Pregnancy hair growth and constipation status update

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.

monkey hair

 

 

 

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Fried chicken and chocolate balanced by 3 carrots I ate yesterday

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.

Pregnant-woman-eating-chocolate

But this is what I’m talking about.

Squatty potty did not pay me to write this, but any day now

Before I got knocked up, I’d heard of one pregnancy symptom: morning sickness. For thirty years I assumed morning sickness means you feel a little sick in the morning and then life goes on. Nope. I felt like I was going to die. I thought I might be sick for the rest of my life.

It turned out I was only sick for a few months, BUT it also turns out that there are a lot of random symptoms that seem totally unrelated to pregnancy, but persist nonetheless. What their biological advantage is, is a mystery.

My symptoms in no particular order:

  • Nausea
  • Exhaustion
  • A lot of mucus and boogers. So many boogers. I haven’t had this many boogers since I spent 12 hours on a dirt road in Africa with the windows open.
  • Bleeding gums. WHY?
  • Serious food aversions. I have gone from eating everything, EVERYTHING, to 3 or 4 different foods, if Cheerios and Honey Nut Cheerios count as two different foods.
  • And sometimes it’s hard to poop. Pooping used to be easy. I looked forward to my 20 minutes in the evening with the toilet and Consumer Reports magazine.

The real Jessica is gone and this new Jessica I’m dealing with is a tired, sick, boogery, picky eater, poop filled Jessica. I hear that five months from now I’ll forget that that Jessica ever existed and will be agreeable to getting knocked up again.

Last weekend, 15 weeks pregnant, I drag myself to the breakfast table. Captain is concerned. He asks,

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“Anything I can do?”

Just listen to me talk about my boogers again.

I’ve signed up for every pregnant mommy group nearby. What’s better than talking to Captain about my boogers and poop? Talking to lots of women about their boogers and poop.

One woman asks me,

“Have you tried the squatty potty?”

“The WHAT?”

“Squatty potty. It’s great. It helps open up your colon.”

My colon needs all the help it can get. I order the squatty potty.

All packages that arrive at our condo building are signed for by the concierge. He then notifies residents if you have a package. I receive a notification and go to claim my package:

24520629646_35bd592b77_o.jpg

The return address on the mailing label is glaring at me. Really? Everyone needs to know that I ordered a toilet stool? Captain tries to reassure me,

“It could easily be for a small child.”

That we’re 3 years away from having.

But it works and I ordered another one despite the address label. This way I can pick my toilet based on the reading material I’ve left by each one as opposed to which one has the stool.

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