37 Weeks + An Interpretive Dance

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How am I doing at this point? I’d tell you, but better yet.... I decided to show you through the interpretive dance depicted in these photos. Pretty exciting stuff, eh?! Currently, when I look at the calendar, I think, ‘how did we get here?’. I feel like it was just yesterday we were soaking up free time like teenagers on summer break and I was still wearing skinny jeans.... comfortably. The ‘here’ we are currently at is the ‘rush to the finish line’ that I imagine all first-time parents experience. For some reason, I’m more concerned about what I’m going to wear at the hospital than what we are bringing the baby home in. Again with my priorities.

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:: Confessions on Pregnancy ::

- File this under things not to say to a pregnant lady. My mother-in-law and I were grabbing lunch a couple of weeks ago and the woman behind the counter pointed to my stomach and asked ‘boy or girl?’. I replied, ‘Not sure, what’s your guess?’...... which apparently opened the flood-gates of her word vomit. She informs me that when her sister was pregnant with a boy, she was all tall and skinny and just had this cute little belly... and she loved being pregnant. But when she was pregnant with her daughter, her hips exploded, her lips swelled and she was nearly two-hundred pounds. Then she stopped and said, while motioning dramatically towards my stomach with her salad tongs, ‘I think you’re having a girl’. Which I immediately responded to (in my head) as …. ‘Oh, you wanna take this outside?’.

- Few things have become an overall difficult ordeal during this pregnancy. I still take the subway, walk up the stairs at work and can make my pants magically stay up with the help of a hair tie. But get out of bed? It’s like watching a turtle that is stuck on its back. Or, better yet, reference this amazing video for the perfect example of what my life looks like. And yes, it is that painful to watch.

- I know I've said it before, but I’m a creature of habit. If I do things enough times, it just becomes second nature. I have a specific routine to how I get ready and I walk the same path to the subway. More recently, take checking into my lady doc appointments..... every time you go, you have to pee in a teeny-tiny plastic cup. Literally, every single time and I’m the worst at it. You would think someone would’ve come up with a more innovative process for this by now...... like just register your sample when you flush the toilet or something. Bigger problem being is that recently when I checked into my dentist appointment, I asked if they needed a urine sample. After an incredibly awkward stare, I realized..... ‘Oh, riiiiggght. We don’t do that here’.... and just slowly stepped away from the receptionist counter.

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34 Weeks + Baby Mama Drama

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Over the past few months, I’ve started to realize why mothers really bond together. There aren’t many other people you could discuss, with a straight face, some of the things mom’s discuss with each other. Heck, I still whisper the word ‘breast feeding’ like a twelve year old boy. Admit it, it’s a weird thing to say out loud... at least for modest me.

Once this whole pregnancy thing became more real, and since I really haven’t read a single book or blog about how things in the motherhood department work, I’ve relied heavily on friends to keep me informed on all my ‘what to expect when you’re expect-ings’. If it wasn’t for them, I would still think all births are like they are in the movies. Oh, it lasts longer than 15 minutes and you don’t have a fresh blowout and full makeup on? Seems like a lot of work.

Once the panic set in that we had entered, what E calls ‘the red zone’, I knew it was time to call in some reinforcements. The big guns. The fellow mamas I know, new and seasoned, who have already ventured to the places I’m about to go. I decided to ask these ladies to share their advice, memories, tricks and survival skills with me in a little series I decided to call ‘Baby Mama Drama’. It started first from a selfish need to compile as much information as I can so I don’t have to read any motherhood books, but also, I realized every mom has been in the place I’m at. No one really knows what they are doing, you do in fact ‘fake it until you make it’... and even then, do you ever officially ‘make it’? Maybe that’s when you send them off to college or maybe it’s the first time they actually say ‘thanks mom’. It’s always refreshing to hear from others about their experiences first hand, the honest parts, the perfectly imperfect parts and the humorous parts. I’m deeply thankful these women took the time to depart their wisdom. Whether you’re a mom or not, we can all learn a lot.

So what better time to kick this off than the week leading up to Mother's Day. Be sure to check back later this week for the first ‘Baby Mama Drama’ post!

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34 Weeks // dress (similiar) - jacket - boots - scarf (similiar) - bag (c/o)

26 Weeks + Stage Five Panic

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I’m not sure if there’s a term for what is currently happening in our apartment right now. It’s not technically ‘nesting’, as one would think, as much as ‘pure and total destruction’. I’ve discarded half my closet, but only managed to get the ‘giveaway’ box as close to the Salvation Army bin as my bedroom door. So that’s fun to trip over every day. Our front couch is in the back, we’re using E’s v-flats (definition: photo gear technical term for super tall foam boards) as fake walls to envision how the baby room would be built and every piece of furniture has been moved in order for me to get a feel for what it would look like elsewhere. And then, of course, only partially moved back. I basically can’t make a decision right now to save my life. So we’ve learned my feelings come out in the form of furniture rearrangement. Chalk it up to my stage five panic that set in after I went to my latest doctor appointment only to have her inform me that I’m on my final trimester. Huh, what? Yea, I said the same thing to her. Or at least my facial reaction did (disclaimer: I am 28 weeks in real time. I'm just lagging in keeping up the photos to correlate!) Thankfully, she’s my kind of lady. Took me a few visits to realize why I had a distinct feeling we understood each other. She’s slightly sassy, nonchalant and honest in a way some could find jarring, but I find refreshing. E was the one who acknowledged that she always complimented me on my fur, anything leather in my outfit or bold nail color. So pretty much the top three components to winning over my affection. Which makes her basically my OB soul mate and, therefore, the most qualified person to deliver this child.

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:: Confessions on Pregnancy ::

- You don’t know what an OB is either? I just learned this week when making a follow up appointment with the zesty new front desk receptionist! Let me enlighten you too. “Are you making an OB or GYN appointment, dear?”. Blank stare from me. “I don’t know what that means? Are those like those texting codes teenagers talk in these days?”. Blank stare back from receptionist. “Are you pregnant or not pregnant?”. “Oh” I stare down at my obvious belly near her eye level and then glance back at the receptionist. “By golly, I think I’m pregnant.” There was obvious judgement all over her face....it wouldn’t be far off to assume she burned my records.

- Perk of pregnancy; random strangers feel completely comfortable talking to you and sharing their wisdom on a whim. Take the dweller outside the corner bodega on Washington last week. After noticing I was pregnant and fighting a slight cough, he informs me to be sure to really take care of my health. I smiled and said I appreciated his concern. He continues to inform me that his lady was sitting on the park bench down the street one summer day and had a sneezing fit so bad it made her water break. Now they call their child ‘Sneezy’. The end. 

- What is a pregnant woman’s natural musk, you ask? Well, I’d have to say cocoa butter with a dash of Bio Oil. That’s right. I could spray perfume on myself with the intensity of an Abercrombie store, and it still wouldn’t hide the always present cocoa butter aroma that seeps out of every part of my skin. The best offense is a good defense, my friends. My fear of stretch marks is a close second to my fear of an outie belly button.