Friday marked the day I turned 22 weeks pregnant. It was another good week with a decent amount of energy and many people telling me how good I look (which does wonders for this pregnant woman's ego). I'm feeling the kiddo kicking on a regular basis, and let me tell you, it just never gets old. I miss feeling him move when he's silent, although many women have told me that I will soon be wishing for him not to be moving so much.
We had a very nice moment on Thursday night. I was lying on the couch, and Roy started reading a Beatrix Potter story to Bunlet. Right away Bunlet kicked me with all his might and kept kicking as Roy kept reading. It was pretty perfect. We are both so smitten with our little guy, who seems to just love books and music like we do.
This week was also characterized by some very strange and vivid dreams, one of which had to do with Bunlet ending up being a girl. On Monday I have my follow-up ultrasound, so let's just say that I'll be asking the tech to confirm that he is indeed a boy. I don't feel that my dream is some kind of prophecy, but we never really did get a great money shot during our big ultrasound. It'd be nice to get one this time around.
Here I am this week:
I look so tired in this picture.
For some reason, the Nest has decided that the entirety of month 5 will be represented by a papaya. I guess they ran out of fruits to compare the baby to. So I guess by the end of month 5, Bunlet will be the size of a much bigger papaya than the smaller papaya size he is now.
So, I said earlier that it was a good week, and it was. But still, I need to do some venting. So here goes.
I hate registering.
I hated registering for our wedding, and I hate registering for baby stuff. Yes, it's fun to pick out sheets and a stroller and all that other fun baby stuff. But I had no clue how hard it really would be. I had no flipping idea that in choosing what products you want for your baby, you're kind of making....eep....parenting choices. Will you buy a swing, a jumper, a gym, a stationary play station? Will you use disposable or cloth diapers? Will you use chlorine-free baby wipes? Will you formula feed or breastfeed? Will you use a bumper in the crib? Will you co-sleep? Will you be a baby-wearer? Will you sentence your baby to a life of macho aggression if you buy him blue washcloths?
It is overwhelming. Of course I had given consideration to many of these questions before registering, but still: there's so much that I just. don't. know.
Roy and I spent about five hours in Babies R Us this week. What a place. It's supposed to make things easier for you, but in all reality, it makes things much harder. I think choices are great and all, but this store is just chock full of too many. The handy registry guide is not really all that helpful, considering that it contains a list of "must have" items which are really not "must have." Because don't you know that one baby needs a travel system, a jogging stroller, and an umbrella stroller? That baby needs an armoire, a dresser, a changing table, a chair, an ottoman, and a crib? Oh, and don't forget the lamp, the rug, the window valance, the mobile, the toy box, the diaper stacker, the hamper, and the trash can!
Babies are a business just like anything else, apparently. And we've managed to somewhat put a registry together, but oh, there is still work to be done. Cleaning up the registry online has been a much more positive experience. It's going to take awhile to get everything all neat and tidy. Good thing we have a month or so until the shower invites go out!
It is not okay to criticize the way I handle my pregnancy or anything having to do with it.
This week a co-worker walked by my office, saw my cheesesteak sandwich, and asked, "May I ask why you're eating that?"
I told her I was hungry, and she proceeded to tell me that she gained a lot of weight at the end of her pregnancy and that I really need to watch what I eat and blah blah blah. I finally told her that I appreciated her advice but "it's my body."
Once she left, I was absolutely fuming. To imply that I was doing something terrible because I was eating something that she wouldn't eat was a crappy thing for her to do. Later on, she came back and told me that a great way to deal with cravings was to eat nuts. Since when did my lunch become some irrational pregnant craving for which I should apologize?
Unfortunately, this was not an isolated incident. Once you're pregnant, it becomes everyone's business, apparently. It's a lot like getting married, when people ask, "Are you sure you want to do this? My dirty rat of an ex-husband cheated on me with all of my friends." Only this time the implication is that I am somehow already failing at motherhood.
Don't get me wrong: I appreciate good advice, but I usually ask for it if I want it. I don't need to be torn down for my choices. I don't appreciate someone gasping over the fact that I may have a caffeinated beverage. I don't appreciate the spouting off of medical studies that I haven't even read about why I should avoid this food or that food. And I sure as hell don't appreciate someone talking about my weight, unless, of course, they want to express admiration for what a MILF I am. Why is any of this acceptable? Just because I'm pregnant does not mean that my body and what I put into it or do to it is anyone's flipping concern.
Yes, I drink caffeinated soda.
Yes, I eat candy and other things that are "bad" for me.
Yes, I have travelled by plane.
Yes, I ingest all kinds of food with soy in it.
Yes, I eat deli meat.
Yes, I eat soft cheeses if they are pasteurized.
Yes, I take Tylenol or Benadryl if I really need to.
Yes, I have even taken Ambien on one occasion.
Yes, I take hot baths.
Yes, I get pedicures.
Yes, I get massages.
Yes, I get my hair highlighted.
Yes, I have done some moderate lifting of things.
Yes, the dental hygienist numbed me a bit when she cleaned my teeth.
Yes, I had an X-ray.
Yes, I am even going to have some oral surgery in a couple of weeks.
Yes, I do all these things - and some more I've forgotten, I'm sure - but I do them in moderation.
But guess what? I also have a balanced diet, go walking almost every day, drink water, take prenatal vitamins, and try to take it easy when my body lets me know that it's time to do so. I don't smoke, drink, or use drugs. I don't go skydiving or parasailing or crowd surfing. I don't do heavy cleaning without a mask, and I won't participate in the peeling off the wallpaper and painting of Bunlet's room without said mask, if at all. But I made a choice not to live this pregnancy in a bubble. I make educated choices about the things I do, and I consult my doctor or another reliable source if I have questions.
The bottom line is that the only people who really need to have input into any of this pregnancy business are me, Roy, and my doctor. I am the research queen, and I knew a whole lot about pregnancy before I even got pregnant. I figured I'd be one of those people who would cut out all possibly questionable things during pregnancy, but as it turns out, this pregnancy has turned into an "everything in moderation" type of deal. And I am not going to feel guilty about that.
So I've decided that I will start handing out my doctor's business card to anyone who has "concerns" about my pregnancy.
So those are my vents for week 22. Obviously, my co-worker's comment really bothered me. But I'm trying hard to remember that this is good preparation for when Bunlet is actually born, because I know that's when the real "advice" is going to start. Gee, I can't wait for that.