That one time I peed my pants....a little.

   So, remember how I said that 2.5 pounds would be back on in a jiffy? Its back! Plus an extra pound. That puts me at 19 weeks and 3.5 pounds gained. Not too bad, but I have gotta start exercising more. We are currently figuring out our gym membership due to some neglectful day care attendees(they couldn't find my son when I came to pick him up after working out and then realized he was locked in the bathroom, covered in toilet water, playing in the trash!) Yeah, so I had some words with the manager....BUT, that's no excuse for me to not exercise. So, hopefully by my next post I will have better news about my exercising.

   Things have been great in my home, but a little crazy. We moved to a bigger apartment that we absolutely love, but I am learning more and more about the necessity of baby-proofing, or should I say, "toddler-proofing", because babies are actually harmless. Toddlers, however, are pricey, sassy little buggers.
  I was sitting in our bedroom one day when I realized that my toddler had left the room....and so had my cell phone. I cringed as I heard a somewhat small, electronic-device-sounding splash come from the hallway bathroom and raced to find my Iphone 4S, sinking to its death and ultimate demise.

"Rest in peace, 4S....you lived a long, fulfilling life and died a tragic death. You will be missed."

    Lets just say my husband and I were beyond frustrated at this point with my son's toilet obsession. Unless, of course, he wants to potty-train himself. Then we're kosher. So, we made the long, arduous journey to Babies-R-US and headed to the baby-isle.
"Can I help you?" Said a nice, matronly, grandmother-type salesperson.
"Yes," I said, "we'd like to prevent any more of our cell phones from drowning in our toilet. Where can we find baby-proofing for toilets?"
"Oh," she said, glancing at my toddler, who was probably picking his nose at that exact moment, "I know exactly what you mean.<understanding, matronly, smile> "Let me show you the best one we have."
She walked me over to what looked like some sort of toddler-torture device.
"Perfect!" I thought to myself. "Maybe it squirts them in the face if they set off the laser, motion activated scanner...thing. Or something...."
Don't get me wrong, I love my son. But when $500 worth of merchandise goes the way of the dinosaurs because of him, I don't mind the idea of him getting a little bit of discipline in his life.
This technique seems promising as well:

  But my daydream ended when I heard her say, "Fair warning, though. I've had parents bring these back because they were so hard to open that even they couldn't figure them out." And then she walked away.
"Who do I look like?" I thought to myself, "Britney Spears??"

"Please...I can figure this thing out and we are getting it!" So, we did.
My husband installed it that night and gave me a tutorial on how to "unlock" it so I could use the toilet.
"You see this button?" He said. "You just push this button in, and while holding it down, push the handle in, and turn it to the right." He demonstrated.
"Like this?" I said, and did as he showed and told me to.
"Yup!" he said. "Looks like the lady at the store was wrong. We got this!"
....Can you feel the foreshadowing?....

   The next morning, I heard my toddler swearing from the bathroom.
"Dag ga BADda Schoom MAAAAAA!"(That's toddler profanity, for those of you who haven't heard it yet)
"YES!" I thought to myself. "SUCCESS!...Muwaahahahahahah!"(That's momma profanity, for those of you who haven't heard that yet)
He couldn't get the toilet-proofing device off the toilet. Hence, no splashy-splashy in the poopy-poopy.
Needless to say, he was furious, and I was elated. He couldn't get the toilet open! I was soon to find out, however, that he wasn't the only one...
   For most women, going pee several times a day is normal. And for most pregos, going pee every other hour is normal, and several times throughout the night.
  Well, nature called, and I decided to go use our master bathroom and avoid the toddler drama. I sat down, let nature do her thing, and then realized, MID STREAM, that there was no toilet paper. None. I stopped, held it, and started feeling the life drain from my body, instead of the pee. My heart started racing, my breath sped up, and I could feel my hands starting to shake.
 "Really?" You're thinking right now. "All that from having to hold your pee?"
But if you've ever been pregnant, you know EXACTLY what I am talking about. THERE IS NO ROOM. Sweet, baby bunting is hogging it ALL. So, when you gotta go, you GOTTA go. Or death. That's just how it is.

 AND, to get to go and then have to stop, mid-stream, is just plain mean.
But there was no toilet paper!
"What do I do? What do I do? Drip dry? Yeah, maybe drip dry.....and then, "Eeew. Nope, I NEED toilet paper!"
Then I remembered there was some in the other bathroom. My toddler's bathroom. The one that was booby trapped.
"I totally got that thing to work last night," I thought, "no biggie!"
So I waddled, ahem, to the other bathroom and started following my husbands instructions.
"Okay...okay...push the thing, and then...turn the, other thing...and AAAAAH, WHY ISN'T IT WORKING???!!
At this point, I am DYING. I have to pee so badly that my vision is starting to blur.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh...." I said to myself, "breathe Liz, BREATHE!" The pain was intolerable.
(Ya know, they really should have Lamaze classes dedicated just to teaching you how to hold your pee while pregnant and breathe at the same time.) 

I then decided that maybe Britney and I had more in common than I wanted to admit, and I gave up on trying to figure out this simple, yet deadly, device.
I waddled back to my bathroom and continued my journey......I peed. A lot.
I then realized I was back to my original dilemma. NO toilet paper. So, I called out to my toddler, who was no where in sight.
"Aiden! AIDEN! Momma's sorry she took away your favorite toy. If you bring me some toilet paper, I will let you play in the toilet as MUCH as you WANT today........<silence> Aiden? AAAIDEEEEEN!!!"
Now, let me remind you, my toddler understands two words: Milk, and Ball. Why I thought I could somehow get him to understand that mommy needed him to get me some toilet paper, I don't know.
So, I went "girl's camp style", flushed the toilet, pulled my pants up, and walked out of my room to find my toddler standing in the hallway with a strange, semi-frightened look on his face and no toilet paper in hand.
"Awesome." I thought. "Just awesome."
Maybe there really is such a thing as karma. You punish your toddler...he punishes you back. Bladder style.
"Why didn't you just grab some toilet paper and go back to the other bathroom in the first place?" You say?
Because, then I wouldn't have been able to blog about it. :)

Gonna have my cake and eat it too!

Hi friends!
I made some changes to look and layout of my blog. I hope you like it! Let me know if anything is hard to read, etc. And PHEW! I am so not tech savvy when it comes to blogs. It took me like 2 hours to figure out how to change everything to look the way it does(feel free to have a laugh at my expense, you pro-bloggers, you!) And, I have to admit that some of those things got there by accident. :)
I woke up this morning feeling pretty good about life and then I did my usual.....
1. Go pee
2. Weigh myself.
For those of you who have never watched your weight before, you might find that a bit extreme, but for all the rest of you, "thats how we do!" That half a pound of water weight can mean the difference between a prego-tantrum and a happy morning.
   I usually close my eyes while the numbers are going up. Cuz then I can't feel myself getting fatter.

So, I opened my eyes and......VIOLA! 2.5 lost. SAY WHAT???!? Playa, please. Happy dance!?

And then, I thought I should double check, just to make sure. So I got on, and off, and on, and off..until I had read the scale as 189 about 4 times.
"189 lbs??" You say. " Who would do a happy dance about that?"
Me. Thats who.
'Cuz I started out at 193.5, then dropped to 186(nausea CAN be your friend) and happily rested back down at 189. At 18 weeks pregnant, to have only gained a half a pound is like winning the prego lottery.
Now, before I get any haters hating on me(Yes, I have been watching episode after episode of Psych, my favorite show, and I feel like I have to talk like Guster when I talk about losing weight.)

 I am 30 pounds overweight from my first baby, and my current little girl is big and beautiful(got an ultrasound already, more on that later). So don't worry. All is well in babyland. She is getting what she needs and so am I!

And I am also an incredibly emotional eater...

(See? Guster has the answer for everything!)
But, I have been trying to eat better for atleast 2/3 of my meals, and I have been exercising. So, I'm not gonna pretend that I sit on my butt all day eating cheetos and have "magically" only gained half a pound, cuz thats just not true. My weight has fluctuated a LOT. How did I lose 2.5 pounds?
I was sick.:)
Totally cheating, and it will totally be back on again in a day or so. But, for one, brief, magical moment, I felt awesome about my weight.
IN fact, I can pretty much tell you where that 2.5 lbs will be coming from in the next few days:
Store-bought sheet cake. My arch nemesis.

It just looks SOOOOO good. Even if the bakers never get it right.
"Whats the occasion?" You ask.
"Nothing" I say.
 But really, I think I am going to get myself a ginormous, fattening, gooey, sheet cake......SLICE. And thats the kicker.  
"I don't have to eat an entire sheet cake, to eat myself some sheet cake."

You know thats right!

So that can be our motto.

The Pizza Hurt My Feelings

    Wahoo! Second trimester is here to stay! Someone asked me how I was feeling yesterday and I usually try to be completely honest...which, is a bad idea while being pregnant. Some of my responses thus far have been,
"Fat, but happy!"
"Miserable. But its worth it, right?"
"I'm just gonna say I'm feeling great."

   But now, I can give them nice, happy-pregnant lady responses like,
"So good!<maternal smile>"
"I feel great!<maternal smile and a belly rub>"
"So much better!<maternal smile plus belly rub plus sugar and spice wink in my eye>"

 For those of you who don't know what I mean by maternal smile, here you go:

 See? Maternal smile. That "I'm so going to forget about all of this in 9 months" kind of smile. Heart-warming, yeah? I use that smile on people at the grocery store when they try to butt in line. Or on my husband when I don't want to change my son's diaper....Works like a charm. (love you, honey!)
  But this is a blog about confessions. The nitty-gritty of pregnancy. The stuff no one wants to tell you about but that we all need a good laugh about. So let's move on, shall we?

CRYING.
  We all do it. Especially pregos, but we are CHAMPION criers. And we don't need a reason. Or a convenient place. Or even a reasonable time of day. In fact, lets just take reason out of the picture completely because it is not a typical woman's motivation to do anything, most of the time. There are several types of prego cries too. Here's a few:

1. "Nothing in our kitchen looks good to me...except that candle. WAIT! WHY AM I CRAVING A CANDLE??!"

                               ( I couldn't resist this one. You can find it huffingtonpost.com)

2. " Even my fat clothes make me look fat!!"

 
BUT, if I had to list the the worst kind of crying during pregnancy...it would be tantrum cries. Yup.

My latest tantrum cry?.......The Pizza hurt my feelings.

  A few days before Christmas I got my first taste of the glory we like to call "the 2nd trimester" and I felt like a champ. Seriously. All maternal, house-making instincts kicked in and I was like Martha Stewart on steroids. (Don't worry...I'm not even going to attempt to find a picture of THAT!)
  I started cleaning, present-wrapping, and baking like a fool. Homemade wheat bread, presents wrapped to perfection, and more clean loads of laundry than I had done in weeks.

   Everything was perfect. The house looked amazing, Michael Buble's Christmas album was playing, and all was right with the world. Then I remembered I was building a human. All of a sudden, I was so exhausted, I could barely stand. Not in a dramatic kind of way, but in a painful way. I felt like I had literally depleted my body of all its energy. Then it hit me. In all my eager, finally-have-energy-ness, I totally forgot to make dinner.
    Now, I'm not obsessive about making perfect dinners, but it was Christmas! Or close enough. And I had planned on cooking, but just completely forgot. (That's for another post!) So I called my husband, who was due home from work any minute, and asked him if we could have a pizza night. He said that sounded great and picked up a box for dinner.
    Sounds great, right?...Let me help you understand where my mind was at before my husband graciously handed my first slice.
    I had just mentally awarded myself the Olympic Gold Medal for prego-mommy-AWESOMENESS! I had baked, cleaned, wrapped, decorated, nutured, even SHOWERED, all in the same day.

 That was a huge accomplishment for someone who couldn't even get off the couch for more than 20 minutes at a time a month earlier. I felt like this inside:

But my body quickly reminded me what IT felt like all over:

  And all of a sudden, that pizza sounded like all things glorious. I had earned it! I promptly sat down on the couch, put my feet up, and sunk my teeth into the first slice. And then it happened. I threw the pizza back down on the plate, grabbed my mouth, and started crying, HYSTERICALLY. I don't mean like how I cried when Mufasa died on The Lion King. This. was. epic.
  My poor husband had no idea what had happened and what could possibly cause a grown woman to cry like that, but like the amazing man he is, he rushed over to me and held me while I sobbed.
 "What HAPPENED??" He asked.
"Are you hurt? Did you bite your lip? Are you bleeding? Whats wrong, Liz??"
Finally, I managed to get small fragments out in-between lip quivers and those choking sobs that kept coming...
"Tttttthhheee, ....ppppizza.....hurt....hurt, my....FEELINGS!"

  Now, I am used to translating for my husband. Luckily, for both of us, HE DOESN'T SPEAK CRAZY. 
"What do you mean it hurt your feelings?" He asked.

  I managed to wipe some snot on his shirt before I explained that...
"...I...wwworked, SOOO hhhard, ttoday, and...I just...I just...wanted....the pizza to, mmmake me feel better<insert awkward crying hiccup/burp combo>. And then.....the pizza....hurt me. The, the ssstupid sauce BURNT mmmmy llip, and, and that wasn't sooo bad, bbbut iit just made...me so sad...that the pizza...didn't ..make me..hhhhappy. It, just hurts my feelings....it hhhurt MY FEELINGS!"

  Feeling fat or craving things you don't have can't beat a good, "something hurt my when I am already hurting" kind of prego cry. You would have thought someone had murdered my favorite kitten. Or that they weren't going to make any more Star Wars movies after all. Or that Miley Cyrus was coming to town...I was DEVASTATED.
  So here's to all you husbands out there, and mine in particular. Thanks for the tissue giving, tear-wiping, snot-on-your-shirt-forgiving you do for the woman in your life. We don't make sense. And we never will. But we will carry your babies like the CHAMPIONS we are, and no amount of tantrums or demon pizzas can change whats coming in 9 months. I promise, its worth it:)

  
 

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The Evolution of Farting...

   I think I fall under the category of "typical woman" when it comes to farting. I really don't like it and I avoid doing it at all costs.

And then I got married......:)

You know how lots of random people give you marriage advice when you're engaged?
"Don't go to bed angry."
"Be friends first."
Someone forgot this one most vital piece of advice.
"Men fart, A LOT"

  Early into our marriage, my husband told me story after story of all the times he had to hold in farts while we were dating. In fact, he even had a designated "fart spot" outside my door where he would let loose after our dates and relieve some awful gas. He even told about one time he thought he could let it out before I got to his car and then panicked when I came out earlier than he expected. He had a nice little bomb waiting for me, but lucky for me, it dissipated before I got there.
  Poor man. I had no clue. The things we do for love, eh?
  So that's how it started. I grew up hating farting and then I married someone who had to fart...occasionally. "Its ok," I thought, "he's really good about hiding them. So I think I'll be ok."
Now, if I sound like a fart snob, its because I AM! And of the worst variety too. I will guilt trip you to my heart's content if you fart bomb during my movie....or my car ride...or my shopping trip.
This is how I feel when my husband farts:

ALL men have a secret agenda to get their wives to accept and embrace their farting habits. So after a year or so, my husband and I's conversations started evolving when it came to farting. Let me show you.

STEP ONE:
He asks you to fart for him because he thinks its cute, like so:

 I refused. There was no way I was going to fart in front of him.
And then this happened.
About two weeks after being married, we rode tripped to Pennsylvania to see my parents. My dad, who is diabetic, always keeps yummy sugar-free treats stashed in the cupboard above the microwave. One night, I decided to raid it and found a small bag of sugar-free Reese's cups. "Score!" I thought to myself. (I know, SHAME, right? Stealing from a sick man....)
I ate the WHOLE BAG.
Yup.
Blame it on the birth control but I was craving chocolate something fierce and ate every single Reese's cup. "Not a problem," I thought to myself, "I'll just buy him some more tomorrow." And then it happened. We were getting ready for bed and my stomach starting punching me in the face. I felt like someone was stabbing me with lasers, and pitchforks, and ninja knives all at the same time.
   I asked my husband if he would come upstairs and lie down with me because I didn't feel good. After lying down for a few minutes, I was in SEVERE agony. You would have thought I was in labor or something. It was that bad. I whined and cried to my husband.
"What's wrong? What happened?" He kept asking. But I didn't want to tell him that I stole my Dad's favorite candy. Finally, I broke down and admitted the felony and my husband just started laughing. And laughing some more.
"Babe," he said, "don't you know that artificial sugar gives you really, REALLY bad gas?? You've probably got enough trapped gas in your gut right now to cause some serious damage. You need to just let it out."
"No way!" I said, " I am NOT farting in front of you."
But, as the pain wore on, I finally decided I would do anything for relief and I tried letting a fart out.
Nothing happened.
I tried again. Still nothing.
"Please don't let me poop my pants, please don't let me poop my pants. We've only been married two weeks. I think he could still get in annulled. This CAN'T happen."
"Let me help you, " he said. Because men are experts on all things farting. They really are. I think they get a merit badge for it in Scouts.

"Okay," I said.
He started pressing hard on my abdomen and out popped a fart like someone uncorked a bottle.
I groaned in relief.
"Feel better?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, "but there's still more in there."
Needless to say, we spent the next half an hour pushing and farting, and laughing hysterically because we could hear my parents outside the room trying to decide if they should come in a help or not.
"Newlyweds....!" my Dad said. And I heard him laugh and walk away.
So that happened. But I STILL wouldn't fart in front of Jess if I could avoid it.

STEP TWO:
They congratulate you on your farts.
"Good one, honey!"
"Nice out!"
"You feel better now, don't you"
   You almost feel some sort of camaraderie. Like you're part of a special club now. The man club. And occasionally you have some bad ones, but your husband laughs it off and gets over it.

And then you get pregnant..............



STEP THREE:
They experience the game changer: Prego Farts
"Story, please?" You say? I thought you'd never ask. :)

  A few days ago, I was enjoying a little morning nap. I was alone in our room, and felt a little extra pressure in my gut.
"No biggie, " I thought. "Jess is out in the kitchen. I can let one rip and he'll never know!"
So I did.
But something wasn't right....
    You know how most farts you can just wave away? Well this one wasn't leaving. It was taking up residence in our sheets. I mean like BUILDING A SUMMER HOME in our blankets.
   "Oh no! What if Jess comes in? I'll just cover it with some blankets just in case."
 In the process of doing so, however, I created some sort of FART TACO. One layer of blanket folded over a nasty, nasty fart. It didn't get rid of it. It just stored it for later.... I forgot about it and continued enjoying my little nap. Then I heard our door open. My husband peeked his head in and smiled at me. Then, without warning, he made a giant leap towards the bed. Destination? My fart taco!! It was like everything was in slow motion.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" I thought in my mind as he flew through the air. It wouldn't have been so bad it he had just landed and then rolled over. But instead, he did what we all do in our beds in the morning.
He nuzzled.
Shoved his face in my fart taco and nuzzled it like a new born baby kitten and releasing the poison gas back into the air.
I closed my eyes, cringing, and waited for his response....
He slowly raised his head. An expression of fear, mixed with shock covered his face.
"Honey??" he said, quietly...."I think Aiden pooped in our bed."

And there it was. My escape plan.
Just at that exact moment, my sweet toddler toddled happily into our room and stood at the bottom of our bed, smiling. "Scha ba ja gge ga scho ma ma, BALL?" He said. It was as if on cue. Like he knew I needed him. Like his chances for ever getting another sibling rested on whether or not he would take the fall for this. He looked up at me, with his big, brown eyes as if to say, "You're not pinning this on me, Momma. You dealt it, YOU deal with it."
   But why SHOULDN'T I blame it on him? It would be so easy. And he owes me one after painting his carpet with poop he found in a left-over diaper a few days earlier.
"What to do, what to do??" ...I thought for a few moments.
"Honey," I finally managed to squeak out, "that was mine, actually. I mean...um...I don't know WHAT I ate last night but, phew! The baby has gas, right? Right...?"
I waited for a high five, or a "Nice out, babe"....nothing.
Instead, I got a nice half smile, like a "I'm just gonna not say anything and not hurt your feelings" kind-of-smile all women get from their husbands when they are pregnant.
And then he slowly got off the bed and walked out of the room like someone who had been injured in the war.

So there you have it. The game changer. You better believe I have NOT been asked to fart and definitely have not been congratulated on anything I have produced since then.
The evolution of farting.... For you newlyweds out there, the next time your husband asks you to fart just reply, "Just you wait....you'll be sorry!"

MERRY CHRISTMAS< EVERYONE!
PS> I would love to hear your fart stories! Leave them in the comments section, if you're feeling brave!





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The Magical Pregnancy Unicorn-Debunked!

      For those of you who missed out on the movie, What to Expect When You're Expecting, the "magical pregnancy unicorn" is that pregnant woman that almost seems too good to be true.

                              For example: Here's the scene from the movie that started it all.

    She's perfect! Not only can she wear 4-inch heels while 8 months pregnant but she looks amazing in everything she wears and doesn't show even the slightest pregnancy symptom. Before watching this movie, if someone would have said "magical pregnancy unicorn" to me, I would have pictured something more like this:

A little more accurate, wouldn't you say?

 In fact, here are some more of my favorites:

Doesn't this one just scream "I can smell that man's deodorant sitting behind us"?

Aaah, we'll get to this one in another post....

And this one was me, about a month ago. Lemme 'splain.

    The picture above pretty much sums up my encounter with a real life magical pregnancy unicorn in the flesh. Yup. She was tall, blonde, and looked like she should win an award...for...something. She was wearing a tight, black, sweater dress and 4 inch heels with beautiful jewelry and perfect hair and had a perfect, perky little bump. For those of you unfamiliar with the infamous "sweater dress", I can help you understand the significance of a pregnant woman wearing one of those. Here's the evolution of pregnancy attire for most of us (in biblical terms just for fun):

Sweater dress(0-3 months)

begets

Maxi skirts(3-5 months) 

who begets

Maxi dresses(5-7 months)

who begets

Maxi ANYTHING(8 months)

who begets

Sweat pants( 8 1/2 months..)

who begets

HUSBAND'S sweat pants!( One week before due date, or 9 months before, depending on if you are me or not!)

   "Well," I thought to myself, "she's probably only like 4 or 5 months and was in amazing shape before she got pregnant. That's why I can't see anything but awesome stickin' out of her sweater dress." 

   "So, when are you due?" I asked, expecting a quiet, "Oh, not for a while yet...." But instead she said.

   "5 days!! I can't believe its almost here!"

SAY WHAT??

Uh uh. 

   Most pregnant women look like this in a sweater dress at t-minus 5 days:

                                                      And we definitely feel that way....

   Who WAS this woman? I told her I was pregnant too and immediately blurted out that I was only 5 weeks and looked like I was 5 months, just to avoid that awkwardness.( Hence the fat walrus telling the unicorn she's pregnant in the picture above). As she walked away, floating on sunshine and happiness, I felt myself envying her. It was like meeting Santa Clause. Or the Easter Bunny. Or the Queen of England(MegaMind, anyone, anyone? Best. Movie. Ever.)

    Then it happened. That moment where you want to die, and then die some more. 

    "I can't believe she's due already." Said another woman who had been talking to both of us. 

    "And to think it took them 5 years to get pregnant. I am SOO happy for her!"

    Now granted, I hadn't voiced any of my magical pregnancy unicorn envy but I still felt like trash. Trash, wrapped in vomit, and dipped in flames. 5 YEARS?? I was crying because it took me 5 MONTHS to get pregnant, and at no cost to me. I can't even imagine what this amazing woman went through to get that baby and I'm sure she is hated on by stupid women like me everywhere she goes. 

   So what REALLY makes someone a magical pregnancy unicorn? The hardship, and trial, and tears. That woman was magical because she chose to give everything and anything to have that child.  And sure, most of us look and feel like this through it all:

(I'm pretty sure she had just ripped a nasty fart and accidentally peed herself in this scene)

BUT WE LOVE IT!

    Moral of the story? There is no perfect pregnancy. And no unicorns. But there is an amazing miracle that we get to experience as women. And it doesn't manifest itself in sweater dresses and high heels. Mostly, it comes in the acne, back aches, snoring, and barfing with a little bit of precious on the side. And it IS beautiful.

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The Meaning Behind Stretch Marks

    My son and I were playing the other day on my bed. We love tickle fights. And we love the movie, Elf. In the midst of this battle, my son pulled my shirt up and starting hitting my belly. He's in that phase, for those of you with toddlers. I immediately panicked, pulled my shirt back down, and ended our tickle fight. I laid him down for a nap and accordingly, laid myself down for a nap as well!
    I put my hand where he had hit me and felt what I always feel when I rub my lower belly. Stretch marks.  These smooth, jagged, indentations all under my belly button right where my latest baby is starting to grow. "Why?" I thought to myself, "why do I have to deal with these? They are so gross!"
    My stomach, like most mommas I know, was absolutely DEMOLISHED by stretch marks by the time my son came to town. In fact, at about 36 weeks along, I had an absolutely smooth belly with not a stretch mark in sight and I thought to myself, " I must be one of those lucky girls that doesn't get stretch marks. Lucky me!" Needless to say, within a week I found a tiny, little purple lightening bolt creeping up the left side of my belly. "Its just one...not a problem." And then another starting creeping up the right side and the previous one starting growing. Within a week of my son being due my belly was COVERED in stretch marks, and they were purple and hideous. Nothing beautiful about them.
   That would have been the worst part too if it weren't for the "afterbirth" stretch marks which tend to make your belly look like cottage cheese thats been mauled by a bear, like so:

 

I'll leave the rest up to your imagination!

   Its been over a year since I first saw that ominous stretch mark and I can say that they do heal and fade, but they are still there! In fact, even in my skinniest of friends and sisters, they still carry their scars from childbirth.
   So, it got me wondering, whats the point of stretch marks, really? I mean, our bodies literally transform themselves, like super-human teenage mutant ninja turtles, to carry the baby...why not have super skin as well? I'm sure some of you have thought of this before. In fact, I'm pretty sure Disney got it just right when they created this character:

  Check out those birthing hips!? Disney made some friends in the momma community on this movie for sure...I would have thought her super power would have been pushing out babies. Cuz isn't it, really? My point is, however, that she's Elastigirl! And she stretches..everywhere! Would it have been too much to make our skin stretch enough with our babies so that it doesn't tear? And to make vegetables taste like french fries? As Tevye, from Fiddler on the Roof would say,

                                                 "Would it spoil some vast, eternal PLAN?"

 In fact, let's just roll with that one for a minute, shall we?
Ahem.

       "Dear God, you made many, many stretch marks.
I realize, of course, that it's no shame to have stretch marks.
But it's no great honor either!
So, what would have been so terrible if I had none?"
 

If I had no stretch marks,
Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum.
All day long I'd actually like my bum.
If I were a stretch-mark free mum!

I wouldn't have to work hard.
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
If I were a silky, smooth skinned,
Idle-diddle-daidle-daidle mum."

 (Emphasis added and lyrics changed)

  Did you dance along? If not, you're missing out. :)

  I think this time around, I'm gonna own that hospital gown and dance down the hospital halls proudly singing this song while I wait for the baby to come. Like this lady:

   But in all seriousness, it got me thinking. "Would it spoil some vast eternal plan NOT to have stretch marks? What was God's purpose in including stretch marks in His plan? I mean, there's lots of things I'd like to talk to Heavenly Father about one day. Here's some on my list:

1. Arm pit hair

2. Eye boogers

3. Miley Cyrus

Ya know, the list could go on...:)

Until then, however, what could possibly be His purpose in letting women experience the scars of childbirth for the rest of their lives?

And then the most beautiful, uplifting thought entered my mind:

          "Doesn't the One who gave His life for all still carry his scars?"

    

It hit me so powerfully and immediately I thought of this scripture in The Book of Mormon, the book of 3rd Nephi, chapter 11, verses 14-15:

     "Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world.

     And it came to pass that the multitude went forth, and thrust their hands into his side, and did feel the prints of the nails in his hands and in his feet; and this they did do, going forth one by one until they had all gone forth, and did see with their eyes and did feel with their hands, and did know of a surety and did bear record, that it was he, of whom it was written by the prophets, that should come."

(For those of you who aren't familiar with The Book of Mormon, its where we get our nickname "mormons" from. This is an excerpt from an account of Jesus Christ visiting the people of the Ancient Americas after His death and resurrection in Jerusalem. Please feel free to ask me more about it! )

   I don't think its any coincidence that that thought entered my mind immediately after pondering that question to myself. That's how God works in my life and I believe He answers each of us in a way we will understand. I have learned such a beautiful lesson from all of this.

   Isn't the purpose of this life to learn to become like Jesus? And there's no better way to do that than by having children. There is no greater sacrifice I can think of other than giving your life. And wouldn't God want us to feel like we are like His Son? Any opportunity to have something in common with The Greatest of All God's Children would seem like a priority to me.

   Are stretch marks still embarrassing? Yes. And I don't think the world will ever let us forget that. I can't tell you how many adds I got during my last pregnancy for some proclaimed "miracle cure" for stretch marks. But I hope that I can remember what the purpose of those scars are. To help me remember to sacrifice for others. 

So, the next time you feel your scars, remember, its a chance to have something in common with the Savior of us All. 

Happy Early Merry Christmas to all you mommas out there!

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Weighing in on mid-wives: A Thanksgiving Miracle

    I can't believe Thanksgiving is over already! I am really relieved. You see, most people look forward to Thanksgiving, but when you are pregnant, Thanksgiving, and the Holiday Season in general can be incredibly intimidating. Not only are you trying hard to fight off the urge to overeat, but now you're doing it while being surrounded by 20 other people who have no desire to hold back! I found out I was pregnant with this little looker two weeks before thanksgiving in 2011:

    So, naturally, I took this approach to Thanksgiving Dinner that year:

   And I was terrified of having the same experience again, only 25 lbs heavier this time. NOT GOOD! Luckily, I had an awesome appointment with my mid-wife at the very beginning of this pregnancy that has shaped my view of weight gain to what it is now. Lemme tell ya 'bout it.
   About a week after finding out I was pregnant, I was having really bad cramping. Like, hold-your-sides-and-stop-breathing type of cramps. I have miscarried before so I was absolutely terrified and set up an appointment at the closest ob/gyn's office that took my insurance. Jess and I are new in this town and didn't have a baby doctor picked out, so I decided to try this one out.
   I had heard people talk a lot about mid-wives and how wonderful they are, but every time I thought about them, this is what I pictured:

   Everything I heard about them sounded a little hokey and I wasn't sure if I felt comfortable going that route for my first. So, instead, I went to a clinic that had several different doctors(I saw 6 total during that pregnancy) and here's what that felt like:

   If you don't get my humor on this one, its ok. I'll elaborate. I think if you have ever been pregnant you can easily relate to the cow metaphor, for more than one reason...especially if you have ever used a breast pump. Just sayin'. But the reason I think of this picture when I describe what its like being seen by so many doctors in one clinic is because you feel like a bunch of cattle being rounded up! Or at least I did. But let me explain it more simply. Here's the cons to rotating doctors in a clinic:

1. It can take forever to get in.
      My husband and I waited sometimes 45 min after our set appointment time.
2. They have already seen (depending on the time of day) lots and lots of whiny pregnant women before you and start to lose their sensitivity.
      Especially the nurses in those places! "You've put on 5 lbs. What are you eating??"
3. You get lost in a sea of files.
    My doctor-of-the-day would glance over my file for about 30 seconds. Thats it.
4. They are either too harsh or too lenient on your weight gain, depending on the day.
    Lets hope the lady before you didn't put on too much weight and whine a lot, or you're in trouble! :)
5. You get different personalities/experience with each doctor.
     Some of them would sit and talk sports with my husband after I had just asked them how to deal with my sinus infection. Awesome?

   That being said, or complained, there were lots of great men and women there who were kind, and good at what they did. And yes, you can choose to have just one doctor that sees you every time if you don't want to be switched around for each appointment. Here's my advice for those of you that are overweight/obese and trying to decide on a doctor: GO WITH A MID-WIFE!
   I'm finally getting to my story about why I think mid-wives are the best choice for someone like me. I waited in the room until my mid-wife opened the door, really nervous because I felt like I already looked 5 months pregnant from my previous weight gain. I was hoping maybe we would skip that subject all together. But, in my usual fashion, my nerves took over and half-way through our "family history of diseases chat" I blurted out, "So I am already overweight and I don't want to put on much and actually I would really like to LOSE weight during this pregnancy.....(pause for breathing)...is that ok??"
   I kind of winced after realizing that I just told my mid-wife I wanted to lose weight while pregnant when I heard her softly say, "Sure. I think thats a great idea."
Say WHAT?
Did she actually just agree with me? Yup. With only two stipulations. That I was losing weight because I was eating healthier and that the baby was measuring where it should be measuring.
Can I get a HALLELUJAH? Or maybe an AZOOGA?

  Telling your baby doctor that you want to lose weight is like telling your high-school guidance counselor that you want to go to beauty school. They immediately panic and devise a plan to change your evil ways. Now granted, dieting during pregnancy is a no-no. I mean like starve yourself, then run five miles kind-of-dieting, and for obvious reasons.
   But watching your eating and trying to let your body use pregnancy to reset itself into a pattern of health and happiness is great. So, she went on to use some words that have been like swear-words to me since I had my first son.....Food Diary, Cardio, and Vegetables. Oh, vegetables..we meet again! And I have to admit, I already started regretting telling her that I wanted to lose weight or gain a minimal amount because when I saw her drawing out a weight-gain "map" I was like, "Oh no you di'nt!" But in my mind, I said it like this:

  Can I just say that I typed in the words, "Sassy woman" into Google Images and got this? Perfect. She is my hero. And if you wonder why I post so many random pics, its to help you visualize where I'm coming from. See? Didn't this pic totally explain how a chubby prego lady would react to words like "vegetables" and "weight gain map"? Uh huh!
  So, ahem, I was already starting to regret this new philosophy of not giving in to weight gain during pregnancy and setting myself up to be accountable. Then I realized that not taking this approach the first time gave me the extra 25 lbs I am lugging around now(on top of my 25 lb son, that is). In fact, I can vividly remember weighing in during my first pregnancy and calculating in my head that I had put on 45 lbs and was still a month away from my due date. The doctor and nurse said NOTHING! And, in fact, at my half way point(20 week check up) I had already put on 25 lbs, which is considered the normal overall weight gain for a healthy women. I was there at 20 weeks!! Maybe the lady in this pic was in there right before me and the doctor was too exhausted to deal with that again...at both check ups?? Sure.
   What is the moral of this story? I can say with pride that I have not gained a single pound so far. I am ten weeks pregnant. I know that doesn't sound really miraculous and I know that won't be the case the whole time, but at this point last time, I had already gained 10 lbs. YUP. So, bring it on, Christmas! Thanks to an amazing mid-wife who really cares, I think I can do this. I think I can, I think I can...:)


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