Inconceivable

The last few weeks, it seems I have popped straight out. A mere two weeks ago people were telling me that I didn't look pregnant and now people are looking at my belly on the train and avoiding eye contact lest they are guilted into giving me their seat. The baby has also started really kicking and each day she is stronger. It was so cute at first; I had everyone touching my belly, but now it is starting to feel like someone is constantly poking at me. Despite the mild annoyance, I was still supremely freaked out when she finally laid off the jabbing one Saturday. I swore I wouldn't be that type of person who flipped over ever normal thing, but I was almost crying at lunch when she hadn't kicked at all that day. She finally resume her regular programming later that day and I resumed complaining about it. All was right with the world. In protest to my complaining she is kicking at me now. I have also recently diagnosed myself with pregnancy on-set morning claustrophobia. I n...

I have been offline for while with the multi-city Christmas extravaganza and haven't been updating, but there were a very cherished holidays moments that deserve to be recorded for posterity. 1. Being dismissively told at LGA that we didn't have seat assignments and that they might be able to get us out "sometime this week." 2. The blizzard that kept us huddled at my in-laws for what seemed like 2 weeks. 3. The Delta crew forgetting to de -ice our plane which caused us to miss our connection by 10 minutes, but then resulted in first class tickets for the next leg of the trip. 4. Birthday cake disasters and finally 5. Puking on the return flight. In the back galley of the plane ...everywhere. Notice how the worst ones involved air travel. That last one really endeared me to the flight attendants who, by the way, COULD NOT FIND A BARF BAG for me. I gave them ample warning and desperately tried to wait until the bathrooms were unoccupied. I think they thought I was st...

When we last left off, I was sitting on some important news, but because I know there is at least one person out there who still reads this, I kept it to myself until I could tell her in person. So now that she knows, here is the big scoop. At my dr's appt at my 17 week check up, I talked my dr into telling me the gender despite the fact that my husband couldn't be there and my dr's insistence that people from Brooklyn always want to be surprised. He asked me if I had a preference to which I of course replied: "I just want a healthy baby", and then told me it was a girl. I then squealed: "well I really wanted a girl." He advised me not to decorate the nursery until my 20 week anatomy scan, but he was pretty certain it was a girl. Fast forward 4 weeks later for the full anatomy scan (which was creepy awesome by the way), and I was slightly nervous that the ultrasound would reveal a developmental problem, but I was really nervous that they would be lik...

I think there is a concerted effort throughout the MTA to make me throw-up on the train. First it was the excessive cologne of passengers. (There is no need to use half a bottle of hugo boss or j.lo glow before 9:00 a.m.) And every offender seemed to be drawn to me like a magnet. Powdery old ladies, teenage romeos, accountants with obvious olfactory fatigue all want to sit next to me. Lately, the trains have also been more crowded and the mingling of smells combined with my recent inability to score a seat have twice made me have to exit the train in fear that I would faint. Now that I am further along, I can tolerate the odors and crowding a bit. So to ensure that I don't enjoy my commute too much, the City's health department has started running the most gag-inducing ads . It shows a soda being poured into a glass, but in the glass it turns into veiny blubber. It's the realistic kind you used to see in the old TLC surgery shows. (Do they still have those are is it all rea...

Last week, there was an article in the New York Times Sunday Magazine about fathers who find out that the children they are raising are not their own. It was heartbreaking to read their stories and about the upheaval it caused in their and their kids' lives. I sometimes joke with Matt about the baby not being his which leads to further joking that the baby might not be mine either. After reading that article, I am not sure if I want to kid about it anymore. Not that our situation would be one rife with betrayal and deceit like these father's, but what if there was a mix-up? How would I feel about it? Would I even want to know the truth? I try not to seriously consider the possibility, but it has happened and uncomfortably close to home. I reassure myself that my clinic is one of the best in the country and uses strictly enforced protocols to eliminate such errors, but just like those dads whose babies are born looking nothing like them, there is a creeping doubt.

A few weeks ago, we had a visit from our downstairs neighbor informing us that we were raining on her apartment - the bathroom to be specific. We had no obvious water leaks, and it was soon concluded that whenever we flushed the toilet, let's just say, they felt the effects. The super said he would need to pull up our toilet to fix a broken pipe, leaving us without a toilet until the job was complete. In the meantime, the neighbor kindly offered to have us call anytime we needed to flush, but there was no way I could consciously flush my toilet knowing it caused a pee storm below me. So I played the pregnant card and the super let us in on a secret bathroom on the 6th floor, a very dirty, very icky secret toilet that I was nevertheless thrilled to have at my pregnant bladders disposal. Within a day, the problem was resolved. So after the bubble, bubble toilet trouble, we jump ahead two weeks. This past Wednesday, I noticed a wet spot on my ceiling in the kitchen. I visited the upst...

Hoping to expand my (literally) shrinking wardrobe , I cleaned out my closet looking for those clothes that were always a little too big for me to wear. Instead I found my long lost skinny pants. I haven't touched these pants since I started stimming, sure that the bloating wouldn't take kindly to their tight hug. For a laugh, I decided to try them on and see how big I am getting. Imagine my delight when the zipper came up with only a mild protest! I could have danced around the room. I love these pants. They are black and satiny, and I feel like Audrey Hepburn in them. So imagine my distressed when I pranced into the F train and tried to sit down in them!!! The high waist cut into my protruding belly and the area around my hips that is usually snug started to feel like a boa constrictor. Part of the reason I like these pants is their design. They zip up the back with a sewn-in zipper -so my trusty rubber band wasn't going to work with this one. I discreetly tugged at the z...