Nachos Anyone?

So last night my hubby and I attended a natural pregnancy class hosted by three "goddesses," the nickname we have for the fabulous natural hippie women in our area. One goddess was nutritionist, another a midwife and the third a doula. There were many helpful suggestions that we took to heart, until the doula explained that one of the services she provides is belly casting. Huh? Now I've stopped dying my hair, I was wearing a flowy ethnic print skirt and didn't feel too out of place amongst the goddesses, but this was a level of which I was unaware.

Here is how it works. You buy plastering materials at the pharmacy, wrap it around your belly, plaster it and wait for it to harden and dry. The result is similar to a cast you would get for a broken arm, but in the shape of your womb. Now how am I supposed to keep a straight face? I didn't dare look at my husband or it would've been over, but unfortunately the man next to me had even worse composure. Once he stated burying his head with giggles than coughing to cover it up, I wasn't far behind. I was picturing people signing it and drawing flowers, but what does one do with something like this? Like I would hang this up in the kid's room next to the Ramones poster we bought for him? The doula did have some suggestions- you can decoupage it, turn it over and use it for a baby bassinet... My personal favorite though- one couple used it as a chip and dip set. Oh yes. Lets pose a question, shall we? What would you do if you went to a friend's house for dinner and they served you chips and dip in a belly cast? Perhaps nacho chips in the womb section, salsa in one boob and guac in the other. Seriously.

Damn You Stephen Colbert...

..for the best Ben & Jerry's ice cream flavor ever. I apparently thought it would be a wise idea to eat an entire pint of your fudgy, carmely, waffle cone Americone Dream goodness when I am slightly lactose intolerant. Yes, that was brilliant. I feel really great now. Thanks a lot.

It does help that you are really cute though.

Turn On The Sprinkler System

One of the lovely side affects of pregnancy is the increased need to use the loo. It's quite inconvenient when you are trying to sleep or I don't know, go anywhere. No pun intended. Although that is what I've had to resort to. Last weekend we were hiking around the Presidio in San Francisco, eager to catch the sunset over the cliffs. We were at least a mile away from the nearest bathroom and there was no way my shrinking bladder was going to wait. I've done a decent amount of camping in my life and am not above using nature when necessary. The only problem -- this was a trail in a city park with no place to roam out of sight. I had to act quickly so other hikers wouldn't happen upon my business. I used to be really good at this, but apparently I am out practice and my balance leaves a lot to be desired these days. Despite all the squats I practiced in yoga class, that didn't help my aim. My shoes, my pants- nothing was spared. I looked like I had walked through a sprinkler. I resorted to carrying my water bottle in my hand the rest of the hike so passersby would hopefully think this was my water bottle's fault, not mine. I'm just glad I didn't know any of these people...

Let Me Feel Your Body Talk

The month five chapter of my pregnancy book explains that this is the time when you really show, and pregnant women should no longer be the recipient of the "is she pregnant or is she getting fat looks." The book continues: "Most will begin to flaunt their showing body and take on a proud and pregnant pose." Then it suggests that you can really show off your pregnant belly by wearing a leotard.

Ok. Where do I even BEGIN with this one? Let's start with the copyright date. It's 1997, not 1982. Leotards, really? One of the authors is a man, albeit a clueless one, so we'll let it go. Perhaps he watches a lot of VH1 classic and they really do play the Olivia Newton John Let's Get Physical Video quite often. However, the co-author is a woman. I'm sorry, but she should know better. Was she never traumatized by dance recital costumes? She apparently never had to wear a black fringed leotard with pink sequins or a metallic silver unitard with electric blue trunks in front of people. Or perhaps she did and was warped enough to enjoy it. News flash, woman. Leotards don't look good on ANYONE. They are the thong speedos of women's wear.

Now I have the song Let's Get Physical in my head. Damn it.

Zen and Spaghetti

Each week in my pre-natal yoga class, we have to go around and introduce ourselves at the beginning and say how far along we are and how we are feeling. "Hi, I'm June, I am 30 weeks. Yay. I am doing great and so excited about the miracle growing in my belly." I am so not sitting next to June next class. "Hi, I'm Stacy, I'm 19 weeks along. I'm feeling so much better now that I don't feel like I have to hurl every five minutes, but my back hurts, I can't figure out how to bend over and get back up again in one motion and my body doesn't seem to realize that humans should eat full three meals a day, not five. Plus tons of ice cream when I am lactose intolerant."

The teacher ignored the rest of my comments, but gleefully informed me that I am almost halfway along. AHHHHHHH! I've been pretty unfazed by all of this so far, but realizing this is almost halfway over already was a little daunting. That was so not cool to remind me of that when I am at yoga to try and I don't know, relax.

I finally did relax toward the end of the class, especially when it came time for my favorite part, which is the meditation. We lay down on blankets with our head on a bolster and a pillow between our knees. The lights are dim, soothing Buddha music plays - it's quite nice. The teacher gives us these affirmations to put fear aside of our birth, etc. It's a little creepy, but I still feel bad that I ignore these affirmations. Why? Because while I should be meditating, calming my mind and thinking about welcoming my baby, all I can can think about is food. What am I going to eat for my second dinner tonight? Ooooh, what if I add chives to my pasta sauce next time I make it? Somewhere in the background is a calming voice saying "...something, something, please your baby..." and all I hear is "cheese and gravy." I don't even eat gravy. Then the lights go back on, and I wonder how the meditation part is over so quickly.

Boobsicles

When I got out of bed the Saturday before last, my husband looked at me and exclaimed, "you totally grew overnight." It was truly the weirdest thing. We were going hiking that day, and I stubbornly dressed in my non-maternity hiking uniform of tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt with a zipped up hoodie sweatshirt over it. As we started out on the hiking trail, I was a little off balance at first because of the sudden extra weight from the belly explosion. My husband informed me that I looked like I was smuggling a turkey under my hoodie. Laughing certainly threw off my balance even more...

To add to the fun, I wasn't wearing a jacket since the forecast called for such nice weather that day. Well at 9am it was still quite chilly and my boobs became completely frozen. I read about the possibility of increased sensitivity in that region, but seriously people. Nobody told me my boobs would become a meat locker and feel like they were going to fall off. I've lived in Detroit, NYC and Chicago and vacationed in Iceland in the middle of winter - I have a concept of cold. This, however, was unlike anything I've ever experienced. So how did I handle this? Why rub my boobs of course. That was all well and good until a family of five came hiking on by. I must have looked like such a class act, at best. Or a total perv.

Mom Pants

During a layover at JFK airport en route to Tel Aviv on a business trip, I headed into Brooklyn for a few hours and visited my favorite store in the city. I've known the owner for years and love her for her for her fantastic eclectic fashion sense and brutal honesty. When she saw me in my maternity jeans, she quickly pronounced that I looked like a suburban housewife and should not wear maternity jeans in public. No disrespect to my suburban housewife brethren, but I panicked. I immediately thought of Mom pants. You know, the high hip hugger pants that go over the woman's belly and stop shortly under her chest, eliminating the illusion that she might have a torso? These trousers usually involve pleats, a skinny belt and a Land's End-style shirt tucked into them. So the bottom line is that I can't get lazy with my fashion creativity because most conventional maternity clothes are completely unflattering and downright suck. Then I could end up on a downward spiral toward Mom pants. NOOOOOOO! I know my low-rise cargo pants may not be age appropriate or fashion forward forever, but Mom pants aren't even a slippery slope. Then I may as well be wearing a hand-knit cat sweater with three dimensional whiskers and duck boots. Then the red lipstick smeared way above the lip line won't be far off at that point. So I gratefully headed the advice that maternity jeans are a fashion don’t for me and left them in Brooklyn. No Mom pants. Ever.