I've never been so into clothes. From the days of elementary school, when I never seemed to have the "cool" shoes (white Keds); to those of college, when the "designed-to-look-as-if-you-were-just-out-of-bed-but-really-had-fixed-your-hair-just-so" approach was, for me, genuinely unkempt; I've simply ignored most of fashion.
No more. After months of wearing a consistently diminishing assortment of clothes that will actually fit me, I now fantasise about wearing flattering clothes made for normal people. I dream of what it would be like to have a (relatively) flat belly, to actually have a chance of garnering a fleeting glance from an unknown male. I'm not looking for an affair; just a bit of a self-confidence boost that stems from the age-old goal of "looking good."
Already, I spend more time on my appearance than I did before. Part of this is a result of having so much more time during the day, but part of it is a result of genuinely wanting to be physically regarded as a woman. I wore white running shoes out the other day in the guise of "comfort," and was miserable.
I have little doubt that when I am actually within the realm of attempting to appear as a "yummy mummy," (competition is high in this category, mind you) my interest will have waned. But I do think I have developed a higher appreciation for my normal body. Going to the gym, eating well, buying new clothes... these previously somewhat tedious tasks now seem heavenly.
Sunday, 30 January 2011
Thursday, 27 January 2011
A new understanding for "The Sports Guy"
I'm not sure if any of you are aware of The Sports Guy. I learned about him from my husband, a devout worshipper of sports of all kinds. At first, I thought that this person was simply a pundit who wrote articles and blogs about sports. But then I noticed that he had branched into other topics as well - including in-depth, frequent and lengthy analyses of current television programs like Mad Men. He has even ventured at times into the realm of marriage and parenthood.
Although my husband listened just as fervently to Sports Guy's podcasts on these subjects as he did to the legitimate sports-themed ones, I remained skeptical. If the dude is supposed to be analysing sports, what right does he have to branch out into babies and television? There was no need to colonise the entire spectrum of entertainment options!
Now that I myself am blogging about a somewhat focused activity, I can better understand his actions. While I won't be digressing into football or basketball myself, I can understand the need for diversity of thought. I can also see (vaguely) that a sports buff's thoughts on television may take a slightly more masculine approach. Similiarly, perhaps a baby momma's ideas about the world could take on a more maternal feel.
This is all hypothetical - as yet, while the potential target of affection is unborn, I have very little maternal feelings or expertise of my own. But it's entirely possible, and very likely, that having babies makes you respect the ideas of baby mommas. Perhaps a future as an ESPN columnist is in the cards for me after all.
Although my husband listened just as fervently to Sports Guy's podcasts on these subjects as he did to the legitimate sports-themed ones, I remained skeptical. If the dude is supposed to be analysing sports, what right does he have to branch out into babies and television? There was no need to colonise the entire spectrum of entertainment options!
Now that I myself am blogging about a somewhat focused activity, I can better understand his actions. While I won't be digressing into football or basketball myself, I can understand the need for diversity of thought. I can also see (vaguely) that a sports buff's thoughts on television may take a slightly more masculine approach. Similiarly, perhaps a baby momma's ideas about the world could take on a more maternal feel.
This is all hypothetical - as yet, while the potential target of affection is unborn, I have very little maternal feelings or expertise of my own. But it's entirely possible, and very likely, that having babies makes you respect the ideas of baby mommas. Perhaps a future as an ESPN columnist is in the cards for me after all.
Monday, 24 January 2011
You Look Great! Really, I mean it...
It's almost become a cliche. Friends, acquaintences, coworkers alike - all have taken to telling me how "great/ amazing/ wonderful" I look. But, taking a step back, I know for sure I don't look as "great" as they would have me think. I look pretty normal, it's true. But I'm realistic, and I realise that these are just lines that they have been trained to say. Or perhaps it's a way of filling conversations without actually resorting to baby-specific talk.
Whatever the reason, it makes me wonder what would happen if I showed up at a dinner looking truly awful. Arm in a sling, black eye, having gained 50 pounds instead of 30, with hair completely frizzed, wearing rags. Toothless, perhaps. Would there be an awkward silence before they began telling me again how fabulous I looked? I half suspect that I may lately have literally become invisible. It's a special superpower that comes along with being pregnant.
Whatever the reason, it makes me wonder what would happen if I showed up at a dinner looking truly awful. Arm in a sling, black eye, having gained 50 pounds instead of 30, with hair completely frizzed, wearing rags. Toothless, perhaps. Would there be an awkward silence before they began telling me again how fabulous I looked? I half suspect that I may lately have literally become invisible. It's a special superpower that comes along with being pregnant.
The Waiting Game
We're ready. We have the gadgets and the gear, we've packed the bag, we even have food ready in the kitchen. Our families and friends are prepared.
I went out to lunch with a group of about 12 friends and acquaintences this weekend. I arrived a little early, so was nestled in behind the table when most of them arrived. One told me congratulations under the notion that the little one had already arrived. Otherwise, why would I be out? It's as if people have taken what they can from the current situation, and are already looking to the next step. Me being pregnant is boring already.
And I can't decide - am I still content to be in this very pregnant, mobility-limited, state? Last week, I was more than happy with this existence. But now, as workless week 3 starts and I become more and more annoyed with the increasingly sore legs and swollen feet, I think I'm about ready for the little one to make its appearance.
There has been an advantage to having a waiting period. Each night, I've been going to sleep later, and our mornings get correspondingly later too. Perhaps early maternity leave is a modern day method of preparation for the flexible sleeping hours that must accompany a newborn. Whether it serves a function or not, I do feel a little surreal, and I have even caught myself having moments of laying on the bed contemplating the purpose of existence.
Baby, it's time!
I went out to lunch with a group of about 12 friends and acquaintences this weekend. I arrived a little early, so was nestled in behind the table when most of them arrived. One told me congratulations under the notion that the little one had already arrived. Otherwise, why would I be out? It's as if people have taken what they can from the current situation, and are already looking to the next step. Me being pregnant is boring already.
And I can't decide - am I still content to be in this very pregnant, mobility-limited, state? Last week, I was more than happy with this existence. But now, as workless week 3 starts and I become more and more annoyed with the increasingly sore legs and swollen feet, I think I'm about ready for the little one to make its appearance.
There has been an advantage to having a waiting period. Each night, I've been going to sleep later, and our mornings get correspondingly later too. Perhaps early maternity leave is a modern day method of preparation for the flexible sleeping hours that must accompany a newborn. Whether it serves a function or not, I do feel a little surreal, and I have even caught myself having moments of laying on the bed contemplating the purpose of existence.
Baby, it's time!
Thursday, 20 January 2011
Extreme Nesting
I've been done with work for about 10 days, have been in our new apartment-one that we deliberately chose as a "fixer-upper"-for only about 3 months, and am pregnant. It's the perfect combination for what my friend has termed "extreme nesting."
Although it's gotten a bit out of control, it started out innocently enough. I unpacked our belongings. But then I realised that there was far less storage in our new place than was optimal. Things needed to be properly separated and stored for easy access. As I acquired extra storage boxes, I soon saw that we needed more shelves and spaces for these boxes. And so, I began ordering them. And I haven't stopped.
Over the past 2 months, a partial list includes: a chest of drawers, a wine bottle holder, a spice rack, a utility hook, 4 shelving units, 10 plastic boxes with lids, 2 underbed storage boxes with wheels, door hooks, small shelves, and file boxes. I've been to auctions, yard sales, and single item offers I found on eBay and Craig's List. I've gotten rid of the previous tenants' junk that had been cluttering existing storage areas, and I've rearranged, filtered, eBayed and pawned some of our own junk.
Nesting, I've learned, isn't just about rearranging the twigs and bits of string you already have. It's about shipping out the old and unused, and bringing in the new and efficient. It's about making the difficult decision to throw out the old Christmas Cards, and putting the effort into displaying the current ones. I'm not a neat or very organized person, but somehow I've become more focused on these things.
Nesting can also involve an education into the use of hand tools. I've become adept at power drills, at myriad types of screwdrivers and hammers, at a variety of multi-purpose picture hooks. Just this week, I acquired a new, very masculine item: a hacksaw. It doesn't feel very maternal to be bent over a hollow metal curtain rod, sawing to make it fit a small window; but evolutionarily, it probably makes sense. And while these changes probably won't affect the baby's life in the slightest, they will hopefully contribute to a higher level of sanity for his or her parents.
Although it's gotten a bit out of control, it started out innocently enough. I unpacked our belongings. But then I realised that there was far less storage in our new place than was optimal. Things needed to be properly separated and stored for easy access. As I acquired extra storage boxes, I soon saw that we needed more shelves and spaces for these boxes. And so, I began ordering them. And I haven't stopped.
Over the past 2 months, a partial list includes: a chest of drawers, a wine bottle holder, a spice rack, a utility hook, 4 shelving units, 10 plastic boxes with lids, 2 underbed storage boxes with wheels, door hooks, small shelves, and file boxes. I've been to auctions, yard sales, and single item offers I found on eBay and Craig's List. I've gotten rid of the previous tenants' junk that had been cluttering existing storage areas, and I've rearranged, filtered, eBayed and pawned some of our own junk.
Nesting, I've learned, isn't just about rearranging the twigs and bits of string you already have. It's about shipping out the old and unused, and bringing in the new and efficient. It's about making the difficult decision to throw out the old Christmas Cards, and putting the effort into displaying the current ones. I'm not a neat or very organized person, but somehow I've become more focused on these things.
Nesting can also involve an education into the use of hand tools. I've become adept at power drills, at myriad types of screwdrivers and hammers, at a variety of multi-purpose picture hooks. Just this week, I acquired a new, very masculine item: a hacksaw. It doesn't feel very maternal to be bent over a hollow metal curtain rod, sawing to make it fit a small window; but evolutionarily, it probably makes sense. And while these changes probably won't affect the baby's life in the slightest, they will hopefully contribute to a higher level of sanity for his or her parents.
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
Bumps & Babies
Nine days until the due date. Tired of working on DIY projects around the home, I put the hacksaw down this morning (yes, literally, I was using a hacksaw. I needed to cut a metal tube for a roller blind I'm installing. I must say, I feel quite liberated) and left the house to join a group called "Bumps and Babies." I had learned of this group in my birth education class.
The term "bumps" led me to believe that there would be both pregos and mothers at this group. That was wrong. I found myself sitting on a foam mat surrounded by toys, babies, and mothers. Once I had sat down, I found it very difficult to move, and so I spoke to whichever mothers deigned to speak to me, the pregnant, clueless one. One of them did trust me to hold their infant - and of course, it was the baby with the eye infection.
Without a baby, and without any stories to share about cribs or playpens or diapers, I felt distinctly out of place while politely nodding to these stories swirling about me. I was comforted to know that a group like this exists, and I will likely return when I have a squawling one of my own. But, for now, I was happy to be able to easily walk away. (well, once I had managed to move myself from the sitting position!)
The term "bumps" led me to believe that there would be both pregos and mothers at this group. That was wrong. I found myself sitting on a foam mat surrounded by toys, babies, and mothers. Once I had sat down, I found it very difficult to move, and so I spoke to whichever mothers deigned to speak to me, the pregnant, clueless one. One of them did trust me to hold their infant - and of course, it was the baby with the eye infection.
Without a baby, and without any stories to share about cribs or playpens or diapers, I felt distinctly out of place while politely nodding to these stories swirling about me. I was comforted to know that a group like this exists, and I will likely return when I have a squawling one of my own. But, for now, I was happy to be able to easily walk away. (well, once I had managed to move myself from the sitting position!)
Saturday, 15 January 2011
One more task accomplished: steriliser assembled
After many years spent acquiring a variety of useful kitchen gadgets and appliances that now sit proudly on the counter, today I reached a milestone: my first new appliance for the baby. I somewhat reluctantly moved the Nespresso milk frother across the counter to make room. From the books I have read, it is absolutely essential: a bottle steriliser.
The concept seems easy enough - toss the bottles and the accompanying pieces into the machine, throw in some water, and push the button. Once the machine is opened, the bottles lose their sterilisation, but if you leave it shut, they hold their "clean status" for several hours. I can't help thinking, though, that what seems to be an easy, straightforward process now may quickly become tedious. And now I have less counter space.
The concept seems easy enough - toss the bottles and the accompanying pieces into the machine, throw in some water, and push the button. Once the machine is opened, the bottles lose their sterilisation, but if you leave it shut, they hold their "clean status" for several hours. I can't help thinking, though, that what seems to be an easy, straightforward process now may quickly become tedious. And now I have less counter space.
Friday, 14 January 2011
Other baby mommas
One of the perks of new motherhood is a completely new set of friends. Suddenly, former "acquaintences" make great efforts to upgrade their relationship status to "friends" solely because they also have babies. It's a great lesson: if you feel that your social life is languishing in any way, have a baby! It will attract other mothers like bees to honey.
Another example of this is the group of women I've met in my childbirth classes. Two weeks ago, I completed this set of birthing classes where the instructor taught us about everything from changing diapers to breastfeeding to pain management during birth. But most of us knew that course material was not the primary reason we were taking the class. It was a very simple goal: to make friends with other mothers in the same situation.
And so, although the classes are now complete, our meetings continue. We meet over coffee once a week to discuss our fears and concerns, and to coo over the babies that are starting to pop out. It's a bit like "Survivor," where you feel slightly fortunate (or unfortunate?) that you remain on the "childless" island of independence and watch as the others get picked off, one by one.
Another example of this is the group of women I've met in my childbirth classes. Two weeks ago, I completed this set of birthing classes where the instructor taught us about everything from changing diapers to breastfeeding to pain management during birth. But most of us knew that course material was not the primary reason we were taking the class. It was a very simple goal: to make friends with other mothers in the same situation.
And so, although the classes are now complete, our meetings continue. We meet over coffee once a week to discuss our fears and concerns, and to coo over the babies that are starting to pop out. It's a bit like "Survivor," where you feel slightly fortunate (or unfortunate?) that you remain on the "childless" island of independence and watch as the others get picked off, one by one.
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Pumps and sterilisers and pads, oh my!
Yesterday I was chatting to a friend who has a brand new 1 week old baby. Apart from raving about how great it was to have employed a "night nurse," who basically takes over the baby care at night, she said that the most important piece of equipment she had was a bottle sterilizer.
While I'm planning to ride the breastfeeding train, I realize that pumping, storing and freezing may allow the husband and grandparentals to lend a hand. So, a sterilizer must be necessary. But which one? Which bottles are compatible with which sterilizers, and which with which pumps? Medela, Tommee Tippee, and Avent seem to be the market leaders. But when I don't even know how to use a sterilizer, and have still not handled a bottle, how can I choose?
In the end, I chose the Medela swing pump and the Avent sterilizer. The first was recommended by more of my friends in an informal poll. The second seems to be able to manage many different sizes of bottles and equipment, which may give more flexibility.
Ok, feeding products, check! One less thing.
While I'm planning to ride the breastfeeding train, I realize that pumping, storing and freezing may allow the husband and grandparentals to lend a hand. So, a sterilizer must be necessary. But which one? Which bottles are compatible with which sterilizers, and which with which pumps? Medela, Tommee Tippee, and Avent seem to be the market leaders. But when I don't even know how to use a sterilizer, and have still not handled a bottle, how can I choose?
In the end, I chose the Medela swing pump and the Avent sterilizer. The first was recommended by more of my friends in an informal poll. The second seems to be able to manage many different sizes of bottles and equipment, which may give more flexibility.
Ok, feeding products, check! One less thing.
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
A late-night visitor
Tonight the husband and I were awakened at 4 am by our doorbell. We groggily arose and somewhat ridiculously talked through the mailslot (I was too protective to open the door, imagining all kinds of strange schemes that might be planned) and learned that the woman on the other side needed cash to pay a taxi to take her to a friend's house. She was yelling because she was deaf, she said. It was a strange, convoluted story, but we decided to give her some money through the door slot on the (very slight) chance that it really was a woman in distress.
I'm not sure if it's the fact that I just stopped working and don't have the pressure of waking up tomorrow morning, or the knowledge that soon we'll be awakened in the middle of the night multiple times to administer feedings, but we decided we couldn't sleep and stayed up to watch television. We considered it a late night feeding without the feeding. It seemed an almost surreal precursor to this upcoming surreal period of our lives.
Now, if I were really motivated, I would use this time to sit on the "birthing ball..."
I'm not sure if it's the fact that I just stopped working and don't have the pressure of waking up tomorrow morning, or the knowledge that soon we'll be awakened in the middle of the night multiple times to administer feedings, but we decided we couldn't sleep and stayed up to watch television. We considered it a late night feeding without the feeding. It seemed an almost surreal precursor to this upcoming surreal period of our lives.
Now, if I were really motivated, I would use this time to sit on the "birthing ball..."
Monday, 10 January 2011
Finally: we have a (semi) packed hospital bag!
Today was a landmark day. After weeks of procrastination, I motivated myself to start packing my bag for the hospital. As you all know, websites are teeming with ideas of what to put in this bag. Multiple changes of clothing, cameras, money, food, paper, books, energy drinks, music and entertainment sources. I even found books that recommended flashlights and sturdy walking shoes. Am I packing for a trip to the hospital, or am I preparing to cut myself completely off from the world for an "Into the Wild" style venture? Do I need a guide to edible plants, and perhaps a shotgun and a machete? Some books further recommend that partners bring full changes of clothing and food for meals for themselves. Considering my hospital is located in the middle of an urban area, with a burger restaurant and full cafeteria even located on the premises, I feel that these precautions could be slightly exaggerated.
I had to pack the bag in two installments. For the first shot, I packed for myself - changes of clothes, my toiletries, etc. I put a little suit in for the baby to come home in and beamed proudly at the perfection of it all. I even remembered to include the receiving blanket that my husband was brought home in - major brownie points with the in-laws.
And then it hit me - I needed to go much further. It wouldn't be enough for the baby to look cute and feel soft. I needed to bring feeding and changing materials as well - fun things like diapers, cremes, breast pads, cotton balls for cleaning. Stuff that most people would easily call "boring" and "logistical."
In the end, although I managed to keep my bag contents to a minimum and didn't include any of the prescribed camping gear, I had to transfer everything from a small, practical shoulder bag to a rolling suitcase. While said bag could still fit in an airplane's overhead compartment, let's face it - my days of packing light are likely over. And the baby isn't even born yet!
I had to pack the bag in two installments. For the first shot, I packed for myself - changes of clothes, my toiletries, etc. I put a little suit in for the baby to come home in and beamed proudly at the perfection of it all. I even remembered to include the receiving blanket that my husband was brought home in - major brownie points with the in-laws.
And then it hit me - I needed to go much further. It wouldn't be enough for the baby to look cute and feel soft. I needed to bring feeding and changing materials as well - fun things like diapers, cremes, breast pads, cotton balls for cleaning. Stuff that most people would easily call "boring" and "logistical."
In the end, although I managed to keep my bag contents to a minimum and didn't include any of the prescribed camping gear, I had to transfer everything from a small, practical shoulder bag to a rolling suitcase. While said bag could still fit in an airplane's overhead compartment, let's face it - my days of packing light are likely over. And the baby isn't even born yet!
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