expected but then I noticed this little white dots on my nipples.  It wasn’t like lint or anything like that. It was more like black heads.  I used my fingernail to scrape it off and it would lift up like a little waxy covering and then I could pull of the rest. Yes, it was exactly like a shallow blackhead, except it wasn’t because it was on my nipple.  Not my areola but on my nipple. My newly toughened nipples. Ewww. I did a little googling about this and found that the little blackhead like things were exactly that, like little blackheads.  I found one site that called them little corks on the top of my milk ducts. I kinda like that. So, now I have little corks coming out.  That means the next thing is leaking nipples. Yay!


Holy Hair!- Day 9

I rolled out of bed late this morning.  I had been waking sometime around 5 am, but for a couple of weeks now, my wake-ups have been later.  It may have something to do with me discovering the pleasures of a long cancelled show, “Dead Like Me,” poor Bryan Fuller can’t get any show to stick. It’s too bad, really because all of his shows are great. I understand some people don’t like the level of whimsey in his creations and I think those people stink. I’ve been watching the show late into the night and just because I have a new nighttime obsession doesn’t mean I need less sleep, so I sleep in later.  Considering that what you are reading right now is my “job” it doesn’t really seem to matter.  By the time I got up today, the sun was up and had warmed all of the warehouse district.  The sun felt fantastic outside and while I waited for my little, tiny dog to pee I raised my arms into the sky to meet the sun.  Deep breath in.  And out. Open eyes and look to the right.  Feel the stretch in the neck. See the blond hairs glistening in my armpit. Ah, time for a photo.  I missed yesterday, Day 8 because I was busy and tired. So, special treat we have another substantial day of growth.

Here we go! Behold! Nine days!


Out Of The Mouths Of Pervs

I don’t expect to get much special treatment because I went and came down with a case of the babies.  I don’t ride public transportation very often and this is Los Angeles, so no one else really does either.  I have rarely ever seen anyone standing who did not want to stand on the red line here.  I can say red line and have it do double meaning for metro or subway  because we really only have the one line.  We are about to have another. From Downtown to three miles from the beach. Yeah, that’s super smart, stupid Transit Authority. Oh, crap, where the hell did that come from?

I don’t expect to have doors opened because that I’m an incubator doesn’t affect my arms at all.  I can still move them with the same speed and skill as I could before. Which is quite speedily and skillfully. The only time I had doors opened for me before was when I was too little to open them myself (do you remember doors being too heavy to push open, I do) or when I was on the first couple dates with a new guy.  After a month the level of service would drop down and and I would be expected to open everything myself or risk looking like a prima dona. Sometimes, if I didn’t really like the guy so much (usually because he was not so stellar in the sack) I would just stand at the doors like my arms were broken until the door was opened by someone.  Sometimes, I even got called again by that very same guy. Occasionally. Ok fine, twice. Two times. FINE, it was one guy and I think he had a micropenis.

The one thing I would like from the population at large is to be able to walk about and not be oogled.  I know if I’m wearing something tight or mini and heels then I’m going to hear a few comments from seemingly very confident men.  What I don’t expect is when I’m visibly knocked up and wearing a loose summer dress (okay fine, it wasn’t exactly a summer dress, more like a long summer shirt, but it was loose) and flats is to be told what someone would like to do with my ass (eat it) or my legs (wrap them around their head) or my mouth (I didn’t hear all of that one because an ambulance passed by but the start of it was gross.) I actually even thought that when girls are pregnant things like that didn’t happen anymore.  They way you hear dudes talk about cherishing and respecting pregnancy because the miracle of life, blah, god’s miracle, blah blah, carrying my little homie or what have you, you would think they would leave the knocked up chick alone.

Shouldn’t the belly be a big sign that they are not going to get to do any of the fun suggestions they are throwing out there? You would think they would be repulsed by it.  Some other guy got there first and befouled the place. Shouldn’t that be gross for another guy? Don’t they think about this shit? I know the fellas I was talking to and kinda hanging around with took the fuck off when I told them I was carrying a little monster.  Actually, that is kinda a lie, one did call me to see if it was possibly his. I explained that would have been pretty miraculous for that to happen as the sperm would have had to move from the back of my hand all the way to my uterus and that would be amazing.  By the way, hand jobs are totally back for the mid-late thirties set.  It’s like we’ve regressed to Junior High.

The point is though, pregnant chicks should be able to walk around and not hear cat calls.  We should get just six months in our lives, the six months that we are visibly off the market, to be able to walk in peace. I will even give a bit of leeway in this request, how about, if it is nighttime and the girl in question is wearing dark clothing and it’s hard to see if she is preggers, then feel free to cat call, but once you notice that the girl is out of order you quickly apologize out your car window (this totally happened last Friday when I was on my way to La Cita to visit with a few friends and the worst bar tender in all of LA.  I was totally fine with it.  Once I heard the “Oh, fuck, she’s pregnant, SORRY!” I was okay.  Totally forgiven.  Not his fault.

I cannot be so forgiving, however, during the day, when I’m walking towards a non-homeless man, and wearing a flowy dress-type thing with the wind blowing towards me and my belly sticking out past my boobs and still get to have what type of lingerie I would look best in yelled at me.  I’ve always been completely confounded my this type of cat-calling anyways. What, exactly, is the response these guys want? Do they want girls to go up to them and show them with type of undergarments their are currently wearing? Do they want an intelligent discussion in fit and form? I have seen a hooker go up to a guy who had a remark like that and just strip down, but I don’t know if that would be appropriate in the afternoon downtown.

So guys, how about it? How about you give me a few months of peace? I probably won’t be having anymore children so all I’m really asking for, in my whole life is less than one year to walk about without hearing creative ideas of what you would like to do with my vagina and what you would like to put in my mouth. I promise, as soon as I have the kid, I won’t feel disgusted by you anymore.  I may even flip you off when you holler at me or even, if you’re lucky, tell you to go fuck yourself. Okay guys? Deal?


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