Pregnancy hair growth and constipation status update

Posted on May 17, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

32 weeks pregnant and another post about my hair. I’m not complaining. I’m observing.

For 20 years I’ve been familiar with all my hairy bits: my facial bits, my armpit bits, my lady bits, my butt bits, my leg bits and my toe bits. That’s right, I used to have some hair on my toes. Haven’t seen them lately, so I can’t tell you for sure.

Good news first. My leg hair has almost stopped growing. So in July, when I’m 10 months pregnant, and/or just gave birth, I don’t have to be an advocate for leg hair. My arm hair has chilled out too. My stomach hair may have stopped growing or it may be that the follicles are getting stretched so far apart from each other that it looks like less hair. Perks of a giant belly.

Neutral news. Facial hair seems to be holding the course. I’ll take it.

And then there’s the hair on my head. When people ask me how I’m feeling and how the pregnancy is going, I could start with the status of my constipation, but hair is more small-talk friendly. I tell them,

“Crazy thing is my hair is growing in straight.”

They look at the curls that go down to my boobs and declare,

“Looks just as curly to me.”

I understand they’re trying to make me feel better, but instead I feel like I need to explain how hair growth works.

The hair by my boobs was sprouting out of my head when I met Captain 3.5 years ago. Almost all of my hair is still curly. I’m talking about the 3 inches that has grown in the last 8 months. It’s straight. And I’m ok with that. Or so I’ve been saying.

People continue to try to reassure me,

“I bet it’ll grow in curly again after you have the baby.”

I hope not. I’m already struggling as it is. If it sticks to its straight agenda then at some point I’ll be able to snip off the last of the curls and move on with my life. If I also have to go through 10 more months of waiting for the straight part to grow out and the curly to come back in, I’ll be very close to shaving my head.

Overall I feel very grateful for Baby Bop, Captain and my nonexistent leg hair.

And I’m not constipated, thanks squatty potty.

You need CPR chest compressions? I just gave you 15, you get the idea

Posted on May 13, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

31, almost 32 weeks pregnant. You know we’re getting close to D-Day because we have another class checked off the list: baby CPR.

The instructor starts the class,

“This will get very repetitive, but that’s how you’ll be able to remember what to do.”

We watch a video. The instructor starts fast forwarding parts of it. She tells us,

“That’s just a repeat of the same thing we did before. You know how to do that now.”

Do we? At any given moment at least one pregnant woman is in the bathroom.

Practicing CPR for 2 hours on a weeknight after a long workday seems not so effective. I glance around the room. Some babies are being given chest compressions, others are getting stomach compressions, and others are barely being compressed at all.

I can’t help but compare this to multiple full days of lifeguard CPR training. If I needed CPR, I would rather not have to count on any of the people who were in our class. Although if I do need CPR, I’ll be happy to take whatever I can get. And if Baby Bop ever needs help, I’m counting on my lifeguarding skills. Her baby bath tub is no match for me.

Sexy is hard, approachable is attainable

Posted on May 5, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

30 weeks pregnant. Ten more weeks until MY birthday.

I can’t help feeling like one big giant belly. I know I have some sexy bits somewhere. Will I see my waist again? I hope so, but I hear there’s no guarantee. My boobs, which looked so big 20 weeks ago and definitely haven’t gotten smaller, are being eclipsed by my belly. Although they’re enjoying having a shelf to rest on.

Captain comes home. I’m wearing pink velour pants, one of the three pairs of pants that fit and an oversized sweatshirt. He tells me,

“You look beautiful.”

I tease him,

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Very… approachable.”

Almost ready to practice on a live baby

Posted on April 29, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Baby Bop is counting on Captain and me knowing what the heck we’re doing. What the heck are we doing? Captain and I sign up for a smorgasbord of baby classes.

We’re on the list for baby CPR. I remember this from lifeguarding, but it can’t hurt to practice again on a plastic baby torso. We’re signed up for a birth class. I assume Captain will need to practice his labor massage techniques for the next 10 weeks. Then there’s a breastfeeding class, even though I’m already pretty good at pulling my boobs out.

This week we took Baby Care 101. The basics. This is a diaper. This is a baby. This is where poop will come out of and may or may not stay in the diaper.

Captain and I walk into the conference room where the baby care class is. There’s an infant baby doll every other seat. I ask Captain,

“Which one is ours?”

We pick a quiet one with a clean diaper. Here’s hoping. We practice swaddling. This is hard when your baby’s rubber elbows and knees are stuck straight. Next we work on diapering. Captain remarks,

“Diapering? I didn’t know it was a verb.”

So it is. Baby Care 101 is helping us get our vocabulary straight. This way, in the middle of the night, we won’t have any confusion over grammar.

Example, it’s 2am:

“Will you please diaper the baby?”

“Can you use diaper as a verb?”

“I think so. Do you want to Google it?”

That’s five minutes of sleep we won’t be losing.

Finally we practice handing the baby back and forth. And through all of this she never made a peep. Which I assume means we’re pros.

See look I’ve had lots of practice. 30 years ago.

Bringing back baby fashions from the 80’s

Posted on April 25, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

29 weeks pregnant. Third trimester baby! Home stretch. I passed the gestational diabetes test. Which is good news, because I’m not sure how I would cut back on sugar. What’s pregnancy without chocolate?

Aside from eating a lot, my nesting is in full swing. Someday Baby Bop will have a say in how she’d like to dress. But for a little while, there’s not much she can do about my fashion choices for her besides spit up or poop on whatever item she would no longer like to be wearing.

My mom saved all of my clothes. I head to Worcester for Passover and to see if I can collect some baby clothes from 1982. I’m wondering how 80’s baby fashion is going to hold up to 2016.

It holds up. There are some classic baby trends that seem to be a staple of any baby who wears clothes. Bibs. Babies in 2016 are still drooling. Bloomers. Babies still use diaper covers with ruffles on them. Can’t go wrong with butt ruffles. And last but not least, clothing with snaps in the crotch. Snaps in the crotch are timeless.

This is me. Everyone needs a snowsuit that’s going to fit for a while.

Pregnant in Las Vegas

Posted on April 14, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

27 weeks pregnant, almost 28! Captain and I just got back from our modified babymoon. Before we were trying to make a baby we had a trip planned to Puerto Rico. Then Baby Bop appeared and the trip seemed even more well timed.

That’s right, we’re calling Blurry Blob ‘Baby Bop’ now. My nickname in college was Bopple because I bop around when I walk. When Captain heard this, he pointed at my belly and told me,

“That’s Baby Bop!”

So she is. I tell some friends. One offers,

You know Baby Bop is a character on Barney.”

Huh. I offer this information to Captain, along with a Baby Bop Barney dance video that a friend was kind enough to send along. I figure that’s the end of this name. Captain watches the video and declares,

“Perfect!”

So Bop she still is.

Then along came the Zika virus. I’m not sure about the current state of Baby Bop’s brain, but the virus is not nice to fetuses. We cancel our trip to Puerto Rico. I really want to go somewhere. I’ll go visit my friend in San Diego. This is a brilliant idea.

Then it turns out that there’s a person in San Diego who once met a mosquito with Zika. Captain and my mom veto San Diego. I want to go somewhere warm and Captain prefers to be near a major city with a hospital, even though I’m pretty sure Baby Bop has no intention of coming early and is trying to steal my July birthday.

We head to Vegas. I can enjoy Cirque du Soleil, Captain can enjoy operating an excavator and we can both enjoy a king size bed.

This is a photo of Captain in the excavator in case you’re wondering what the heck I’m talking about:

This is a photo of a king size bed and hopefully not my future. Although I would love a king size bed:

Captain and I get in line to board the plane to Vegas. As we near the ticket counter, they announce,

“The overhead compartments are full. All carry-on bags that do not fit under the seat will be checked to your final destination.”

Shoot. I really dislike checking my bag. It’s gone missing more than once. I drop to the floor to remove essentials. I grab my rolled up security blanket. Everything else is replaceable.

The lady behind me commends my move. She tells me,

“Good job rescuing that wine. I wouldn’t trust it in my checked bag, plus you don’t want to lose it.”

I smile at her. I have no idea what she’s talking about. She continues,

“You know they make special bubble wrap bags for wine bottles? That’s what I use when I travel with wine.”

Ah. She thinks my security blanket is padding a bottle of wine and that I’ve got quite the wine gut to go with it. She keeps talking,

“Now you’ll be able to drink it on the plane.”

Am I going to have to reveal Blankety’s true identity?

All our bags, Blankety, Baby Bop, Captain and I arrive in Vegas. Half-dressed women are everywhere. I’m ready for this. Four years ago, while observing a friend shop for maternity clothes, I tried on a 6-month, strap-on belly.

I was going to say I was helping my friend, but I was not helpful. I learned then that I have zero idea how nursing bras work. I was encouraging her to pull her boob out the side. WRONG.

So four years ago, I tried on the strap-on belly and I was so impressed with how well my dress still fit, that I swore someday I will wear this leopard print dress when I’m pregnant. And so I did.

The truth about strap-on bellies is that they don’t also come with strap-on: thighs, butt and back bitts.

My brain cells are dying or on vacation

Posted on April 7, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

26 weeks pregnant and I have pregnancy brain. Or at least that’s what I’m going to blame last weekend on.

People say that during pregnancy your brain turns to mush. I’m not sure what’s happening to mine, but my brain cells are abandoning me.

Captain and I load up a U-Haul truck full of baby/kid stuff to move it from his brother’s house to his parents’. It’s really nice to know people with houses. Captain is in charge of driving the truck, I’m in charge of driving our grocery assault vehicle. That’s right, I have a car, it smells great.

Before we leave, I ask Captain,

“Should we follow each other?”

“Do you want to put my parents’ address in the GPS and we’ll go on our own?”

“Sure.”

With the talking car, heated seat and so many buttons, I have enough to think about without worrying about following.

The GPS takes me on a very strange route. I know it’s not the way we normally drive, but I also couldn’t tell you the way we normally drive, so I’m stuck with my new GPS friend. I glance behind me. Captain and the U-Haul truck are following me on this weird route.

Finally we’re on the highway and the mom mobile takes off leaving the truck in the dust. I’m cruising along enjoying myself and my warm butt, next thing I know the U-Haul truck goes zipping by me on the left. Hey! Wait for me buddy!

I get behind the truck and follow along for 10 minutes. The GPS tells me to take the exit on the left. The U-Haul heads right. Since the GPS led me a really weird way before, I figure Captain must want me to follow him and he knows the way to go.

I follow the U-Haul. Captain is a more cautious driver than me. He gives cars the right away who don’t deserve it. Now all of sudden it’s like the U-Haul truck has gone to his head. It’s zipping through yellow lights at the last second, which means I’m going through red lights trying to keep up. Why is he doing this when he knows I’m following him?

I trail the U-Haul truck through all the back roads of Fall River. This is very odd. We’ve never gone this way before. I can’t imagine what he’s doing. I glance at my GPS it’s rerouting for the fifteenth time and may give up on me soon. We stop at another light. I catch a glimpse of the driver in the side view mirror. Doesn’t look like Captain. I need to call him.

“Are you at a stoplight in Fall River?”

“No, I’m crossing over the bridge in Rhode Island.”

“Huh. Well I’m behind a U-Haul truck in Fall River.”

“What?”

“I may have been following a random truck.”

My belly is itchy

Posted on April 1, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

I head outside yesterday to enjoy the beautiful weather. I’m starting on a positive note because I’ve been giving my dear friend in California the impression that I’m struggling with this pregnancy.

The thing is a lot of my blogging used to come from interactions with ridiculous people and since I’ve cut back on my time in bars, I’m left with blogging about a wonderful, healthy pregnancy that is producing a lot of normal, horrifying symptoms.

So I head out for a walk. I’m far away from waddling, but it sure feels like my belly is leading the way. My belly is like,

‘I want to go over there.’

And the rest of my body is like,

‘Ok, wait for us, we’re coming.’

I’m strolling, belly first, through Boston Common. I stop to sit on a bench and eat a snack. Being in a park is almost as good for material as being in a bar. A guy sits down next to me and asks,

“Are you from here?”

I think about how far away Worcester, MA is. I tell him,

“No.”

“But you’re familiar with the area?”

Wow buddy. Your intro line didn’t work and instead of trying a different one, you’re going to double down. I offer,

“A little.”

“I’m looking for the bench from Good Will Hunting.”

“I have absolutely no idea. Check with Google.”

“I’ll wander around until I find it.”

Or that.

I snack, read, scratch my belly and walk back through the park. There’s a cheerful, old guy, sitting at a sidewalk intersection, singing as he begs for change. I’ve seen him many times in the same spot. He always chants about the people who are walking by him. I hear him sing,

“Can I get some change? Can I get a guy in a Red Sox hat? Can I get a woman with blonde hair?”

I start to walk by him, along with many other people. I’m not expecting to get singled out. He chants,

“Can I get a lady with long legs, scratching her belly, cause her belly is sticking out, it’s sticking way out, it’s bigger than mine.”

Getting Bigger – means I need bigger…

Posted on March 28, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

25 weeks pregnant. I’m getting bigger. Theoretically I understand that I will continue to get bigger until I don’t have an extra person inside of me. Realistically, every few days I’m shocked to see that every part of my body is sticking out more.

This lack of control over my body reminds me of puberty, especially as I discuss it with my Little Sister. She tells me,

“My stomach hurts.”

“Mine too.”

“I like candy.”

“Me too.”

“None of my clothes fit anymore.”

“Mine neither.”

I just had to buy a bunch of new underwear. This hurts me because I love underwear. In the past 15 years I have collected over 200 pairs. Some wear out, but for the most part all of my favorites are still around. I occasionally add a few more pairs. Nothing major, but I can’t resist a cute thong with penguins, hot dogs or ice cream cones.

Now faced with needing a bigger size and somewhat concerned about how ice cream cone thongs hold up to pregnancy and postpartum, I’ve made a smart, boring investment in a bunch of plain black underwears.

It does save time. In the morning I’m not wavering between snowflake, seahorse or superman undies. The sooner I pick out my underwear, the sooner I’m sitting on my couch blogging about my underwear.

And for the record, I do own all the underwear variations I’ve named.

I mention my new larger size to Captain. He exclaims,

“Did you get granny panties?”

I hold them up.

“Oh those are cute boy shorts.”

The amount of coverage between the two seems very similar.

I tell my Little Sister,

“I’ve gained 18 pounds. Not all in the bump.”

“Your butt?”

“Yes! I just had to buy bigger underwear.”

“Whoa, that’s drastic.”

Jessica versus Jessica’s hair – the saga continues

Posted on March 21, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

24 weeks pregnant. I take back EVERY pregnancy complaint I have ever made. Every single one. At least for now. I am having an identity crisis.

For the first 10 years of my life I had straight hair:

Tell me you love these shorts.

Then this happened:

Now I have had curly hair for 24 years. TWENTY-FOUR YEARS of perfecting my curly hair. The first five years I spent in a whirlwind of what-the-heck-is-happening-to-my-body: hips, period, boobs, hairy legs, hairy armpits AND CURLY hair.

The next five years I spent realizing that brushing dry curly hair may not be the best way to go and that layers are my friend. I was making progress but it was still Jessica versus Jessica’s hair.

Ten years ago I began to feel like curly hair might be my jam. Then 6 years ago I started getting special curly-hair haircuts and using all curly-hair hair products. I’m owning it. Curly hair is me and it fits my personality: energetic, bouncy and a little all over the place.

Now I’m pregnant. I may be crazy, but my hair appears to be growing in straight. GAH! Who am I?!

An entire head of straight hair would be one thing, but it seems like the front edges didn’t get the hormonal memo. The front is sticking to it’s curly agenda, while the rest of my head gives up and straightens out.

I’m concerned about how this will end, but maybe my hair will be so coated in baby spit-up, drool and poop that I won’t notice.

Fried chicken and chocolate balanced by 3 carrots I ate yesterday

Posted on March 16, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

23 weeks pregnant. The pregnancy books say to stay active and eat well. I’m walking 3 to 5 miles a day and I’m friends with carrots again. I’m also able to read about food.

For the past four months I’ve stayed away from photos of food on Facebook, the prepared foods section of the grocery store and all nutrition chapters in pregnancy books. The other day when it was just my squatty potty and me, a pregnancy food chapter sucked me in. It compared how the same food can be good for you or not depending on how it’s prepared.

I didn’t need a book to tell me this. Plain bread is ok. Bread with a lot of butter or mayonnaise is better.

The book recommends a boneless, skinless chicken breast as opposed to fried chicken. I describe to Captain what I read and sigh,

“Now all I want is some fried chicken.”

“I don’t think that was the purpose of the book.”

It’s not my fault they’re throwing around tasty words like ‘fried’ and ‘chocolate’ in front of a pregnant woman.

I download a prenatal yoga video. For 20 minutes I laze on the couch and stuff M&Ms in my face while a woman in downward dog tells me to breath. This may not be the most effective use of this video.

Portrait of a pretty pregnant woman eating vegetable salad, looking upwards.

I could do this, minus the tomatoes.

But this is what I’m talking about.

Fetus’ first street harassment

Posted on March 10, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Nothing like a 70 degree day in March to bring all the creepy, obnoxious men out of hibernation.

I’ve been walking around Boston all Winter without being approached by anybody besides the people in vests for various good causes. Yesterday broke that streak.

I head to the park.

“Hey pretty lady, can I walk with you?”

Ignore. A mile later I settle onto a bench and pull out my book. A guy shouts at me,

“Nice hair.”

Ignore.

“YOU’RE WELCOME.”

NO. I do not need to thank you for your verbal harassment.

What part of my pregnant belly makes you think approaching me is a good idea? I have enough hormones coursing through my body right now to tear your head off with my bare hands.

An hour later a gaggle of guys saunters up.

“Hey girl, I like your Sew-KOE-Nees.”

What the heck is he talking about? I glance at my sneakers. Ah Saucony. Wrong pronunciation buddy. You should try not talking out loud.

Still pregnant – 22 weeks

Posted on March 7, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

22 weeks pregnant. The weeks keep adding up. Before this, I had no idea pregnancy was counted in weeks. I had no idea about a lot of things. Supposedly the mole that’s growing on my tummy is normal. As long as it doesn’t start moving around like in Robin Hood: Men in Tights.

Counting weeks makes sense considering one week the Blurry Blob didn’t have ears and now she does. Or we hope so. This may be the one body part the ultrasound technician didn’t mention.

I should be focused on week 22, but my brain keeps jumping all over the place. I sent an urgent email to a friend inquiring about potty training. The good news is that none of my friends are still in diapers and the Blurry Blob doesn’t even need diapers yet.

Pregnancy books have sucked me in. The problem is that plenty of these books are for pregnancy and BEYOND. So one minute I’m reading about second trimester and next thing I know I’m reading about how to discipline your five-year-old. I may have skipped to the back of the book. I can’t handle the suspense.

Decorating a one bedroom condo for a little person

Posted on March 3, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

21 weeks pregnant. I’m working on the baby registry. It’s cuter than the wedding registry, but size wise items are a lot bigger. Cupcake trays and serving platters stack neatly in my cupboard. A stroller, a carseat, a bassinet, a crib, a high chair, a swing, and a dresser do not appear to be stackable or fit in my cupboard. At least the baby will stack on top of all of these things.

If my closet is in the kitchen, the stroller may need to live in the second bathroom. Our skis are already very happy in there. The high chair may live at my mom’s house until the baby decides that I’m not the sole meal machine. And the swing may not exist at all, don’t tell Blurry Blob.

I’m excited to keep things to a minimum and very grateful for our family who’s storing items for us. I have slowly fallen in love with our condo and most of my plants have too. The others died.

There’s no nursery, so I’ve sprinkled baby items and stuffed animals everywhere. There’s a lamb and a turtle in the living room, two turtles, a moose, a bear and a dog in the bedroom and three bunnies in the bathroom. You never know when you’re going to need a bunny in the bathroom.

Last but not least, we want a carpet for the living room. I haven’t felt the need for one until now. Captain and I don’t spend the majority of our time rolling around on the floor, but I hear lying, sitting, crawling and drooling on the floor may be some of Blurry Blob’s favorite pastimes.

We could go neutral, but why would I do that? If my closet is in the kitchen, the living room might as well have an outspoken rug. So this is about to be our condo’s 5’x 8’conversation piece:

Don’t worry, all guests will be welcome to roll around and drive cars on it too.

And Baby will store well.

Gender reveal!

Posted on February 25, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

20 weeks pregnant. I’m halfway! I have a feeling the second half is going to be better than the first. I don’t have anything to base this on aside from the fact that I don’t feel nauseous anymore and I can talk about tomatoes.

I have ZERO desire to eat tomatoes, but I can cut one up and put it on a sandwich for Captain without feeling like I’m going to die.

We went for our 20 week ultrasound. Our ultrasound technician had a running monologue the entire time we were in the exam room. We walk in and she asks,

“Do you want to know everything?”

“We want to know as much as you can tell us.”

The technician picks up the ultrasound wand,

“Oh this is a little sticky, I’m going to clean it again. How do you feel about Lysol? It’s lemon fresh.”

There’s a big ol’ squirt of warm gel on my belly and we’re off.

Side note, I just googled “ultrasound gel” to see if there’s a better term and found a message board inquiry:

“Can ultrasound gel be used as a sexual lubricant?”

“Yes, but it’s expensive. Is this an emergency?”

There was no reply, so we’ll never know.

Back to my ultrasound. Our technician snaps photos of the Blurry Blob’s brain, heart, stomach, bladder, kidneys, arms, legs, fingers, toes, lips, nose. She says,

“Baby, we still need to get your spine. I need you to cooperate.”

Is the Blurry Blob cooperating? The technician tries to get her shot, she says,

“Your baby just head butted me. That’s a good sign.”

“A good sign?” I don’t want head butts to be our standard form of communication.

“Yes, your baby is very responsive. Can you send a telepathic message to your baby to hold still so I can get this shot?”

So now the Blurry Blob has two forms of communication: head butts and telepathy. It also feels like somersaults might mean something. The technician asks,

“Have you been singing to the baby?”

Captain pipes up,

“She’s been singing and playing the piano.” Despite the fact that I’m tone deaf and my singing could be considered a form of torture. The technician declares,

“The baby will be a musician.”

That or the Blurry Blob will come out and ask me to please never sing again.

The technician examines all the measurements,

“You’ve got a big healthy baby, measuring 4 ounces above average. Could be because both of you are big.”

She squirts more goop on my belly and asks,

“So you want to know the gender?”

“Yes!”

“You want me to just say it?”

“Just say it.”

“It’s a girl!”

After a moment of excitement, Captain and I turn back to the screen. I say,

“How do you know? I can’t tell.”

The technician moves her pointer around the screen,

“There’s the coin slot.”

Ah yes. She continues,

“That’s what you’ll be wiping. Do you see it? She’s got her legs spread wide open.”

Best worst baby shower cake EVER.

Gassing up the Mom Mobile

Posted on February 19, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Things are getting real. We’ve ordered a mom mobile.

The weekend I met Captain, he offered to give me and my skis a ride home. He told me,

“I’m not sure if it’ll all fit, but we can try.”

He has a very sexy, very tiny car made for two people. It’ll struggle to fit a diaper bag, never mind a third person.

We review our car options. Captain likes race cars, trucks and tractors. I don’t have as much car knowledge as Captain, but I’ve been using Zipcar for 6 years now, so I’ve gotten around.

I’ve driven Smart cars, MINI Coopers, Mazdas, Hondas, BMWs, sedans, minivans, SUVs and the Toyota Prius. Everyone raves about the Prius. No thank you. Any car that beeps at me while I’m trying to back up is a NO. I’m already craning my neck around trying not to run over people, a curb and other inanimate objects. I don’t need the car beeping at me too. I’m backing up. I KNOW.

I turn to Consumer Reports. Looks like the Toyota Highlander might be ideal. New or used it’s highly ranked. We head to a Toyota dealership to check out a few different cars. Captain points out a minivan and asks,

“What do you think?”

“I think I might die.”

I want a mom mobile, but I don’t want it to look like it might float away in a snow storm.

The Toyota Highlander is not Captain’s first choice. He would prefer a truck or a tractor. We talk through what a couple carseats, two dogs, a stroller and groceries would look like in those vehicles.

We’re down to the Highlander, a small SUV versus a bigger SUV. The Highlander has an easily accessible third row. The car will hold 2 large people and 5 small people. I’m not saying we want 5 kids, but if either of our kids ends up with any friends. We’re all set.

We order the Highlander. In 4-6 weeks the two-seater sports car will retire temporarily to my mom’s garage. Thanks mom! It plans to reemerge in a year or so for its racing career. Either that or we invest in racing tires for the Highlander.

My temporary boob job

Posted on February 15, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

For 30 years I’ve had very good control of my body. The few years I didn’t, I don’t remember. Now the 7 inch person inside of me is wreaking havoc.

It’s not all bad. Amazing things are happening to my once fun-size chest. After only 8 weeks in, I glance down. Am I crazy? I model my new set for Captain. He declares,

“At least 25% bigger.”

That’s what I thought.

At this point they’re at least 100% bigger. I have only recently filled out my pre-pregnancy bras, which means I’ve been fooling myself for years.

Yesterday I get dressed to go out for Valentine’s Day. Not much I can do about my large gut that does not scream baby bump. I put on a red pre-pregnancy bra and a low cut top. I look in the mirror. Wow. Cleavage. I’m not sure if my breasts have ever touched each other before.

It’s a miracle. Is it too much? I model my outfit for Captain. He starts giggling like a 13-year-old boy. We’re good to go.

My pregnancy bump photo – it’s not a food baby

Posted on February 10, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

18 weeks pregnant. I’m eating more foods. I’ve introduced a third type of cereal. I’m pooping on the regularish. And I can feel the person inside me move!

There’s proof that this might be real. I’d love to know what’s going through the Blurry Blob’s brain. Is it enjoying itself? Does it wish I’d stop trying sleep on my stomach? Every night I’m still confirming that being on my stomach is an uncomfortable position.

Only two more weeks until our next ultrasound and the Blurry Blob may no longer be an it. It’ll save me time, because I’ve been virtual window shopping for both scenarios.

I’m not obviously pregnant. There’s been an overall thickening, in case I wanted a bigger butt. I do want a bump. I walk around rubbing my belly and to everyone else I might as well have a bad case of indigestion.

I’m off to my prenatal yoga class. Blurry Blob is coming too.

Jeans barely pull up. I was in the bedroom trying to put them on and Captain yells in from the other room, “Are you ok?!” “Yeah, why?” “You’re making painful groaning sounds.”

Prenatal yoga – once a week seems good enough

Posted on February 5, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Prenatal yoga. Put prenatal in front of anything and it costs at least $5 more than usual.

It’s like wedding stuff. Rental folding chair: not expensive. Wedding rental folding chair: very expensive and if you believe the rental company, choosing the least very expensive chair is a decision you will regret the rest of your life.

My marriage is off to a strong start, despite not upgrading our chair choice.

I’ve never taken a yoga class before. I’ve done many a yoga pose. Movement theater arts classes get weird. Now I have a lot of free time and I’m trying not to spend most of it on my butt.

I’ve taken a sampling of prenatal yoga classes. I found one I like and several that I hope to never stumble into again.

The classes are designed to do no harm to the baby. I appreciate that, but I’m not paying $20 to lie on a mat and focus on my breathing. That’s what I do every night when I’m trying to go to sleep.

One teacher says,

“Thank your baby for coming to class with you today.”

I will not. If I left it up to the Blurry Blob, we’d be sitting on the toilet eating a snack.

The things I used to be able to do on my stomach

Posted on February 2, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Millions of people have survived pregnancy and labor. Some haven’t, but I’m going to focus on the ones who have.

Last night was the first night my full bladder wasn’t the only sleeping issue. I love to sleep on my stomach. Many weeks ago, when I still had a discernible waist, I asked the doctor,

“When will I need to stop sleeping on my stomach?”

“Oh you’ll know.”

That didn’t sound very clinical. The What to Expect When You’re Expecting book offered a suggestion:

“Start sleeping on your side now, so you get used to it.”

I don’t like sleeping on my side. It seems like I’ll have to get used to it at some point so it might as well be not right now.

I continue to sleep on my stomach and forget that I ever wondered about this. Until last night.

I roll off Captain and onto my stomach. Ow. I wiggle around. Ow ow ow. My fetus, the five inch tall person between me, the mattress and a good night’s sleep is saying,

“Hey lady! You’re squishing me.”

“Are you sure?” I wiggle around on my stomach some more.

“I’m sure! That book told you to start sleeping on your side.”

I try one side. I try the other side. I try my stomach again just to confirm. All my tossing and mental arguing with Blurry Blob has woken Captain. He murmurs,

“Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can sleep on my stomach anymore.”

He reaches out to snuggle me and starts snoring again.