Tag Archives: pregnancy

The world’s most effective diet

I weigh three pounds less than I did at my first doctor’s visit. At that point I had morning sickness, so I probably hadn’t gained any weight yet. Evelyn will be eleven weeks old tomorrow, and eleven weeks ago I weighed thirty-two more pounds than I do now. So, basically I’ve lost thirty-two pounds in eleven weeks. This wouldn’t be as miraculous to me if it hadn’t been for the fact that I have never eaten more food IN MY LIFE than I have eaten in the last eleven weeks. 

Back when I was a human incubator, I was told that I wasn’t eating for two, that I only really needed to eat three hundred more calories per day than I usually did. I remember being scolded at one of my doctors appointments for gaining an extra pound than I should have since my last visit. If you’re smarter than a second grader, you probably figured out that I gained twenty-nine pounds during my pregnancy. I was pretty good at following the doctor’s orders, I gained one pound less than what she recommended, and that was on a pretty good diet, but that was probably because I didn’t really have a ton of cravings during my pregnancy, I mostly craved foods that cooled me down because of the obscene heat. I would not recommend getting pregnant at this time of year unless you’re willing to eat tons of popsicles, I mean enough popsicles to recreate your 3,000 square foot home with popsicle sticks. Having said that, I do think the weather made my belly a better habitat for a growing fetus because it produced The Most Adorable Baby in the World. 

exibit A: 


exibit B:


Anyway, I credit this weight loss to the sustaining of a human life with the contents of my boobs. I eat about as much as Tolkien’s hobbits, yet I’ve lost all of my pregnancy weight because now I AM eating for two. So, if you want to lose weight while eating anything you want, get pregnant, gain thirty pounds, give birth then feed that baby with your boobs. I swear it works. Side effects include sleep deprivation, poopy diapers, and responsibility for the life of a child for the next eighteen plus years.


Evelyn Aubrey



I’ll spare many of the details, but Saturday evening I began to get strong contractions, and by just after midnight we were on our way to the hospital. Twenty-four hours later, at 12:58am, Evelyn Aubrey M. was born. She’s beautiful: 7 pounds, 8 ounces, 20 inches long, and a full head of hair. So much hair, it shocked the nurses-really. She looks just like her dad, even down to her hair style.

It took that long because we had to keep slowing down the process because she was getting “stressed”. I would be stressed too if there was a noose in the form of an umbilical cord wrapped around my neck three times. It made for a lot of pain, but once she was here, I barely remembered any of it. I’ll try not to hold the long labor over her head the rest of her life. 

She share’s the birthday of her Godfather, Jay’s cousin Brian, as well as my cousin’s baby (who she named Evan). He was born 22 hours after her, which I’m sure she’ll hang over his head all of their lives.

We spent the first 36 hours of her life in the hospital. We had so many people waiting to see her, I’m sure it kind of annoyed the nurses. They came in two at a time for the next hours or so, before the nurses cut us off so she could feed off of her mother’s ever-expanding endowments. As I spent that first night at the hospital with her, (we weren’t able to get a private room so Jay couldn’t stay with us) I couldn’t stop looking at her, even though I hadn’t slept more than two hours in almost 48 hours, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep with her there. She looks just like her dad, it’s strange. Jay got there as early as they would allow the next morning, and a more visitors arrived soon after. We brought her home the next day, we couldn’t wait to get out of there, especially Jay who hated leaving us those first two nights.

Now, it’s almost surreal. You spend nine months counting down the days, and you’re both ready and totally unprepared at the same time. Then she arrives and you know that no matter what, you’re going to do the best you can, because that tiny human is depending on you. It’s the scariest, most wonderful feeling. I already feel like a completely different person.

I love

how online shopping can distract me from the ever-growing level of anticipation for me to pop.

I love

that I’m in the only position that can be in where you can’t wait for the most physically painful experience of your life to happen already.

Copping a Feel

My sister and I have been trying to show my 18 month old nephew why he’s told “no” when he tries to climb on my belly. We’ve managed to teach him what babies are, so now every time he sees a picture of a baby or one on TV, he points and yells “bebe?” and looks at us for reassurance. Lately we’ve been trying to get him to understand that there’s a baby in my ever-expanding bump too. We point to a baby picture and then to my belly, and say “baby.” First, he would lift my shirt and stick his finger in my belly button (which is also ever-expanding) and say “ba!” and giggle. Then he would lift his shirt and rub his own belly and say “bebe,” looking to us for reassurance. We finally got him to point at my tummy and say “bebe” with confidence, so we decided to show Jay. “Where’s the baby?” we asked. He pulled down my shirt, smacked my boob, yelled “bebe!” and ran away. 

I guess we have to work on overcoming his male tendencies to see boobies, cop feels, run away, and show off in front of other men before we teach him about where babies come from. 

The Age Factor

In an effort to get out of the house and pretty myself up I went to go get my nails done yesterday. I don’t get them done often, but when I do I always go to the same place. It’s a place my sister and I discovered a few years back, we normally go there because the service is great.

When I walked into the salon, there was an older woman who had walked in right before me, probably in her mid-50’s. I remember thinking about how great her outfit was, she was wearing a cute navy and white ensemble. Her hair was in a cute, well-kept short style with great highlights. Then she looked at me. Well, not so much at me, but at my stomach. My belly is getting to the point where it almost sticks out more than my boobs, and anyone with eyes can tell that I’m pregnant. I proud of my belly, for a while there I looked like I had developed a beer belly at certain angles, so it’s a relief to look as pregnant as I feel. I get back to you on whether that sticks in my eighth and ninth months. Anyway, the woman was taken in by one of the manicurists, and soon I was seated next to her. The woman doing my nails recognized me immediately. She asked how my sister and mother were, and congratulated me on the pregnancy, as did the other manicurist.  They asked the typical questions: how far along I was, what the baby’s sex was, if I had chosen a name, etc. Jay had been there with me once when I forced him to get a facial, so they asked about him. Then they asked if we were getting married. By now I am used to being asked this question, and I usually say something along the lines of not now. The other customer gave her first comment at this point. “You’re too young to be having babies, in fact you’re too young to be getting married.” Now, at first, I wasn’t offended at all, I’ve heard the “babies having babies” attitude before, and I usually don’t mind. I am young to be having a baby, I certainly didn’t plan to be this young: Jay and I had planned on waiting for marriage and a family for at least another two to three years. So when the woman spoke I smiled politely and agreed that I didn’t want to rush marriage. I purposely said nothing about parenthood. Then she asked, “How old are you?” I answered: twenty. “Too many young people are irresponsibly having children these days, people as young as you are not ready for that responsibility, and if you think you are, may as well get married so your child isn’t a bastard.” Now I was a little bothered, but I managed to keep my composure and threw a fake smile in her direction. Then my manicurist said “Well, I was twenty-five when I had my first, and let me just say, nobody is completely ready for it, there are always surprises, right Mrs. _________?” Her answer is what pissed me off: “I never had children, we never really got around to it.” There was a pause and the subject was changed. I didn’t think about it much until I was on my way home. Once at home, I was pretty pissed and wrote this.

I did not plan on having children for a few more years. Jay and I always used two forms of contraceptives for that very reason. Before this, we never even had a scare, so when I missed my period we immediately bought pregnancy tests and scheduled a doctor’s appointment. The idea of an abortion was not considered, as we have both the means and desire to care for a child, even if it is earlier than expected. We are adults, and I am not kidding myself when I say not only in the legal sense. We are young adults, and this does mean will lose much of the carefree nature in our lives, as we have already found, but we are aware of this, and so far, it hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. We are not stupid enough to think that everything will be sunshine and daises, we have made our preparations and plans and so far, so good.

About the marriage issue, I don’t believe that having a child means marriage is an absolute. Jay and I have been together for almost four years, so of course we have discussed marriage. When we do get married, we want it to be done right, with a proper ceremony and with all of our loved ones present; at this point our priority is our child, and that’s where our money, time and effort should go. It is more important for us to be a family now than be married. In some kind of familial sense, we are already married. The term “bastard” was highly unnecessary, and in my opinion, outdated. 

I think what bothered me so much about what happened was not only that term, but the negativity this woman had for my situation. I have encountered other with views similar to hers but never with such persistence or so defiantly. 


I’ve always been pretty well-endowed in the chest area, not that I enjoyed it all the time. I played basketball in high school, and let me tell you running around with two 34Cs is no picnic, and neither is getting elbowed in the chesticles when going in for a layup. I used to have to wear two sports bras to cushion the frequent blows and keep the two in place.

That was before I was pregnant, and if I thought C’s were bad, imagine how I feel now. On a recent trip to purchase more suitable support, the sales girl told me I was lucky to have such big boobs and a smallish frame. I smiled, I would by lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the compliment. Then she asked me if they were real. I must’ve given her a look, because she immediately took it back and apologized. I assured her that I was okay, and told her they were real, products of genetics and pregnancy. Apparently she had been so enthralled with my bosoms that she hadn’t noticed my expanding uterus. She congratulated me and then proceeded to tell me about her plans to get implants.

This girl must’ve appreciated the commission I was giving her, so much so she decided to give me her life story in exchange. She told me about how she’d always wanted them done, and she’d had the chance before. Apparently her parents offered to get them for her when she graduated high school, but she decided to get her nose done first. Now they wouldn’t pay for them because they were paying her college tuition, so she decided to get a job to save up for them herself “I almost have enough now, but I’m debating about whether to get Cs or Ds” she told me. Now, this girl was tiny, and her current breast size was no bigger than your average teenage boy. I couldn’t imagine her small frame with boobs as big a mine, or maybe I was concentrating too hard on not looking at her nose, but before I could stop myself, I asked “Aren’t you afraid of having back problems?” I was surprised that she hadn’t been asked this before, and she obviously hadn’t consulted with a plastic surgeon yet, no doctor in his right mind would put D’s on a girl this small.  “Why, do you?” she asked. I told her that yes, I did, big knockers didn’t come without some sacrifice.

While I paid for my items (one of which was the first DD I’ve ever bought) we talked a little more about it. We both spoke about the things we wished we could wear, but couldn’t quite pull off. Then she looked at me like I was a crazy person when I told her I would consider a reduction of they were any bigger. As I left, I told her to go with the Cs if anything, and I looked at her like she was a crazy person when she told me that maybe she would get her chin done first. I’ve never really considered plastic surgery before, but I guess she had considered it enough for the both of us.