A Day in the Life ofThe Ever-Expanding Woman

Has it been 7 weeks?

2006-12-27T19:11:00.000-06:00

Yes, it has. Today is exactly 7 weeks to the day. 9 whole months came and went 7 weeks ago! Morning sickness (which for me was all day sickness that lasted 9 months) food aversions, prenatal checkups, relief at hearing the heartbeat, ultrasounds, feeling faint little flutters which evolved into strong, coordinated movements which evolved into little pokes as the space got to be less and less, shortness of breath, the neverending need to urinate, heartburn, stretchmarks, insomnia, cravings for vinegar-soaked croutons, baby showers, tiny toes wrapped around sore ribs, fear, uncertainty, excitement, curiosity, hormones... all of that is now just a distant, distant memory, almost a dream compared to this new reality dominated by sleepless nights, sore nipples, saggy skin and lots and lots of serious lovin' on a fuzzy little head. I'm a mother! I have a beautiful 7-week-old daughter!

And now is as good a time as any to finally publish the story of how she came into the world.

It was decided about 3 months before her birth that she would be a c-section baby because that way the dr. wouldn't have to wait for me to recover from giving birth to be able to do the exploratory surgery that I needed to have. I prayed that I would go into labor before the scheduled date and that I would be allowed to deliver vaginally, because I had my heart set on a natural childbirth, but that was just a fantasy because I would have probably just had an emergency section anyway. So, on the morning of November 8th we took a couple final belly pictures before heading to the hospital. I got NO sleep that night. I was thirsty as hell and afraid that something would happen to the baby before I got a chance to meet her.

The c-section was scheduled for 8:30 am, we got to the hospital at 6:00 to do the paper work and then they started prepping me. I had a terrible nurse who should have retired long ago because she's clearly burnt out, but that's another story... I remember every moment from the time we walked through the doors to the moment we left, but I have a hard time putting it into words. Too many emotions. I just kept thinking how surreal it seemed that I was having a baby and secretly worried that something bad was going to happen... I was scared out of my mind but tried to forget the fear by making jokes. At one point my mother showed up and I felt awkward. Luckily they told her she couldn't be with me during surgery.

As promised, they came for me around 8:30. Itty Bitty's heart was beating away as she wiggled around inside of me, completely unaware of what was about to happen. I had to walk to the OR, which made me feel vulnerable. I started to shake as I assumed the position for the spinal, but as soon as it went in I started to feel warm and tingly and relaxed... It was about 8:40 when they cut and all the sudden I heard "Go get the husband! We're gonna have a baby!" Hubby came in and sat down next to me, and all the sudden a baby started crying. The dr. held her up over the curtain so we could see her and then Hubby went with the nurses to give her a bath and weigh her and show her to my parents who had followed her cries to what they thought was the nursery... The pediatrician who first examined her told me she was perfect and a short while later Hubby brought her to me, all bundled up and needing her mommy. And what did I do? I started vomiting. (It happens a lot during c-sections, I've been told)

They did what they needed to do in my pelvic region, removed the right ovary and tube and also part of the left, and some of the surrounding tissue to be biopsied. Then, they put my innards back in, stapled me back together and took me to recovery where I held Itty Bitty for the first time.

Miriam Louisa (aka Itty Bitty) was born at 8:48 am, weighing 7 lbs. 15 oz and measuring 20.5 inches. As many times as I've told this story, I have never managed to convey how awesome the experience really was, and how awesome it has been being mommy to someone so... awesome.
Welcome to the world, baby girl!

2006-11-23T12:23:00.000-06:00

10 perfect fingers, 10 perfect toes... my mouth, her daddy's eyes, ears and nose...

What are YOU thankful for?

nesting, nesting 1-2-3!

2006-11-04T14:18:00.000-06:00

T-4 days to go and I can't seem to get the place clean enough! I've spent the past week trying to wash invisible spots off the walls. I guess now would be a good time to tackle the actual clutter in the baby's room of all places... I had to clear a path just to get to the dresser to put away all the little undershirts.... after I'd washed them for the 15th time, that is. God help me!

Have I become a monthly?

2006-10-22T14:41:00.000-05:00

It's kind of starting to seem like that... The truth is, I've been putting off writing about my Labor Day weekend and explaining about how Itty-Bitty tried to turn like a good little 3rd-trimester fetus should and ended up with her hard little baby head right on my cyst, causing me a lot of pain which sent me to the ER 3 TIMES, because that's how many times it took to convince them that I was not in labor, not having contractions, but that I was in a lot of pain which could NOT be round ligament pain and definitely could not be sciatica but hey, what do I know? Well, on Labor Day I actually was having contractions so I went back to the ER yet again and was put on modified bedrest and ordered to start maternity leave ASAP because my contractions were being caused by stress (like, maybe the stress of having to go to the ER 3 times because no one beleived that I was really in pain, hmm...) Anyway, that's the long and short of it. Itty Bitty will be born on the 8th of November, plucked from my womb just like Julius Caesar, but it beats the alternative. My doctor is afraid of me laboring with the cyst. I'm just afraid, period. All the sudden it dawned on me... 17 days from now I will be the proud owner of a newborn baby! And.. my blog will have to change, because I will no longer be expanding, I'll be shrinking, or at least I hope! So, if any of you are still with me and aren't suffereing from baby brain, give me some ideas! What should I call my new corner of blogosphere?

The past month in a nutshell (but make that a really big nut) Part 1

2006-09-10T11:02:00.000-05:00

One month ago today: We started working around the clock to get our delapidated (sp?) 19th Century sorry excuse for an apartment into good enough shape that we would at least be able to fool the landlord long enough to get our security deposit back. By "we" I of course mean Hubby and my father. Though I was there to lend my moral support.

August 14th: "We" removed the last of our belongings from that dive and turned in our keys, thus becoming homeless for the next 3 days. Confused? Read on..

August 15th: Woke up damn early to drive 50 miles from where we had spent the night at my parents' house since we were homeless and had no where to sleep! This is what happens when you live in a college town... Virtually all rental leases end at midnight on August 14th, and begin sometime after noon on the following day. I know, that comes out to about 12 hours. So why 3 days, you ask? Well... I hung around until 1pm when I could sign in and pick up the keys to the new place, which I arrived at only to be greeted by an eviction notice on the door and a mess inside. Turns out the original tenants who were immaculate housekeepers had illegally subletted the place to pigs who hadn't bothered to move out any of their stuff... Dirty dishes in the sink and the refridgerator, clothes in the closet, handcuffs hanging from the doorknob on the bathroom door, cigarrette butts all over the floor throughout the whole apartment, ash ground into the carpeting, which, by the way, had also been destroyed by cats, presumably because no one ever bothered to clean the litterbox. How do I know? Yep, you guessed it. THEY LEFT THAT THERE, TOO!

August 18th: I'll save you the gory details, but finally, after 3 days of getting the runaround, a very sympathetic agent who just happens to have 5 kids and 10 grandkids finally convinced the agency to come in and clean out everything AND change the carpeting before we moved in. She even picked out a nice inoffensive beige-y color.

(I will spare you all the stories of the other myriad difficulties I've had since moving in here regarding phone service, DSL service, phone service again and yet again...)

I spent the next couple of weeks nesting, relaxing, and getting ready for the semester... until Labor Day weekend, that is.

To be continued...

Got milk?

2006-08-07T13:21:00.000-05:00

Why yes, as a matter of fact I do. And it inspired a night of weird milk-related dreams. Actually, I don't know if they were several dreams, or just one really long confusing one. Anyway, it started out something like this... I had my Itty-Bitty, and like a good mother I was going to feed her. Now, I had 2 options. One little oddly-shaped bottle which was formula, and another identical bottle which was, supposedly, my breasts. Hubby told me that she preferred the formula and didn't want my breast, so I decided to give it a try myself.

I took Itty-Bitty and the 2 bottles and sat down in my huge, luxurious armchair. Suddenly, 2 of my high school friends appeared and asked me for a piece of pizza which had just magically appeared hidden beneath some magazines which had just magically appeared on the floor. I was outraged by their audacity and told them that I was a lactating woman with increased caloric needs and that no, they could not have my pizza. And then I remember feeling incredibly guilty.

Meanwhile, little Itty-Bitty had only drank a few drops of milk from my "breast" and I was getting worried. Then somehow I discovered that she just wanted to "nurse" standing up, so I propped her up on her little feet in the corner of the huge, luxurious arm chair (which alternated between eggplant-purple and olive-green) and gave her the bottle.

Then, in what was either a separate dream or a continuation of the first, I had to go pick my husband up from work. So, I took Itty-Bitty, put her in her car seat (which was a giant stuffed sheep) and put her in the Land Rover (NOT my dream car, by the way). We had to go through many a check point, remember some passwords and speak in tongues on the way to Hubby's work. Once there, a co-worker who was wearing hip-waders and carrying a pitchfork told me that Hubby was going to be a while yet and that he was eating his pizza and had a stomachache. So, I thought, no problem, I'll just go to Jumbo ( the Portuguese equivalent of Wal-Mart, but with better wages and employee benefits) and do some grocery shopping. So, I parked the Land Rover and went into the store. I had to take several conveyor belts to get there, though. The place was about 9 stories tall, and every floor was a different country. I recall being in "Spain" when I decided that I would just go home and wait for Hubby. Went to parking ramp, couldn't find Land Rover. Oh, what the heck, I thought. I'll just walk home. Wait a minute... Itty-Bitty's in the car, so I can't just leave it here! So.... I started retracing my steps. Finally, I remembered that I'd come in through some little shop selling weird glass things. Suddenly it wasn't a shop. It was some friends' of our family where we usually have Passover dinner. And I wasn't looking for the car and Itty-Bitty... I was looking for my wedding ring!

And then I awoke in a cold sweat! No, not because I was frightened at the prospect of having lost my wedding ring, but because Hubby was also having his own weird milk-inspired (or shall I say breast-inspired) dream, which involved being chased and then abducted by aliens who would have impregnated him with an alien baby had it not been for me, who saved him at the last minute. And he was so grateful that to thank me, he had to grab my breast, which scared the hell out of me.

...And after all of this, I have only one question: What kind of mushrooms did I put on that pizza I made last night?

Sweet dreams, everyone!

Fwd: I know we're not there yet but we must anticipate the future

2006-08-04T12:32:00.000-05:00

I have just reveived the most unsettling e-mail forward from my mother, which was sent to her by an old college friend that she just reunited with this past weekend. It came under the subject heading I know we're not there yet but must anticipate the future and to be honest, I was wondering why the heck my mom would send it to ME, of all people, until I read it and realized My God, I'm already there!

SENIOR DRESS CODE

Many of us "Old Folks" are quite confused about how we should present ourselves. We are unsure about the kind of image we are projecting and whether or not we are correct as we try to Conform to current fashions. Despite what you may have seen on the streets, the following combinations DO NOT go together And should be avoided:

1. A nose ring and bifocals (So far so good... I lost the nose ring back when I was about 16)

2. Spiked hair and bald spots (No bald spots for now, though I've heard that after the baby's born there are times when you can't help yourself from pulling out your hair. And I know that that stubborn little lock of hair on the back of my head that has revolted and started growing in the opposite direction of all the other bajillion hairs on my head is gonna be the first to go!)

3. A pierced tongue and dentures (Thank God, I have neither one nor the other)

4. Miniskirts and support hose (I think the baby's the only one who's gonna be wearing anything "mini"around here for a while... As for the support hose, I've thought about it, but it's too hot for that right now.

5. Ankle bracelets and corn pads (Did I mention that I can no longer see my feet and ankles?)

6. Speedo's and cellulite (Well, I have to fight with my Brazilian husband to get him to NOT wear his Speedo, and when it comes to cellulite, I'm guilty. That would make a lovely postcard, wouldn't it? )

7. A belly button ring and a gall bladder surgery scar (No belly button ring but I don't need one because I've got an outtie... it's something to consider though, after they take this blasted ovary I'm sure I'll have a lovely scar.)

8. Unbuttoned disco shirts and a heart monitor (Dreadful mental image)

9. Midriff shirts and a midriff bulge (Oh yeah, I've got a nice midriff bulge)

10. Bikinis and liver spots (No liver spots, how about stretch marks and heat rash?)

11. Short shorts and varicose veins (Once again, guilty as charged. .. Of having varicose veins, that is. Not of wearing short shorts.

12. Inline skates and a walker (How about inline skates and a stroller? Ooh, did I say stroller? I mean TRAVEL SYSTEM)

And last, but not least (drumroll.....)

13. Thongs and Depends (All the thongs are packed away and I'm gonna need Depends if my beloved little midriff bulge doesn't stop using my poor little bladder as a punching bag!)

And now if you'll excuse me...

Time flies part 2

2006-08-02T23:26:00.000-05:00

Well, I'm back after another week of temperatures in the triple digits, which I spent with my mother and her a/c. I had a lot of time on my hands and could have written something, I suppose, but there's no a/c in the computer room.

I'm suffering from a terminal case of baby brain so why don't you just check out Lisa's blog. Her August 2 entry made me laugh so hard I almost wet myself. (Not that it takes much these days!) She has a daughter who bosses around her toys and other inanimate objects. See, THIS is the reason people have children!

Wednesday Worries

2006-07-26T17:58:00.000-05:00

Well, at this moment the baby is kicking away so I'm pretty sure she's fine, which leaves me no choice but to worry about things that have little or nothing to do with me or my present reality. This morning I e-mailed my my ex-boss to make sure that my replacement had informed him of the need to order more text books before the new semester begins -which isn't until September. It's not that I'm still worrying about a job that I resigned from over a month ago, heck, I never worried much about that job when I was still employed at it. It's just that, come September, if the books aren't there that will make my job that much scarier and more intimidating, and I couldn't be much more scared and intimidated than I already am. Yes,I'm worried about going back to work, which is strange, because I always pictured myself as a working mommy, if I was to be a mommy at all.

I remember once at an extremely young age, I'm talking early adolescence here, informing my mother that if I were ever to have children, I would go back to work the minute I got out of the hospital after having them. She then used this against me several days or hours later when I decided I didn't feel like doing my chores. You say you're going to work full time. What are you going to do when your children choose not to do their chores? She was definitely one step ahead of me.

The truth is, I've just never thought of myself as the motherly type. I always assumed I would be part of one of those childless by choice couples. In fact, my husband and I had made a pact several days before our wedding when we attended the "graduation" party at his nephews' preschool. There was one less chair than there were guests and after about 30 minutes of me sitting on his lap listening to screechy little voices singing annoying little songs (all of which seemed to have the same annoying tune) we decided to sneak out for a beer or two. It was in that bar that we decided that we just weren't cut out to be parents.

Fast forward about a year and 4 months. I started feeling strange... all the tell-tale signs- enourmous, achy swollen boobs that would jump right out of my bra, pants not wanting to zip up all the way, period late, a strange form of nausea, and, the most frightening of all, I started getting out of breath just walking, when before I had been able to run 2, 3, or sometimes 4 miles a day! Yet it never even crossed my mind that I could be pregnant because, hello, we were using protection. When I vomited for no apparent reason whatsoever upon stepping out of the shower, I decided that it was time to take a test. Ok, I lie. When I told the hubby that I had just projectile vomited for no apparent reason whatsoever and would he please brush his teeth or at least not breathe his coffee breath so close to my face because it was making me want to do it again, he suggested that I buy a test.

It happened to be April 1st. So when I say those 2 little pink lines I thought that for sure I must be the victim of a cosmic practical joke! So I bought another test. And when it came back positive too I lost it. I called hubby at work and surprisingly, he answered his cell. He never answers his cell at work. When I heard his voice I just started crying and blurted out I'm pregnant! In retrospect, I would have liked to have done something a little more, oh, I don't know... a little less melodramatic, perhaps. Then why are you crying? was his response.

Next I called my brother, who had come to my rescue the night before when I had been fighting a nasty bout of nausea that only tomato soup and cinnamon graham crackers could cure. I thought I had the stomach flu. He was worried that he might catch something. So, to set his mind at ease I had to tell him. What are you gonna do? Like if we were still in high school or something.

I had to tell my mom, so I called her on her cell and she happened to be at a baby shower. I said that we'd have to be having one of our own in a few months... Turns out she already had a hunch that I was when she came back after being gone for the winter and saw my boobs jumping out of my shirt. She offered to come over. I decided that I had to tell dad, too. That was hard. All through adolescence my parents would lecture me on abstinence and family planning. You don't want to get pregnant.... Not: You don't want to get pregnant before you finish college and are in a healthy, stable relationship. They made it seem like a mortal sin. Thou shallt not get knocked up. They thought I never listened to them but they really managed to drive that one home. At 26, married, with a college degree I was still afraid to tell my dad I was pregnant. Besides, if I'm pregnant and we weren't trying, that means that my husband and I have sex for fun and I don't think anyone really wants to talk to their parents about that. But, I didn't want anyone to be left out, so I called my dad and told him that I thought I was pregnant and he asked what would make me think that. Well, I told him, I took 2 tests and they both came back positive. Duh.

My dad was excited. Everyone was excited. My parents came over and made us dinner. My husband was in a daze and my mother put her hand on his knee and said I just can't wait to kiss your baby's little neck! His eyes got really big and I thought his head was going to explode.

I thought we should wait to tell my husband's family because it was early, about 8 weeks, and I was worried that something might happen. My husband's family is just so big... and they live in another country... it seemed to me that we should wait at least until I could go to the doctor to make sure. What if the tests were wrong? (On Sunday morning I did 3 more, just in case!)

But my husband wanted to tell his family, so he told all of them. Everyone wanted to talk to me, ask how I was feeling, but for some reason talking on the phone made me nauseous. The next day I called the dr and to my chagrin, they refused to see me before 12 weeks. I had to call back 3 times before I got an appointment. Meanwhile, I was a nervous wreck. I was already 2 months along. What about the 2 drinks I'd had the month before? What about the cold medicine I'd taken? What about the manicures? What about the shampoo I use? Was I really pregnant or did I have some rare disease? I think that was when my maternal instinct kicked in, albeit in its most primitive form. I might not have wanted nor planned to have the baby, but since it was there I wanted and planned to do everything to make it as happy and healthy as possible and that instinct has grown exponentially along with the baby.

I ended up getting my way and had my first check-up at almost 9 weeks. The dr was wonderful and confirmed that I was, in fact, pregnant, and that the baby was probably fine... A few days later I woke up with an odd pain on my lower right side and in my lower back. At first it was just a nuisance, but by midday I was in the ER, hardly able to walk. I was groped by an ER dr who had the bedside manner of an ox and the brains of one, too. He would press on my swollen abdomen and as I was screaming and writhing in pain all he could think of to say was Oh, does this hurt? It does? And here..? He then ordered that I be groped by an ob gyn who was extremely uncommunicative and who ordered an ultrasound.

I was told that I had a mass on my ovary and that the ultrasound was needed to find out the details. Neither my husband nor my mother could make it in time so there I was on a stretcher, in a sterile, gray room with an impressive amount of machinery, all alone. I was so surprised when the tech pointed to what looked like a little fava bean bouncing up and down on the screen and said There's your baby! She had these useless little arm buds and leg buds but she looked so content just swimming around in there, oblivious to all my pain and fear. She made me smile, and I fell in love with that little fava bean right there and then. I haven't felt lonely since.

Turns out the scan and all the blood work revealed that the cyst was benign but they wanted to keep me overnight to give me pain meds. I refused. No way was I going to subject my little fava bean to pain meds! Not to mention the fact that I did NOT want to stay another minute in that hospital. I went home with my husband and mother, and returned to the hospital 2 days later for another scan and some more tests. I'll save the details for another post, but to make a long story short,I was put on modified bedrest until further notice. No more work. No more school. I went to stay with my mother and I had a lot of time to think. I hadn't realized it, but my life would never be the same.

After having several months to think, after seeing my belly grow, after feeling my baby kick and seeing her grow from a little fava bean into a real baby whom we've given a name, I can say that I understand this motherhood thing a lot better. And I understand the real reason so many women stay home. It's not being old-fashioned or simply wanting to sit around eating bonbons and watching daytime television. After 3 months of very little but daytime TV it's now one of the pros on my pros and cons of going back to work list. The truth is. it's damn hard to leave your child! I know this, and I haven't even had mine yet. I'm not in a position in which I can stay home because I have the better insurance options of the 2 of us and, although I make next to nothing, 3 of us wouldn't be able to live on what my husband makes alone. (He's working his way through graduate school as well)

Luckily I've had this summer to rest, recuperate and prepare myself as much as I can for being a mother. But I'm worried about what's going to happen come September when I have a schedule to comply with... I'm worried about being trapped in a cramped classroom with 25 sweaty undergrads who couldn't care less about my class. Teaching is like starting a new job every semester because you never know what to expect, and I'm worried about that stress on the baby. I'm worried that I won't be as good a teacher or student because, frankly, neither one seems anywhere near as important as my little girl. I'm worried about incontinence. Especially in front of the 25 undergrads mentioned above. I'm worried about going into labor in the middle of class. I'm worried she'll come early and that my 2 weeks of maternity leave won't take me to the end of the semester like they're supposed to. I'm worried about leaving my 2-month-old baby after winter break when the spring semester starts. Granted, I'll be leaving her with my mother but I'm worried about me. How am I going to cope?

I worry about setting the right example for my daughter... But what would that be, anyway? I want her to see that you really can have it all... a career and a family, but can you? Now, I'm not so sure. For the sake of my career, I'll surely miss a first smile or first step or first word or first collision with the wall. For the sake of my daughter I'll no longer be that person who is always available to sub at the last minute, who can put in extra hours to get a project done, who volunteers for all sorts of committees... Now I'll be the one who needs a sub so that I can stay home when she's sick, who never stays any later than 5 pm because the daycare closes... whose priorities lie outside the office. The kind of person who, up until a short time ago, I swore I'd never be.

The problem is, it seems like the world still revolves around people like the one I used to be. And that really worries me.

Time flies....

2006-07-23T14:51:00.000-05:00

I see it's been a while since my last entry. I wish I could say that I've been off doing exciting and important things that would make you all green with envy if you knew, but sadly that just isn't the case. I suppose I could make something up... But I've got a bad case of baby brain and can hardly manage to string a subject, verb and object together to form sentences to communicate my basic needs, let alone make up stories. So, let me tell you about my uneventful week instead.

The temperature had been climbing every day for about 2 weeks until it finally topped off at the end of last week, becoming unbearably hot. I'm talking triple-digits here. Unfortunately, our apartment has no air-conditioning and no air circulation, period. It's like a pressure cooker. I ended up with a nasty migraine and a feeling that I might not survive the weekend. Luckily hubby got the weekend off and took me to my parents' place which is air-conditioned. While there's no pool like Undercover Angel had suggested, there was a hose and a sprinkler. I bet the neighbors weren't too thrilled of the sight of a cellulite-y, varicose veiny pregnant woman with heat rash on her thighs running back and forth through a sprinkler in a bikini that's now about 4 sizes too small but they're not even my neighbors. My parents can deal with them later. There were also several trips to the gellatto place, and several runs to the grocery store for frozen dairy-based treats, and a a few gallons of juice were also consumed. I don't care what anyone says about juice's glucose content and I don't care how many thousands of calories I consumed drinking my 100% home-made juice right from the blender. It reaches all the thirsty spots at the back of my throat that the water seems to run right over. And besides, each cup counts as a serving of fruit!

Surprisingly, I only gained a pound and a half between my almost 19-week check-up and my almost 23-week check-up which I had last Thursday. The doctor said that that's probably because the cyst is starting to self-destruct (I can't for the life of me remember the fancy medicalese term she used, but it sure sounded cool!) and I'm starting to get my "old metabolism" back. But wait, it gets better! I still have to try to meet the 4-pounds-per-month reccomendation so that my little fava bean will reach a healthy birth weight. I know that ideally, this weight would come from other sources besides ice cream, but with this heat ice cream, juice, veggies and hummus are about all I can imagine eating. I guess I can start pouring béchamel on my veggies without the guilt...

Wow. This post turned out to be even more boring than I had thought! I think I'll just hit the publish button and hope that no one actually decides to visit my blog today.

So THIS is what it's like

2006-07-13T11:11:00.000-05:00

I remember one summer when I was a kid and I went with my mom to visit a friend of hers who lived a couple of hours away. This friend had a very pregnant cat who would spend her days laying on her side in the shade on the cool concrete slab outside the back door, her enormous belly spilling out from under her. Every time she moved ever so slightly, whether it be just moving a paw to scratch her forehead or dragging her swollen body a couple of feet to use her litterbox or drink some water, she would meow in agony. A truly pitiful sight to see indeed. And that, my friends, is exactly how I am feeling now.

Or, if you need some sort of visual to help you imagine how I feel, I feel something like this:

Wednesday Worries #3: Should I be worried?

2006-07-12T13:30:00.000-05:00

Within a span of about 30 minutes, I have exposed my child to two dangerous chemicals, in completely isolated incidents.

First, while making the sauce béchamel for lunch (I've given up on making anything to go with it, from now on we will be dining exclusively on sauce béchamel ) I turned off the burner so that I could beat the lumps out of it with my lopsided whisk without scalding the milk. When I turned the gas back on (I have one of those gas stoves that lights automatically) I just assumed the burner was lit, however, it was not, and I stood there for about 30 seconds breathing in gas without realizing it.

Then, not even a half an hour later I heard my husband in the kitchen with what sounded like an aerosol spray, and then I smelled what smelled like Raid. Yep. Hubby had taken it upon himself to do away with these nasty bugs that have invaded the apartment in the past week or so. And then he walked into the livingroom where I was sitting and started spraying in here as well, invading my air and that of my unborn child. I held my breath and ran outside and just hope that it wasn't enough to do any serious damage. Maybe I'll call the Dr., you know, just to be on the safe side...

Little girl learned a new trick!

2006-07-11T19:38:00.000-05:00

I startle easier than anyone on this planet. The other day I was standing at the sink washing dishes, my husband came into the kitchen and I screamed bloody murder and jumped a mile. It looks like the little one is going to take after me.

This morning at about 4 a.m. there was an accident at the intersection right outside our house. It's a bad intersection, so bad that I've started going around the block to avoid it. And one day a car is going to end up right here in the living room. I just pray it's after we've moved out. Anyway, I awoke with a start at the sound of the firetrucks, ambulances and other noisy vehicles that were huddled around the scene, AND by the baby being jumping a mile at the exact same moment I did. She was really jumpy after that, thrashing about, so I rubbed my tummy and told her everything was ok, it was just some punks who don't know how to drive, etc. Then, at about 7 a.m. I was awake, staring at the ceiling and contemplating getting up when another rash of emergency vehicles came screeching by and again, the poor little thing jumped a mile.

I am actually quite relieved to know that she is probably not deaf, but also a bit worried. Sure, it's cute now that she's a fetus, but will it really be so cute in a few months when she decides to scream bloody murder every time an ambulance drives by? (And, seeing that we're moving about a block away from the fire station, that will probably be quite often!) Now, if she would only hiccup.

Goodbye, brown dress, hello big chest!

2006-07-09T13:55:00.000-05:00

By now I have come to terms with the fact that pregnancy means having to say goodbye to many a beloved article of clothing, some maybe permanently. (I have also come to terms with the fact that I may never return to my 110-pound self, which is more than ok) Some people would be excited about this and see it as a chance to by new clothes. I, on the other hand, see it as a reason to mourn. I hate shopping for new clothes. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I tend to become very attached to my clothes and want to wear them until they fall apart or until I grow out of them. This has not happened since I was approximately 16, so about 5% of my pre-pregnancy wardrobe were things that I had actually bought in high school!

Pregnancy changed all that. In the past 5 months, I've been outgrowing clothes at an alarming rate. First my real pre-pregnancy clothes, then the 2-sizes-bigger-than-my-own-that-I-have-been-kidding-myself-were-pre-pregnancy-clothes and now, my maternity clothes! Yes, the first article of maternity clothing I ever purchased (ok, that was purchased for me by my loving, doting mother) no longer fits. And it's not because I've gained weight (though I have). Nor is it because of my expanding mid-section. No! It's because my CHEST NO LONGER FITS INTO IT!

Only those who know me can appreciate the true irony in this. I am one of those girls who started and stopped developing early. I mean, I was one of the first in my class to start wearing a training bra, but while everyone else caught up to me and kept growing, I stopped right there! I was a 32 -almost A. I was just a few degrees short of being concave. Once, while shopping for cheap (as in reasonably-priced) lingerie with my sister-in-law at a sidewalk market in Brazil I was told by the saleswoman herself that I did not need a bra. Yes, it was probably true, but hey, if I want to buy a bra, let me buy a bra! So the fact that my chest is the ONLY part of me that does not fit into a particular article of clothing is truly amazing indeed.

101 uses for Béchamel

2006-07-07T16:40:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I started thinking about sauce béchamel. First, it was in connection with lasagne. Meat lasagne dripping in béchamel. But then I thought, oh, heck with the lasagne. I'll just throw back a box or two. Yes. If pre-packaged Béchamel we're readily available in this country I would have guzzled box after box. Sadly, it's not readily available. At least at any of the supermarkets here in this city. I know because I went to all of them and asked for it. Most of the time I was met with blank stares, but then again, what was I expecting? Why should a 16-year-old stock boy be expected to know about the subtleties of fine cuisine?

Exhausted, not to mention famished, I had no choice but to make my own. Really, it's not all that difficult... just butter, flour, and milk. (It actually also technically calls for nutmeg, which I omitted, as per my homeopath kid brother who says that pregnant women should not consume nutmeg) It turned out perfect. To perfect to drink. So, I bathed my lasagne in it and called it a day. Since then I have spent every waking minute of my days trying to alter my recipes so as to include béchamel as a main ingredient. So far I have created my own béchamel-laced stuffed green peppers, Spaghetti and meatballs, meatloaf, and am still waiting to test some other ideas... mixing it in with coffee in lieu of cream, pouring it over strawberries instead of whipping cream, and mixing some random veggies in with it to make a sort of makeshift soup. That is not to say, however, that I would be entirely opposed to slurping it up with a straw were I given the opportunity.

Full book of recipes available upon request.

Wednesday Worries #2: Hiccups, etc.

2006-07-05T13:41:00.000-05:00

Ok, I'm 2 days away from the 21-week mark and my kid hasn't had the hiccups yet. According to multiple pregnancy-related sites that I ritually visit, by now she should be hiccuping like crazy! Does this mean that she doesn't have a diaphragm? Or could it be that she suffers from some rare disorder and 10 years from now we'll be headlining the Maury Povich Show as "The little girl who cannot hiccup and the mother who loves her"? Not that that would necessarily be a dangerous condition, but still, I would rather my child just hiccupped like everyone else. Besides, I'm curious to see what a 10-inch long, 1-pound hiccuping fetus feels like. Call me crazy, but..

Say what you want about Britney...

2006-07-01T16:35:00.000-05:00

but although I'm still sick of her, I have to admit that it is nice to see a pregnant celebrity who looks like a real pregnant woman! I do still hate her for having skinny-ish arms ( although there's something about this picture that just screams "airbrushed").

We're half way there!!!!

2006-06-30T10:15:00.000-05:00

Congrats, baby girl! You're HALF BAKED!

Kick me baby, one more time!

2006-06-29T15:38:00.000-05:00

The little bugger STILL hasn't shown signs of life and I'm starting to imagine all sorts of bizarre and horrible possibilities. I don't know what to do now, do I ingest large amounts of sugar and caffeine and hope that she'll come around? Do I just wait it out and hope for the best? Or do I call the doctor and cry like crazy, hoping she'll let me come in just to make sure that everything's ok? I definitely feel like calling someone and crying like crazy.

Wednesday Worries: First Edition

2006-06-28T18:33:00.000-05:00

Baby, oh baby, where are thou? I know you're probably in there and that you're probably doing fine and that I'm probably just imagining this whole thing. After all, the doctor did tell me not to worry if you didn't make your presence known every single day right away. But this seems a little drastic, to go from kicking around in there like you were going to jump up out my throat to nothing. Baby, please. It's me. Your mother. The one who is about to give you life. Please, give me a kick. Please? Pretty please with a pacifier on top? Please?

Should I be worried?

2006-06-27T14:30:00.000-05:00

So I felt the little one kick for the first time about a week and a half ago and once she got started, she did not stop. Night and day, she was at it. It got to the point where she would keep me awake at night! All of the sudden she's just stopped. I've only felt 2 little kicks today and I'm starting to get worried. Should I be worried? It doesn't matter. I already am.

Hey! Who are you calling old?

2006-06-26T18:17:00.000-05:00

Ok, it's official. I am no longer considered young. At least as far as maternal age goes. A new study considers a young mother to be onewho is 25 or younger at the time of birth. I will be 1 day short of 27 years and one month old when I give birth (give or take a few days or, God forbid, weeks) so what will that make me? A not- so- young mother? And will these 2 years really affect my baby's odds of reaching the triple digits? (Would she want to live that long?)

This whole thing kind of caught me by surprise because I had been under the impression that I was too young to be having a baby! I hadn't planned on doing this for another 10 years yet, so in my eyes, I am 10 years too young! Let's take a look at my life: I'm working my way through school (graduate school, mind you, but school, nonetheless), living in a studio apartment, driving around in a car that my father sold me for way below market value because he took pity on me and my lack of resources, eating ramen noodles regularly (Does that make me a bad mother? I am taking vitamins and I do eat really well when I'm not eating ramen...) in other words, I am an 18-year-old who mistakenly hit the fastforward button and became a grown-up.

When I first found out that I was going to be a mother one of the first things that went through my mind was "My God, I'm so young! " I thought that for sure I would one day cause my child much shame and heartache for being so '' young''. I could just hear the talk on the playground... My mommy is better than your babysitter. The babysitter they'd be referring to would, of course, be me.

I shared my insecurities with my doctor at a prenatal check-up and she was quick to put me in my place: "What? You're not too young to be having a baby! I get 14- and 15-year-old girls in here all the time! They're too young to be having a baby!" Ok, doc. You've got a point.

The biggest irony? The average age to have a baby in this country is... nothing more, nothing less than 27!

Eating disorder?

2006-06-25T13:41:00.000-05:00

I think I may have a borderline case of pica. My pregnancy has been marked by craving after craving for condiments and other edibles which barely count as food. It started when I was about 14 weeks along and thought I wanted a hamburger, only to discover that what I really wanted was just the ketchup, mustard and pickle. I confess to eating spoonfuls of mustard or mayo from time to time, when no one's around to see.

Lately I've been all about vinegar. Not the fancy balsamic kind that they serve you in restaurants to dip your bread in, just your average, run-of-the-mill white vinegar. The kind my grandmother used to clean the house with. I drizzle a little on my toast in the morning, mix a little in with my rice at lunch, drown my salad in it at dinner and bathe some croutons in it for a bedtime snack. I've eaten vinegar with avocado, turkey, fried fish fillets, and steamed vegetables. I cannot get enough of it.

Other not-quite-foods that I've been craving: limes, horseradish, olive oil and garlic. At least I'm meeting my fruit quota with all the limes I've been sucking on. Does garlic count as a vegetable?

R.I.P.

2006-06-24T13:13:00.000-05:00

Weird day... Aaron Spelling died. So did Patsy Ramsey (as in Jon Benet's mother).

And all this talk of celebrity deaths inspired me to start building a name cemetery, a place to honor all the names that have been suggestedbut, for one reason or another, will NOT be used.

Names I find absolutely adorable but that have been six-footed by my hubby

Daphne
Camila
Maya
Marguerite (actually, this one I six-footed myself after I heard the way it would sound pronounced by a Brazilian...)
Aida
Margot
Míriam
Marlena
Eva
Skylar (one that I also six-footed because there's no way my in-laws would ever be able to pronounce it)

and, to be fair, names that hubby suggested and that have been six-footed my me:

Laíssa
Cecília
Stella Celeste
Clara
Ana
Paula
Marília
... and many others that I have deleted from my memory for being TOO awful.

Names that others have suggested and that I did not particularly care for:
Sónia ... or Sonja
Sofia
Sidney
Aída (as in the musical)
Chastity (I think they were kidding but I'm not sure...)
Frederica
Bella
Marcisa (a combination of my husband's name and my name)

Names that my husband declared off-limits because of their similarities to certain body parts (some of them you have to speak Portuguese to understand)

Virginia
Regina
Doris
Delores
Nádia (this one I didn't get right away... turns out that to him it sounds too much like nádegas, or buttocks)
Gavina

The most absurd suggestion thus far:

Petunia Pansy

My fave of the day: Liliana

And if he doesn't go for that: Emilia, after my great-grandmother.

19 weeks!

2006-06-23T22:12:00.000-05:00

Sigilwig,

19 weeks down, 21 more to go!

I can't believe how much you've changed already! The first time I saw you, at about 9 weeks, you were this helpless little fava bean with buds where your arms and legs would one day be, and you flailed those useless little buds and hopped up and down... And I was so proud of you then! My baby has arm and leg buds, and it can move them!

The next time I saw you was at about 14 weeks, and by then those little buds had become real arms and legs and you had gone from looking like a little fava bean to looking like a little Thanksgiving turkey with those cute little drumsticks of yours... and an enormous head.

When I saw you just this past week your body had caught up to your head, and those long legs of yours which you surely got from your father were up at your head and you were doing somersault after somersault after somersault. Now every time I feel you moving around in there I imagine you somersaulting and you always manage to make me smile.

The first time I felt you move I was stopped at a red light and you gave me a little twitch, just to let me know you were there and I thought Was it or wasn't it? By the time I figured out that it really was, the light had turned green and everyone behind me had started to honk and shout out profanities at me and I just wanted to scream Shut up! I just felt my baby kicking!

Now I every time I feel you kicking it's a relief to know that you're still there and that everything's ok. I like the fact that I know you're with me at all times, safe and cozy and close by. Sometimes I wish I could fastforward through these next few months until the day that we'll finally have you here with us, other times I wish it wouldn't come so soon. As much as I'm looking forward to watching you grow up, sometimes it also makes me incredibly sad to think that there will come a day when you won't need me as much as you do now, and when I won't know where you are every minute. And there will eventually come a day when you won't even want to be seen with me in public. But for now I'd rather not think about that. For now I'll just sit back and enjoy your little kicks...

La vie en rose

2006-06-22T10:03:00.000-05:00

I must say I'm very proud of my little sweet potato. She( yes, it's a she)... did everything I had asked her to and gave us a very clear view of her, ahem, womanhood. She then proceeded to curl up into a little ball, making it difficult for the tech to see some of the other things she wanted to see. All in all, she's perfectly proportioned, perfectly sized and perfectly 19 weeks old tomorrow. Huge sigh of relief.

My husband's reaction, on the other hand, is cause for concern. I think he had forgotten that the baby could possibly not be a boy. The tech had to take all the measurements, including her legs and leg bones and to do that she kind of looked at her from above, so it looked just like she was sitting down with her knees bent and he said... "I don't know, but it looks a lot like a girl to me..." A few minutes later the tech confirmed that. And his first words? "Now we have to go home and start digging a moat around the house!" Poor thing's bones aren't even fully ossified yet and already her father has tagged her as some rebellious youth who's going to end up pregnant at 13.

Today my darling hubby turns the big 27! The baby and I each got him a present and we were planning to attempt to cook him a romantic candlelit dinner tonight. The baby's bought him a bottle of cachaça and a card that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM THE CHILD WHO DROVE YOU TO DRINK. I got him a webcam and I'm just praying that he really wants to use it to talk to his sister in Portugal and not to strip for all of cyberspace. I thought he could really use the cachaça last night so I gave him his presents a day early. There was also ice cream cake, seeing that I have developed big-time aversions to real cake, but am very fond of ice cream. That seemed to make him forget all about the possibility that 14 years from now he could have a grandchild on his lap at his birthday dinner.

Please, please, please!

2006-06-21T11:08:00.000-05:00

Now listen carefully, Sigilwig. Today is a very important day. You are going to be on tv and it is very important that you cooperate because I want to know if you are a boy or a girl. I will love you no matter what, but if you don't let me know ahead of time you run the risk of being stuck with a closet full of clothes for the opposite sex. You don't want that, do you? Didn't think so. All I'm asking is that you give us a little peek right at the beginning, then you can go back to whatever it is you had planned to do today....

Where's the crack?

2006-06-20T23:35:00.000-05:00

I had the funniest conversation with my mother this afternoon about tomorrow's sonogram that will HOPEFULLY tell us if Sigilwig is a boy or a girl. It was something like this:

Me: I just hope it cooperates. The last time I saw the doctor she said that she had already done 4 that week and that none of the babies had cooperated. They all turned their little butts toward the camera...

Mom: Aww, their little butts

Me: Yeah, I guess its little butt would be kind of cute

Mom: Just think! Your baby has little butt cheeks and a little butt crack... I wonder that week those were formed at?

The luckiest little fetus in the world

2006-06-18T15:16:00.000-05:00

I have always been perplexed (not to mention humbled) by how unfair and cruel life can be to some and how wonderful it can be to others. My sister-in-law has been trying for what seems like forever to get pregnant and I get pregnant without even trying. Some couples are unalbe to have children and others are unable to prevent having them and unalbe to act responsibly once they do, abandoning them in dumpsters or keeping them but neglecting or abusing them. I've heard countless stories of little girls born perfectly healthy but abandoned just for being born in a culture that does not value women. Or a child born with a birth defect that surgery could easily fix but for whom surgery is not an option and, consequently, is forced to live his or her live on the fringes of society... What gives?

I got to thinking about this again last night, and realized that this little baby of mine will, without a doubt, be one of the lucky ones.

It has grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and friends who cannot wait to meet it, who have already started buying it presents and building it tree houses and offering to babysit for it, a mother who since the moment she saw those two little lines turning pink has not been able to think about anything else but the moment in which she'll be able to kiss the baby for the first time, and a father who is already burning CD's with children's music so it can have its own collection and who can't wait to teach it about cars, planes, and South American politics. And to use it as an excuse to buy the train set he always wanted as a child but never got. A father with endless patience for putting up with its mother's mood swings, ritual crying spells, paranoias, migraines and cravings, and who still has time to work full time, study and treat his wife like a queen. Words cannot even say how much you mean to us. Thank you, and happy father's day.

Eat your words, Daddy!!!!

2006-06-17T20:58:00.000-05:00

Last night, in honor of father's day and my husband's birthday, neither of which was yesterday, but whatever... we, my parents and brother went out for a fish fry. The all you can eat kind. The kind my father never liked going to with me because I would "take four bites and then say I was full" My father likes getting more than his money's worth out of everything and is a lifelong member of the Clean Your Plate Club and stuffs himself senseless at all-you-can-eat fish fries. And last night I made him eat his words because I ate him under the table! Yes, I challenged my father to an eating contest and I won! My hubby was shocked... So was the waitress. Oh well. It was all in good fun.

The first of MANY sleepless nights to come

2006-06-16T10:48:00.000-05:00

I read somewhere that it's at about this time that the baby starts developing the sleep patterns of a newborn and that, once born, "babies will wake up every 2 to 3 hours to be cuddled or fed..." I think that I am also starting to take on the sleep patterns of a newborn. I wake up every 2 hours to pee and drink more water. Sometimes I try to get the hubby to cuddle me, but when he realizes that I only want to cuddle, he's not having it. To make up for the sleep I lose at night, I have to take 2-3 hour naps throughout the day. My "awake" time is from about 4:30 to 7:00 am.

I also read that now is a crucial time for the baby's intellectual development and that we should try to "interract" with him or her whenever possible. So, I'm wondering... what is the best way to interract with a fetus? Should I read to it? Sing to it? Talk to it? How will it know that I'm reading or singing or talking to it and not to someone else. It must hear me talking all the time. Maybe a letter would help...

Sigilwig the fava bean,

18 weeks old already! Where has the time gone? It seems like only yesterday I was stepping out of the shower and suddenly feeling the urge to projectile vomit... and then running to Walgreens to buy the pregnancy test, and then going to buy 6 more as soon as I saw those two pink little lines... And then calling your grandma and your daddy crying hysterically...

It's not that I didn't want you... It's just that we'd wanted to wait about 10 more years to have you, so that we could live in a real house with a yard and perhaps a swimming pool and a lemon tree since you obviously are quite fond of lemons, and I could have stayed home with you, at least for a year or two... but mommy and daddy are in something called graduate school right now, and while my job as a teaching assistant and your father's job in a furniture warehouse are both actually quite glamourous, we 're overworked and underpaid.

We hope you understand that we're already crazy about you and that we're going to try our best at being parents, even if you'll spend your first few years in a little apartment without a yard of your own to play in, and if we have to buy a lot of your clothes and toys at second-hand stores. At least you will always know that you have a mommy and daddy who love each other very much and who love you. We cannot wait to meet you! ...And we promise that as soon as we find out if you're a Samuel or a Soraya, we will stop calling you Sigilwig.

Love,
Your mother

Goodbye, brown tunic...

2006-06-15T12:18:00.000-05:00

Remember my brown tunic, the one that I've been wearing since I graduated college and got my first job and that still makes (ok, made) me look just as sexy as ever? Well, as of about 9:30 this morning it was no match for my ever-expanding belly and it has since joined the ranks of my size 0 Anne Taylor seafoam pants, my lime green sundress and and all my other favorite frocks that I've been waiting to wear since last September. Hello muumuus and stretchy pants with panels! Today I also said goodbye to my last pair of pre-pregnancy pants... They put up a fight, but alas... I have expanded beyond their means. So long, but not good-bye... I hope we'll meet again. Hopefully it won't be after lipo.

And now, in memoriam, my favorite picture of me, hubby and brown tunic.

Aww...

=EDIT= 13:27 pm. COOKIES! Why should I care about my old clothes not fitting when I have cookies!!!??? I just found an open but nearly full 1 pound bag of gingersnaps in the cupboard! Today is my lucky day!