“Eat up, you’re eating for two now.” We’ve all heard it, you have to eat more when you’re pregnant and weight gain is in the forefront of every woman’s mind. With the Princess, I gained a whopping 40 pounds, most of it to my face, feet and back side. I exploded. My friends giggled when we’d go out for dinner and I would shout at them “I can only waddle so fast,” while trying to beat the clock at the cross walk. With our Rainbow, I’ve only gained 6 pounds. Drastic difference from 40. I’ve been to the doctor numerous times and constantly asked if something was wrong. He assured me that our Baby Boy is big and strong and healthy and weight gain in pregnancy is all relative.
I’ve had lots of people ask me if I am eating enough, even eating at all and have had them constantly stuff food in front of me trying to get me to eat. I eat. I don’t stop myself from eating when I’m hungry, I eat what I’m supposed to. I eat healthier though. Instead of consuming bagels and cream cheese for breakfast, I eat a smoothie and a piece of multigrain toast with peanut butter. And for cravings, I’ve been downing ice water like it’s no one’s business. While with the Princess, I gave into every single craving I had, and there were many.
According to most doctors, the general rule is if you are underweight, you should gain somewhere between 28 to 40 lbs., 25-35 lbs. if you are average weight, and 15-20 lbs. if you are overweight. My doctor also said that women who are severely overweight shouldn’t gain any weight at all. So never mind all that stuff about eating twice as much when pregnant, instead eat twice as healthy.
It happens every night at 8:30. Boredom kicks in. And then comes the cravings. I have been really good at pushing them away and not giving in. But they are persistent. I’m craving ice cream. Delicious ice cream. I try and distract myself from thinking about it.
I do the dishes. Hmm, the bowls are clean, what better way to dirty them than with ice cream.
I fold and refold the Rainbow’s clothing. I organize and reorganize his drawers. Then I see the bib with an ice cream cone on it.
I could always go for a walk. And then again Baskin Robbins is only a 5 minute walk from our home.
I read a book. What would make reading this book better? Eating ice cream.
I watch TV show. And of course I watch the Food Network and what’s on? Ice cream.
Hubby and I have a conversation and without fail it always turns into a game of Rock Paper Scissors as to who is doing the ice cream run.
Even as we speak, I am writing a post and what is it about…ICE CREAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am now 32 weeks pregnant now and the birth planning has begun. From day one, I knew I wanted to attempt a VBAC. I had an emergency C-section with the Princess and I would be lying if I said it was an enjoyable experience. A botched epidural lead to an improper block which caused me to feel the doctors cut me open and ultimately being put under. It took hours to come out of the anaesthesia and I wasn’t able to hold my baby until she was over 5 hours old.
When I became pregnant with the Princess, I perhaps foolishly assumed that I would deliver naturally, no drugs and tough it out like many of the women in my family. My sister, who is a nurse, warned me not to become so rigid in my birth plans in case something were to happen and things didn’t turn out the way I planned. Those prophetic words still hang with me today. Needless to say, I was devastated by having a C-section. That isn’t to say that I’m not grateful for the Princess being born safely. It upset me that I had to stay in the hospital for 4 days, that I gave in and had an epidural, that I didn’t deliver my baby the way “nature intended.” I felt like a failure. And it’s not that anyone else made me feel that way, it was a pressure and expectation I put on myself. Somehow I had convinced myself that I was in control, that I would labour and deliver my baby.
Now that we near our due date, I am finding myself having those expectations again. And I am fully aware that my ability to deliver naturally is only 50/50. Not really great odds. Perhaps it is out of fear of another botched C-section (despite going to a different doctor and hospital) and the fact that this pregnancy has been a relative breeze compared to my pregnancy with the Princess that gives me the unrealistic hope that this time, this time I’ll do it. With a VBAC however, there is a chance of uterine rupture and often doctors will suggest an epidural in case a C-section is necessary. Also, if I have to be induced, like I was with the Princess, a C-section will be the only option. I can say with certainty I really really do not want a C-section. I’ve already spoken with my doctor and I have made it quite clear that if I do have to, I want to be out. He is aware of what happened last time and seems to be in agreement. At the same time, I have to weigh the possibility of uterine rupture (which is rare) and the consequences of that. My doctor seems confident that I am a good candidate for a VBAC and I may get my wish. I am trying my best not to get my hopes up and just take things as they come, but things are easier said than done.
Ever since reading “We Need to Talk About Kevin”, Lionel Shriver has been on my go-to author whenever I feel like having my ideas and opinions turned upside down. She has an innate ability to take taboo subjects that people often shy away from and rub their faces in it. She treats her readers as an etch-a-sketch, imprinted with their experiences and then shakes them with her words, leaving them a blank slate to be re-written on. “The New Republic” received scathing reviews from a lot of people, but I enjoyed it. Sure there were some characters I felt could have been left out, but the very idea driving the novel was what kept me turning the pages. A satire on terrorism, this is not for the faint of heart. She puts a social commentary on terrorism. While most people see the act of terrorism itself, Shriver makes you a witness to the dealings in the background. Dark, politically eye-opening, “The New Republic” will make you question your very trust in elected officials, the media and how it spins world events. For my full review, click here.
“In comes Edgar Kellogg. A former fat boy and lawyer turned freelance journalist, looking to escape his second string complex and finally get his big break. Much to his chagrin, he is charged with finding out was happened to his predecessor, Barrington Sadler, who disappeared while reporting on the SOB (Os Soldado Ousados de Barba) who claim international bombing. When Kellogg arrives, his complex comes back with full force as he finds that everyone cannot stop talking about the infamous Barrington Sadler. It isn’t long before Edgar realizes there is more to Saddler than all rumours his fellow Rat Pack spew. Bombings, international recognition and effect on local policy increase, and soon it isn’t long before things begin to spiral.”
April is fun! The very first day is April Fool’s,
A day for playing jokes.
All month long the weather teases.
Now it’s warm, then oops! the sneezes!
Take off your boots and it will shower:
Then the sun shines for an hour.
Robins are nesting, puddles are skiddy, violets pop!
No wonder April’s gay and funny –
You know who’s coming? The Easter Bunny!
By Patricia Scarry
I woke up with a gray hair right on the top of my head. I’m only 27 and thought to myself “I’m too young for this.” But after this first, I know why. The Princess was invited to a birthday party today and like all the other parties, parents are welcome to stay. Not this one. I was not at all prepared for it. In all the correspondence I had with the Mom, not once did she mention that parents were not to stay. So when the Princess and I arrived, she took the Princess’ jacket and informed me pick up time was at 3:30. I must have had a bizarre look on my face. I choked a little bit and then went and said my goodbye’s to the Princess and informed her I would be back later. I walked outside and immediately called Hubby.
“They won’t let me stay. I don’t feel right about this. She’s only 4,” I stammered, holding back the tears.
He agreed that it was a little weird but said she’d probably be ok.
So like a crazy woman, I went to the coffee shop across the street and watched through the window. I constantly watched my clock and then made periodical walk-by’s. In my opinion, 4 years old is not old enough to be left alone. I’m sure I looked crazy but it’s my job to keep her safe.
At 3:15, I picked her up early and she was just fine. So despite walking up and down the street, holding back the tears, the Princess survived her first birthday party without me.