Tag Archives: pregnancy

TSAB 1 of 3: Blue moon

So, I guess I’ve got to stop calling him my little thumb-sucking alien baby, hey 😀

He did not come out with two heads or green antennae, I have yet to see him suck his thumb (although he is a fan of sucking his whole fist) and my gawd he is not little – 8 lbs, 10 oz and 20.5 inches long, which I swear are all legs! Mind you, calling him my Baby Cavendish or my Little Usain Bolt is not out of the question.


Just 11 days old, and he’s already got his victory pose down!

Last Thursday, I was induced, one week before the originally planned for induction date, and three weeks before his actual due date. Big Ring and I knew it could take hours, maybe even days before things got going, so we made sure we were prepared. Laptop, check. IPod, check. Girly book, check. Two magazines, check. Stack of DVDs (Ghostbusters and Fast Times at Ridgemont High, oh yeah ;)) check.

We didn’t need any of it.

Within 15 minutes of the cervidil, I started to feel pressure, 30 minutes in, cramping, 45 minutes the cervidil was removed for fear the labour was progressing too fast. It didn’t stop. At one hour, I was 3 cm dilated, at which point the super amazing obstetrician (I seriously can’t say enough good stuff about him and the nurse in charge of me that night) broke my water, figuring the babe was none too keen to continue hanging in the womb.

At 6 cm, my belly started to involuntarily push. I knew this was not good, but as much as I tried to stop it, at one point even lecturing it to stop, it would not. When the OB came back to check (literally minutes from the last time he checked!) I was 10 cm dilated. With a huge grin on his face, he announced to the room, “You’ve got a really nice cervix!” Now that’s a compliment I’ve never heard before 😀

Pushing Time:

Labour is the one thing that has freaked me out for years. Despite having a high pain threshold, the days and months leading up to this event, I was trembling. I for sure figured I’d be a complete wimp and be begging for drugs the second we rolled into the hospital parking lot. And yet, while it was painful and uncomfortable as hell, and I think I even joked at one point for Big Ring to remind me again why I opposed a c-section, it wasn’t the kind of tear-your-insides-apart, get-on-your-knees-and-beg-for-the-gods-up-above-to-make-it-stop pain. There were no tears, there was no howling, no morphine, no thought of an epidural, just a bunch of hits of laughing gas is all 😀

I kept my eyes shut for pretty much the entire time, and as soon as a contraction came I pushed, oh man did I ever push – once, twice, three and four times per contraction, face apparently beet red, veins in my neck popping like they never popped before. I was focused! And watching me, Big Ring said there was no doubt in his mind this kid was getting out naturally – there would be no c-section if my pushing had any say in the matter.

On Aug 30, at 8:59 p.m., with a blue moon shining brightly outside, after two hours of labour, plus one hour of pushing, my baby boy was out. “Open your eyes! Open your eyes!” the nurse and doc shouted. What I saw was the most beautiful, slimy, greyish, purple, wailing bundle being placed on my chest. It is that moment I know I will never forget.



Welcome to the world Little Ring!


And look, he’s already watching bike races with papa!

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37 weeks: ready or not…

Dear Thumb-Sucking Alien Baby,

Your baby shower, a garden party appropriately named Knocked Up In Wonderland, has come and gone. You had beautiful invites, beautiful cakes, beautiful guests, and beautiful presents.

Your mama got crafty (or went all nesting as some would call it) and made you a baby mobile that some questioned I’d actually finish… I did 😀


I got the idea from My First Baby blog, and while mine didn’t turn out quite as nice as hers (you’ll soon learn your mama’s not all that crafty) its got character – just like you will!

Your pops gave up his bike room haven and transformed it into the most beautiful owl/cycling themed baby room:


We’re still waiting for a photo of you to complete the barn window montage, and because you can’t see it, the bike stuff is on the other side 😀

We did a photo shoot to document your growth in my belly:

And now, the suitcase is packed, the car seat is ready to go, Ghostbusters is on the Mac, my mantras are ingrained in my head (I trust my body. My body is strong. I’ve run 2 marathons. I can do this.) and my in-labour visual has been selected:


I sure hope I don’t fling it at anyone!

Ready or not, my dear, sweet, impatient (don’t worry, you come by it naturally) thumb-sucking alien baby, here you come 😀

The lasts

Hallelujah, my friends, we have entered the week of the lasts. The last pregnancy related appointments I will ever have to endure. Wahoo… I mean, I’m so sad this is ending… note the sarcasm 😉

1. Blood work: After two years of monthly blood work, which involved more than one year prior to getting pregnant to ensure my blood sugars were perfect pre-conception, and then nine months of once-a-month tests to ensure BG perfection throughout the pregnancy, I held my pin cushion of an arm out for the pretty little vampires one last time last Monday.


When you get blood work done this much, you learn which labs are the quickest and which ones have the best (and by best I mean least painful) blood suckers on staff.

2. Diabetes in pregnancy clinic: Last Tuesday was the last time I will ever step foot in that god-forsaken, numb-skull driven place again. When you have a nurse who works in a pregnancy in diabetes clinic who asks if you might be pregnant – one month after regularly going there! – and when you’ve got an evil hag of a dietitian who makes you want to go and vomit every time you eat, I’m thinking you got a problem.


Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye!

3. Eye exams: Each trimester of this pregnancy I have required an eye exam to ensure the pregnancy hormones and pregnancy blood sugars haven’t caused diabetic damage to my eyes. And you know, I figured, given that I had to endure those blinding eye drops, the eye gods could have done me a solid and granted me my wish of finally being sentenced to a life of eye glasses (when a girl looks as great as I do in glasses, she should NOT be deprived!) but nooooo, the eyes continued to be the epitome of sight perfection.


Not even pregnancy could mess with my sight 😦

4. Non-stress test: As of Monday, the one-and-a-half months of twice-a-week non-stress tests, which at times were actually quite stressful, were no more.


We aced those tests kid 😀

5. Obstetrician: Today, I went in for my last obstetrician appointment, which means no more freaking the crap out of me, no more poking and prodding, and other evil things to me (in the office that is) and no more peeing all over my hands. Oh happy day.


This book in the obstetrician’s office always made me laugh, but nine times out of 10, I left not feeling like a hot mama.

6. DINKs: Tonight could very well be the last night Big Ring and I are a Dual Income No Kid family.


Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap!

The reason for the lasts: My due date is Sept. 20. It was suspected I’d be induced around Sept. 6 (the day before my grandpa’s birthday; the most amazing man I ever knew). But following the results of my last ultrasound last Thursday, which showed a long-legged, pot-bellied, eight-pounder with a highly visible “layer of fat,” it was decided I’d be induced on Monday. Labour Day (how appropriate!). But today, that all changed. After complaining of an incessantly itchy belly last week, I was sent for some blood work, and it turns out my liver enzymes have elevated (yet another pregnancy side effect I’ve been plagued with) and they figured it would be best if we start the process sooner rather than later.

Cue the freak-out session!

The loo chronicles

Okay, so I know I’m carrying around a rather rotund belly these days and that navigating life is expected to be somewhat of a tighter squeeze – I know that! – but seriously, my adventures into public washrooms is getting to be ridiculous. I don’t know who the heck designed these washroom stalls, but I can assure you, it was NOT a woman. Actually, let me rephrase that: It was NOT a pregnant woman!

These things are freaking ass small!

Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if my “little” thumb-sucking alien baby came into this world with a nasty concussion. I kid you not, for two months now, I’ve been whacking my belly hard with the stall doors trying to get the hell out of a space that’s more suitable for sardines than a pregnant chick!

And believe me, after the first fisticuffs with the door (much to the amusement of the stick-thin girl on the other side) I’ve been trying to be careful, trying to suck in my belly, trying to squeeze through the paper-thin slot, and once even contemplated worming my way out on the ground, but yeah, that’s just disgusting. Try as I might, though, there is no safe way out.


Three different washrooms. Three different trappings.

The number of times my belly’s been hit, I’m surprised it’s not black and blue or at the very least flattened by the force. And I’m thinking it’s high time we girls took over the design of these stalls, OR, for someone to design a pregnancy specific stall… now that’s an idea! Because while this loo mural is cute and all, it does nothing for me safely vacating the tiny space within, nothing at all.

Until then, I’ll be going into the handicap washrooms, thank you very much, and if anyone questions me, I’ll point to the belly with a look on my face that says don’t you dare mess with this full-bladdered pregnant chick. Because while we may look sweet and innocent carrying these bundles, don’t underestimate the power of our hormones – especially when we need to pee 😀

Hollywood knows best

So, you know this whole breathing during childbirth thing. Well, apparently, it’s a pretty big deal. Apparently, you can’t just walk in and figure you’re good to go even though you’ve been breathing pretty darn awesomely for the last 34 years. Oh no, there’s specific hee-hee, hoo-hoo skills to be learned… apparently.

Skills that I don’t have… despite going to 6 weeks of prenatal classes, which I was sure would teach me how to breathe, and yet, for the life of me, I can’t recall one breathing technique taught to me… nope, I just remember the horrific stuff, not the critical stuff. Awesome.

And so,  I did what any sane mom-to-be would do: I buckled down for some serious “breathing” research – via Hollywood! Look Who’s Talking, Nine Months, Knocked Up, Junior, Alien… what more could I possibly need?


Alien: because you  never know when a thumb-sucking alien baby will pop out of your stomach!

However, when I mentioned my studying strategy to my moms, I think she nearly had a heart attack. Apparently, Hollywood is not the source. I disagree. I mean seriously, check out these clips – how can that not be reality?

You be the judge 😀

Courtesy of Hollywood Streams

Shades of a belly button

To all the teenage girls out there who are absolutely positive a belly-button piercing will elevate their level of hotness, this is my PSA to you: if you have no qualms with developing a majorly deformed belly button later on in life go for it, but if that doesn’t appeal to you, I’d advise you to think two times, three times, 5,000 times before taking that leap!

Take it from me girlies, the future is not so kind to those with punctured holes in their bellies!

I got my belly button pierced twice in the mid ’90s. The first time, I fought with my moms tooth and nail to get it done. She was adamant in her refusal to sign the permission, so I went behind her back and got my sister to pretend to be my moms on the phone. But after just one year, that piercing grew out of my skin … literally the ring popped out one day while getting out of the shower. And so, back to the piercing shop I went. Second time was the charm.

However, a couple years later, I got bored of the metal, and permanently removed it. I haven’t had a ring in there in over 12 years, but I have had a wee scar ever since that was for the most part hidden inside of the confines of the belly button hole. No big deal.

Oh but wait, then I got pregnant. And let me tell you, girlies, the ever-increasing size of my belly, a belly that one has said looks more like 45 weeks than 33 (unlike her, it’s a good thing I filtered my clenched fist that was ready to go through her face!) has caused that once petite scar to grow, and grow, and grow. No longer is it hidden inside the belly button abyss, oh no, now it’s about an inch above the belly button and kind of looks like the eye of a cyclops.


The whole belly button/scar combo kind of looks like the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz in this pic!

Combine that with the current state of my stretched out belly button, and I swear to you it looks like I’ve got a one-eyed blow fish growing off the front of my belly… or maybe it’s a one-eyed platypus… or a one-eyed pouty face on the back of Lord Voldemort’s head… or a red-eyed volcano about to explode… ohhh the possibilities are endless.


Shades of a belly button…

I’m not gonna lie, while I was quite horrified at first, I have actually had a bit of fun with it. Every day, it’s constantly growing and changing, which has provided me hours of glee trying to figure out what its new look most resembles. And for awhile there, I was able to make some pretty awesome guppy faces with it. (How many of you can make guppy faces with your face AND your belly button?) And, the coolest thing of all, I could totally manipulate it into a mouth (not quite so much anymore) and have conversations with Big Ring using it – which he totally loved 😉

Still, I’d much prefer my pretty belly button over this freak-of-nature one. Just saying…

‘HOLY COW… there’s a baby in there’

My goodness my “little” five-pounder is turning heads these days!


Even the shadows are talking.

I had an ultrasound done yesterday to measure the size of thumb-sucking alien baby and pretty much the whole time the perinatologist kept saying Yep, that’s a big one.” She did multiple measurements seemingly to will TSAB to a smaller size (they use an equation that measures the circumference of the head, the cut of mama’s belly and something else to figure out the size) but finally had to concede that I’ve got a five-pounder in my belly, which falls in the 93rd percentile of huge! (Really hoping that large head equates to a super-large, super-smart brain ;))

But given the numerous exclamations and proclamations regarding the size of my belly these days, you’d think I was carrying a 20-pounder in there!

Now, there have been some amazing people (friends, acquaintances, and even a few strangers) who’ve quipped at the smallness of my belly, and let me just say, if we weren’t already bffs, I assure you we are now! But more so than not, it’s those others whose comments haunt my daily endeavors:

“Wow, you’re quite large for where you are!”
“That’s not a subtle pregnancy is it?!?”
“That baby looks ready to pop!”
“Must be any day now.”
“Packing a large load there, hey.”
“Are you sure there’s not twins in there?”
“My gawd, that doesn’t even look real!”


Yep, it’s come to this, my baby the serving table 😀

It’s not the first time I’ve encountered such comments throughout this pregnancy… I have been sporting a preggers paunch for quite some time. And yet, every time I’m faced with these types of comments, it’s like I lose the ability to use my friggin’ tongue. Because if I were on the ball, that pharmacist, that barista, that old lady walking the trail, and that half-naked, hairy, old man sitting at the bus stop would have heard something along the lines of: “In 2 months time, this belly will be gone, but in 2 months time, that ugly face of yours will still be just as ugly as it today. Shame.”
Oh. Snap.

I can take a joke, sure I can, in fact, I’m usually the butt of my own jokes, and almost always the easy target for my brothers, but after 8 months of an ever-changing, hormonal body, 5 months of people remarking on the rotund size of my belly, one of them even having the gall to call me Tubs – and 90 per cent of whom are strangers – I’m losing my patience. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to walk up to a non-pregnant person and greet them as Shamu,” so why is it okay for them to walk up to me and pretty much do the same?

SUCK LEMONS JERK FACES!

Now, that all being said, when my soon-to-be brother-in-law, who I haven’t seen in about a month and a half, walks into a room, spots my belly, points at it with his mouth agape and shouts: “HOLY COW… there’s a baby in there!” he can be forgiven. I know I’m sounding hypocritical, but first of all, this guy is family, that’s what they do; second of all, he is notorious for sticking his foot in his mouth and bringing a laugh to everyone else’s in the process; and third, I know I could kick his ass in a running race – even in my 32-week pregnant state! Who’s laughing now Patty Pat Pat? Bahahahhahahaa 😛