Needs Vs. Wants

I had my first legitimate pregnancy craving over the weekend.

I wanted...no, scratch that. I needed Nesquick chocolate milk syrup.

I haven't had it in years. I haven't thought about purchasing the stuff in years, either. I have zero idea where the notion came from, but I was in the frame of mind that if someone didn't bring me Nesquick chocolate milk syrup, I was probably going to go postal on someone (re: Jordan).

Well, my knight in shining armor of a husband did not offer to get me some, so I took to Facebook to try and coerce my mother or father into doing so.

Neither of them acknowledged my plea for help. How rude. That's 10 less minutes of baby time for them.

Oh, if you're wondering what I mean by that...I have decided that I will award time with my baby to people based on good deeds. At the rate my mother is going, she is already in the negatives at -25 minutes of baby time. My father is sitting at around 5 minutes. My sister has worked her way up to about 10 minutes. I'll have to check my records.

Anyways, Mom and Dad did not want to help me when I was in dire straights.

Y'know who did though? My sister-in-law. She drove from Summerside after work with a litre of Nesquick. I could have kissed her. I also thought seriously about naming my baby after her.

Since bringing me the Nesquick, I have managed to drink another four litres of milk in two days. At this rate, we won't be able to pay our mortgage based on how much we spend on milk. I should invest in a cow.

Also, I have noticed that the increase in sugar in my diet via the milk and chocolate syrup have increased the size of my ass monumentally. At this rate, I will have to enter rooms sideways, and only if the door frame is extra wide.

The Positive Side of Pregnancy

I didn't think there were going to be positive aspects to this pregnancy. I thought I was just going to be a miserable preggo lady, which is very similar to how I was pre-pregnancy, and that I was just going to have to deal with it until Baby G arrived.

I was wrong.

I don't usually like being wrong. Actually, I'm generally NOT wrong. Just ask Jordan; he'll agree. I'm okay with being wrong about this though.

So, are you sitting on the edge of your seat wondering what I could possibly say has been great about this pregnancy?! I thought so. Here you go!

Maternity jeans.

They are the end-all be-all of clothing and the second I pulled these bad boys up over my ass, I knew I was in heaven. Jeans with elastic waist bands are not just for those over 70. They are for everyone. I will never wear regular jeans again, pregnant or not. I don't want to. I can't go back now that I know what maternity jeans are like. I could squat in them, try a few yoga poses, run a marathon...ha, who am I kidding, I wouldn't do any of those things in the $120 Lululemon pants I own, why the hell would I do them in jeans? Even maternity jeans.

Anyways, the point is that the two pairs of maternity jeans I now own are better than any item of clothing I have ever purchased, including my wedding dress. If I could go back in time, I would wear maternity jeans to my wedding instead.

Now, I bet you're wondering how things could get better after discovering maternity jeans. I thought the same thing, but then I realized something else as I was getting dressed the other day.

My boobs are huge.

Now, I use the term "huge" relative to the previous size of my boobs. I am no Pamela Anderson (in any sense), but damn, they are big.

As a girl who was once told in junior high that I was a pirate's dream because I had a "sunken chest" (to the shit head who said that to me, I'll remember it 'til the day I die, and it gives me great pleasure to know you are fat), these boobs I now have are glorious. It's like I got a free boob job, and all I had to do was let this little creature reside inside of me for nine months. Deal. Done. No questions asked. I'll sell my soul to keep them. I love my (newish) boobs.

The best part about these boobs, though, is the fact that they now catch the food I drop. No longer does the food drop down into my shirt and settle on my stomach. My girls have my back. They know I want to eat that dropped food. They save it for me. So thoughtful.

Okay, that's it. I've spewed all the positiveness I can for one day...or for one year, for that matter. I am just happy to report that pregnancy isn't as bad as I thought it would be. I can thank maternity jeans and my ta-ta's for that.

Fat

It's Wednesday.

That means I'm another week along, bringing me to a whopping 14 weeks.

Y'know what I feel like, though? I feel like I am 100 weeks pregant without the perk of being able to see the creature move/kick. Wait, is that a benefit? I think it may actually just freak the hell out of me.

I feel fat as hell, and don't you dare roll your eyes at me. The way my moods go, I'm likely to slap them out of your head.

Seriously, though...I feel huge.

The other day I tried to squeeze into a pair of jeans I have had (and that have fit!) for a couple of years. They're one of my favorite pairs. Thanks to my ever growing gut and ass, I no longer fit into them.

Actually, if I do that whole jump up and down, squat real low, shake everything from one side to the other, I can pull them up over my arse. I'm aware that is likely a visual you didn't want, but I am beyond caring what others want. I want what I want, which is to fit into my god damn jeans.

Anyways, I get these jeans up over my ass and they will button. When I say button, though, I mean I now have the mother of all muffin tops. I could feed half the world with this muffin top. It's not cute. No one will look at me, thinking "Oh, she is just the picture of pregnant beauty". They will cover their eyes and beg the gods for forgiveness, because they must have done something obviously horrible in their lives to deserve to be blinded in such a manner.

I decided that since I had worked up such a sweat to get these babies on, that I wasn't changing. Really, though, it's that Jordan was sleeping, and I had no one to help me pry myself out of them. That, and I was beyond winded. Bitches running marathons ain't got nothin' on how I felt after getting into those jeans. Heart palpitations galore.

I figured I would be okay because I recently purchased one of those belly bands. It looks like a tube top, but you wear it around your waist. It's supposed to allow you to wear your pre-pregnancy jeans for longer because you can wear them unbuttoned and use this belly band as a super elastic-y belt.

Like I said, I figured I would be okay. I figured wrong.

Never in my life, besides the day my mother gave birth to me, have I shown my ass to so many people. This belly band did nothing. I sat down, my ass came out. I stood up, my ass came out. I bent over, my ass came out. You get the picture. My ass was out.

If I had any luck in the world, the granny panties I was wearing would have at least stayed up to try to save some of my dignity. Wait, I just said granny panties and dignity in the same sentence. Never mind.

Okay, okay, continuing on...

They did not save the day. Why? Because the aforementioned jeans that were/are way too tight latched on to them for all they were worth and took the granny panties down with them. I like that attitude though - if I'm going down, you're coming with me. I stand by that. I understand where you are coming from, jeans.

Long story short, I'd like to send a quick apology out to those that had to bear witness to my ass. It's large, it's in charge, and it's here to stay.



Unsolicited

First things first, I pooped three times today.

And I told my husband.

Because our dirty talk has taken on whole new levels. It's now, quite literally, dirty. Filthy, even.

Moving forward, let me talk about something that has annoyed me since the second I told people I was pregnant.

Advice. Actually, to be more specific, I am referring to unsolicited advice.

"Get lots of sleep now! You won't get any when the baby comes."

"Don't eat x, y, and z." OR "Make sure you eat x, y, and z."

"Y'know, breastfeeding is best for baby."

"Enjoy every moment as it goes by so fast!"

Etc., etc.

Let's start this first by saying I am not the ungrateful bitch you are likely thinking I am.

A lot of the advice I have been given has been great. I'm not saying I don't appreciate the fact that other women out there are trying to help me in what has been, so far, an entirely foreign and scary process. Not scary in the sense that I spend every waking moment wondering if Cletus the Fetus is okay, but scary in the sense that I have gained 11 lbs, I eat enough carbs to sustain a small country, and I vomit at the thought of any red meat. SO MUCH FUN.

All I'm saying is that not everything that applies to one woman and her experience will apply to another.

So, let's get things straight, okay?

I'm going to breastfeed, so don't worry about asking me if I'm going to do "what's best for baby". Y'know what else? If breastfeeding proves to be unsuccessful, as it doesn't work for all women, I will make the choice to formula feed and I won't feel a single bit bad about it.

I understand the information and research that indicates that breastfeeding is best for the baby. I agree with it. But, I am also very aware that my baby isn't going to shrivel up and fail to thrive all because he/she didn't have breast milk. Furthermore, who am I to judge the decisions another mother makes if it in no way affects me or my child.

Let me just go ahead and say that the last statement I just made in no way reflects how I feel about anti-vaxxers and their decisions for their children. That's a whole other can of worms and that's a decision that CAN and MAY affect my child, so don't get me started.

The part about getting all the sleep you can get now before baby comes is laughable. You are aware that I could sleep for 12 hours a day, every day, until this child arrives and I would still be tired after continuous late night feedings and diaper changes, right? Okay, perfect. I'm glad we got that one straightened out. So stop saying it. Now.

Any type of health related advice is also unnecessary. Want to know why? Because I have a doctor. When I have questions that pertain to my health and my well being, I ask my doctor. That guy who completed umpteen years of schooling and has been a doctor for longer than I've been alive. Yeah, I trust him. I trust him when he tells me I can continue with the physical activity I have been doing. I trust him when he says my blood pressure is a little high and we should monitor it. I then trust him when he says my blood pressure has returned to normal. I trust him when he tells me to take my vitamins.

Long story short - I trust him. It's the exact opposite of how I feel about Jenny McCarthy, but I digress...

At this exact moment, I am feeling pretty okay with my pregnancy. I mean that in the sense that I haven't been sick today, I am less tired than usual, and I have yet to experience a mood swing. I am enjoying today. I don't, however, enjoy every day of pregnancy. I don't enjoy the lack of energy. I don't enjoy the fact that I have thrown up more in the last three months than I have in the last 20 years. I don't enjoy that at a mere 13 weeks pregnant none of my god damn jeans fit me properly. I don't enjoy the 11ish pounds I've already gained.

And guess what?! That's okay! I don't have to enjoy those things. I don't have to enjoy every moment because not every moment is enjoyable. That doesn't mean I'm going to be a shit mother or that I don't already love the little creature that resides inside of me.

While I thoroughly appreciate (most of) the advice others give me, not all of it will apply to me. And that's okay. Because this is my pregnancy.