Shoulda done those Kegels

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. For the past four days, I have been limping around in agony wondering what I could have possibly done to screw up my lower back quite so badly. At first, I hoped it was just regular back pain as many pregnant woman experience. The next day, the pain localized into one side, and I knew something was up. At times, I couldn't even put weight on the leg. Yesterday, it was so bad that I was using the stroller like a walker - anything to stay upright. Today, I'd decided that I had endured enough and called a physiotherapist that my doctor had recommended.

I suspected that it was somehow pregnancy related, of course. I know that things in the pelvic area tend to loosen up when you're late in the game. I even knew that you could do some damage if you weren't careful. But surely these things happen to Other People, not me. Oh no! I'm a runner! I am still - or, rather, was still until the back went haywire - running for about an hour, three times a week! I take a FitMom class once a week, and I walk a lot! Apparently all these good things are for naught if you don't do your kegels.

For some reason, I thought I was exempt. Or, perhaps I was lazy. Anyways, I could never find time for them. Now that I can't walk properly, I wish I had made more of an effort. According to my physiotherapist, I lack some of the core strength that kegels help to build, and I hurt/twisted/messed up the SI Joint. She gave me some exercises and stretches to do - all of which involve the muscles worked while doing kegels.

She also said that the pain may not go away entirely until I deliver, though. Fabulous. Nothing like chasing after a toddler who can outrun you.

So it looks like I've got my work cut out for me. Can I make up for 9 kegel-free months in just 3 short weeks? Only time will tell. One thing I know for sure is that I won't look like this at the end of my new workout regime:

This is SO NOT the outfit I would choose to wear while doing kegels. Assuming that white thing goes where I think it does - are we pretending that my little girl can actually compress that thing? It looks like a Thigh Master for pete's sake! Nuh huh. Love how the pregnancy benefits are hidden between things like better orgasms and heightened stimulation, though. . Now, if only I had the proper footwear to become a KegelPro, I'd be all set...

Now if anyone sees me in person, you're gonna be wondering if I'm doing a kegel. Arncha?

Cravings

When I started this blog, I gave it the name "nomotherearth" because, up to that point, I had spent my time as a new mother feeling very much on the outside. I would look at the other new mothers in my neighbourhood (and there are ALOT of new mothers in my 'hood) and feel like they knew something I didn't. They all seemed to have their act together, and here I was stumbling along like an infant learning to walk. I took a lot of falls. Truth be told, I'm still stumbling. I was especially fascinated by the mothers for whom this mothering thing seemed to come naturally. It was as if the "Mother Earth" juice just oozed out of their every pore. They seemed to know the right thing to do in every situation, and everything was just so easy for them. I, on the other hand, found nothing easy.

Since then, thanks to the support of a lovely bloggy community and some wonderful IRL friends, I have been able to come to terms with my shortcomings. Not absolutely, of course. I'm still somewhat embarrassed by how much I don't know. But I feel much less alone. I've also felt that over 2.5 years with the Boy has improved my maternal instincts so drastically that most days I can pass for someonw who knows what they're doing.

So I was taken aback when Mr Earth made a comment the other day that we don't, as he has been noticing other couples do, spend a lot of time Touching the Belly. My first (unthinking) response was "Yeah, I'm just not all that into it." Mr Earth snorted at my non-maternal comment. What I meant, of course, was that I was just not all that into Touching the Belly. I am VERY into having a baby. You just won't see me fondling my distended abs and smiling that secret smile. I should mention that although Baby Earth has been kicking up a storm, (s)he will stop moving the moment someone puts a hand on the Belly. I have only felt the kicks from the inside.

I think I may have regressed. When I was pregnant with the Boy, I really did try to do everything "right". Poor Baby Earth seems to be on his/her own. Not only have I eaten soft cheeses and deli meats from questionable submarine joints, but I've gone weeks without vegetables crossing my lips (unless tomato sauce counts as a veggie..?). I'm pretty sure that I had some undercooked shellfish at one point. Kegel? What's a Kegel?? On top of everything, I have been CRAVING red wine. Absolutely must have red wine.

I haven't indulged yet. I know that most reports say that a glass here or there is no big deal, but, um...let's just say that I'm not the poster-child for moderation. Generally, when I find something I like to eat - especially during pregnancy - I will eat just gobs of it until I'm so sick of it I can't stand to even have it in the house anymore. So I take sips of Mr Earth's wine here and there.

Measly, sad, depressing sips.

I want to take a nice bottle from our growing wine rack that I eye every morning while I make breakfast for the Boy. I want to hold a glass full of velvety warm goodness. I want to inhale the edgy fruit smell. I want to feel that pleasant soft hum in my shoulders as I finally relax after a taxing day. As irreverant as it may seem, having a good glass of wine at the end of the day is a little bit of a religious experience for me. And with each passing day of this pregnancy, I want it more and more.

This is so wrong. I can't even get cravings right. No pickles and ice cream for me. God forbid I should crave something that contains anything that my body actually needs like calcium or iron. No. I crave alcohol. I feel like the Don Music of motherhood. Anyone care to join me for a glass?? Cause I'll never get it right. Never, never, never!

Red Rubber Ball

Last week in my Fitmom class, the instructor checked our diastasis (the amount of separation of the two halves of the rectus abdominus that happens in pregnancy). If the separation gets too big, apparently, it can become a problem that requires surgery after birth. What you have to do is lie on your back with your knees up. Then you lift your head off the ground and feel the area between the belly button and the ribs. When you do this, you should be able to feel the sides of the abdominal muscles. Generally, they are pretty close together, maybe a fingerwidth at most. They start separating during pregnancy to accomodate the baby.

When I did this, there was this sizable bump right above my belly button. It looked like the baby was pushing it's head (or bum) out of the top of my tummy, except that when you pressed on it, it felt like an air bubble. It looked pretty freaky. The teacher thought that it might be a hernia, and I immediately went into a semi-panic mode. Hernia means surgery! I don't want surgery! I am doing my very best to avoid any type of surgery with this birth! I wouldn't say Im a hypochondriac, but I am a bit of an alarmist.

So for this past week, I've been in a bit of a suspended state waiting for my doctor's appointment today. The doctor seems to think that it's just some loose muscles popping out. She didn't seem too worried about it. Personally, I think that loose muscles popping out of my stomach is not entirely "normal". (Or attractive, but let's just put that aside for the moment..) I hope that she's right. I don't, as a rule, question doctor's opinions, but sometimes I think that they can be somewhat dismissive of patient concerns. I don't think that my doctor is the dismissive type at all - she seems very nice - but I just started with her, so I don't know her all that well.

I'm doing my very best to focus on the positive side of things (not easy for me), and just assume that everything will work in the end. I've been having to do that more and more as this pregnancy progresses. I had my VBAC consult last week, and the obstetrician at the hospital said that if I got to 40 weeks without going into labour, they would just automatically schedule a caesarian for a week later. That concerns me. My impression is that if everything doesn't go EXACTLY ACCORDING TO SCHEDULE then the hospital is going to hop on the Operation Train. And when has a labour gone exactly according to schedule anyways?? Every labour, every woman is different. An acquaintance of mine was in the same situation awhile back. They had scheduled the caesarian for 8 days after her due date - only because they were too backed up to do it earlier - but she luckily went into labour on the morning of her operation.

I talked with my doctor about this and she looked confused. She said that they would schedule an induction if I went all the way to my due date, but not a caesarian. I could have misheard what the obstetrician said, but I don't think so. So we wait until she gets the letter from the obstetrician consult to see what it says.

I guess I just have to assume that everything's going to be alright.

Right?

I may never need birth control again.

I am trying to have a VBAC with Baby Earth. I've never been a fan of the whole C-section thing, and having gone through it personally, I am even less of one. It was never in my "plan" the first time around. In fact, when they were showing the C-section part of the video in prenatal class, I took the opportunity for for a much needed pee break. The Gods were probably laughing their asses off when I did that.

Nonetheless, squeezing a baby out my pink parts scares the crap out of me. (And it may quite literally scare the crap out of me from what I've read. Yuck.) Not to mention that I have a terrible feeling that doctor(s) are going to push me to have a C-section if the the least little thing doesn't go smoothly or easily. I am indecisive and easy to bully, especially when I'm feeling vulnerable. Naked and spread-eagled is about as vulnerable as I get. So I took some books out of the library in order to prepare myself. Knowledge is good, right?

I've started reading Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. So far, it's a lovely book that really talks about the empowerment that labour and childbirth can give a woman. It starts out with over a 100 pages of natural childbirth stories where women talk about "rushes" instead of "contractions", and some even mention likening labour contractions to orgasms. I'm not so sure about that one. Then, I come across this story about a woman who gives birth to a baby - face first. I thought that was odd and rather interesting until I turned the page and saw that they had photographed the baby coming out. I swear to God that it looked like this:

Only imagine that this face is between a pair of legs. I think I'm scarred for life.

The image keeps floating in and out of my head unbidden, heedless of nausea. I want to share the picture with Mr Earth so the I don't have to bear the burden of this image alone, but I'm pretty sure he would never have sex with me again. Ever. This is a man who is blood-averse and doesn't want to cut the cord.

I'm not sure I would want to have sex with me either. If someone offers me a mirror to see the head crowning, or asks me if I want to touch it, I might scream louder than at any old contraction. Am I being overly squeamish? Is it really all that beautiful when you're in the moment? And, more importantly, do the partners of other women get the full on view of the birth, and still want some Action when the whole ordeal is over??

I'm having a hard time believing it. Then again, many couples get pregnant multiple times so it must not be such a big deal. Or, they're really good at blocking out the image of a spread-eagled Quato.

Welcome the Baroness

Ah, pregnancy is so glamourous, isn't it?

Before the Boy - back when we were excitedly running home and hitting the sheets (or carpet, or dining table) - I had this idea of what pregancy was going to be like. I would walk around in these super stylish maternity clothes, and look oh so cute and hip. Everyone would comment about how I was glowing, and how pregnancy really suited me. I would gain exactly the amount of weight necessary to grow a baby, and not an ounce more. And once the baby was out, the pounds would magically disappear because everyone knows that when you breastfeed your baby, you lose all your pregnancy weight.

Ha. Sometimes I think that people take delight in keeping the preggo hopefuls in the dark.

The first time around, I looked okay and didn't gain too much weight. I was NOT super stylish or, in fact, anywhere near hip. I took one look at the price tags in the designer stores and skulked out to buy some cotton muumuus from Thyme Maternity. I did have a glow caused by the extreme oiliness of my skin. That "glow", coupled with acne, made me a beautiful sight to behold. Pregnancy would have "suited me" if I was, oh, say, THIRTEEN AND HORMONAL. (But that would be wrong, of course. I am not endorsing teen pregnancy). I might have lost the pregnancy weight while breastfeeding, if I didn't consume large quantities of chocolate to keep me up in the wee hours of the night without screaming.

This time around, it seems that all the symptoms are still there, they're just worse. I started out about 10 pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight, and everything has just snowballed from there. The cheap maternity muumuus that I so lovingly saved from the first time around DON'T FIT. Good times.

I haven't even gotten to the backaches, the constant peeing, the puffy legs, the number of shoes that I have that no longer fit, the crankiness... Oh yes, I am one big ball of glam.

To add insult to injury, this weekend I broke down and had to go out and buy some new panties: Size Large. I haven't bought large panties since I was an unattractively overweight teen. I even managed to squeak by during the last pregnancy by squeezing into my medium Victoria Secrets. Not so, this time. My "little girl" decided she was getting too much of breeze, and my butt-crack was in danger of being rather overexposed, so shopping I went. And wearing large panties I am. I cut the tag out, though. I'm that vain.

Mr Earth, god bless him, comforts me whenever I complain about how much weight I'm gaining. "You're pregnant!" I know! But it's very possible to be pregnant AND fat. I'm fairly certain that all of the weight I've gained is not strictly necessary. Nor was that 3rd cookie. Or the 10th, for that matter. The 1/2 pound of chocolate probably didn't fulfill any dietary needs either. Or the 50th TimBit. Yes, my friends, I am the Baroness von Fat. You're all invited to my tea party! If you're coming, though, please bring me some pants. I bust the thighs out on the old pair. Oh, and bring a doughnut while you're at it, will you? Why quit now?? Things are just getting good.

I'd be rich.

OK, it is waay too hot for me, so maybe I'm just cranky. (Well, cranky-ER. ahem.) I'm pregnant! By the way, YES, that is my excuse for everything these days. I'm going to milk it a s long as I can.

But I swear that if I had a dollar for everytime:

1. Someone said "You can't dye your hair, can you?"

Yes, as a matter of fact, I can. And I plan to dye it as soon as I can scrape together enough pennies to pay the exhorbitant salon fees. I look like crap, and I hate the fact that the roots and ends of my hair are two completely different colours. It is safe to dye your hair when pregnant. It is NOT, however, safe to ingest any of the hair dye. As long as I don't drink the dye, I think I'll be ok.

2. Someone said "You're still running? Doesn't your belly bounce up and down? Is that good for the baby"

Yes, I am still running. It is not only safe, but recommended, to get daily exercise during pregnancy. My belly doesn't "bounce up and down". Well, ok, it actually does, but that's the fat bouncing, not the baby. The baby is in my uterus, not my belly. Any jiggling you see is entirely due the fact that I eat far too much candy.

3. Someone offered me a glass of wine.

Yes, you read that correctly. I would have thought the opposite to be true, but apparently my family are a bunch of winos. It's undoubtedly safe to have a glass of wine now and then. I am sure that in the past, French and Italian women didn't give up wine entirely while pregnant, and yet those countries didn't die out. HOWEVER... I have a strong love of good red wine, and absolutely NO SELF CONTROL. It's bad enough smelling it and not being able to drink it. Think of me as a zoo animal with a sign on my cage and "Please don't offer a drink to the pregnant lady."

4. Someone didn't offer me a seat on the subway.

Yes, you. I see you sitting there, pretending to be asleep or thoroughly engrossed in your blackberry. I know you see me, and I know I look pregnant now, so there is no excuse. Standing for 30 minutes on a subway after a 20 minute walk to daycare in this stifling heat is NO FUN. I feel sick by the time I get to work. And every time I have been offered a seat, it's been a woman. I love men, but sometimes they really suck. Chivalry is dead. I hope some miracle of science happens, and men can get pregnant one day, so they will know how it feels. And I'm not going to offer them my seat. No way. (Crap.. I probably would, because pregnant people shouldn't have to stand. But I wouldn't like it.)

5. My thighs get bigger at the same time my stomach does.

Mr Earth keeps saying that it's ok, that I'm pregnant. I am pregnant, but it's not ok. The baby is not growing in my thighs. If they get any bigger, I am going to be taking up two seats on the subway, instead of one. (Oh yeah, I forgot, I don't get a seat on the subway. No problem then! Let's just hope I don't need to go anywhere by plane, though.)

6. The lady at Mmmmuffins gives me the small Rice Krispie square, instead of the big one.

Now this is just being mean. Why does she go out of her way to give me the smallest one? I'm pregnant, and I'm hungry! Who are you saving the big Rice Krispie square for anyways? (Hm. This attitude would perhaps explain the growth of my thighs.)

7. Someone asks "How are you feeling?"

OK, now I know that people are just trying to be nice, so I try not to get annoyed by this. But if you hear this question often enough, you start feeling like an invalid, or someone who is dying from some rare disease but doesn't know it yet. It's a little creepy. And I really wish people would come up with something different. I'll start you off: "Would you like a massage?"..."Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?"..."Can I buy you some presents?" Any of these would be perfectly acceptable and immeasurably better than "How are you feeling?"


Like I said, if I had a dollar for each and every time one of these things happened, I'd be rich. Then I could hire me a fan-bearer, and maybe I wouldn't be so stinkin' hot.

FitPreggo Friday

Pregnancy Weight Gained 8lbs, Alcohol Units 0 (sigh), Cigarettes 0 (yuck), Timbits 3 (but were bought for office mates so don't count), Skittles Too many to track, Chocolate Chips Several large handfuls, Fries Yes (but as are potatoes, counting them as vegetables), Other Forbidden Substances Tim Hortons French Vanilla Coffee, Total Calories Scared to hazard a guess.

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Am most upset because bravely worked out last night to Billy Blanks Ultimate Boot Camp video. Not feeling any fitter, but now have headache from tensing up while using resistance bands. Also noticed while doing girl push-ups that burgeoning stomach takes on a most distressingly Sigourney Weaver-esque Alien aspect. Not good if wanting to portray a chic mother-to-be. Colleague at work remarked that stomach did not look pregnant, but rather like it had recently given birth and was still sporting an afterbirth pooch. (Mental note: ply colleague with fattening foods so she gains a pooch too.)

Have been attempting to keep up with running schedule, but am finding it difficult between stomach viruses and Mr Earth's busy schedule. Run times distressingly low, and usually end up at Timothy's for a chai tea and chocolate chip muffin. Not sure if able to count runs followed by large chocolatey baked goods. Must remember that while eating for two, one of said two people is only 5 inches and probably doesn't need to eat a whole muffin alone.

Am seriously considering going on cross-country tour to promote idea of recognizing Toddler Lifting and Carrying as new official sport of Olympics. Am sure to win gold medal and gain international fame.

In the past, have been compared most flatteringly to Buffy star Alyson Hannigan. Or, as gents in bars point out "that Band Camp girl". Have been centre of amused attention at parties after perfecting Band Camp impression:



Am concerned that with second pregnancy, am on my way to a less delectable star comparison: