More food for thought

After Georgia was born, eating became somewhat complicated.  I was exhausted, hormonal, trying to build my strength back up, breastfeeding, and learning to care for a small and demanding human being.  Food needed to be simple and nourishing.  And if I could eat it with one hand, even better.

So: here is Mary’s top foods for nursing mamas:

1.  Cheese.

2.  Fruit slices.  I went wild for clementines, but some breastfeeding mamas have a hard time with citrus.

3.  Cooked chicken.

4.  Deli meats.  Not everyone will agree with me about this food, due to concerns about preservatives and listeriosa, but it use your own common sense and go with what works.  In my case, a nice little pile of ham with cheese and breton crackers was divine…sounds like a lunchable!

5.  Yogurt, especially high-protein Greek yogurt or balkan style yogurt.

6.  Finger foods.  To celebrate New Year’s my sister Katie went out and bought some delicious appetizers.  Those nibblies were divine.

7.  Boiled eggs.

8.  Ice cream in a flavour that your partner doesn’t like.  In my case, mint chocolate chip.

9.  Bagels-now is not the time to avoid carbs!

10.  Anything that you desire or have been avoiding for the past nine months.

I learned through trial and error about what foods would upset Georgia: black bean enchiladas and thai chicken in peanut sauce were OUT.  Basically, if a food upset her I would wait a week or two to try it again, so I could see if it was a fluke or not.  I also found that my tastes had changed, and so had my digestion.  I have IBS, which means I usually avoid trigger foods such as beef.  However, all throughout my pregnancy I craved red meat, and it didn’t give me the usual problems if I ate it more than once a week.  About a month after Georgia was born this stopped being the case.  I had to re-discover my no-no list, in addition to learning the baby’s no-no list.  My advice: don’t beat yourself up too much.  The night of the black bean enchiladas left everyone in tears, but it was only one night.

Remember: it’s a new process for everyone.

Mmmm, mmmm, good

Food.  For me, eating is one of life’s greatest pleasures.  I love a good meal.  Going to restaurants is one of my favourite things to do.  I am thrilled to pieces when the farmers market opens for the season: fresh produce when eaten in season is delicious.  I have been known to cry for the perfect peach or pear.

Having a baby wrecks a fair amount of havoc on one’s eating habits, though.

My morning sickness ruined more than a few meals.  Combine that with irritable bowel syndrome, and there was little that I could manage in terms of eating during the first trimester.  My midwives told me not to worry about whether I was getting enough of this or that, to ignore the Canada’s Food Guide that was sent in the mail from public health, and to focus on eating whatever I could keep down.  I consumed a lot of soft pretzels and passion tea lemonades during the first trimester, and still remember Jason driving to and from Wendy’s in record time when I mentioned that I was feeling up to some chicken strips and a baked potato.  Most of my food issues wore off after the first trimester, and thankfully in time for a trip to the Maritimes, where I was determined to eat as much seafood as possible.  For the second and third trimester, I tried to eat simple and healthy meals, and used the 80/20 rule for junk food like Big Macs and Blizzards.

But there was a new food concern on the horizon: what would we eat after the baby arrived?  Cooking would be the least of my concerns with a newborn, but I knew I would have to eat in order to recover from birth, and to help my body produce milk for Georgia.  I came up with the following strategies for eating during the post-partum period.

1.  Freeze it.  I make soup or stew about twice per week, and leftovers are always labelled and put in the freezer.  During the last eight weeks of my pregnancy I built a nice little stash of nourishing meals that could be thawed and heated whenever I needed something tasty in a hurry.

2.  Stock up.  I love Ristorante pizzas, but they can run a little pricey.  I grocery shop based on the sales I see in fliers, so whenever my beloved pizzas went on sale, we would buy a few until we had quite the pizza stack in the back of our freezer.

3.  Ask for help.  When family came to visit, I would usually ask if they wouldn’t mind bringing something along with them: my mother’s rice pudding was one dish that made an appearance after Georgia was born.  My sisters also did a few grocery runs, and my in-laws dropped off a few meals from the take-out counter.  If someone asks what they can do to help, bringing food is one of the best options.

4.  Eat-in/take-out: Restaurants are a godsend for new parents.  What’s in your neighbourhood?  What’s fast?  Does anyone offer delivery?  Is there anywhere you could go with a newborn?  We kept a few take-out menus around the house, along with gift cards and coupons for places like Subway and Wendy’s.  The Pizza Hut lunch buffet was also one of our prime choices when Georgia was a newborn: there was no wait time for food, it was a family restaurant, and the booths were comfy on my recovering bottom (and helped us be discrete when nursing.  I’m less concerned now about a straw areola coming into view, but in those early days, the privacy of a booth was very helpful when nursing in public).

5.  Think finger foods: It’s not easy to nurse and cut up steak at the same time.  Foods that could be eaten with one hand were crucial, as I usually need to keep one hand on my breast while feeding Georgia.  There was also a few times when I needed both hands, so Jason would end up feeding me!  Cheese curds, deli meat, fruit slices, crackers, and yogurt drinks became my go-to meals for quite a while.  Look for foods that are high in protein, and try to “eat the rainbow” when possible.

6.  Water, water, everywhere: Do not let yourself get dehydrated.  We bought a big brita pitcher and kleen kanteens before Georgia was born, and then made sure there was always water within reaching distance of my different nursing stations.  Getting dehydrated is no fun at all, whether you are pregnant, nursing, or just living your life.

Next up: food for thought on eating once baby is older.

Why yes, I do put baby in the corner

Nursery inspiration can be found almost everywhere you turn on the internet.  At times, it reminds me of wedding inspiration: so many ideas, so many choices, so easy to become overwhelmed.  When I was pregnant with Georgia (and even before that, to be honest) I would dream of what her nursery would look like.  It would be bright and cheerful, a place where I would actually want to spend my time.  It would be gender neutral, since we didn’t know the sex of the baby.  It would be a room baby could actually grow up in-not too theme-oriented, not too matchy-matchy.

Reality tells a different story.

We live in a one bedroom apartment.  There is no nursery.  There is a storage closet, kitchen, multi-function living space, bathroom, and bedroom.  C’est tout.  Those dreams of a nursery are waiting for another apartment.

In the meantime, baby has a corner, plus other areas scattered around the apartment.  Her corner is simple: a wicker bassinet on top of an old coffee table next to my side of the bed.  Georgia is the third generation of my family to sleep in the bassinet, and is just about ready to outgrow it.  Her bassinet (also referred to as her basket) is lined with a rainbow checkered fabric, which was my duvet cover from high school and university.  I was sad when the ends of the cover wore out, but am pleased that it is getting more use.  The coffee table is painted a leafy green, which sounds odd but works well with the other colours in our bedroom.  Above her bassinet are two little collage/paintings: one reads “I am loved” and the other reads “With faith all things are possible”.  A mini sleep sheep hangs out on the coffee table, and there is usually a handmade blanket nearby.  This set-up has worked well for night nursing, but we’re going to have to find a new solution soon, because baby is a long little girl and will need to be in her crib soon!

Some of her other areas include a Malm dresser that also acts as a change table, a corner of our living room for her toys, bouncer, and playmat, and our dining room chairs all have hanging toys tied to their backs (or old disco ball ornaments).  Our glider is tucked next to a book case, and Georgia has her own shelf of board and story books.  There are days when the living room is a wee bit over-saturated with baby stuff, but we make so.  And I dream of a bigger space.

How have you adapted smaller than usual spaces to fit the needs of a baby?

My birth story

As a theatre artist and educator, I understand the importance of improvisation and flexibility.  There will be times when I need to deviate from the script, or when the lesson plan is altered or abandoned.  The same is true when giving birth.

Two wonderful midwives oversaw my prenatal care, and after much research and discussion (plus more than a few videos on youtube and birth stories on OBM) my husband and I decided that a home birth was the right choice for us.  Our midwives were very supportive of our decision, and we began preparing for the birth: attending prenatal classes, doing aquafit and yoga, reading “The Birth Partner”, buying old sheets and other necessary supplies, asking my sisters to be our labour and post-partum doulas, and anything else that seemed important at the time.

Our baby was due at the end of December, and it seemed like everyone we knew had an opinion on the potential birth date-specifically, when baby WASN’T allowed to be born.  I would laugh and tell people that it wasn’t really my choice, but there was one date that was the “please god no don’t arrive just yet” date: December 26th.  My husband works in sales, and and a twelve hour shift with commissions and holiday pay loomed over our heads; we really couldn’t afford for him to miss that day of work.  “You stay put,” Jason told our baby, “no showing up until after Daddy is home from work and has caught up on sleep.”

I had my first contraction within a minute of Jason arriving home from work on Boxing Day.

Thankfully for Jason, labour didn’t start just then and there, so he was able to get a good night’s sleep.  I alternated between restless sleep and nesting, knowing that we would meet our baby very soon.  My instincts proved right on the morning of December 28th, as my water broke while I ate breakfast.  After hemming and hawing over whether it was amniotic fluid or pee, I decided to call my family in Ottawa, to give my sisters the heads-up that they would be needed in the near future.  Allison hopped a train to Kingston, and I took a nap.  When I awoke, my pad was filled with a pink-ish fluid: this was REAL.  I called my midwife, who told me to come in for my regular appointment that afternoon.  Jason’s manager sent him home from work, and Allison arrived, bursting with ideas on how we were going to get through my labour.  There would be dancing, and Pixar movies, and baking, and lots of massage…was I having a baby or a slumber party?  We went out to lunch before my appointment, and I fidgeted through mild contractions while eating my chicken panini.

When we arrived at the midwives office, I went to pee and check my pad.  Looking down, the fluid was no longer pink-it was a greenish-brown colour.  My heart dropped to my stomach and I bit my lip.  Meconium.  Bye-bye homebirth.  Jane, my midwife, was incredibly calm and reassuring.  We watched and listened to the baby’s heart over the monitor.  “Sometimes they pass meconium because they’re stressed, but this baby is healthy and happy.”  I decided I wasn’t going to let the meconium stress me out, because I needed to be healthy and happy.  Jane explained that meconium meant a hospital birth, and most likely an induction.  She would no longer be my primary caregiver, but would still be at the birth.  Care would be transferred back to her once the baby was born.  I gave her a smile and a hug as she wished me good luck and promised that she would come to the hospital when it was time.  I cried for a few minutes on the car ride home, grieving for my homebirth, but the decided that I needed to stay positive to have the birth experience I wanted, despite the need for it to be in a hospital.

After we arrived at the hospital, I was hooked up to the monitors, and hated them immediately.  Despite being given a wireless pack so I could move around, the belts were constantly slipping, making it seem like the baby was in distress.  Even though I knew my baby was fine, I would still panic when I would see the heartrate dip and jump, or when a nurse would rush in to make sure everything was okay.  I wanted to move, I needed to move-the resident OB told me that if my labour progressed on its own, I wouldn’t need to be induced, and care could be transferred back to Jane.  I paced the halls, swayed my hips, and bounced on an exercise ball, all while holding the monitor in place with my left hand, all while praying that things would speed up, that my body was strong enough, and that the baby was safe.  My sister offered her own prayers, although hers were of a very different nature: we had found out that part of the reason the OB was okay with holding off on the induction was due to the fact that the hospital was understaffed.  Allison asked God if he wouldn’t mind making people late or keeping an extra nurse at home with the flu if it helped me to avoid an induction.

I didn’t want to be induced, because I knew that pitocin had the potential to do more harm than good, and I worried about putting the baby into a state of distress.  I was also concerned about my ability to cope with contractions if I was on pitocin, as I was already having difficulty with pain management.  Thankfully, the hospital staff were very supportive of my desire to let my body do its work.  My sister and husband were also fantastic advocates, asking questions I couldn’t always voice, and providing me with much-needed reassurance that the choices I made were the best for me and the baby.  This reassurance was crucial when I made the decision to get a shot of morphine: no one pushed pain meds on me, but it was a difficult decision to make.  I had planned an unmedicated birth, but I was fatigued and worried that I wouldn’t have the strength to push.  The morphine was just what I needed; it let me catch five minute catnaps in between contractions, while still allowing me to feel what was going on in my body.  I would feel the start of a contraction, say “okay”, and begin to vocalize while Allison provided counter-pressure on my back, and Jason coached and encouraged me through the waves.

Eventually, there were no breaks in between each contraction.  I can remember saying “Is this transition?  I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do.”  By that point we had been assigned a nurse, who told me it was okay to be confused, but that my body knew what it was doing, and that everything was okay.  I moaned and did my “birthday candle blowing”, as I was almost fully dilated, but not quite.  By the time Jane arrived to catch the baby, I was ready to push.  Jane asked me what position I wanted to deliver in, and I instinctively went on my knees, holding the back of the bed for support.  Pushing was slightly terrifying, but provided amazing relief.  I alternated between prayer, the mantra “my faith is stronger than my fear”, and a few extremely loud obscenities.  After the baby’s head crowned, there was a little voice in the back of my head telling me to slow down, but my body had none of it.  The baby slid out with one mighty push, and I heard the words “It’s a girl!”  Our baby was quickly handed to the nursery team, but was handed back to me almost immediately as wasn’t suffering from any complications related to the meconium.  I had originally included immediate skin-on-skin contact as part of my birth plan, but that didn’t matter now.  I held my little burrito babe in my arms, and started to sing “The Rainbow Connection”, a song that had been sung to her so many times before.  My little family of two was now a family of three.  The road we took to get here wasn’t the trip I had planned, but the few detours along the way were worth it.  Georgia Cadence was here.  I could now add “mama” to my resume alongside theatre artist and educator.

everyday moments

the silkiness of her hair,

the coos and sighs she makes,

her tiny hand on my breast, so possessive, as we nurse,

the spontaneous giggle while she slept,

her eyes, so wide and starting to darken, taking in the world,

my daughter.  my sweet Georgia.

An update

I had a baby.

Her name is Georgia Cadence.

…

It’s pretty overwhelming to think “I had a baby” and I named her.  Sometimes I look at her in shock and disbelief.  She grew from tiny microscopic cells inside my body.  I carried her for forty weeks and then birthed her.  The food she eats comes from my body.  I can self-regulate my temperate so to adjust to her needs.  My husband and I have combined our DNA to make a human being.  And I got to name her.

Georgia Cadence.

Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

Deck the Halls

Our apartment is officially decorated for Christmas.  I made it until December first, which was no small feat considering I WANT CHRISTMAS NOW (which really means I WANT MY BABY NOW).  All of our Christmas decorations fit into one plastic box, which seems to be the right amount given the size of our living space.  There’s a mix of old, new, gifts, and handmade items.  Some things were purchased at the dollar store or Salvation Army, while others where lovingly “borrowed” from boxes in my parents’ basement. I’m pleased with how the space looks, and while I wish I could add a few more touches here and there, it works, and works well.

The front door: a glittery reindeer sits atop a black satin ribbon.  Jingle bells travel down the length of the ribbon.  I made this last year with my trusty hot glue gun.

The little bookshelf: a green and red cardbox sits behind a lovely pewter Santa and two reindeer.  The cardbox, which holds all our outgoing Christmas cards, was a gift from someone in Jason’s family (they lovelovelove their decorations, no matter the occasion).  The pewter Santa belonged to my Gran.  I found it with her other things at my parents’ house, and decided it would be better to have it on display than in some storage cupboard in the basement.

The desk: Sarge the pooch patrol dog wears a Santa hat this time of year.  Our nativity scene is also on the desk.  The nativity scene is really my mother’s: she won it in a raffle from a giftshop called “Crossroads”.  All the figures are made of painted wood, and are the kind of durable object most suited to toddlers and little ones.  It worked really when when the daycare was running (and mum thinks the raffle was rigged so she would win it).  I hope to make my own needle-felted nativity scene next year, so the wooden nativity scene will likely make a return to Ottawa.

Above the table: A wooden sign with a snowman that reads “star light, star bright”.  Beneath it is a large glittery snowflake.  Both were purchased at the Sackville Salvation Army, and graced our old basement apartment.

On the table: an assortment of candles, most pilfered from Ottawa.  And candy canes.  Last year I made an awesome centerpiece out of red, white, and silver Christmas ornaments, but Jason broke it (the same thing happened to my Easter centerpiece).  From now on I will make centerpieces that can withstand life’s knocks.

Our “fireplace” (aka air conditioner box): Two cream stockings with our names on them.  I bought the stockings at Walmart and used blue sparkly felt for the lettering.  Semi-homemade is better than nothing!  I hopefully will add another stocking very soon, one with a polar bear for baby.  We have a second three-piece nativity scene there as well, a gift from my friend Rachael.  The wall above has a Santa wreath (another Salvation Army purchase) as well as two mini-stockings (one with a snowman, the other with a bear).

And, la piece de resistance: our tree.  Sure, it’s a fake, stands three feet tall, and sits on a coffeetable, but I love this tree.  It was one of the first things Jason and I bought together, and I love adding new ornaments to our collection each year.  Let’s just say we have eclectic taste, and there aren’t too many “traditional” ornaments decorating the branches.

Our tree-dwellers include:

-A yellow submarine

-Wall-E peering through a wreath

-Muk-muk the Olympic mascot groupie (this is actually a keychain from Value Village)

-A sassy white poodle on a big pink pillow (my Layla lives forever at Christmas)

-A handmade ninja complete with Santa hat and holiday themed weaponry (this was part of my Christmas gift to Jason last year)

-Two needle-felted squirrels

-A little green android (actually from a cell-phone promotion)

-Two mice in vaguely ren-faire costumes standing on a bridge

-An assortment of wedding and “our first Christmas” ornaments

-A hot pink glitter heart and pipe cleaner star

-And slightly more normal things: bells, religious iconography, a snowman, a Christmas tree (there are two Christmas trees on our Christmas tree…meta much?)

I like it.  It suits who were are as a couple, as a family.  Our decorations are random, fun, and meaningful.  And they make me very happy.  I hope baby grows to have warm memories of our Christmas decorations, and can’t wait to see what they contribute to our traditions in the coming years.

Random thoughts

1.  Facebook relationships with teachers/professors/bosses/etc always give me the heebie-jeebies.  I have no problem with friending a prof once you are finished their course, friending an old boss once you have moved to a different job…but it seems like such a bad idea when things are current.  A few recent examples from facebook include drama students bitching about their production assignments (which I know is a ridiculously large undertaking) while being friends with the instructor.  Calling an assignment “worthless and a load of crap” while being friends with the person who designed and will be marking said assignment is a bad idea.  Also a bad idea?  Status updates about how drunk you…an hour before you have to go work…and now your boss knows the truth.  Oversharing can have some dire consequences, but it seems in the era of facebook common sense and privacy have gone out the window.  I wish more people would think before they post, or at least create filters so people in positions of authority can’t witness true idiocy in the works.

2.  That being said, it would be a lot easier to do the whole filtered posting thing if facebook would stop screwing around with its layout every month or two.  If it wasn’t such an easy way to communicate with people, I would delete my account.  Who knows, maybe baby will provide the kick in the ass that I need to get out of the social networking game (although I could easily argue that I’m barely in the game to begin with).

3.  Another internet topic: I hate the level of assholery that comes with anonymity.  Hence why I rarely leave comments on blogs, and avoid forums at all costs.  Okay, I don’t really avoid forums, as I like to lurk, but I never post.  I’ve been attacked for expressing my own opinion, and I don’t know why.  We can disagree, but surely we can do it in a polite and adult manner…but this seldom happens.  I’m also of the camp where if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.  I recently came across a wicked cover version of “Superman’s Song”, originally by the Crash Test Dummies, and re-created by Nataly Dawn of Pomplamoose fame.  Both versions are stunning in their own right, but apparently for some people Nataly’s version “ruined” the original, because she is a hipster and hipsters ruin everything!  I fail to see how her version could ruin the original, it’s not like that every single CD and MP3 and cassette and video of the CrashTest Dummies song was destroyed by the sheer existence of a new cover.  Don’t like her song?  Don’t listen.  Simple.  But it seems that nothing is ever simple on the internet.

4.  Okay, enough ranting about the internet (on the internet, no less).  Time for an internet-positive thought: It helps me find community.  Last night we went to a little hang-out gathering with some Artist-in-Community grads.  Saturday evening we went to the Santa Claus parade for a friend’s birthday, AND met new people, AND one of them facebook friended me and we are going to have tea in the near future.  Making friends isn’t always easy, so I am glad for the small ways in which the internet (specifically facebook) helps me with this.

5.  And now for something not related to the internet at all: I am retaining water.  This is unpleasant.  This means I must drink more water, which although sounding counter-intuitive, actually works to help rid the body of excess water.  My hands are a bit puffy and typing feels weird.  I predict the brita pitcher will be filled and re-filled many times.  On the bright side, my hands are now soft and smell like almonds because I thought a mini-massage would help remedy the situation.  It hasn’t really, but the scent is pleasant and providing a nice distraction.

6.  I am thisclose to finally finishing Jason’s sweater.  The one I started in September 2010.  I hope he likes it (he says he does, but it is still in pieces at the moment as I have yet to sew it all together).  I also need to knit a hat and a pair of socks and then I am finished with this whole handmade Christmas endeavor.  Except for the same fact that I will never be finished with handmade Christmas.  I like crafting too much to be finished.

7.  The rug needs to be vacuumed.  I hate vacuuming.  I hate the rug.  One of my goals for 2012 is to knit a new rainbow coloured rug from old t-shirts.  Hopefully it wont show the dirt the way our current rug does.

C’est tout.

Stuff

I have a love/hate relationship with stuff.

Clothes.  Books.  Kitchen gear.  Photographs.  Plushies.  Craft supplies.  Knick-knacks.  DVDs.  Accessories.  Mementos.  Bags.  Anything that I could potentially use in a classroom someday.  Makeup.  Pretty things.  Useful things.

Stuff.

I’m one of those people who tries to be practical about her stuff.  That I don’t want it around unless it is highly useful or beautiful.  Hence, my cast iron frying pan and my Hudson’s Bay blanket and my Princess Lasertron bouquet.  Examples of high quality, well-made, and lovely things that will last a lifetime if I take good care of them.

So…if I subscribe to the “useful and beautiful” rule, then why am I looking at a small collection of toys sitting on top of a bookshelf?  Among other things, there’s a My Little Pony, a Keropi Happy Meal Toy, and two Fisher Price cows.  A Pooch Patrol dog named Sarge sits about the computer.  There is a turtle from a Kinder Surprise in the bathroom, alongside two plastic goldfish pilfered from the treasure box at Pizza Delight.

Memories are powerful things.  It’s hard to let go of something that serves no purpose when you have a strong emotional attachment to the object in question.  These little trinkets and tokens come to represent feelings, thoughts, good days, events, or people.  I have gotten better at not hoarding items like these, but it’s hard not to collect, and it’s even more difficult to discard.  Time can be a great helper…or a great enemy.  The little stuffed lady bug that my high school boyfriend gave to me when I fell down a flight of stairs?  It’s been almost ten years, girl!  Why are you still carrying that thing around?!?!  The aforementioned Kinder Surprise turtle?  You’ve had her since you were nine.  You wouldn’t have kept her if she wasn’t important.  She stays.

And there are two of us in this one-bedroom apartment (with decent, but still limited storage).  Two people with memories and feelings and attachments, two people with their own hobbies and interests and needs.

One married couple, lots of stuff.

We do pretty well at making regular donations to the Salvation Army.  We simply don’t have the space for extras, so a purge has to be made every few months.  I also grew up in a house where this was the norm-I don’t think a month went by where my family didn’t make a donation to the Diabetes Association or MS Society or whatever organization was collecting at the time.  I also enjoy giving my things to people who appreciate them-you like this sweater?  It’s yours!  I have given away many possessions as birthday or Christmas or “just because” gifts, and I feel good about it.  It gave me joy, and now it can give someone else joy.

(I also have no qualms about re-gifting, although there is the paranoia that somehow the gift in question might make its way back to its original owner…but I’m willing to take that risk.)

Jason has slowly come on board with my constant need to de-clutter and donate.  It hasn’t been easy for him, but he has come a long way since we first got together four years ago.  I have a memory of piling all his t-shirts on the bed and counting them-the number was in the sixties.  Today?  Ten.  We still disagree about what to keep and what to toss-I know tomorrow there will be an argument about a certain set of black towels that I cannot stand.  But for the most part, he’s  with me in the quest to rid our house of stuff.

Marriage typically brings more stuff.  Some of it is wonderful-I’m thinking of our bed.  My parents bought the frame and mattress.  Other people bought sheets with luxurious thread counts, cozy blankets, and hypoallergenic pillows.  Other people bought us things…that we didn’t really want or need.  The thought was there, but like a bad relationship, it just wasn’t working out.  Some of those things have been re-gifted, stolen by my sisters, donated, or sold.  A few things still remain in my parents’ basement until we have more space.

Then there’s the stuff that people say we “need”, often without asking us if we really need it.  I apparently “need” a set of tea towels for every major holiday.  I “need” a bathmat and one of those silly fabric shower curtains.  I “need” an electric kettle.  Um, thanks?  What I need right now is an immersion blender, a small one-up coffeemaker, and one of those over-the-toilet storage units.  I know people have the best of intentions here, but this is a battle-against-the-stuff I would rather not wage.  I don’t mind donating my things, but I dislike doing it when there’s guilt involved.  I don’t like the sensation that I am wasting someone’s money.  I don’t like feeling like an ungrateful brat.  Why did you buy me those sheets?!?!  I told you, no man-made fibers, it HAS TO BE COTTON!!! Can’t we just avoid this messy situation?  Ask what I like, what I want, what I need.  And then listen.  Or you don’t have to give me anything at all.  That’s okay.  I’m an adult.

I’m an adult…and I’m about to have a baby.

Babies involve a whole new mess of stuff.

I’m not so sure we can win this battle.  But until then, I’m going to donate and give and toss what I can…and pray the upcoming avalanche is manageable.

Surviving pregnancy

I don’t really know what I thought it would be like.  I had done my research on conception, pregnancy, and childbirth before Jason and I even started “practicing”, as my mum likes to call it.  I knew what was going to happen to my body throughout pregnancy…but it’s one of those things you have to experience to really understand.  Jason will never know what a period cramp feels like.  I will never know what it feels like to be kicked in the balls.  And until I peed on that stick and saw two little lines, I had no clue what it was going to be like to be pregnant.  Going through labour is another mystery waiting to be explored and experienced.  But right now I’m focused on the proverbial bun that is still in my oven.

I didn’t know how tired I would be.

I didn’t know that “morning sickness” can strike at any time.  It can involve nausea, heaving, or full-on vomiting, sometimes multiple times in one day.

I didn’t know that my nose would become that hypersensitive.

I didn’t know that I could have days of constipation followed by days of diahhrea.

I didn’t know that the smallest of actions could take the greatest of efforts.

I didn’t know that heartburn would become my worst nightmare.

I didn’t know about round ligament pain.

I didn’t know about pelvic pain.

I didn’t know about back pain.

I didn’t know about insomnia.

I didn’t know about what a Braxton-Hicks contraction feels like.

I didn’t know about reduced lung capacity and shortness of breath.

I didn’t know what it feels like to be hungry all the time…and wanting nothing to eat.

I didn’t know about tears and fears.

And the list is still going….

My pregnancy has probably been an average experience, or even better than most.  But it’s not what I expected, not in the least.  I thought I would be one of those women who loveloveloves being pregnant.  I was wrong about that.  I enjoy the fact that I am growing and nurturing a little person, and I enjoy being pregnant for a few vanity-related reasons, but other than that?  It sucks.  I’m thirty-four weeks along.  Baby could come any time over the next eight weeks.  And while I want baby to come when it’s ready, I now understand what it feels like to want this pregnancy to be over and done with already.  And I’ll probably feel even more so in a few weeks.

So, that being said, here’s my list of essentials for surviving pregnancy.

Soft pretzels, chicken fingers, and Starbucks Passion Tea Lemonade.

Hot packs.

Baby powder.

Water, water, and more water-preferably nice and cold and filtered.

Lubriderm unscented lotion for sensitive skin.

Candied ginger.

Arrowroot biscuits.

Mint tea.

More pillows than one person should ever use.

Blackout curtains or an eye mask or both.

Things that smell nice: peppermint foot lotion, almond hand cream, lavender essential oil.

The occasional trip to McDonalds…

Tv on dvd.

Popsicles and powerade.

Tylenol, benedryl, gravol.

Air conditioning, fans, and cool breezes.

Chick lit.

Craft projects.

Clean towels.

Phone calls to my mum.

A willing manservant…aka my husband.