The Pros and Cons of Being Pregnant

There are some obvious pros:

1. You don’t have to TTC any more!

2. If all goes well, you’re going to have a cute little baby some day.

3. Most people are extremely nice to you.

4. You don’t have to carry heavy things.

5. You don’t have to change the poop box.

6. You get big bo0bs.

7. No period!

And some less-obvious pros:

1. When you finally get to break out the summer dresses, you don’t get the rude awakening to the fact that if you dare wear a summer dress, you are asking for men to be obnoxious to you in the streets. You can just enjoy your dress and feel almost invisible to the annoying harrassing-type men. Those that maybe don’t notice at first your protruding belly, take it back immediately, “Oh, sorry, ma’am. I swear I had nothing to do with that baby. I want a paternity test, Ricky!”

2. You are eating for two. You’re supposed to be eating carefully and healthily for two. But when you reach for that second helping of ice cream, those are the words that pop into your head. Fat is good for the fetal brain development, no?

3. Pregnancy card comes in handy for all sorts of unexpected things. Messy house? Sick day? Pregnant. Late library books? Bad outfit? Feel like sitting on your a$$? Pregnant. Not that I would use my condition in such a way.

The obvious cons, people talk about:

1. First trimester issues: nausea, sore boobs, puke, food aversions.

2. You’re tired.

3. You look bloated.

4. You feel bloated.

5. You’re carrying around some extra weight.

6. No booze.

Here are some cons nobody talks so much about. I’m not saying I’ve had any or all of these. I’m just saying, I’ve been reading a lot of pregnancy guides, since I’m trying to sort of write one:

1. Sudden bloody noses.

2. A third nipple. (Or fourth. Or fifth.)

3. You are more likely to have yeast infections.

4. You are more likely to be called a breeder by a jerk.

5. You are way more likely to pee in your pants.

6. All of the drugs you are allowed to take suck. You’d have better luck using a voodoo doll on yourself.

7. Evil tests that make you think there is going to be something wrong with your baby, when everything is really ok. They do these “screens” that have way more false positives than necessary, causing undo stress, I think. If I were really worried, I probably would have gone straight for the amnio, frankly. But I’m not.

8. You get big b0obs. If you never had them before, and you wanted them when you were in junior high, you realize that that was a silly waste of time. They are sweaty things that get in the way a weigh you down. I want my mosquito bites back, please.

9. If you have another kid, you can no longer roughhouse with him. If you do, you’re honey gives you that, “You’re doing something dumb,” look. Then you feel dumb, yet rebellious.

10. Random people walk up to you on the street and tell you your baby is dropping. Or you’re having twins.

11. You don’t get to lift heavy things.

12. Skin tags

13. Worst of all… some of your friends still have to TTC.  And it sucks.

Feel free to add to the list!

Beeeeeeyotch = Me

Today I had, like, PMS X100.

I woke up with a headache.

I woke up with a yeast infection.

I woke up bitcheeeeee.

So all I have to say, is if you see a woman waddling toward you with a big belly, and she’s not glowing…

RUN AWAY!

(And god help you if she’s your teacher.)

You Get a Pull-Up!

My two-year-old has a very two-year-old habit of occasionally talking back. In other words, if you say, “Cakie, I need you to calm down.” He might snap back, “You calm down!” Nice, right?

So the other day, I was suggesting he get some clothes on his naked body while at Gwen, our neighbor’s house.

He and Gwen’s son, his buddy Hymen, like to splash in the bath together on occasion.

So I said, “Get your pull-up on, then your jammie jams, ok?”

He replied, “No, you put your pull-up on!”

I thought about how well he poops in the potty, but prefers to pee in a pull-up most of the time. So I said, “Mommy doesn’t need a pull-up because she goes to the potty every time she has to pee. You won’t need a pull-up when you do that, either.”

Pause.

Then Gwen and I looked at each other.

She smirked.

I got a clear mental image of the bowling ball bouncing on my bladder every time I cough.

“Maybe,” I whispered to Gwen,  “mommy does need a pull-up.”

30 Weeks

How did this happen?

In 7 to 12 weeks, I will be a mother of two.

I will be trying to breastfeed Cakie’s little brother.

I will be nursing post-partum wounds, as well.

I will no longer be the main attraction.

I will be even more tired than I am today. Which is pretty tired. Pretty feeling-like-the-first-trimester tired.

We went out for lunch with a friend at a cafe. We walked home. I took a two-hour nap. That’s all I did today and I am BEAT.

I will also be pretty darned pleased with myself.

Here’s my 30 week belly:

Cakie was hilarious when I took the picture. He said, “Oh no! Your belly. What happened? It’s so big.” (I was pretty sure he’d taken in this information already.)

“That’s because your baby brother is in there.”

“When will it get small?”

“When the baby comes out it will get smaller. [I hope.] But first it will get bigger.”

“Oh, no.”

Then he took my belly button between his fingers and squeezed it shut like a smiley face.

“Dare. Dat’s all better.”

I have happily decided to take the last two weeks off from school. I have 37 sick days to use (who knew?), and taking that time off will only amount to 9 days. So I’m psyched. This means I have six weeks left to work. Hopefully, the bambino won’t come right away, so I can spend a good chunk of time working on my book and sorting out Cakie’s clothes before the big event.

I’ve even received a few baby presents! One of my students gave me three little outfits. So cute! And my mom is going to buy me this fly stroller. Except she was going to buy it when it was on sale. And I missed the sale. I was lamenting this to a friend who called just as I found out about my lame-a-tude for missing the sale. She offered to make up the difference. I know it seems like a lot to spend on a stroller, but New York is different. Plus, so many people here buy $1,000 strollers that this seems downright thrifty.

Poetry Contest

Help me out, people.

As you know, my need to spend time in the bathroom has increased exponentially in the last few weeks. I don’t think that that should also include the necessity to read bad “poetry.” In several of the teachers’ bathrooms I frequent at school during the day, I am forced to read the following:

If you sprinkle when you tinkle,

Please be neat and wipe the seat.

If you are in a rush,

Please don’t forget to flush.

With a SMILE.

Ugh. It makes me want to pee all over the stall, frankly.

The “With a SMILE ” part particularly makes my skin crawl.

So I thought I’d do a little poetry exchange/vandalism.

I need you people to write something better. I appreciate the sentiment, which is partly why I have yet to tear the annoying things down. But I fear that they will be replaced with the same, if not more grating verse. So help me out.

Write a new poem. It should be something a pregnant gal wouldn’t mind reading and re-reading some six times a day. Try to include the same message in a less condescending, nails-screeeching-on-a-blackboard manner. Try to write something to which the other teachers will say as they relieve themselves, “Oh thank god I have a moment of peace the isn’t interrupted by rhyming couplets, ALL CAPS and smiley faces.”

The winner will be published anonymously in several teachers’ bathrooms in a public school in Brooklyn. The winning poet will also have for a prize my eternal gratitude. Umm, and I’ll throw in some fresh-baked virtual brownies.

Write. Write like the wind.

The Birds and the Bees

It was a particularly, umm, fertile day in my classroom.

My kids have been very chatty and it has been hard to get anything done. During morning meeting, I asked them to please raise their hands if they had something they wanted to say. Many of them raised their hands and blurted out non-sequiters. The discussion ended something like this:

Student A: I’m going to the dentist and I’m still scared.

Student B: Are you having a boy baby or a girl?

Me: I’m having a boy.

Student C: But Ms. M? Where do babies come from?

Me: I think it is time to read the morning message.

Random kids: giggle, chuckle, tee hee hee

(I probably should have said Calif0rnia Cry0bank. That would have been good for a few blank stares.)

Later, as I was walking my class down to recess, I heard an unusual amount of giggling and chuckling. I turned around to find that half of the boys in my class had taken their sweaters, balled them up, and put them under their shirts. “We have babies!” the pregnant boys exclaimed.

On our walk to the public library, half of the class suddenly stopped and encircled something on the sidewalk. When I went to investigate, it seems they found a fledgling, fallen to the sidewalk from its nest. It didn’t make it. “I just feel sorry for that Mama Bird,” was all I could say.

We continued to walk, another one of my students had put his books inside his pullover fleece jacket, holding it like a bag with the neck hole at the bottom. He actually said, “My baby! My baby! Its head is coming out!”

Can this just be spring in the air? Should I leave my belly at home?

Introducing My Lovely Co-Host

…er — author.

Yeah.  I have a co-author for my book.

She started her blog three years ago with the intention of eventually writing the very same book I had started blabbing on about a few months back.  So when she wrote to me and asked me if I’d consider a co-author, I thought hard, but not too long.  I mean, who wants a fabulous writer to write and publish and have on the shelves the same book you’ve always wanted to write, when the two of you could do it together?  I’ve always loved reading her blog and I even had one of her posts printed out and in my book folder to read for inspiration.  Plus, working alone can make one turn into a procrastinatrix.  When you’re beholden to a co-author, however, you might actually get stuff done.  I was worried about writing a book with a person I’d never met in real life before.  The prospect that writing with her could make my experience and the book just, well–better, overrode my fears and invited her  co-write with me.

Good move, I think.  We’re pert-near finished with our proposal.  We need a few statistics, that’s all.  Oh, and apparently, a sample chapter or two.  So that’s next.

I won’t even blush when I say this: it is a good read, damnit.  I’d say it more humbly, but I can’t.  I’m not only pretty confident that we can get it published, but I think it will sell well and fill a very-needed hole on the bookshelf in the local GBLT bookstore.

Without further ado…

She’s nutty, she’s bitter,

She’s one spicy bitch,

Introducing my one and only co-author…

Chicory.

PS My belly button is just about to pop like the little timer thing on a thanksgiving turkey.  You didn’t think I’d actually write a post without one mention of my belly, did you?

Happy Birthday Two…

…my blog.

This is part II of a year-long self-centered retrospective on my TTC/pregnancy journey.  This is the pregnancy part.  I have tell you about these dykemom friends who have two kids about 14 months apart.  They had had trouble getting pregnant.  I remember when the second-to-get-pregnant mom was pregnant and we were hanging out with them in the midst of my TTC.  She said, “You know a year and a half ago when we were trying to get pregnant, it felt like it would never end.  Now we have created this whole family.”  I would think back to that when I hit rough spots in my TTC journey.  I would think…just imagine a year from now.  It helped.  So if you’re still TTC, maybe this will help a little.  I hope.

In December I waited and waited for baby Jo and Nelly’s baby P to be born.  And they were. Nelly turned into a home-birth superstar and is now my default midwife.  I got through my first trimester hump (sort-of).  And I got to see my still-nicknameless fetus– should I call him John Doe?  My honey wouldn’t let me nickname him Pretty Boy.  Why?  Because he’s not a parakeet?  Anyway, I got to see him during my nuchal ultrasound, at which point I decided that he was so pretty, I would use the pronoun, “she.”  Gender, schmender.  It is overrated, I say.

In January, I became a tired sales grrrl in a Brooklyn department store.

In February, I worried.  Because, you know, that’s new!

I think I was a little bored in March.  I mean, my posts were a little boring.  The second trimester is a happy time.  Happy’s not always interesting.  But my little Cakeman did figure out that he’s going to be a big bwother.

This month I wrote this post I like a lot. It is something I think about often, but never expressed in words.

Please… I have left-over cake.  Eat!  Dulce de Leche ice cream?  Bring me your bowl.

Happy Birthday to….

…my blog!  And my mom!

I won’t say how old my mother is.  She looks almost as young as me and her spirit is that of a twenty-year-old while I still sometimes trip over into worried grandma mode.  So happy happy, My Mama.

My blog is one year old today.  I thought I’d do what I’ve seen some folks do before.  I’ll give you my favorite posts by month.

One year ago I was getting impatient with trying to get pregnant at home.  I was a lot younger, I feel, than I am today.  Not in a good or bad way.  I just feel like a lot has happened in a year.  I decided to blog about it.  I think it was a good decision.  This blog and the folks who read it have become an important part of my life.  Though I’ve managed to pis$ some people off (including myself) with the blog, overall I’m glad I decided to show what I own.

In May I went to my first appointment with Dr. Mug– the man who eventually knocked me up, so to speak.  One post that comes up a lot from May was about how my neighbor and I were both on Clomid, so we called ourselves the WonderTwins.  For some reason beyond my ken, there are folks–lots of them– who want to know if Clomid will give them twins, or more nuttily, how they can get twins by taking Clomid.  So they google “Clomid Twins” and come up with that blog  entry.  But my favorite post from May was about Biology.  I had run out of my Cakie donor sperm.  I mused about why biology seems so important to so many of us.

In June I wrote my most popular post ever.  It gives me an ego boost, my dears.  And it really makes me happy that I’m writing my book finally.

In July I found my babydaddy…er — donor.

August found me driving back and forth from Wildwood, NJ to Manhattan several times while on “vacation” to get my blood-tests and an IUI.  Then, I soon found out that just because I act like a martyr, does not mean I get to be a  pregnant martyr.  You guys cheered me up.  Thanks for that.

September was a little crazy.  I did my first round of injectionables.  The timing was off, so I only had one good egg.  In other words, I gave myself an injection in the stomach every day for two weeks for no reason at all.  Then I got even crazier and became conVINCED I was pregnant because my b0obs hurt.  I mean, they hurt just like a pregnant lady’s b00bs hurt.  Now I know.  So I was walking around as though I were pregnant, touching my belly, talking to the “embryo,” etc.  Of course when the blood came that month it was a really bad scene.  I was cheered up, however by the arrival of a certain blessed star.

October was a very lucky month indeed.  Egg met sperm at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  How cool is that?

I didn’t find out about the eggy/spermy rendezvous until November.  It was weird.  I didn’t really want to tell people, once I knew for sure and I had gotten the pink ghost and the beta.  But you all were checking and checking and checking, so I had to let you know.  That’s when I pissed myself off. I’d blogged myself into a corner, so to speak.

This post is taking about a year to write.  I need to go lie down.  I’ve covered the TTC portion of the year.  Tomorrow I’ll write part II about my pregnancy.

Thanks for reading.  Have some cake.

Going Second

I can’t decide if being the second one to give birth is better or worse.

Since I knocked her up at home, I think I may have had an unrealistic idea of how easily I could get pregnant.  I felt like we were experts.  I only bought 6 vials of our first child’s donor juice. Yet somehow I managed to mess up my charting and not know that frozen sperm only lasts 24 hours.  Not expert.  How was I to know it would take me a year and a half?  Then I had all of that anxiety as it wasn’t working for my partner, that I wasn’t getting any younger, either.  I, of course, didn’t want to bring that up with her just to add insult to injury.

Being with my partner as she suffered, yes suffered, through her pregnancy gave me a very realistic lens through which to experience the whole process.  After her pregnancy I wanted to be pregnant, but I no longer idealized it, that’s for sure.  I got to go through a series of childbirth classes before I even had my first insemination.  I already have parent friends.  I already have all the baby supplies.  I know how to change a diaper in the dark of evening or on a park bench.  I can hear a baby cry and scream and not have my hair turn gray.  I’ve steeled myself for breastfeeding in general and especially in public.  I feel ready…readyish.  My honey never got the chance to go into active labor.  Sooooo, I haven’t actually been in the room for a vaginal birth, or even extremely heavy contractions.  I do know what to expect from a C-section and the recovery.  But I’m hoping not to be in the room for another one of those.

When my honey was pregnant… for any first pregnancy in a lesbian couple’s life together, the pregnant one can relax while the other one coddles her and attempts to do all the housework.  If the pregnant one is zonked and wants to go to bed early, the other one can go for a walk in the park, or out for a drink with friends.  This all seemed hard to me when I was the not pregnant one.  I felt guilty (but happy) when I went out without her.  I felt exhausted doing all the housework.  My honey was too tired to do the laundry, but she always did the folding, I assume because she was also feeling guilty because I was doing so much of the housework.

Now that I’m pregnant, we’re not the only two people who live here. I’m not the only one who needs coddling. If I’m exhausted and want to go to bed at 6, I can’t really.  If I do, I leave all of the toddler care to my honey.  If I fall asleep upon getting home from work, my honey can’t go out for a walk or have coffee with friends.  She has to coerce a two-year-old to eat, read him books, chase him around the house pretending to be a puppy, then bathe and put him to bed.  Though I have had my share of naps and sleeping in late (late is 8 am, when you have a toddler, BTW), it is just not the same as laying down knowing your partner is going out to enjoy herself somewhere or relaxing in a similar manner in the house.  There’s a guilt shift.  One part of me wishes my honey had not felt guilty for doing little housework the first time around.  Apparently, “little” was a key word there, because actually I was doing just a little work, though it felt like a lot at the time. I am so grateful to my honey for doing so much for me and with Cakie.  (Including reminding me  constantly to stop picking him up.)  I know what she’s going through.  But I really don’t.  I’m glad that my pregnancy has been easier than hers in this aspect, because It would have been 1000 times harder for both of us if the difficult pregnancy came when the toddler was running around the house.

Would I trade places?  Would I have liked to go first?  I don’t know.  I’m still not sure which one is better.