Is My Glow Showing?

I subscribe to Magnolia magazine because I’ve never disagreed with Joanna Gaines’ taste, hustle, or passion for family. Unfortunately, my love affair may have come to a screeching halt when she was quoted to say, “I have always really enjoyed being pregnant-- because I tend to feel my best during those 9 months.” We used to be cool JoJo. Do not get me wrong, pregnancy is a miracle and absolutely no part of me is ungrateful for my body’s ability to create life. I would withstand any amount of pain and discomfort if it meant my baby is waiting for me on the other side. That being said—let's stop with all this glowy, beaming, nonsense we claim as truth during pregnancy. If you did happen to have that miracle please keep it to yourself, claiming radiance is no way to make mom friends during playgroup.

As a whole my hyperemesis seems to have subsided and am left now with random spouts (pun intended) of sickness. Last week, I woke up feeling parched from a particularly intense workout with Fit4Mom the night before. Along with my conservative allotment of coffee, I drank at least 20 oz of water with breakfast. I had just started the process of loading up my kids to head out to the children’s art studio, ArtBeast, in Sacramento and Charlotte was frustrated because she has inherited my sensitivity to uncomfortable clothing which typically peaks every day in her car seat when the seatbelt causes dresses and skirts to become too tight and restricting. She had picked out a new fluffy tutu dress and was screaming while attempting to take it off. Madeleine used this opportunity to kick her leg out and lightly tap Charlotte on her feet, which as anyone with two kids knows, is the equivalent of challenging their sibling to a duel and this only made Charlotte cry harder. My 3rd, unborn child, determined to participate in her own way in the chaos; and so without warning the entire contents of my stomach projected out of my nose and mouth like that scene from the Exorcist onto our front lawn. The momentum rocked me off balance and I attempted to steady myself while blindly reaching out into our rose bushes only to grab a fistful of thorns. This lasted for exactly 3 minutes and 57 seconds and I only know this because I made it through one round of Elton John singing, “Can you Feel the Love Tonight”, which we listen to on repeat every moment we are in the car. Thankfully my theatrics quieted the kids since I just provided them with music and a show all before 9 o’clock in the morning.

So while we can agree on our love of shiplap and oversized clocks, Joanna and I disagree on pregnancy bringing out our best. What I can say is that I re-brushed my teeth, hosed down my lawn and we made it to ArtBeast without further puke or protest; because while in no way do I feel like a beacon of fruitful radiance, I sure know how to do the multi-tasking mommy hustle.


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The Waiting Game

Imagine you are going to have to saw your own arm off, except you don’t know exactly when it will happen, and people keep telling you everything will be OK, but to drink lots of water. This is where I’m at.

There’s something about the last two weeks of pregnancy that does something to you mentally. Physically it’s painful and uncomfortable, but if left alone in your own head you will most definitely start imagining 14 pound newborns and the teenage anesthesiologist claiming to be out of epidurals. Even dreams don’t provide any relief because that’s when you give birth to twin boys who can’t stop screaming, so when you finally wake up to search for them in your bed you see one confused husband and two sleepy dogs.

Besides some sort of magical Buddha that says, your baby will be born on this day at this time; all you really want is your OBGYN velcroed to you at all times, constantly repeating, “That’s normal”. I’ve set up my very own personal block to WebMD and unfortunately the one number we are allowed to dial at this point is Labor and Delivery. Ironically, this is the only time during the pregnancy when they throw caution to the wind and don't tell you to come in unless your baby is almost crowning.

It’s important to remind yourself that none of this is logical. There is an entirely formed human being camping out inside my watermelon sized uterus just waiting to call me, “Mom”. I’m the only person that can complete this task and thankfully I have my very own cheerleading squad of family and friends: we are having T-shirts made. It feels good that everyone has confidence in my abilities, and in the moments I’m not having contractions or I forget what’s about to happen, I too feel very capable. So here is the good news: this uncertainty, fear, and bowel-shaking panic sets the stage perfectly for what's to come in parenthood. 

What it's all for.

What it's all for.

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5 Things People Must Say to Extremely Pregnant Women

1). My guess is she’ll weigh…

This is a carnival game that I definitely don’t remember signing up for. It should be a general rule that all things related to weight and women should be off the limits, but since there are no boundaries when it comes to pregnancy, by all means estimate away and I’ll remember to high five you after she’s born if you’re correct.  

2). When is she coming?

If I knew that I wouldn’t be wasting my time talking to you, and I’d stop going on looking for cheap rooms across the street from the hospital. Even when you go to your doctors appointments towards the end, they have no idea and give annoyingly vague answers like, “it could be today or two weeks from now.” I’m pretty sure that they are just making up words like "dilated" and "effaced" because it sounds helpful and they are just tired of answering the same questions.

3). When’s your due date again?

I’d like to have a shirt made (and by shirt I mean wearable tent): It’s a girl, no I won’t tell you her name because you’ll find a way to ruin it for me, her due date is September 25th. Have a nice day.

 4). How are you feeling?

We all know how I feel about this questions: but I will reiterate for emphasis. This doesn’t feel great people. I have a bowling ball dangerously close to my bladder and even though I’ve tried to avoid the waddle, sometimes it’s the only way that walking feels comfortable.  

5). I’m just so uncomfortable for you…

This is an odd form of sympathy, sort of like I feel your pain. Except that you don’t and unless you can magically birth this baby for me, your words are not helping and now I have to pee… again.

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