Tag Archives: tears

More Shopping and Strategic Kicks

I realized, I needed to finish my shopping trip from the other day.  After I finally finished looking through the racks of horrible little boy baby monster clothes, I made my way over to the bra and undies section.  I had to cross the housewares and managed to not pick up the cute railroad lantern I saw and even fondled a bit.  It just doesn’t make sense to buy things for my house when I will be moving all of the contents of it in about a week.  It can wait, and I’m sure Oregon will have equally cute things in their off-price retail stores. I wade through the lacy underpants and find myself in the 34 section of the bras.  I walk all the way down to the end and see that they only seem to have a few 34Ds there, so I assume the big girl bras must all be together.  You know, like the 34Ds will be chilling with the 40DDD and the like.  Maybe so as not to make the 34Bs feel strange about their normal sized breasts.  So, I walk over to the other side of the section. Yeah, this has got to be it. No longer do I see any bras made with transparent lace or delicate straps.  The suckers on this end are made to seriously support some serious boobage. I saw one that had 2 inch over the shoulder straps! Wow, that is some bra.  It was, horribly, a 42FF.  I couldn’t imagine having either parts of that size! Whenever I see that sort of thing, I find myself imagining the woman who would wear that bra. It’s a little frightening.  There is no part of my body, even half way through a pregnancy, that measures 42 inches and I’m really, really happy for that.  Although, I just measured and I’m not too far from that.  My belly at its biggest is 39 inches around and is officially the biggest it has ever been.

At any rate, I walked my way down to the end of the aisle and couldn’t find anything smaller than a 38D.  Clearly, I was wrong about keeping the 34Ds down here. So, back to the other end again and again no luck.  There were still only a couple bras and to tell you quite frankly, I really have zero need for lacy balconette style bras right now and I certainly don’t think I’ll ever need one that says FUBU on it.  Just as I’m anti-advertising for infant wear, I’m equally anti-advertising for myself and really, really agains advertising on my bits and pieces.  Ross had failed me.  But, I seriously needed a new bra so I headed over to Nordstrom and the welcoming arms of soft jazz and actual sales people.

Once I hit Nordstrom, I had a very brief stop in Salon Shoes and salivated a little tiny bit over some amazing boots that would be amazing, but they are just a little too unreasonable right now. Soon though. Soon. They will be mine and even better, I will get them on sale.  I hoped on the escalator and headed over to bras.  I looked around for no longer than a minute when a lovely woman approached me.  I asked her if they had nursing bras.  I was figuring, if I’m going to go to the bother of spending $50 on a bra, I might as well get one that will last me for a good long while and will be useful after the little pumpkin head is born. Shit, I hope the kid doesn’t have a pumpkin sized head. Ouch. Maybe one of those little table top decorator pumpkins but surely not one of those County Fair pumpkins. ::cringe::  Okay, enough with that horrible thought!

She ushers me into a dressing room and I tell her I really need to be fitted as I am (pointing to my belly) preggers and my boobs keep getting and bigger.  I tell her the last time I was fitted was 6 months before I was pregnant and I was a 34C. She looked at me and told me that had clearly changed.  So, I strip down to my bra.  Embarrassingly, I was wearing a bralette that at one time fitted my body and no longer did and was also frayed from a couple weeks of wearing it over my newly enormous breast.  She measured my rib cage and tells me I’m still a 34. Sweet. And then turned me around and took a good look.  I was either a DD or a DDD. Yeah, that’s right. DDD. 34DDD. Not only had pregnancy given me a lovely glow and pleasant disposition, it had now given me DDD. Maybe.  She left the room and came back with a nursing bra and two non-nursing but very sturdy looking but stretchy bras for me to try.  I went with the regular bras.  I didn’t even want to try on the nursing bra.  It was cute and all, as cute as a bra that has a built in pocket for nursing pads can be, but it just didn’t feel right.  I wanted a regular one. One last regular bra purchase. I’m going to be in nursing bras for the next 18 months to 2 years anyways, why jump the gun? Shit. I’m going to be a food source for nearly two years. That is so crazy. I swear, sometimes it just hits me and this is all so foreign and so strange. I know other first timers out there go through this too.  Sometimes I just want to back out, but um, that’s not really possible and not even legal in most states at this point. I don’t really want to anyways, just sometimes it gets a little real and then I get a little freaked and then I breath and I feel better.  There. Now. I feel better.

On with the story.  She did bring in a DD as well so I try that on and the bra is just too big. It’s for sure an old lady bra and while I don’t normally wear anything flashy, I still don’t wear bras that cover my breast bone almost to my throat as there is nothing remotely sexy about that. Well, I guess a plastic surgeon might find that sexy because he knows that properly fitted bras, worn 24 hrs a day, will be holding breasts that stay in the upright position when the bra does come off for a few minutes. Other than that, they are not sexy or nice to look at.  I don’t want to be Grandma F. She had huge boobs and they were always trussed up in these amazing contraptions. They were always beige. They were always cone shaped. They were always there to make my sister and I laugh when we would poke around in the grandparents dressers when we were visiting them in Florida. Yeah, my grandparents lived in Florida. They had orange trees and were drunk by 11 am every day and played golf.  We were that kind of family.

She gives me the demi version of the huge bra in a DD and that was actually okay. My only concern was that it fit a little too well.  I could see a little area that was a bit too snug and new I would be grown out of it within a fortnight. So, I told her this and she ran off to the store room and came back…empty handed.  The less horrible of the two horrible bras. The two bras they carry that will both support me and will stretch with me as I continue to grow into possibly FF size do not come in the same size range.  If I want the one that will fit me in a week and extend the time I can wear it, I will have to go with the nana bra. I breathed a deep sigh and resigned myself to it.  After all, what I’m going for here is support so I don’t end up with utters at the end of this whole making and feeding a baby thing.

So, there I was.  She left me in the room to get back into my ridiculous “bra.” I looked at myself in the mirror and shed a figurative little tear.  A tear for my body. A tear for my style. Then I looked down at my big belly in the mirror and the little stinker gave me a little kick in my full bladder and made me pee a little.  So much for feeling sorry for myself. I had to get a bathroom, now.

So, here we have one of the old bras over the new one. Incase you are wondering, the black one now sits well under my nipples.

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Cleft Lips

Last night, instead of sleeping at 9:30, like I wanted to do, like I thought I was going to do, I decided to turn on the ol’ iTunes and listen to The Best of Elton John while I searched the internet for things that would make me worry.  This is a totally healthy thing to do. Nothing like a little fretting about birth defects to make you drift right off to restful sleep. Right? Elton John was also probably not the best idea either, have you really listened to “Candle in The Wind” or even worse they version he wrote for the late Princess Di? I swear I just teared up thinking about it.   Since I have become preggers and even long before I found out, I’ve been so emotional.  I cry at the drop of a hat.  I’ve found this totally useful when trying to get government services and when trying to see the doctor closer to my appointment time than the hour and half or so they will force you to wait at the County Hospital, other than that though, it’s pretty annoying.  It makes me feel like a basket case.  Let’s not pretend that I’m not a basket case because I totally am, but it’s really the only thing that makes me feel like I am.

I think I hold it together pretty well most of the time.  As a rule, I don’t spend much of my time worrying about things or thinking in worse case scenarios.  It’s not that I stick my head in the sand, but I don’t think much can be gained by focusing on what can go wrong almost to the exclusion of what can and probably will go right.  For some strange reason, I guess probably because I’m at the point of not return with the pregnancy, I have thrown that philosophy  right out the window.  By the way, totally off topic, I just tried to spell philosophy, phyllosophy, yeah like phyllo. As in thin, buttery, flakey phyllo. Mmmm. Baklava. Mmmmm. Okay, enough of that little side bar, back to the matter at hand.  There really is nothing I can do about this pregnancy. I have ruled out abortion, obviously, but it was always still a possibility. I wasn’t illegal for me to do it before.  I could still get it done if there was something wrong with the little monster or if there was something wrong with me, but now, it’s out.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I don’t want this kiddo.  I do.  I just think about how hard this world can be for people who are not bright or attractive or “normal” and it really scares the hell out of me. I wasn’t normal looking as a teenager, but that was my own doing.  No one made me shave my head or die my hair purple (actually it was dusty rose and it was a really awesome color) or wear black lipstick. I could change that at any point.  I still dealt with staring and being called names and it sucked, but at least it if I got tired of it, I could normal it up my suffering would be over.  If I have a little retard kid, there is no amount of self-reflection and J. Crew that is going to make it fit it and stop the taunting. God, just listen to this. What an asshole I am. Who the fuck do I think I am saying things like “how hard this world can be.” See? Fucking emotional.

Anyhoo, I’ve seen that the kid has all it’s little arms and legs, it should have four of each, right?  It’s head is average size and it’s misshapen little body is what is to be expected and is the proper size in relation to the head and limbs. I still don’t know what kind of monster I’m having.  Whale has been ruled out, because of the size and because the nasal cavities appear to be in the middle of the face now that the eyes have begun to migrate from the sides of it’s little squishy head. With whales, the nasal cavity starts to move to the tops of their noggins. Their eyes don’t move. They stay on the sides, but they lose their gills too, just like us.  Oh and yes, I did spend four hours a week or so ago watching NatGeo programs with titles like “Inside the Womb: Puppies” and “Inside the Womb: Dolphins.”

The only I can’t see right now, is if there are probably with the skin itself so naturally, that is the sort of birth defect I focused on last night.  Now, a cleft palate, involves the bone in the top of the mouth that separates the mouth from the nasal cavities.  When this is malformed, which it can be without skin involvement or with it, all sorts of fun things can happen. Things like the babeeh not being able to feed properly or snot dripping from the nasal cavities directly into the mouth and making the kid gag on it’s own snot. Yeah, I know, of course I would be able to sleep after reading and thinking about that. Well, luckily for me and my little monster, bone defects are fairly easily seen at the normal ultrasound and so far so good.  The palate appears to be formed normally.  Cleft lip is when there is no bone involvement but just the skin of the upper lip is involved.  Again, there can be problems with breast feeding, but not nearly as bad as with the cleft palate. Relatively speaking, it’s a simple fix, but speaking like a normal person, I would prefer not to have to fix anything on my kid when I pop it out.  I would prefer for it to come out perfect.  In time, it can decide to do with itself, but I want the little monster to be perfectly normal on arrival.

I really should try not to tip my arm towards the camera. It makes it look huge. I swear my arms haven't gotten even a little bigger.


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